Faith, Friendship, and Passion Ch. 02

Background: Please read the first installment titled Faith, Friendship, and Passion before reading Chapter 2. Chapter 2 will have a lot more meaning if you do!

Courtesy Notice: After some rather strong reactions to Chapter 1, I feel compelled to advise everyone that this story is about two married people being unfaithful. If you have a strong aversion to this topic, please consider not reading any of the chapters in this story. Thank you.

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Rather than continue her thought and explain what she meant by "a few ideas," Rebecca just let the statement hang out there. I'm not sure if it was her intent or not but for the next week my mind was consumed with what her ideas might be. It had been 3 weeks since our first and only intimate time together and I desperately wanted more. The euphoria of being so emotionally and physically entwined was something I had never experienced before. I loved my wife, Trisha, but due to her intimacy issues, we never had the kind of connection and passion that I found with Rebecca.

I knew the relationship with Rebecca was wrong on many levels. I was betraying God, my wife, and myself. However, I couldn't control my desire to be with Rebecca. Although the sex we experienced was beyond incredible during our weekend together, I was really addicted to Rebecca emotionally. She filled an ever-widening void that had opened in my life as Trisha and I began growing apart several years ago.

By now, it was early October. Leaves were beginning to turn colors, cornstalks and colorful mums were beginning to appear on porches, and the neighborhood was beginning to get into the spirit of fall. My two daughters and I had just returned home from a Saturday morning trip to the local apple orchard while Trisha slept after her Friday evening shift at the hospital. When we pulled into our driveway, I saw Rebecca was outside pulling out remains of her summer flowers and raking up the few leaves that had begun to fall. Although still terribly dreadful, her long frumpy blue jean dress seemed more appropriate now than it did in the heat of summer. At the same time, I also noticed that Jonathan's well-worn Chevy Cavalier was not in the driveway.

As soon as I stopped the car, the girls hopped out and ran into the backyard to play. I took the ½ bushel of apples we picked and carried them into the house. I grabbed a couple apples and headed over to chat with Rebecca for a few minutes while the girls played outside. She was kneeling with her back to me while she pulled old flowers from pots on her porch.

"Is it time for a break?" I said as I crossed the lawn toward her.

Rebecca stood up when she heard my voice and displayed a huge smile when she turned her head to look at me.

"Care for a freshly picked apple?"

"Sure!" she responded in her usual bubbly tone of voice.

I tossed her the apple as we walked into her garage and eased into the two lawn chairs that had been home to so many of our talks together. I took a bite of my apple and sarcastically said, "Where's Jonathan? You should put him to work raking leaves."

We both knew there is no way Jonathan would ever rake leaves. In all the years Trish and I had lived next door to Rebecca and Jonathan, I had never witnessed Jonathan do any kind of household chore. Rebecca did all the yard work, cooking, laundry, child taxi service, etc. In fact, on many occasions, I saw Jonathan go out of his way to avoid helping her out. After a family shopping trip, it was not uncommon to see him and the kids go in the house empty handed while Rebecca struggled to carry in armloads of shopping bags.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and chuckled before explaining, "He is at church preparing for the service tonight. We will meet him there later."

"Can I ask you a question?" I said before I took another bite of apple.

Rebecca was mid-bite when I asked the question and she answered, "Sure" with a full mouth and apple juice running down her chin. She giggled in response to her messy answer as she wiped her chin with her hand.

I said, "It's not right how Jonathan treats you. Have you talked to him about it?"

Rebecca had told me on several occasions that she feels more like a servant than a wife.

"I've tried but it's like talking to a brick wall. He just quotes Ephesians 5 and says it is my responsibility to submit myself to him."

She continued, "That's what he says but it's more complicated than that."

Rebecca looked at the floor of the garage with a forlorn expression as she spoke.

I made a weak play on words in an attempt to lighter her mood and said, "An apple for your thoughts."

