Four Times

On one of our yearly Labor Day vacations to a friend's ranch, Emily came up and French kissed me after Steve and I performed a Julio Iglesias/ Willie Nelson song during Karaoke. I'd done the Willie part, and when the kiss broke off, I just stared at her.

"What," she mock questioned me, "I don't like Julio, but your Willie was just perfect."

None of these events alone seemed like too much of a big deal. Still, they nagged at me. I wasn't one to think of doing any of those things, let alone to act on them. The trouble for me was that no one else seemed at all concerned about them. Not even the onlookers at the club, or at the pool. I felt anxious, nervous, and I couldn't say why. I knew from my counseling that I had an unhealthy fear of being alone, or even the odd man out. Sometimes I wondered if others could pick up on those fears, and use them against me, even in the context of a joke. I'd cast those fears aside as best I could. I didn't want them to know how I felt.

The one thing I'll never understand about women is the silly things they get up to, especially regarding supposed heartfelt 'Kodak' type moments. Some Saturday nights, sitting around our kitchen table, Steve and I had to endure an unsurpassed level of estrogen as our wives carried on about this or that, usually some idea from a women's magazine. Their favorite pastime, other than building miniatures, was collecting and partaking in pacts, pledges, oaths and promises. They were always searching for more, mostly from magazine articles, but occasionally from the city library.

They were wide-ranging, and honestly, I don't remember very many. Steve and I would be deep in conversation. The ladies would interrupt us to go over the new pledge or promise in detail. I rarely paid attention, waiting patiently so I could continue talking to my good friend about our mutual interests. There were a few, though, that were memorable. The first of us to get into a fender-bender (none of us had, at the time) had to wash the other family's cars for a month. That ended up being Steve. I told him to stop talking on his cell while driving. Most were like that; some were deeply emotional - Steve liked to trot out the term 'void for vagueness' from time to time, until it became clear that that was a trip to the doghouse for him - and, even though I wasn't up with the lawyer talk, I had to admit that that sounded like a fair characterization.

Some of those sounded very serious, even though they fell apart upon close inspection. Others got eerily specific.

One that comes to mind was a hypothetical: if we were all hanging from a rope over the edge of a cliff, who would be the one to let go, in order to save the others? I suppose it was memorable because it wasn't a pledge, but more like a test.

Occasionally, the girls took these pacts and pledges so seriously they'd get a needle, and we'd have to prick our finger and sign the pledge with our blood. A blood oath, they called it. I never paid them much heed, and Steve had learned very quickly that trying to 'lawyer' the girls was not the right play. Ah, the grand paradox of female attention. We were supposed to demonstrate our enduring interest for them, symbolically, by feigning just enough interest in these silly games of theirs. We weren't supposed to actually take them seriously, because that would be some kind of an attack, or disrespect, or whatever. I think Steve used that exact word: paradox. "You take it seriously, and that's their evidence you're not taking them seriously."

I was the guy who had to talk him out of the courtroom inside his head: "Happy wife, happy life. You smile and nod, she smiles and bobs."

At some point they just stopped doing it. My approach had clearly been the correct one. They still kept all the ones they - and we - had already done up, though. There was a big plastic bowl full of them, plus the ones that the wives eventually scrapbooked.

All things change, and that's a given. All good things do come to an end, eventually. We were forty-three, and the girls were about to start their senior years of high school, when Emily got the news.

Skin cancer. The details are too unbearable to describe. After much initial agony, the two elongated bumps were removed, and after several months of holding our collective breaths, Em was given the all clear, with strict instructions about sun wear and diet. Another part of the regimen was monthly check-ups and blood tests. Just as we were releasing those breaths, March fifteenth happened.

The cancer was back, and had metastasized to her internal organs: a kidney and a lung. The prognosis wasn't good. Chemo started right away. We all banded together, and, as grief-stricken and worried as Ashley, Destiny and I were, we trudged forward, trying with all our might to carry as much of our friends' burdens as we could. I spent a lot of time with Steve, just letting him blow off steam and take a break, while Ashley and the girls looked after Emily. We talked candidly about his sadness, his hopefulness and everything else that was on his mind. He was scared, and it's hard for a man to show those kinds of feelings to another, but to Steve's credit, he opened up.

