At the End of the Tour

Don's voice broke. "And I-- I'm sorry, son, I raised her wrong. I know that she's a sweet girl. She's loving and smart, wouldn't hurt a fly. At her core, she knows right from wrong. But she's always been, well, a little gullible. A little too trusting. And Derek..."

The pain on his face was evident. "I never disliked the boy. He was a good friend to her, and they were there for each other when I couldn't raise her like I needed to. It made her reliant on him. And when they started dating, I knew he would break her heart. I was secretly glad when he did. I thought she'd be free of him. I recognized his type. He's not so much a bad guy-- "

I scoffed. "I'd like to see who you think is bad, if you think he's not."

He frowned; not at me, but at himself, for not keeping Derek away from his daughter. "He's weak. He's a weak boy who thinks he's a man. He's needy. Artistic. There's nothing wrong with being artistic, mind. I teach English, and I know art is one of the highest aspirations of humanity. But he got in his head the notion that he needs the adulation that goes with being an artist, rather than the joy of the art. I get that; no one likes to think they're shouting into the void. But it's made him egotistical. It's made him feel like the world owes him."

His brows furrowed. "I want you to think about your talk with him. How much was it about Ellie? Really about Ellie? And how much was it about him?"

I ran the conversation back through my head as best I could. "It was almost all about him. About how this was all his fault, about how he couldn't have her, how he manipulated her. He was apologizing and asking me to take her back, but it was all about him and what he'd done. I assumed it was so that I wouldn't blame her, that I'd put it on him."

Don frowned. "That makes sense. The boy's got a bit of a martyr complex. Goes with the ego. Anything good that happens is because of him. Anything bad that happens is, too. Like I said, a boy, not a man."

He took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm not going to try to tell you what to do. That's up to you. But I will say that I think you can trust Ellie, maybe. Derek is a manipulator. I think she already knows how badly she's messed things up. I know she loves you. What she's done to you is awful. But I know that she loves you dearly. Anyone who sees you together can see that. I wouldn't call you 'son' if you were just her husband. You've earned that by being the very best man for her that you can be. And I want you to know that, even if you can't stay with her, that's always what I'll consider you."

I started to tear up. "I... thank you, Dad. I just..." I couldn't speak. The emotion took my voice from me.

He patted my shoulder. "If Ellie gets away from him, I don't think she'll ever be taken in by him again. And there's no one else that's ever had the kind of influence on her that he did, other than you." He looked away and quietly, sadly said, "Including me, I suppose." But then he took a deep breath and continued.

"I can't lie to you. If I had my druthers, you'd go over to Derek's place, take her hand, tell her to never see him again, and resume your lives. Get some counseling and find a way forward. You've been so good for her, and I think she's been good for you, too. But I can't tell you that's the right thing for you. She's not Gloria, and you're not me.

"I will say one thing, though. People will tell you that you need to forgive her to move forward. But that's... it's not quite right. I forgave Gloria so that I could stop hating her. So I could try to be a good father to Ellie. But I did it wrong."

He took a sip of coffee. "I've always loved linguistics. The way that words come together, how languages evolve to take up or drop bits from other languages, or file off rough edges they don't need any more. Sometimes that's good; we don't have gendered nouns in English, so no 'la' or 'el' to deal with. But we also don't have a second person plural. 'You' is supposed to do double duty, which means a whole host of other words have sprung up to fill that need: y'all, youse, you'uns, and the like.

"Language is always imprecise. It's an attempt to convey ideas in a concise way, at its core. But that means that, in English, we just don't have words for all the things we need to say. It's why we import words like 'schadenfreude' from other languages. But we don't have, or at least I don't know of, a word from another language that we can use in place of 'forgive' for what we're talking about in recovering from the harm people do to us. Some people use 'accept,' but that has its own connotations. Neither of them is right.

"I didn't get that when I was younger. I 'forgave' Gloria in the Christian sense. The 'forgive and forget' sense. I let her back into my life, but I did it with no preconditions. I trusted her, or tried to. When she failed me again, she flung my forgiveness back in my face, tried to use it as a 'get out of jail free' card. She used it as an excuse to keep acting badly. And my well-intentioned forgiveness meant she ended up dead in a flophouse with a needle in her arm."

