February Sucks

I must have looked a little dubious. "Now I think I know how you feel all those times you try to tell me how attractive I am," she said with a rueful smile. "Please, Jim, look at me. Touch me. If it's only for Emma's sake, fine, but I promise I'll be thinking of you, not Marc."

I looked into Linda's eyes as I reached my hand toward her face. I wished I could stop the damn thing from shaking. I touched her cheek with the back of my hand, caressed it as I always used to. Linda smiled gently as her eyes closed. Her shoulder came up as she rubbed her cheek kitten-like on my hand. I felt my heart go out to her. I felt something else go out to her, too, about 18 inches lower, and it embarrassed me enough that I pulled my hand back.

Linda opened her eyes and smiled at me. "See? That hasn't changed, has it?"

"It felt exactly the same, and I've missed it so much, but after finding that so many things I thought about you were wrong, and not knowing..."

"How do you think I feel?" Linda shouted at me, her eyes blazing and her face contorted. "Hell, I don't know what's true about me anymore! I'm a good person. I've always thought so and you've told me so I don't know how many times. Does a good person leave her husband sitting alone to go fuck another man? No. Does she buy a special dress for her husband, then wear it to go fuck somebody else? Hell, no. Good people keep their promises, don't they? What does that make me, then?" She took a couple of breaths to settle herself and went on.

"I knew when we married that I wasn't the prettiest girl you had dated, or the best lover, or the smartest. But one thing I brought you was my fidelity. If I gave you nothing else, I could give you that. I would go to my grave a faithful wife. But now that's gone, and it's gone forever! I can never again say those words, 'However much I might have disappointed you, at least I'm a faithful wife.' Never, ever again! And worst of all, it's my own fault! You think that's easy to deal with?" She shouted before dissolving into tears.

I took her in my arms. "I'm sorry, Linda, I never thought about it that way. I don't know why I didn't." I thought for a moment. "So what do we do about this?" I muttered, more to myself than to her.

"There is one thing left that I do know. I love you, Jim, heart and soul, today just as deeply and truly as I ever have. As surely as I have a heart or a soul." She had settled down now. She sounded weary beyond the telling, as if that final statement had exhausted her last reserve of energy. Her eyes closed and she slumped against me.

I looked at my wife as she nearly-slept in my arms. The idea that another man now knew the body I held fully as intimately as I did, and had pleased it better, was still revolting to me. Again, I felt that sharp sense of loss. I now knew she felt it, too. That meant a lot, but it didn't make everything better. What she said about comparison made sense, too. When I asked Linda to marry me, I didn't even consider the question of whether she was the best sex partner I'd had. So why did the fact that she'd enjoyed sex with a better partner bother me so much now?

Part of it was the cruelty. She hadn't done it to be cruel, but it was. I'd never felt so alone. Then there was the promise. She promised me a special night, then she took it from me and gave it to Asshole. She promised she wouldn't ever cheat, and then she did. Maybe Lynn was right and everyone can cheat, but not everyone does.

And what to do about Emma? I bet she did win her fight, I thought, and smiled. She's small and pretty, but she's wiry and strong and tenacious as all get out. But Linda and the teacher were right, she couldn't go on acting out. She needed to see that her family was secure, not just be told it was. For her sake and Tommy's, I needed to either make a clean break, or go back to being affectionate with her mother.

Linda was asleep now. I looked at her face. It was drawn and worn with worry, even in sleep. "To love and to cherish, from this day forward, in sickness and in health..." She'd broken her promises, shattered them in a way that hurt me more than I could ever have imagined. Did that release me from mine? Yet another unanswered question. Throw it on that big pile with the others. I would deal with it later, maybe. Meantime, I carried my wife upstairs, prepared her for bed, and tucked her in. She never stirred.

I did what she asked. In a way, it was nice, because I'd missed those little touches and looks of affection just as much as Linda had. Now that I knew to watch Emma more closely, I could see her fears, and watched them subside. That really was one smart teacher; I'd have never noticed the subtle differences in her. But God, it was hard. Those touches and looks are supposed to be a sign of "just us," but now it wasn't just us, there was another man there, and I hated it and him. Linda responded and looked at me just as she always had, but now instead of trusting what I saw in her eyes, I wondered. Was she comparing us? Who was winning?