He was the lawyer, so anything that had to be done 'just in case,' he took care of. I kept his yard, and would take or pick up Haley and my daughter to anything and everything - even though Haley was often torn between wanting to go out and feeling like she had to stay in. Destiny tried to do for her what I did for Steve. I was so proud of her. I also helped with the grocery shopping, and prepared meals that we took over for them. We did everything we could to help normalize their lives, but cancer wasn't going to let us get all the way there.

July tenth was a day of profound sadness for me. That's selfish to say, but it's the truth. Emily was - not had been, dammit, but still was - very important to me. When I'd met her, in college, it had been quite a few years since I'd lost my parents. But without Em's help - her caring and her genuine heart I don't think I ever would've healed as well as I did. It had taken knowing her to realize I hadn't healed much at all yet, and that I could do so much better, as long as I had some help. She'd helped me first, even before Ashley and Steve had come into my life. I owed her. I resolved to pay down that debt as much as I could by looking out for her widower and her daughter. It wasn't going to be hard. He was my best friend. She was like my second daughter already.

We spent the rest of the summer in a fog. We tried to be supportive of each other; we really did. I tried to keep my promise to Emily. We just didn't have it in us. We grieved together, but unhealthily. We sat. We stewed. We withdrew.

Ashley, Steve and I took the girls to college the weekend after Labor Day. We helped them settle in, gave our parental words of encouragement, and headed home the next day. None of us were okay. None of us knew how to help the others.

I noticed Steve and Ashley occasionally giving each other looks over the weekend - not flirty or sexual looks, just the kind that tells the observer there's something wrong. It was like something was looming, and only the two of them knew what it was.

The ride home was very quiet, all of us thinking to ourselves. After dropping Steve off at his house, I decided to wait out Ashley to see what she might say or divulge. Nothing.

We ate a subdued dinner. Ash and I sat in our living room, but when I reached for the remote, she gently put her hand on my wrist.

"Honey, there's something..." she began, and then hesitated.

I just waited.

"Something I need to show you," she finally said, "and then we need to talk, okay?"

I nodded, seeing that stricken look on her face. I wasn't going to like this - at all.

Ashley returned with the scrapbook. I hadn't seen it for several years, and had been under the impression it resided at Steve and Emily's home. There was a page Ash had marked with a Post-it, and as she opened it, my wife turned to look at me.

"I want you to read this," she said seriously, "all of it. Then we can talk about what it says, okay?"

She handed me the book. The first thing I saw was four red fingerprints at the bottom of the page with each of our names below one of them. It was a blood oath surrounding one or more of our deaths. I began to read carefully. There were things we'd all promised - although I didn't remember doing so - like tasks, and chores, to help out the family that lost an official member.

One was about the opposite couple's husband taking care of the outside work, keeping the cars in good working order, the sorts of things if one of the husbands died. We'd certainly helped with that, even though Steve was quite capable. The flip-side was written, too. If one of the women passed, the pledge went on, the opposite female spouse would help with cooking and housework for as long as needed. For the most part, we'd also done that. There was a list of specific tasks that focused on the deceased spouse's child. The other couple would adopt the girl, if both her parents passed at the same time, and she was still underage. That one brought a tear to my eye.

There were two items that specifically laid out what we'd all do on the anniversaries of the death of one or more of the four of us, to pay homage and respect. That brought a few more tears. I had to admit, it was beautiful stuff.

Then I came to the last item - number fourteen.

"The opposite gendered spouse of the opposite family of the aggrieved spouse will provide sexual and emotional relief, four times, once for each person in this pact, over a period of no longer than four months."

I had to reread it. It didn't make sense and had to be a joke, but the timing was so off. I looked up at Ashley, who was studying my face for any reaction, her bottom lip unconsciously held between her teeth. We just stared at each other for some time. I'm sure it felt longer than it actually was.