"He looked me in the eyes. "I don't have a word for what you need to do. 'Forgive' is too slippery a word for it. You need to be able to let go of your anger. I heard that you manhandled her." I started to open my mouth. "Don't. You shouldn't have done it, and you know it. I know you'll apologize. I also know that I did the same with Gloria. It was wrong; our anger doesn't make it right. And you can't keep that with you, or it'll kill you. Could end up hurting the people..." He stopped, miserable about the next thing he'd need to say. "If you can't be with Ellie, it could end up hurting the woman you love next.

"So, yes. Learn to let go of the anger. 'Forgive' her, if that's what works for you. But don't forget, and don't give her a pass on what she's done. I hate to say that; she's my baby girl. But she needs to learn from you what she didn't from me. She needs to learn that her actions have consequences, no matter how she was manipulated into them. That doesn't mean you need to scorch the earth, but don't just take her back without protecting yourself, either. Don't be me, son."

I nodded. "So, what do you think I should do next?"

Don smiled. "I think you know. There's only one person in all of this that you haven't talked to."

Shit. "I was hoping you'd have another option."

He stood up, and so did I. He hugged me. "It was always going to come back to you and her, son. No getting around that."

I left and texted Ellie. She responded almost immediately, agreeing to meet. But she insisted on meeting at Derek's place with him there. He was afraid that I might hurt her. I hated to admit it, but he was right. I didn't like what that said about me, but I couldn't deny it was true. If things went wrong, if tempers flared, I hated her so much right now that I might.

The next morning, I found his building. It wasn't as seedy as I was expecting; I know musicians don't make great money. But it wasn't some firetrap tenement building. Instead, it was an old converted warehouse space that had been turned into apartments. I knocked on the door to Derek's unit and Ellie answered.

She was so pretty. She always had been. My heart melted when I saw her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. She looked like she wanted to hug me. Three days ago, I would have already swept her into my arms with a promise to do whatever I could to take away her pain. But now, I was the source of her pain, as she was of mine. Not the cause of it; that was all on her. And the catalyst for our pain was lurking in the room just beyond the door.

El timidly said, "Hi. Please come in." She stepped aside, not touching me.

The space was exactly what the mind conjures when someone says "touring musician's apartment." Cinderblock shelves, cable spool coffee table, milk crates as both storage and additional seating. Ratty chairs and couch, maybe from thrift stores and maybe from dumpsters. Brick walls and bare floors completed the look. I wondered if I'd contract hepatitis just from standing in the room.

On the wall, though, were an array of guitars, maybe a dozen of them, with a few more on stands scattered around the room. I knew nothing about guitars, and only a little more about music in general; I can't carry a tune in a bucket. But I still recognized that I was looking at thousands, maybe tens of thousands of dollars in musical equipment.

My host sat on one end of the couch and my wife on the other. I idly wondered how often they'd fucked there. As Derek sat, he gestured to a chair. I considered petulantly remaining on my feet, but my legs were still killing me. I sat on the uncomfortable, torn chair and decided I should have kept standing.

We all looked at each other. It was my meeting, so I figured I should start. "I've heard what Derek had to say. I know how I feel at the moment. But El, I thought I should give you a chance to speak."

She sighed. "I tried to do that when you told me-- "

"No. Stop. Fucking stop. You don't get to play the victim in this. At all. At least not when it comes to anything I've done. The second you do that, I walk out the door and I contact a lawyer. Do you fucking understand?" This was off to a bad start. I was already angry, and she showed no sign of understanding how fucked things were.

She reluctantly nodded. "I'm sorry. I've just... I know I wronged you. I did. But it's been hard for me to... to admit who I am. What I've done. How badly..." she teared up. "How badly I've hurt the best man I've ever known. My husband. I-- " she sobbed.

I felt for her, a little, but she had started this off the wrong way. I gave her a moment to collect herself, then said, "Just say what you have to say, Ellie."

