February Sucks - Another Version

Once inside the house, her demeanor changed.

"I'm home." She sounded just like she always did when she came home from running errands. She closed the front door and turned on a light. I turned to look at her.

She looked exactly the same. The blue dress still did everything for her that it had done the night before. Her dark hair fell down her back the same way; the poise of her head, the set of her shoulders, her face, the rings on her finger, were all exactly the same as they had been the night before. As if nothing had changed at all; as if she hadn't spent all night and all morning betraying me with the Asshole. That shouldn't be possible, I thought. There should be some visible difference, something to indicate what she had done, at least some shame on her face. There wasn't.

"It's still just me, the same old me as always," she said with a tender smile. Of course, she knew what I'd been thinking. "There's nothing different; nothing has changed. My love for you is just the same as it was yesterday."

I wanted to say, "If that's true, then I guess we never had what I thought we did." Instead, I remained silent.

"Jim, honey..."

Linda was interrupted by Emma. "Mommy, who was that man you were kissing? Is that the reason Daddy was sad last night? It that why Daddy is going on vacation alone?"

Linda didn't want to address the elephant in the room with Emma and Tommy present. "Emma, go upstairs with your brother and change out of your pajamas while Daddy and I talk."

"Who was that man?" Emma demanded to know.

"He was just a good friend, Sweetheart. "I was just saying goodbye."

When the kids had disappeared up the stairs, Linda finally met my eyes, a worried look on her face.

"Jim, I know you have questions. I know we need to talk, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know, honestly and completely. But are you sure you want to know... that? I'll tell you honestly, but I don't want to hurt you."

"It's a little late to be thinking about not hurting me, isn't it?" I thought to say but still I didn't say anything with words. My eyes said a lot, though.

Linda winced and prattled on. "I'm afraid that telling you what happened will hurt you more, and that will make it harder for us... well, for you, to get past this so we can go on with our marriage. Can't we concentrate on the future? We can't let just one night ruin our whole lives."

When I still didn't respond to her delusional point of view, she finally asked, "Are you giving me the silent treatment? Isn't that a little childish if we are going to get by this?

I finally said something. "I'm not giving you the silent treatment. However, there is nothing I want to say to you and there is nothing I want to hear from you that will make any difference.

Then, she remembered something Emma had said. "Who's going on vacation? What was Emma talking about?"

As soon as the kids come down, I'm going to kiss them goodbye and then I'm going to leave.

"Leave?" she questioned. "Where are you going to go? How long are you going to be away?"

"I don't know and I don't know," I answered her. "I just want to get far away from you."

At that point, Emma and Tommy came bounding down the stairs and surrounded my waist and legs with their arms.

"Go wait for me on the porch, guys. I will be out in a minute, as soon as I finish saying goodbye to Mommy."

I turned to Linda. "I left a note for you on the kitchen table. It explains what I will do to keep the house running while I'm away. My pay will still go into our joint account. Most of the utilities and services are paid automatically. There will be more than enough left for food, gas and clothing for the kids. I will not be contributing anything more to our vacation fund, but will instead, use that money to live on.

"The letter also tells you that I will keep in close touch with Emma and Tommy but I want no contact with you whatsoever: No calls, no e-mail, no texts... nothing.

Linda was beginning to feel as though she was not in control as much as she thought she was.

"But... how are we going to fix this if you run away?

I picked up a Yadao statuette of a young boy, dressed in an adult tux proposing to a young girl wearing an oversized wedding dress.

"Do you remember when I gave this to you?

Linda responded, "That was your gift to me when we got engaged. It represents our love and devotion to each other."

I dropped it on the tile floor of the entry way. It broke into a dozen or more pieces.

"Oh," she cried, "How could you? It meant so much to me, to us."

"It means nothing to me, anymore," I said coldly.

"Jim, you know how much I loved that figurine, but I can do without it. Our marriage, what we've built together over almost ten years, is far stronger, and more beautiful, than that statue. Our love is built to weather storms and last a lifetime. That, I can't do without. I know you're hurting, badly. I know I need to make it up to you, and I will, whatever it takes. But above all, I know you love me enough that eventually, you'll get past your hurt and we'll be fine."

"Until last night, I knew you loved me enough that you would never cheat on me. I guess we were both wrong."

At the sound of the breaking statue, Emma and Tommy came back in the front door. They saw the broken Yadao. "What happened, Daddy," Emma asked.

