You Are Your Problem Ch. 02

Special Thanks to my own private consultant. When an author has no experience with a particular emotion, it is best to seek out those who know of it first hand. Thanks again. Additionally, I thank my editor, Erik Thread, for his patience and skills, not only with the words, but for his tutelage.

*

The most difficult part of my road back was to speak to my wife. However, I wanted something from her, too.

I don't suppose I was surprised when I got home, to find Laurel sitting on the couch. I sat down beside my wife and took her hand in mine. She had been crying, probably ever since the children went to bed.

"You're going to have to help me, Laurel. I've lied to you. I've cheated, and I've broken the most important vows I made when we married."

"I'm sorry, Robert." It was difficult for her to talk and sob at the same time.

I looked at Laurel for a moment and said, "I think both of us have forgotten about our promise of forsaking all others."

She made a long low guttural sound that you'd expect from a mortally wounded animal. Then she took a deep breath and did it again. I cannot describe how much that hurt me. She finally stopped and shook her head, took a few deep breaths and admitted, "I don't know how I let this happen."

I hadn't begun to cry, but I felt the tears forming. "I don't think I can stand to hear the details, but I need to know if you love him and I need to know why."

"Love?" She asked, as if she didn't really understand what that was. "I always thought I loved you and that you loved me."

"I've always loved you, Laurel. I didn't always appreciate you, or what we had together, but I loved you. I don't think we can have this conversation without saying some names both of us would probably like to forget. I used Carol to make me feel like I was still some kind of young stud. She started it, but I didn't back away."

"Maybe that's what I did," Laurel was still shaking her head. "I was certain I'd forgiven you and then one Friday afternoon I was vacuuming the carpet in the sanctuary and I just collapsed. I was crying, sobbing, pounding the floor with my fists, and I couldn't stop. Doug found me. He held me for a long time while I told him about what you'd done."

"You didn't ... not there ... I mean, not in the church."

"Oh no, no," Laurel shuddered. "After that day, Doug would give me an extra hug after church or when I went to pick up the children. He got more physical every time I went over to his house."

"And he made you feel good, which was something I'd stopped doing."

Laurel looked at me and tried to smile. "Maybe so, but I wasn't aware that's what he was doing. He listened when I described how badly I was hurt when you were seeing Carol. He always told me it wasn't my fault."

"It wasn't your fault. It was my stupidity."

"Almost every week, Doug would ask me how things were at home. He wanted to know if you and I were having sex more frequently. Each time his questions were a little easier to answer. It was like he took little tiny bites out of my resistance to talk about something so private."

I shook my head at my own stupidity. "I watched it happening. I can't believe I trusted that man. I thought he was helping me gain my wife's forgiveness."

"Carol's older than me and she was attracting men. I was just a plain housewife. I didn't have anything to show a man to make him want me. You sort of stopped, I mean, you didn't kiss me much anymore. You didn't want to make love to me as often. We lived in that little house and were always trying to be quiet so the children wouldn't hear us."

"He took both of us in, we were his victims. I hate him. I want to hurt him so bad, it makes me shake with the need to do something violent."

"Robert, he may be a bad person, but don't forget he has three children. They don't deserve to suffer for what their father did."

That night was the first time Laurel and I were brutally honest with each other. We were soon holding each other, crying about how badly we'd hurt each other. She tried to get me to go to bed, but I couldn't. I told her I still had the vision inside my head, of Doug Hebert's bare ass and his cock pounding into her.

When I built the house, we added a study, which was really my company office. I moved a couple of things in the study and pulled down the Murphy bed. Laurel helped me put sheets on the bed because we agreed we needed some time apart, but neither of us wanted to be very far from the other. We knew we had some healing to do. We also knew the kids would quickly learn something was wrong. We both wanted to be there to let them know things would get better.

* * * *

The next morning, when we had both had a chance to calm down. We waited until the kids were involved in doing other things, and Laurel and I went out to sit on the back patio. I told her I wanted to talk, but I wanted it to be a real discussion. I didn't want either one of us to get so upset that we started arguing or placing blame for anything either of us had done.