Rebecca was not fazed and slowly started talking, "Jonathan is blinded by religion...blinded by our church. I was too. I never liked how he treated me but I always accepted it as the way things were supposed to be. Our church teaches that the man is the head of the household and is responsible for the spiritual teaching of the family. The woman is responsible to support her husband and submit to him. In other words, the wife is supposed to do all the work while her husband studies the Bible and is involved in the church. Beyond that, a family's status in the church is largely defined by how well the husband and wife fulfill those roles. A large, picture perfect family is a big influence in status because it shows that the man can spiritually lead his family and the woman can submit to her husband by bearing children and caring for the household."

She continued with a depressed tone voice very different from her natural bubbly personality, "Now that I'm starting to understand the difference between faith and religion, I see how dumb all that is. I can't believe I bought into it all my life. I feel like a fool...and taken advantage of. Now my whole life is based on a lie."

She paused and looked up for just a second before looking back down at the garage floor. She was on the verge of tears and her eyes were red and puffy.

We sat without speaking for a couple minutes. I really felt for her but honestly had no idea what to say. I reached out and took her hand in mine as we sat in somber silence.

After a few more minutes, I asked, "Have I ever told you about the church I grew up in?"

Rebecca wiped the corner of her eye with her fingertip as she said, "No."

"It was a very conservative, small town Baptist church with families that had been members there for generations. My family was one of the few newcomers that attended there. I think my parents felt at home there because they both grew up in small town Baptist churches. Now that I look back on it, the church was the picture of dysfunction. There was constant infighting about things as dumb as the color of a bulletin board or who sat where in the pews."

"What really confounded me though was the church's ministry to neighborhood kids. The church had a small gymnasium that was opened up to neighborhood children one evening each week. Kids were invited in to play provided they sat through a short bible study at the beginning of the open gym time. Over the entrance to the gym hung a huge sign that read, 'NO Smoking, NO Swearing, NO Drugs, NO Food, NO Drinks' and about 10 other NO's. That sign really bothered me. It was the attitude of the church painted on plywood. The church wasn't about showing God's love and telling about the positive story of Christ. It was all about following a bunch of legalistic rules like God was some cosmic killjoy ready to strike you down."

I gave Rebecca's had a little squeeze and asked, "You know what I learned from that little church?"

She laid her head on my shoulder and said, "I'm listening."

"I learned that we're all broken people. We're all sinful and have faults. Myself very much included in that statement."

I squeezed her hand again and continued, "I also learned not to confuse my faith with other people's religion. It is a long story that I can tell you more about another time, but I was betrayed very badly by some people in that small Baptist church. I know you are probably feeling devastated and confused right now. I know I felt that way. I also know from experience that it will take you a long time to sort out your feelings about faith, religion, and the people in your life. Please just remember two things. First, remember that true faith, true love will safely guide you through the sins of religion. Second, remember that I am here for you."

Rebecca lifted our intertwined hands to her lips and kissed the back of my hand. We sat side by side in silence until her youngest child poked her head out the house door to ask when they had to leave for church.

Rebecca looked at her watch and said, "Not until later this afternoon. It is lunchtime though. Go back in the house and I'll be inside in a minute to make you all something to eat."

With that, the house door closed and I could hear little feet skipping into the kitchen. Through teary eyes, Rebecca gave me a deeply appreciative look, kissed me on the cheek, and quietly said, "Thank you."

I gave her a kiss on the cheek and returned home. Trisha was beginning to stir when I walked upstairs to check on her. Having just listened to Rebecca, I began to think about how religion had impacted my marriage with Trisha. My blood pressure began to rise and I started feeling some of my old emotions again. I gave a good speech about faith and love to Rebecca but recovery is clearly a long process. I quickly discovered that my own anger toward religion is still just under the surface.

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The next few weeks were uneventful. I went about my normal routine and had opportunities for short impromptu conversations with Rebecca a couple times a week. We talked about surface things like what our kids were doing and what our families had planned for the weekend. But we also found ourselves beginning to talk about deeper subjects on a pretty regular basis. Rebecca talked more about Jonathan, her church, and her evolving view of religion and faith.