Looking directly at Linda, I said, "Mommy broke something and she is not going to be able to fix it."

"Come on kids, let's go to the car."

Just before I stepped outside, I stopped and looked back at Linda. She was starting to cry. She stepped forward to approach me with her arms outstretched. I pushed her away.

"This doesn't mean anything to me, anymore, as well," I said and I took off my wedding ring and put it on the small table in the entryway. I closed the door behind me without saying goodbye to my wife.

I knelled down by my car and hugged my babies... and cried a little bit. I assured them once again that I would keep in close contact with them and let them know where I was and what I was doing. They each said, "I love you, Daddy."

As I opened the car door, Emma pointed to me and laughed. "Daddy," she said, "you still have on your good clothes from last night."

I looked at myself and laughed along with my kids. Emma was right, I was still wearing the pants of my black suit, a white dress shirt and my black, now-unbuttoned vest. The clip-on bowtie I wore was still hanging from my open collar. We all laughed.

I started my car and backed out of the driveway. I waved one last time to my beautiful kids. Linda was standing on the porch. I did not acknowledge her.

In actuality, I knew where I was going. I was driving from Boston to Fort Lauderdale, Florida. My sister, Kimberly, lived there. She didn't know yet that I was coming, but I knew I could stay with her even if I showed up unannounced on her doorstep. I didn't have a schedule to keep and I didn't have a route to follow. I just started driving, and thinking and crying occasionally.

Kimberly was five years older than I was, and was my only sibling. She was a young widow who raised two children who were now grown and attending college; A boy, Jessie, at Stanford, and a girl, Julie, at MIT. Kimberly was an operating room nurse. In fact, she was a director of nurse training in her hospital and taught many continuing education classes to the other nurses and orderlies. She had always been happy to see me and my kids, and Linda, whenever we vacationed in Florida.

Kim and her late husband had always been avid sailors and she owned a 27-foot sloop that she kept at a local marina. My family had been out with her many times and we had always enjoyed our time on the water.

I drove directly south to start with to get out of the snow and freezing rain. Once I got to the mid-Atlantic states, I slowed down and started to take my time. There were many diversions along the way; everything from tourist attractions, to wineries to historical sites. Occasionally, I would find a campsite to stay at overnight. Most often, I just stayed in motels that were nearby when I tired of driving.

I stopped at one small town soon after I left home and bought writing paper, envelopes and stamps. I also bought post cards from many of the places I visited. Every night, I would write to my kids and tell them what I was doing and what I had seen. Every few days, I would stop into a drug store and print out some pictures I had taken along the way and include those in my letters.

I was certain Linda was following my route, as well. In addition, she often sent e-mails and texts to my phone imploring me come home so we could work things out. I never answered her.

On the Sunday one week after I left home, I called my house at 6PM, just as I had told Linda and the kids I would do. Linda was cautious enough to let Emma answer the phone. We had an animated discussion of the things I was doing, the places I had been and the people I had met. Both kids commented on how long my hair was getting and how scruffy my beard was.

As the call neared its end, I heard Linda say something in the background to Emma and then Emma said" Daddy, do you want to talk to Mommy?"

I replied, "Some other time, Honey."

Emma came back with, "Are you still mad because Mommy kissed that man?"

I didn't answer her directly. "That's something between me and your mommy, Emma. Just remember that we both love you and Tommy very much and we always will." At that point I said goodbye and hung up.

It took me 17 days to reach my sister's place. About halfway through my journey I called her to tell her I was on my way. She had questions, of course, about what situation had caused me to leave my home without my family to visit her. I told her I would explain everything soon after I arrived.

My drive to Florida was actually been a relaxing one. There were many distractions. Nevertheless, I always came back to the same question: should I divorce Linda and live the life of a single dad without my children or should I swallow my pride, live with her and feign a happy home for the sake of Emma and Tommy?

Kim was overjoyed to see her little brother, but she had sensed something was not right. On our first night together, we barbequed steak and then drank wine around her fire pit. It was at that time that I told her everything.

Being a big sister and a protector of her little brother, Kim was incensed at the way I had been treated by Linda and our friends. Up until I had told her my story, she had always loved Linda like the sister she never had. I told her I didn't have any definite plans and that I was pretty mixed up inside. She said I could stay as long as I liked. She put me in the guest room that had been Jessie's old bedroom and allowed me to set up my computer and drawing tablet in what had been Julie's old bedroom, but was now the home office.