"Laurel. I love you. I don't think I've ever thought about how much I love you. I'm not even sure I even understood what love is."

"I love you, too, Robert." She looked down at her fingers that were twisting around each other on her lap. "When Mother heard about what ... about Carol, she asked me if I married you because I had to, or if I really did love you. I told her that of course I loved you, but I just said it to get her to quit talking about it."

She stopped for a moment, and then said, "Maybe that's when I started to question myself. That day ... in the church ... when Doug found me ... that's when I understood how much I had lost. Robert, I thought you were gone, that if you didn't follow Carol, you would find someone else and we would never be together again."

I watched her face when I said, "I had that same kind of feeling when I saw you with Doug Hebert. He's good looking, suave, and women seem to fall all over themselves to do things for him."

"Yeah," Laurel agreed. "I think part of that is because he has a position of power, which he uses to attract women."

"God damn!" I exclaimed, and then apologized to Laurel. "Sorry." I took a deep breath. "I can't blame all of it on him. It's my fault too. I can lie to myself and say what Carol and I had was just sex. I can even let myself believe that Doug seduced you, but I know both of those reasons won't hold water. What I did was wrong. What you did was wrong. Now, we need to do something that's right, for us, only for us."

"Can we ... I mean, can we fix it, repair the damage ... make us like we used to be."

"I want to repair the damage, but I'd like to make us better than we used to be."

Laurel smiled, but looked a little frightened when I said, "I'm going to sleep in the study for a few nights, and then I gotta go see my dad."

"Your dad?"

It was a little difficult for me to tell Laurel that my dad wasn't my father. She gasped when I admitted that I'd known for a long time. She asked why I hadn't told her about it, but I just couldn't do that to him. I explained that if he could live with my mother, and continue to love her for more than thirty years after his discovery that she had cheated, and live every day with the impact of that cheating, me, I needed his advice. He was a good man and I needed some of his goodness, not the artificial religious tripe of a man I felt was responsible for trying to separate Laurel from me.

* * * *

I called Dad and told him I needed to come see him. I know he was curious, but he just said, "Come on." The Easter weekend I'd spent with him wasn't the best shining example of the man he had raised me to be. He told me that weekend that he wouldn't tell Laurel, but he wouldn't lie to her if she asked.

Dad was always a fun drunk. The solemn, tough guy, would turn into a tender-hearted, affectionate man, full of laughter and story-telling. He could drink a beer or two then go to bed and sleep like a log. On rare occasions, he could drink enough beer to entertain a roomful of other boisterous drunks and continue to drink until most of them had passed out. However, there was also a point in his evening of drinking when he would usually turn philosophical. I'd heard more real truths from him and comments on his observations of his fellow man during those evenings, than I'd ever heard from the pulpit of a church.

In the six hours it took me to drive to see Dad, I did a lot of thinking. I've always had some pride in being a silver-tongued devil. I might not be a big guy, physically, but I could pretty easily talk my way out of, or into, trouble. The closer I got to my destination, the more I realized I had to be absolutely truthful with Dad. I had to let it all hang out and not hold anything back. He'd know if I did and he would gauge his responses to what I told him.

Dad's girlfriend didn't drink and he seldom had more than two or three beers. But I drove up to his house that afternoon with an ice chest in the back of my truck. It was filled with two cases of cold beer.

"Hey Dad, you want a beer?" I asked after I'd hugged him and greeted the woman who had finally made him into a happy man.

"Hell, yeah," he said.

I watched Betty grin and walk back in the house. She might appear with a snack or two over the next few hours, but otherwise, she left us in the back yard, under the shade of a tree, with the ice chest between us.

As we drank the first few beers, we talked about my new house and a few things he was doing around Betty's house. The next few beers lasted as long as it took me to tell him all the news from home, things my children were doing, and some of the small town gossip. It was probably about the time we got to beer number nine when I admitted I'd seen his service record and knew he wasn't my real father.

"I gotta know what you thought when you learned she was pregnant and you weren't the father."

"Well-l-l," He drawled. "Your mamma wrote me a letter and said she'd avoided telling me she was pregnant 'cause she didn't want me to worry."