Over the course of several conversations, Rebecca asked enough questions about my relationship with Trisha for my feelings to start flowing out of my mouth. I told her a lot of details about our relationship...both emotional and sexual. I also confided in Rebecca about my internal battle of feelings for both her and for Trisha. I loved Trisha and had always taken my commitment to her seriously. However, I found myself having real feelings for Rebecca. Some days I wanted nothing more than to spend time with Rebecca and to enjoy each other's bodies again. Other days I felt tremendous guilt for even thinking of Rebecca let alone what we already did together.

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The short, serious talks over trashcans and bags of groceries continued through October and into November. On the Monday before Thanksgiving, I woke up feeling a little under the weather. I shrugged it off and went to work. I felt worse and worse as the day went on. By mid-afternoon, I found myself in a daze just idly staring at my computer screen. I didn't have head congestion or an upset stomach but my entire body ached and I felt totally exhausted. On top of that, I was going through alternating phases of shivering and sweating. Something wasn't right.

After sitting uselessly at my desk for a half hour, I decided it was pointless and packed up some work to take home. In hindsight, I should have never drove home. Luckily, my office was only a few miles from home. I battled the whole way just to keep my eyes open.

Once home, I made it just far enough in the house to crash on the living room sofa. I think I fell asleep instantly. Trisha must have called into work and stayed home to watch the kids because, the next thing I knew, I woke up and it was Tuesday morning. Trisha was fixing the girls breakfast and getting them off to school.

When I woke up, Trisha looked at me and stated, "I made a doctor appointment for 10 o'clock. I'll take the girls to school then will be back to pick you up."

Trisha knew I wouldn't go to the doctor unless she made the appointment and forced me to go. I'm a stereotypical guy that never goes to see a doctor. I prefer to just take a little over-the-counter medicine and suffer through knowing that my body will recover from a cold in a few days. However, this time was different. I must have looked horrible as I slept because Trisha seemed to think this was more than just a simple cold.

True to her word, Trisha dropped the girls off at school and stopped back by the house to pick me up. I had managed to shed my work clothes that I slept in overnight and change into a fresh set of clothes while she was gone. That simple task thoroughly exhausted me and I fell asleep on the way to the doctor's office.

Once there, Trisha woke me up and helped me into the waiting room. I sat there concentrating on staying awake while she filled out the substantial stack of paperwork. On a sidebar, I really don't understand why there is a stack of paperwork to fill out every time I go to the doctor. The guy is my regular doctor and has my records and insurance information on file. Why is there a big stack every time? Anyway, I digress.

I must have really looked bad. While Trisha was filling out the paperwork, one of the medical assistants came into the waiting room and quickly insisted I take a wheelchair ride to one of the exam rooms. I refused and said I would walk. She rolled her eyes but allowed me to walk.

Once in the exam room, the nurse poked and prodded for a while before the doctor came in the room. He ordered blood work and a chest x-ray. They took me to the x-ray room first and took about four or five shots of my chest from different angles. The medical assistant then took me into the phlebotomy room to do my blood draw. That's where things got interesting.

It started out normally. I sat in a blood draw chair that had one of those extended swiveling armrests. The tech put the rubber tube around my bicep and swabbed my arm. She then prepared the needle and 3 glass vials to fill. No big deal. I give blood to the Red Cross regularly and walk out the door immediately. The rest period and free food they suggest afterward is for wusses.

Well, not the same this time. The tech stuck the needle in my arm and on the second vial I started to feel a little lightheaded. She pulled the vial off and looked up at me. I must have looked bad. She started yelling, "Stat! Stat! Stat!" The next thing I remember is lying on the floor with three techs and nurses surrounding me. One was shoving a packet of smelling salts in my face.

That little stunt earned me an ambulance ride to the local hospital. While waiting for the ambulance, the doctor informed me that he looked at the x-rays and I had a pretty serious case of pneumonia. He was going to give orders for me to go to the hospital for IV antibiotics anyway. The fainting spell just earned me a ride.

Trisha followed the ambulance to the hospital and then joined me in the ER. The staff hooked me up to an IV and started running fluids while they waited for the antibiotic orders from a doctor. They said it is fairly common for pneumonia patients to be severely dehydrated and that I definitely was.