The next day, I slept late due to both emotional exhaustion and the effect of two bottles of wine the night before. When Kim returned from work, we talked again. She recognized the fact that I was deeply depressed and frustrated due to my inability to make a decision on my marriage. The next day she announced that a friend of hers, a physiologist at the hospital where she worked, wanted to talk with me. I was smart enough to know I needed help, so I consented to see her. The doctor's name was Joanne Murphy. She was a nice-looking middle-aged woman with a few lines in her pretty face that gave her the authority to do what she did. I went to see her two or three times a week over the next six weeks.

On the third day of my visit, Kim said she was tired of my moping around all day and she had gotten me a job at the marina where she kept her boat. I reported to the marina manager, a Charles Debroski. He was a tough-looking old bird who looked like a retired sea captain. He put me to work doing all the odd jobs it takes to satisfy his boat-owner clients. I learned to drive a special fork lift that would lift boats out of the water and store them in a huge warehouse. Or, I would take the boats out of the warehouse or off of their trailers and put them in the water. I also learned to rig the sailboats and make them ready for their owners who could just throw their gear in and sail away. I would often unbutton all the canvas coverings of both sailboats and power yachts or help the owners button their boats back up.

Charles began to volunteer me as a crewman on fishing boats when they were short of a crewman. Similarly, I was occasionally hired as a deckhand on a yacht and learned a great deal about sailing and power boating. In fact, I learned so much that Kim put me in a course offered by her yacht club that taught me all of the rules of sailing, as well as providing practical lessons on the water. After about five weeks with Kim, I had earned my skipper's license.

Now that I had an address, the kids were writing to me at Kim's place. Always, on Sundays, I would call them and talk about my adventures and their activities. Never once did I ask about Linda.

I still received e-mails and text from Linda. I never answered them. After a week at Kim's place, Linda called Kim's home number. She wanted to talk to me. I was there in the room when Kim answered that call and I shook my head no. It was all Kim could do not to get in her face. Instead, she remained calm and polite. Finally, she told Linda, "If you want to tell him anything, write him a letter. Maybe he will read it and respond."

It was only four days later that a thick envelope arrived addressed to me with Linda's return address on it. I put it on the bar and left it there for several days. Kim finally said, "I'll read it and let you know if there is anything worthwhile for you to see."

Later that night, while sitting around the fire pit, Kim read Linda's letter to me.

"Dear Jim,

" When you left several weeks ago, you said that you didn't know what I meant when I said that I love you. I was stunned. I didn't think you could possibly have meant that the way you said it, after we've loved each other for so long. I think you meant that if I loved you like you thought I did, I couldn't have done what I did that Friday night. I would have agreed with you. Five minutes before Marc came to our table, one minute before, if you'd asked me whether I could cheat on you with anyone, let alone walk out on you that very night, I'd have laughed and told you there was no way that would ever happen. And then it did.

"My love for you has not changed. I swear it has not. You've given me the opportunity to try to explain how that can be true given what I did Friday night, and I will do my best. First, please know that I didn't do this to hurt or humiliate you, though I know it did, or to get back at you for something. I think in your heart, you know that. Some of what you read here will hurt you badly but I'll be completely honest, and I'll do my best to make you understand.

"I need you to understand what I felt like in Marc's arms. I was keenly aware of his size and his strength every moment I was with him. It made me feel small and powerless, even though he never came close to coercing me. I felt overwhelmed; almost absorbed in him. It wasn't as if I had no will, it was like my will was surrounded by his. It wasn't as if I had no choices, it was as if all the choices were already made. I felt that almost instantaneously when he took me in his arms for the first slow dance. I was his at that moment, for whatever he wanted, as long as he wanted me, and we both knew it. I didn't make a conscious choice, I just was.

"Did I like that feeling? At the time, yes. How do I feel about it now? I don't like the idea that I could voluntarily give up that much control of myself to anyone, but I must face the fact that I did, and to someone who I knew didn't care about me at all. I made absolutely no effort to take control of the situation, I just went with it and enjoyed the ride. Would it have been the same with any other big, strong, assertive man who wasn't 'the' Marc LaValliere? I don't think so. You know Paul is big and strong, and sometimes he can be assertive, but I've never felt anything while dancing with him like I felt with Marc. So, I guess it must have been just Marc.