I was good enough to fool Emma, but not Linda. She brought it up Sunday evening as we shared our post-kids-bedtime glass of wine.

"Thank you for... for what you're doing, Jim. I know you're doing it for Emma, and I think it's working, but it's so good for me, too." I had noticed; she'd been reviving like a watered flower. "I appreciate it even more because I can see how hard it is for you. How can I help? Do you still sense him on me, or in me? Or is it the comparison you're afraid of?"

"Both, I think." It was true.

"I thought so." She gave a little smile. "I think time will take care of the first problem. As we make new memories together, they'll overwrite both of our memories of him, just like our memories together overwrote the lovers we both had before we married. We never completely forgot them, but they aren't present unless we go looking for them. He'll be the same way, but it will take time. Does that make sense?"

I had to admit it did. That didn't mean I thought it would work.

"You know, there's a connection when we touch, something without words, and I can almost see what you're thinking."

"Yes, there is. That's one reason married people are supposed to reserve that sort of touching for each other."

Linda hung her head a moment, then went on. "Well anyway, I can see that you're wondering if I'm comparing you. As I said the other night, I do compare you, and you always win. You might never have been a sex god, but you were always attentive to me, eager to learn what pleased me, and you did it all out of love. I was more than content with that, I was profoundly happy. It might be stretching to call Marc a sex god, but he's as close as I'll ever experience. Nothing that I did with him makes me any less content or happy with you. You still win, every time. I choose you, not Marc; I love you, not Marc. I'll repeat that as often as you need to hear it. Can't you let that reassure you?"

I shrugged. "You can say that now, because Marc was only an option that one night. If he, or someone like him, became available again, how can I know you wouldn't choose him over me again, like you did so easily that night?"

"I don't know." Her face was troubled and sad.

"And that is exactly the problem."

St. Patrick's Day came and went. We stayed home and did silly green stuff with the kids. (Do not let your four-year-old loose with the green food coloring. Not even outdoors, where you think all he'll color will be the snow. I tell you this for your own good.) In spite of the mess, I know we had more fun than we would have at Brennagan's. This business of spending time together with our kids instead of going out had something to recommend it, I decided.

The next day, I got a call from Dave. They hadn't liked the band at Brennagan's, so they'd gone back to Morrison's. And who do you think they saw?

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope. He walked right up to our table and shot the breeze for a while, then he asked where Linda was. By name."

"Oh, shit."

"Yeah. So Dee told him she had decided to stay home that night. He said he was sorry, but he had good memories of Linda, and he'd hoped that she would be with us. Dee said nobody should be sorry on St. Patrick's night, and could one of the rest of them maybe console him. She was smiling at him for all she was worth and sticking her tits out. I kicked her under the table, and she kicked me back harder. He smiled and said thanks, but he didn't think so, and walked away."

"Shit."

"I asked Dee what the hell she thought she was doing, and she said she wanted to get his mind off Linda, because if Linda got together with him again, your marriage was toast. I said yeah, what about yours if you get together with him, and she got this look on her face and said Linda was her best friend. Things were still sort of frosty around the house this morning, but I thought I should give you a heads up."

"Thanks, I think." I thought a moment. "So how are you handling it, knowing your wife wants a night with Asshole? It's different when it happens to you, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well it hasn't happened yet, and he didn't seem to be buying what she was selling, no matter how hard she was selling it. One thing's for sure, we're never going back to Morrison's."

"Well, thanks for the heads up, Dave, and good luck."

Linda clung to me when I came home that night. She seemed almost desperate. I looked a question at her, and she whispered "after bedtime." After the kids were in bed, I was too nervous for our usual glass of wine, but she said she needed hers, so I poured it. Without a word, she handed me a small envelope. I pulled out a plain little card, and read the typewritten note inside:

Dear Linda,

I was sorry not to see you at Morrison's last night. I hope you aren't ill. You are a special woman, and I remember dancing with you, and everything that followed, very fondly. I would like to get together again soon. I'll call you.