I think I spit a mouthful of beer into the grass when he said, "Just like Laurel, she was a virgin, ya know."

Oh shit, I wasn't aware he knew that about Laurel and me.

"We only had about a week together before I had to go back to Nam. She'd been protected, didn't know nothing about men, and just let some guy tease her 'til it was too late."

"Did you ask her who it was?"

"Nope, didn't care. She was mine, and whatever she did, I'd accept. 'Course ya know, we was doing all this by letters, which took a while."

"You never found out?"

"Nope. When I got home, she had a great big belly and wouldn't hardly let me touch her. Then it was the last six weeks of her pregnancy when we couldn't have sex. And then after you were born it was another six weeks before we could have sex."

"You're talking about almost four months?"

"'Bout that, yeah. But ya know, we sort of learned to like each other during that time."

"I may need to do that," I wondered.

"Did you tell her, or did some asshole spill the beans." Dad didn't pull any punches when he asked about my affair with Carol.

"I told her, but she already knew."

"She's something special, Robert. If Laurel can accept what you did, don't you ever let her think you aren't grateful as hell."

"That's the problem I have, now. I'm afraid I didn't let her know how much she meant to me."

"Ah son, I'm sorry," Dad sounded so hurt. Just hearing him call me his son made my chest hurt.

I told him about Brother Hebert and he made a few choice comments, some of which were things I'd thought and may have uttered to myself more than once.

"Ya know, that asshole ain't your problem. You are your problem."

"I am so angry." I'd felt it, but hadn't admitted it to myself in so many words.

"Good," Dad nodded. "Go kill him and turn his kids into orphans. You'll go to prison and put your wife and children on welfare."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Okay, so beat him up. He ain't so tough. Show people you protect your own. Is he going to fight back and leave you a cripple?"

"I look like a wimp if I don't do something."

"Well, you're a smart man. You might be a little bit of an asshole yourself, sometimes. Why don't you forget about you and take care of those who are important, Laurel, and your children."

I thought about what he said and then I leaned back in my chair when he suggested, "Instead of just being a married man, why don't you be a husband? You think about what that means."

"I don't want to leave her."

"Okay, don't leave her. Stay there and learn to like her. Somewhere along the way that liking will become a nice comfortable love. Maybe she needs to know you want more from her than a weekly fuck."

I don't think I'd ever heard my father say that word. But he didn't stop there. He laughed at me as he teased, "Betcha cain't do it. You couldn't keep your pecker in your pocket when you was sixteen. You couldn't keep it in your pocket when Carol teased you. Betcha cain't do it now either."

"Four months, you think?"

"Nah, make it a challenge. Take that stiff dick you got between your legs and put it away for six months. That's when you'll know you're a man, not just a randy goat looking for a wet pussy."

He had some more advice for me, but the more beer he drank he started telling stories of when my brothers and I were young. He eventually told about some things he and his brother had done when they were young. Dad's tolerance for beer was a lot better than mine was. I sort of stopped listening or expecting any more pearls of wisdom.

Eventually we helped each other to bed, or at least that's where I was the next morning. Dad and I had a few more discussions that weekend, but they were short, good suggestions, but short. He used his gruff voice in a take it or leave it attitude, letting me know it was my turn to do the thinking. I had what I came for, a reason to stay with my wife and a way to do it that would make what we had stronger than it had been before.

In those same six hours it took me to drive home, I had an epiphany. I'd always heard about seeing the truth and how it can come to you so suddenly it takes your breath away. It is a clearness of thought in your mind, so dramatic that it startles you. I had one of those moments. It hit me so hard I had to pull over to the side of the highway. Then I started crying, not simply tears running down my cheeks, I was sobbing, sobbing so hard my shoulders shook, and my chest hurt.

There had been so many instances when I had been self-delusional. I told my self that I'd finally fallen in love with my wife. That was bullshit. I'd always loved her. I was just selfish enough to want to play around on her without accepting that there were consequences to my actions. I'd tried to convince myself that Brother Hebert and Laurel were the ones at fault for what they did. That was just another load of bullshit. All the changes I'd been congratulating myself for making in my life were window dressing. It was time for me to grow up.