"When I signaled Dee to take me to the restroom, she already knew what it was about. She said something about him wanting the only pretty girl in the room who didn't go after him. I think she might have been a little jealous. Then she told me how lucky I was, and that she would make sure you didn't find out for long enough for me to get well away, and would remind you how much I loved you. She told me to have fun, and tell her all about it. Then, I was out the door, and Marc was waiting there with my coat. I'm not sure how he got it without the coat check ticket, I guess it helps to be a celebrity. When he put his hands on my shoulders after helping me into my coat, I felt just as overwhelmed and possessed as I had in his arms on the dance floor.

"He drove me to his house, took my coat and hung it up, and put on some soft music. We danced for a while in his living room. I don't know why he did that: maybe he was trying to show me he was a gentleman by not taking me straight to bed. I appreciated it, and told him so. We kissed as we danced. He was in complete control, as he had been since that first slow dance at the club.

"After we danced for a while, Marc swept me off my feet into his arms, and carried me to his bedroom. He laid me on my back in his bed. He gently stripped me, almost worshiping me as he did. When he had me down to my underwear, I was as aroused as I have ever been in my life.

"I have no idea how long we had sex. It seemed like forever, and forgive me, Jim, but forever was exactly what I wanted. One time after we cleaned up, I briefly thought of texting you to let you know I was safe and tell you I loved you, but I was just too tired. All I could think of was sleep.

"I woke up in Marc's arms. Even half asleep, I felt the same possessed feeling that I had at the club, and during our sex. He woke up and we did it again, then he made breakfast for me. It wasn't as good as when you do it, but he'd worn me out to the point I would have eaten just about anything, even hash browns. (He didn't make hash browns, thank goodness.) Then we were together one last time, slowly and gently. I showered again (he has a bidet, and I used it thoroughly), I dressed, and he brought me home.

"When I got into his car, I felt like I could make choices again, as if he'd released me or something. I know it sounds silly, but that's how I felt. I think maybe you were right: he'd had what he wanted and he didn't want me anymore, and I felt that. So immediately, I started thinking about you, and how devastated you must feel. I know we are in for a rough patch, but I don't believe for a moment that our marriage is in danger. Our love is too strong; we are just too perfect for each other.

"Marc pulled into our driveway, said 'Thank you for a wonderful evening and morning,' and gave me a hug and a last kiss, more passionate than I had anticipated. I had no idea the kids were home and all of you were watching us. He was obviously irritated at the intrusion of the kids into his final goodbye. He took my suggestion that he leave at that point.

I smiled and waved, not knowing that you were observing us. He smiled and waved, and it was over. I walked in our front door, eager to show you just how much I loved you and how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I feel exactly the same way now, as I write this.

"I don't think Marc thought he was doing anything to you. I think he just assumed he had a right to me, just like he would have a right to any woman he wanted. He picked me, and that was that. Not that he would have forced me if I'd said no, I'm sure he would have gone on to someone else. He was completely sure I wouldn't say no to anything he wanted, and he was right.

"You need to know that Marc was kind and considerate to me the whole time. He didn't mistreat me, far from it. He was chivalrous and gentlemanly. He treated me like a lady, holding doors for me and everything. He even surprised me by remembering my name the next morning. I knew it wasn't about me; I'm quite sure he'd have treated any other woman the same way, and has done so often. Still, I can't help thinking well of him as a man because of it.

"This part will hurt, Jim. I'm crying as I write, thinking about what you will feel when you read it. Tears on the paper are such a cliché; I've 'borrowed' a couple of your handkerchiefs from your dresser. They'll be ruined when I finish this; I'll buy you some new ones this week. I would never dream of writing or telling you this, except that you told me to.

"Marc is an excellent lover: no doubt from lots of practice on lots of women. He knows his way around a woman's body very, very well. He knew what would please me and excite me better than I knew myself, and he used it all. He knew when to be gentle and when to be forceful, but even at his most forceful, I never felt forced: it was something I wanted as much as he did. He was always completely in charge, even at his gentlest. It was as though I was the instrument, and he was the virtuoso, and he was brilliant.

"I've read and heard sex described as a man possessing a woman. I never really understood that, but I do now. You treat me as an equal in all things. If there is possession involved, it's mutual: we belong to each other. Marc possessed me from the moment he took me in his arms on the dance floor until he seated me in his car to take me home, and there was nothing mutual about it.