With sincere affection,

Marc.

I forced myself to calm down. My hands shook anyway. I turned the envelope over and saw the name and address of a local florist, and the inscription "To Linda from Marc."

"Where are the flowers?"

"I saw who they were from, and I was just going to throw them away, card and all. Then I looked at them. They were so beautiful, really lovely and well arranged, too, and I thought of all the love and care someone put into growing them, and I just couldn't. You understand, don't you?" I did. She loved flowers, and grew some in our back yard in the summer. She always cried over them when they wilted and she had to throw them away.

"So what did you do?"

She smiled. "I noticed the delivery man had a ring on his finger, so I asked him if he could take them home to his wife. 'Unwelcome attentions, eh?' he said. 'No problem, she'll love this lot. Someone spent quite a bundle on them.' I gave them to him, and he handed the card back to me. 'You'll want to show this to hubby,' he said. I hadn't thought of that, but he was right. So what do we do? Burn it in the fireplace?"

I thought a moment. "Did he call?"

"No. How can he? I didn't give him my last name or my phone number."

"He has our address from driving you home, and it would be easy enough to find both from that. How did he get that, by the way? Did you put it into his GPS?"

"No, I told him and he put it in himself."

"So he has your number. He'll call when I'm not home. What will happen then?"

Linda shuddered. "I don't know. I know I don't want him, but I'm afraid. What if I just... yield to him, give in without thinking, like I did last time?"

"Is that what you want? If there was a way to have him again without having to think about it, and you were sure I would never find out?"

"No! No, Jim! I keep telling you that." She was shouting in her intensity. "I don't want him again. I don't. Whether you find out doesn't matter, I'll know, and I don't want it. I'm just afraid. Afraid that strength or power or whatever it is that made me feel that way in his arms, would work on me again and I would do it." She thought for a moment. "What if you put a bug on my phone or something? So that I would know that you would know."

I shook my head. "If we're going to get past this, we both need to know that you can turn him down, whether I know or not."

The woman always has the last word. "We have to get past this, Jim. We have to, however hard it is."

Asshole didn't let any grass grow under his feet. He left two messages on Linda's voice mail the next day before she blocked his number. We listened to them together that night after the kids were in bed.

"Hi, Linda, this is Marc. I'd really like to see you again. Is this a good number to call you on? Call me back and let's set something up. See you soon!"

"Hi, Linda, Marc again. Sorry to call you twice, but I really do want to see you again. I think back to that night and the next morning, and I really feel we might have something special. I know you felt it, too. You may think I say that to lots of people, but I don't. I would really like to get to know you. I know you have kids. I love kids, and I'd love getting to know yours. I loved what we did together last time, and I'd like to do all of that again and then some, but there's just something about you that makes me want to get involved with you as a whole person. I can't put my finger on it, but it's there. I know you're married, but we already know I can please you in bed better than your husband can. You told me that yourself. You know I can give you and your kids a life that he can't even dream of. Linda, you owe it to yourself and your children to explore what we could have together. You've already taken the first step, and you know you loved it. Take the next one. Please call me."

I watched the emotions play across Linda's face as the recording played. She shook her head vigorously when Asshole talked about giving her a better life.

"Well?" I asked her.

"Do you think he means it, or is he just trying to get me in his bed again?"

"He already picked you once, out of a room full of women. That feeling of wanting to get to know you better, not just have sex with you, is exactly how I felt when I first saw you. So yeah, I think he might mean it. What then?"

Linda thought a moment. "Well, obviously it's flattering. I know you say those things all the time, and I know you mean them, but when someone as, um, experienced as Marc says the same things, it's different. You already know my night with him was the sexual thrill of my life. I can't deny it; you have it in writing."

"If he was all that great and you like his attention so much, why did you block his number?" I fought to keep my voice normal. She answered without hesitation; she'd obviously thought about this.