She took a deep breath. "There's no excuse for what I've done. Derek manipulated me, that's true." He looked uncomfortable, but not nearly as much as I'd have liked. "But I let it get to that point. I should have let you know I was meeting him in the first place. I should have... I should have told you when I cheated. Given you a chance to get away from me, if you couldn't let me try to make amends."

She looked down. "But I can't apologize for marrying you. For cheating on you, yes. That was wrong. And I should have... I should have let you know I cheated on you before I married you, like I said. I should have stopped immediately. But I... god, I love you so much. You're my everything."

"Clearly not."

She reacted like I'd slapped her. I wondered if it would have been kinder.

"You are! Yes, I... I slept with Derek. And I won't lie, I enjoyed it. I felt grateful to be his muse. He looked at me in a way that you didn't. I knew he adored me, but he knew he'd never again have me, all of me, like you do. I was his unattainable girl, the one he-- "

"Cut the bullshit, El. You were clearly quite attainable. I don't want to hear about how sorry you are, because it seems like the only thing you're really sorry about is that you got caught." I lowered my head. "If I hadn't caught you, how long would this have gone on? For the rest of our marriage?"

Derek said, "No. No, dude. Ellie wanted to come clean with you. That's what we'd been talking about at lunch that day."

I rolled my eyes, and Ellie said, "Yes! I know you have no reason to believe me, but that was the truth. I was going to tell you the night I came home."

"Sure. That's why he had his tongue down your throat in the middle of a cafe in broad daylight. Clearly, the shame had become too much for you. Why the fuck would I believe a single word either of you said?"

Derek looked at Ellie encouragingly, and she turned her face to mine. "We were cutting things off. That was going to be our last time together. I'm pregnant, Tim."

"Wha... what?" My head spun. This had gone from being a nightmare to a vision of hell.

She nodded. "About a month and a half along now." She could see me doing the calculations in my head and said quietly, "Yes. It could be Derek's, but we both hope it's yours."

I put my head in my hands, trying to get the room to stand still. I took some deep breaths, focusing on the floor below me as I tried to regain equilibrium. Derek said, "Hey, du--"

"Shut. Up."

I staggered to my feet. I needed to pace. Needed the pain in my legs to help me focus through the pain in my heart. "So, what, you were going to come home and say 'hey babe, just a heads up, I'm pregnant, and it could be from the guy I've been seeing behind your back for the last six years?' Did you think that was going to go any better than this already has?"

She wouldn't look at me. "I was going to confess and apologize. I know... I know you're a merciful person, Tim. I'd do anything to make this up to you, and I know you don't want to hurt me, even though I've hurt you so terribly. You're so good-- "

"STOP TELLING ME HOW FUCKING GOOD I AM!" I shouted and both of them pulled back into themselves. "I'm so fucking sick of people saying that, as though it means they can shit all over me and expect me to let it go! God, you selfish bitch! And you, you douchey asshole! Fuck me, I wish I'd never met you, El." I stalked over to the wall with the guitars, just looking for a place to lean for a moment, to think, to recover. I saw Derek tense up.

I don't know guitars. But I know what a collectible in a place of pride looks like. In the center of the wall was a guitar, signed with a dozen names I didn't recognize, next to a numbered card, '37/100.' It looked expensive. Cherished. Irreplaceable.

I picked it up off the wall, and Derek started to stand. He called out, "Dude, wait-- " but I had already brought it above my head in two hands and swung it by the neck like an axe, trying to chop a hole in the floor. The neck splintered and broke, and the body shattered into a dozen pieces. His mouth hung open. Did I feel better? Only a little. But there was a whole wall of these fucking things waiting for me.

I expected him to shout, to scream, to wail like a child. But he surprised me. He picked up a ratty little guitar from a stand next to the couch and approached me slowly, holding the instrument in both hands, as though offering it in tribute. "Here. Do this one next. It's the first one I bought myself from my after school job. I played it until I could afford something better. The one you smashed was my rarest, but this is the one that means most to me."

He bowed his head. "Smash all of them, if that's what it takes. But please, please. Don't hurt Ellie. Take her back. Let her have her fairytale again."