"I responded to him, fully and completely. I lost track of how many times I came; they all ran together after a while. From the moment he took me in his arms, he dominated my senses to the point that there was no room for anything else, including what is most important in all the world to me: you and our children.

"This is the worst part. I'm crying as I write this, but you asked, so I must tell you. I'm so sorry, Jim, but this will hurt. Marc is a very, very skilled lover. With all the experience he's had, he ought to be. If he weren't, it would mean he's a fool, which he isn't. It was by far the best sex I've ever imagined, let alone had. He's learned and practiced well, so that he can give a performance like he did on me. I mean that exactly as I wrote it: it was a performance, and it wasn't with me, or for me, it was on me. You'll never have the experience he's had, thank God! But you've learned so much through the time we've been together, as have I. You have a far better motive: you want to learn because you love me. That's far more valuable to me than even the greatest sex.

"That's the hardest part. I think it gets easier from here. I hope so, anyway. Your second handkerchief is almost soaked.

"Marc wanted to give me great sex and please me, and he did, but it didn't really have anything to do with me as an individual. I was just another female to him. I think he would be the same with any woman, but it's because of who he is, not who she is. For such an intimate act, it was almost impersonal.

"One more thing you must know. If Marc LaValliere got down on his knees in front of me and asked me to divorce you and marry him, I would tell him no. That would be true even if we didn't have Emma and Tommy. If I were single and both you and Marc asked me to marry you, I would choose you in a heartbeat. I would not need to think about it, and I would have no regrets. He is an excellent lover; you are an excellent man. He may be the city's unofficial hero; you are my official hero.

"How can I say you're my hero when I've told you I had better sex with Marc? Neither you nor I believe there's such a thing as 'just sex.' I don't think it was 'just sex' for Marc, either; if it had been, it wouldn't have been as good. And that was what we spent most of our time doing. But what you and I have together is more important than anything Marc and I did. If I were to trade what you and I have for a lifetime of nights with Marc, I would be the world's biggest fool.

"I don't love Marc. Not even close. I like him, I respect him for what and who he is, and I enjoyed my time with him, but that's all. It's over, one and done, and I'm more than ready to move on with what's really important to me: to return to where my heart is, and has been for the last ten years.

"Which brings me back to the beginning of this letter. How could I do this, loving you as I know I do? Or to put it another way, why didn't my love for you stop me? I'm not sure I completely understand, but this is what I think. When I got up to dance with Marc, I thought it would be a couple of dances, a few minutes' teasing from our friends, and that would be the end of it. The man who every woman at our table wanted, wanted to dance with 'just the same old me.' So, I went to dance with him. I had no idea at the time of doing anything more than that: just a couple of dances. What could be wrong with that? Then came the slow dances.

"I think men like Marc really do believe they have a right to any woman they want. What was it Henry Kissinger said, 'power is the ultimate aphrodisiac?' When Marc asserted his 'right' so confidently and strongly, it never even occurred to me to question it. If I thought at all, it was something like, 'Oh, of course,' and I didn't think about it, anymore, except to be flattered that he wanted me. It was just who he is.

"It wasn't that I stopped loving you or the kids. It was more like I wasn't thinking or loving at all; everything in me was just reacting to him, like an instrument reacts to a musician. I'll say again, there was and is no love for Marc anywhere in my heart. My heart is at home where it belongs, with you and our children, and that's where it will always stay.

"Jim, I know you're hurting terribly, and I know it will take time for you to heal. Take the time you need. Do anything you need to do. I ask only two things: don't do anything that would hurt the children, and please don't take a lover. I know it sounds hypocritical, but that would destroy me. I will do anything to help you heal. (I've already arranged to get my blood drawn for the tests tomorrow morning.) Even the worst hurts heal with time, and I will be right here for you for as long as it takes, and forever after.

"I know you very, very well by now, and I know you love me. I have seen it in your eyes, behind the pain; I can feel it as I write this, even though you're not in the house. I trust my future, and my children's future, to that love. I know you're upset that my love for you didn't prevent me from letting Marc take our special night, and borrow things that I had promised would be only yours. I understand, but now, everything he borrowed has been returned, and like my love for you, they are unchanged, and will be yours as long as I have breath.

"Love, as always,

"Linda."