"It's the price. I see that price every time I look in your face, every time you give me those tender little touches that mean the world to me. I knew when I came home to you that you would be hurt, but I couldn't imagine it would hurt this long or this deeply. I had no idea the price for 'just that one night' would be this high.

"I was surprised to learn that I've paid a price, too. There were things I valued about myself, like being a faithful wife, that aren't true any longer and never will be again. I never thought I would trade those things for a few thrills, but I did. Driving the Maserati, you know: it was a thrill, I can't deny it, but the price was higher than I ever dreamed, and far more than it was worth.

"Then there's Emma and Tommy. You were right when you said I never bothered to think about them and the price they would pay for what I did, but they're paying, too. It occurred to me today that Emma fought harder to keep her friend from being bullied, than I fought to keep what I considered the best part of myself. I was weak; I lacked character. That has to change now. I certainly won't willingly sacrifice what's left of my self-respect for what Marc LaValliere thinks is a better life."

Asshole tried again the next day. An even more expensive bouquet went home with the florist's delivery man, and the note was even more condescending. He said he was sure I had made her block his phone number, because I knew I couldn't compete with him. He said if Linda could honestly tell him she didn't want what he could offer her, without her husband listening over her shoulder, she should call him at this number and say so, and he'd never bother her again.

Linda played the recording of her phone call with him for me after I got home that night. She hadn't shouted or sounded upset. She'd told him that yes, she enjoyed what they did together; if she tried to deny it he wouldn't believe her. But she wasn't interested in ever seeing him again for any reason, in any situation, and she wouldn't trade one day with her husband for a lifetime with him. He tried to tell her she didn't mean it. That was the wrong thing to say.

"I meant exactly what I said," she responded forcefully. "You have nothing to offer that interests me. I never want to see you, hear from you, or receive anything from you, as long as I live. Now I will hold you to your word to never contact me again in any way."

There was a pause. "All right, babe. Your loss."

Linda sighed as the recording ended. "You know, I really wish I could think of something really spectacular that I could do to prove how much I love you, and help you finally get past this."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe rescue you from a burning building or something. Give you a bone marrow transplant; I've heard those are pretty gruesome. Some big, splashy sacrifice I could make to show you that in spite of what you felt that night, and what I did, you mean the world to me." She sighed. "But then I'd have to wish you were in a burning building, or needed a bone marrow transplant, so I could save you, and that's just being weak and selfish again. Just like I was that night. I think the true fight for our love is in here," she put her hand over her heart, "and it may not be very spectacular, but I have to win it, and I fully intend to."

A few nights later, Linda presented me with an envelope. It was addressed to her, and it had been opened. I looked at her quizzically, and she just motioned to the envelope. It was from our doctor's office. Linda had tested free from STDs.

"I'm sorry it took so long," she said, "but I only got it a few days ago, when we, ah, couldn't do anything about it anyway." She sighed. "I know you'll have mixed feelings, but I desperately need you to make love with me tonight. If I get hit by a bus tomorrow, then the last man to have me will have been Marc. I can't handle that. Besides, I think we both need it to start healing."

Linda was right about the mixed feelings. I had been wondering what I would do when this moment came, assuming she was clean. Could I love her, make love with her, knowing that everything she offered me, she had also offered Asshole? Of course, she'd offered it to others, too, but that was before she promised it to me. Could I love her with Asshole there in the bed with us, in my wife's heart and memory? On the other hand, how could I not love her, and still do right by Emma and Tommy?

I gazed at my wife. I could see the sadness in her eyes that had become normal since that night. Behind that, though, I could see her love. She hadn't dressed to kill or impress; she'd dressed as "plain old, same old me," as she would say, knowing that would put me at ease as much as anything she could do. The ball's in your court, Jim. Now what?

I couldn't trust my voice. I stood, smiled at Linda, and extended my hand to her. She smiled her first-best smile at me, and placed her beautiful, long-fingered hand in mine. It wasn't swallowed up like it was in Asshole's hand, but it looked... right. It looked like it belonged there. It looked like it was home.