He had expected me to feel remorse. To see it as a big romantic sacrifice for her. But it just disgusted me. "You fucking asshole."

He perked his head up. "What?"

"Assholes like you think love is about these grand fucking gestures. Writing her songs, showy displays of affection, big dates, all of that. And that's important; the big things matter. But the small things matter more." I brought the splintered neck of the guitar up under his chin and tipped his head up to look me in the eyes. Ellie tensed on the couch.

"When's the last time you brought a girl chicken soup when she was sick? Made sure you paid a bill that she forgot to, without making her feel like shit about it? What about just making sure there was always a roof over her head, food on her table? Rubbed her feet when she had a long day, not because you were hoping to fuck her afterwards, just because she needed it? Huh, asshole?"

He stayed silent.

"That's what love is. That's what love in a marriage is. It's reliability, trust, respect. Sometimes passion, you try to keep that alive. I thought we had. I guess not."

I rounded on Ellie. "But I guess we didn't have any of those at all, huh? Maybe asshole here has the right idea. Maybe it's just about seeing how many girls you can get to drop their panties by being the showiest peacock. Because it's not like we had any of those things in our marriage, even from the beginning."

She piped up, "That's not-- "

"Respect, Ellie. Can you actually say you respected me? Fucking your ex behind my back? Reliability? Well, you could rely on me, but I sure couldn't rely on you. And trust..." I shook my head. "Yeah. I can see where that got me."

I dropped the neck and started to walk out. She cried, "But what about the baby?"

I turned and looked at both of them. Seeing them together, him standing and her seated, I got it. I understood: they were telling the truth. She was going to confess to me. Because she had to.

Ellie and I were funhouse mirror versions of each other, tall and broad, short and petite, but both pale and blonde. Different eye colors, but close enough in appearance to be cousins.

Derek was olive skinned, with curly hair as black as coal and eyes only a shade lighter.

My voice burned with a cold fury. "You would never have told me if you hadn't gotten pregnant." She shifted uncomfortably. "You would never have told me if Derek had looked like us. If you could have hidden what you'd done. You would have done just what Gloria did with Don. You would have cuckolded me, actually cuckolded me, let me raise another man's child." I looked at Derek. "Which one of you realized you had to tell me?" He looked down, and then at Ellie. I nodded. "Well. I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree."

She looked at me with rage. "What did you just fucking say?"

"You slept around on me. You were going to have me raise someone else's kid." I pulled my wallet out of my pants and fished out two twenties, then crossed to the table in front of her and slapped them down. "Here. Go find a dealer, buy some heroin, and go OD in some fucking tenement. Then you can be just like Gloria."

I could not have hurt her more if I'd stabbed her in the gut. She opened her mouth to wail, but no sound came. She knew. She knew I was right. She'd become the monster of her childhood. She'd never be the person her father had raised her to be, because there was too much of her mother in her. Because Don had let Gloria get away with her cruelty towards him under the guise of being a good husband. But I wasn't her father. And I wasn't going to rescue her. Her fairytale was over, and it was all her doing.

I turned and started to walk away. I felt Derek's hand on my shoulder, her black knight trying to step up where her white knight had failed her. "Dude, you can't talk to-- " I turned and planted my fist straight in his face. Martial arts had been a long time ago, and I hadn't trained in years, but I could still throw a simple punch. He fell backwards, and I kicked him in the side, my chunky boots bruising him, maybe cracking a rib. He put a hand on the ground to try to push himself up, and I saw red. He'd stolen my dream from me. Now I'd take his.

I raised my foot and brought it down as hard as I could, once, twice, three times. I heard bones crack and shatter under the last nod to my misspent youth. He screamed in pain and disbelief, his hand mangled almost beyond recognition. I spat on him. We weren't even, but this was the closest we'd get.

Ellie was at his side before I got to the door. Of course. Of course she took his side once again. I was just her husband. She cried out, "Why, Tim? How can you be so cruel?"

I just shook my head as I opened the door.

"You inspired me, Ellie. I guess you're my muse, too."