"What is this?" I asked, utterly dazed.

It took her a minute. "A promise," she stated solemnly.

My eyes broke contact with hers. "Bullshit," I said emphatically. "It's a joke, Ashley, and... I can't even... bad taste? Not the time? I don't even have the words."

"It's not a joke, Dean," she replied more quietly than before. "We made a blood oath. Not a pledge or a promise, and certainly not a joke. I would never."

She seemed to want to move quickly on to the negotiation stage, and I sensed that. I wasn't there yet - I was light years away from there. I reread the entire document, taking my time. I studied my signature, below my blood, to see if it had been forged. I had no idea why. It just seemed like the thing to do.

"I don't accept this." I said. Suddenly, my smug advice to Steve came rushing back to me. I could not fucking believe it - and I meant that literally. At that moment, I still could not believe that I'd been wrong, because I could not believe that Ashley, my wife, was serious. Her words, her tone, and her body language all told me that she was serious. That was not enough.

Ashley didn't break eye contact, but she pointed to the bottom of the page. I knew what she meant. Emily had truly cared about these silly things. That was the weak spot. Her finger may as well have been a dagger, pushing right into it.

Before I could sputter out anything else, she started up.

"In order for this to work..." she began, and that was enough to jar my tongue loose. I cut her off.

"Ashley," I said sternly, "if you're playing with me, you need to stop, now. This isn't funny."

She looked at me like I was crazy, I'd never seen that look before, but I knew what it was instantly - and that's what made me believe it. She wasn't joking. She was dead serious, and she was going to emotionally blackmail me with the memory of my dead best friend.

"I can't talk about this right now. This is ridiculous, Ash. You're willing to destroy our marriage for a... piece of fucking paper? Emily isn't even he..." I stopped, realizing what I'd almost said, as Ashley's face went white. I stood and went into our makeshift home office and closed the door. I cried again, thinking of Emily, and everything that had happened these past few months.

When I came out forty-five minutes later, Ashley was upstairs in our room. I sat down and absent-mindedly started going through the scrapbook. I came upon something that gave me hope. It was another pledge the girls had obviously made everyone sign, but without the blood. After reading it, I took it out of its sheath and went into our office and made a copy. On a Post-it I wrote: "Wondering if this pledge supersedes the other. Kinda seems like it should." I put the copy by the coffee maker. She'd see it first thing. The promise read:

If you need to talk, I'll listen

If you need to cry, I'll hold you

If you feel lost, I'll help guide you

If you need to be angry, I'll let you

If you're feeling afraid, I'll comfort you

If you're feeling attacked, I'll be your defense

If you need to lean awhile, I'll give you a shoulder

If you're feeling unsure, I'll be your confidence

If you're feeling alone, I'll be the friend that won't leave you

If you need to learn to trust again, I'll prove to you that you can

By some miracle, I fell asleep on the couch. There certainly wasn't any good sleep that night. I was up and out by six-thirty, with Ashley still asleep.

The next evening, Monday, I pulled in my driveway after work, and there was Steve's Beemer. I parked in the garage, and sat there taking several deep breaths. I could feel the blood rushing to my temples, knowing I was about to get ganged up on. Before going in, I opened the garage fridge and pulled out two cans of hoppy IPAs. I drank one straight down, and then took both the empty and the full can into the house.

There, in the kitchen, were Ashley and Steve. It looked like they'd been busy preparing my favorite dish. If they thought that was all it would take, they had another thing coming. Ashley saw me standing there at the entryway to the kitchen, with two beer cans in hand. After an odd look about the beers, she came quickly to me, pulling me into an embrace, and dishing up a smoldering kiss.

"Hey, buddy," Steve said, his overly-happy voice all too obvious. "How was work?"

I grumbled something, and their smiles disappeared.

Ashley let go of me and again looked down at my hands. "Getting an early start tonight?"