If I had been paying attention to my wife and my family, she would never have been susceptible to that asshole, and I'd never have looked at another woman. I knew that in the months to come I'd see other instances when I had not been the man I wanted people to see. I had some growing to do and I just hoped Laurel would stay with me long enough to become the man I wanted her to love.

* * * *

"A month?" Laurel was interested in my visit with my dad. She'd always liked him. He was gruff sometimes, but much easier to talk to than her father.

"That's what I suggested, but he said maybe it should be longer."

"Longer?"

"Yeah, until we feel good about being with each other and better about being us." I laughed and shrugged my shoulders. I didn't know how to explain it, but it felt like that's what we needed to do.

"But at least you aren't going to leave?"

"No, I want to be here, with you, and with the kids. I love you, I'm in love with you, but maybe we need to learn a few things. This is the best way I can think of doing it."

"Oh, good. So, how long did your dad suggest we take before we sleep in the same bed?" She blushed when she asked the question. Talking about sex, in the daytime, was embarrassing for her, but that was part of what we were going to do for the next six months.

"Six months!" Laurel's eyes got big and she swallowed hard.

"Yeah, we're going to have a long courtship."

* * * *

For the first month I slept in the office, I vacillated between just letting Doug Hebert go and gathering the other husbands who'd been cuckolded by him, into some kind of group that would pay him back. I tossed and turned and then slept and had a few violent nightmares. At work, I barked at my crew, and then apologized and went back to work.

When I couldn't take it any more, I asked two of the other husbands to meet with me. We wanted Douglas Hebert gone, but we wanted him to hurt, too. We talked about what we could do that wouldn't harm his children, but didn't like any of the suggestions for revenge, although some were pretty wild.

One of the other men told me about another couple who had left the church and then divorced. The husband had left town, but the wife was attending another church. She was still in love with Brother Hebert and claimed she didn't know where her husband was.

By the end of the month, Doug Hebert had given notice that he felt a calling to move to another church. The Search Committee had a different pastor come for a tryout each week at the same time Brother Hebert was trying out at a new church. My time for revenge was growing short.

Then I got lucky. I did a bathroom remodel job at the home of the church secretary. She was quite a bit older than I was, and sort of like a Sunday School teacher to me, always trying to pass along a lesson. We began talking about my life and my family and she led me into a conversation where I admitted I'd had an affair and been caught. I hinted that Laurel had been badly hurt, but I wasn't completely convinced she had truly forgiven me.

"Sometimes a person needs to learn why they acted in a particular way," Hilda said. "It's helpful if they have someone they trust to talk to."

"Yeah, I guess," I intentionally put myself into her trap. "But Doug Hebert is the last person Laurel or I need to ask for help. He's not much better than a fox in a henhouse."

"Oh," Hilda looked at me with her eyebrows raised as far as they would go. "I wasn't sure you knew about him and Laurel."

"HA!" I exclaimed. "If I wasn't in such a hurry to get rid of him, I'd call every church where he's been in the last month and tell them what he did to my marriage."

"He's done it before, ya know."

I guess Hilda's disclosure didn't really surprise me, but I was very curious. I continued smoothing the grout on the bathroom floor as I listened to Hilda.

"That's part of the problem with an independent church not having an affiliation with a much larger brotherhood," she explained. "We hire and fire our own pastors. My husband was on the search committee that invited him as the pastor."

"You mean like the church is doing now?"

"Exactly," Hilda smiled that I understood. "He had a small reputation for ... let me see ... I think the expression I heard was 'dipping his wick.' It was just rumor, no proof, but the elders talked to him and watched him pretty closely for the first couple of years. His wife was still alive then."

"Then after his wife died ..." I gave Hilda an opening to fill in the blank.

"Well, he was a widower then, single, and no one heard any complaints. You know, men look for easy sex and women look for love." She giggled, and then tried to put on a straight face. "Women don't usually share themselves unless they really care for the man. Men don't have to be in love to have sex."