Once I was settled in, Trisha left to pick the girls up from school. Shortly thereafter, the ER staff switched my IV fluid bag for one that contained some pretty heavy-duty antibiotics.

Eventually, the ER doctor stopped by and said he would like to admit me overnight. I protested and he eventually agreed to let me go home on three conditions. The first that they put another bag of IV antibiotic in me before I leave. The second that I take some jelly bean size antibiotic pills exactly as directed...two pills every 6 hours for 10 days. The third that I come back to the hospital immediately if I start to feel even slightly worse. He stressed over and over again that pneumonia has killed many healthy people in the prime of their life and it is not something to mess around with. I got the scare tactic and agreed to his conditions for my release.

I pulled out my cell phone and called Trisha to let her know the plan. It would still be a little while before I finished a second IV bag and before the hospital processed all the necessary paperwork so I suggested she and the girls have some dinner before coming to get me.

I still felt terrible but the fluids were definitely helping.

I was happy to see Trisha and the girls walk around the corner of my curtained ER bed space. The girls gave me hugs and presented me with Get Well cards they made from paper placemats from the restaurant where they ate dinner. I know its just a little silly thing but their sense of compassion really touched me. I still have those folded placemats in a drawer by my bed. Just the opposite of compassion, the kind act also made my mind flash to the passion I had shared with Rebecca and I was suddenly overcome by guilt.

My wife and kids were here to love me and care for me when I needed them. If they only knew how I had betrayed them.

After about a half hour, the ER doctor stopped by to give Trisha some care instructions and say I was free to go. He also firmly reminded me of his conditions for my release from his prison.

A medical assistant helped me into a wheelchair and gave me the hospital's mandatory ride to the exit door. He loaded me into the car and gave the girls little plastic stethoscopes. Kind of funny...hospital souvenirs? Trisha drove home as the girls pretended they were checking their heartbeats.

Just like last night, I only made it far enough in the house to crash on the sofa. I woke up mid-morning on Wednesday. I had slept for 14 hours except for the two times Trisha woke me up to take my pills. I still felt exhausted.

The next day was Thanksgiving and we were supposed to go to Trisha's parents for the holiday weekend. Trisha wanted to call to cancel but I insisted she and the girls should go. I argued I could take care of myself and her mom had already started cooking and baking in anticipation of us coming. And since bacterial pneumonia can be contagious, it was good for them to not be around me for a few days. Trisha finally acquiesced after a half hour discussion on the matter.

I was genuinely disappointed I wouldn't be going along. As much as I despised her parents for the false teachings they gave Trisha about sex, I had to admit, her mom knew what she was doing in the kitchen. I had never truly experienced Thanksgiving until I married Trisha and I discovered her mom's cooking. The turkey was always juicy and perfect. The stuffing, potatoes, gravy, and plethora of other side dishes were always deliciously perfect. But perhaps the best part of the holiday was the never-ending supply of freshly baked, homemade dinner rolls. She smothers them in warm butter and they are nothing short of incredible. Oh, how I wished I could go!

Trisha spent about an hour packing bags for her and the girls and then another half hour prepping the house for me as I sat on the sofa. She lined up an assortment of medicine, snacks, books, the television remote control, and other items she thought I might want on the end table next to me. Then she plugged in the charger for my iPhone and set the phone alarm to go off every 6 hours as a medicine reminder...and to wake me up if I was sleeping. Next came a glass of ice water and a couple spare blankets.

After Trisha loaded her car, I overheard her in the kitchen talking on the phone. I didn't catch who she was talking to but I could hear her describing the past couple days and my currently ill state. She then asked if whoever was on the other end of the line could check in on me once or twice a day. The person must have agreed. Trisha expressed her genuine appreciation and hung up the phone.

A couple minutes later, Trisha and the girls came in the living room to say goodbye. They all gave me hugs and then Trisha said, "Take care of yourself. Don't over do it and try to do something stupid. Just rest and get better. I talked to Rebecca next door. She will check in with you once or twice a day to see if you need anything."