I suddenly thought better of overindulging. I was outnumbered. The fact that Steve was a lawyer stabbed into my brain like a needle. After that, my imagination only took me to worse places: the two of them tying up my drunk, unconscious body, and then getting their blood-oath party started right away.

I didn't answer her question. I dumped the empty in the trash, and told them I was going to go change and get cleaned up for dinner. Let them chat about how to proceed, I thought. I took my fresh beer with me.

Dinner was eerily quiet, and the little conversation we had was forced. Every once in a while, I got the sense that one of them might call off this little charade. Neither of them did. Right after my last bite, Ashley sprang to her feet, announcing we'd have desert in the living room.

I went to the garage and brought back two more beers - one for me and one for Steve.

I realized, as I went to fetch the beers that I was seeing him as the enemy now, instead of a life-long best friend, and I didn't like that feeling at all. I tried to reframe things in my mind: was there something I could do to change the way I was thinking and feeling? I thought about listening to what they had to say, without losing my temper, or my mind. I considered whether that would even be possible.

Steve was already seated on the sofa when I handed him the beverage. I fleetingly wondered if Ashley would sit next to him, while I was in my recliner, so they could address me together.

I didn't sit in the recliner. It was too comfortable, and there would be no room for any comfort tonight. Instead, I dragged the heavy upholstered chair over closer to the couch and took my seat. Steve began immediately.

"Listen, Dean, I..." Ashley walked in then, and Steve stopped mid-sentence. She did sit on the sofa, but at the other end from Steve.

"I'm sure you figured out what this was all about as soon as you pulled in," my wife began. "I thought we could all talk about this. I think you may have some misconceptions, and I want to address those first..."

I cut her off. "Ashley, we can talk. I'll listen, and then I'll respond. Don't start by belittling me. I don't have any misconceptions. I know what this is about, and I've thought of nothing else since you laid it on me last night. I'm up to listening, and gauging the people who are supposed to care about me, but this isn't going to be a negotiation. Do you both understand?"

They looked at each other before nodding. I didn't like that one bit. Ashley laid it out again, just like the night before. She then explained the oath, and all of us agreeing to it. How important it was for her to keep her promise to Emily. How hard they, Steve and she, both knew it would be on me, and finally how we could move forward. When she stopped to take a breath I spoke up.

"I take it you saw the other pledge I left for you, "I said, "and that you read it." She nodded and I went on.

"You two are seriously breaking a lot of those promises, all while trying to keep this one," I said, "including one that's indisputably legally binding. You know... our marriage? That one? Didn't see the marital vows in the scrapbook. Funny, that."

"We aren't," Ashley replied quickly, "not at all. I'll still be doing all those things, and so will Steve. We'll be here for each other." Then she sighed. "Dean, listen to me. We aren't stupid either. We both understand that you're going to need our support... to get past it. I can't pretend to understand it, but Steve has tried to explain the male psyche and what will probably be going through your mind, and your heart. We can both help you with the pride or ego, whatever it is."

I looked at Steve, shaking my head. Then I addressed my wife, looking her right in the eye.

"That's shallow thinking on your part. "Nobody in their right mind wants their assailants to be their therapists. That would be insane. Don't you get that? And how dare you try to make this about my mental state."

I looked Steve in the eye. "I'm surprised at you. Is this what you've been plotting behind my back? And let me ask you, did this lesson on the male psyche include yours? Did you admit that if Em and I were pulling this on you, you'd be fucking livid? That you'd be sitting where I'm sitting now - or standing and pacing, I think, actually - doing a million times better lawyering on us? Or did you leave that part out? Did you straight-up fucking lie to my wife in a situation where, wow, what a coincidence, the end result is that you get to fuck her? Is that the kind of sleazy shit that got you past that big ethics test you're always talking about - that got you admitted to the bar?"

"That's exactly it, Dean," Steve replied, "It's not sleazy at all. It was a promise between friends, an oath. I'm your friend, for what - more than twenty years, Dean? It's me, here. I'm not after your wife's heart. I'm not after anything. You're both my friends, and I want more than anything for that to continue forever. That's why this is so... okay."