More Than Thirty Miles Home

My head was spinning. Not be able to see Dave? Not being able to talk to Dave? The man that I had spent most of the last 20 years spilling my hopes and fears and thoughts and cares to? At least, up to the last few years, I finished my thought miserably.

"Melissa, do you understand Option 2?"

"Yes, Dave. Yes, I understand."

"Do you have any questions about Option 2?"

"No, Dave." I was - numb. No. I was sick, not in the stomach, but in the heart.

There was a long pause. Nobody moved. The van continued down the road, occasionally swaying slightly as Mark changed lanes.

"You said there were three options?" I finally got up the courage to ask.

Dave nodded grimly. I could see the children's body language get even more tense.

Dave glared at me and I felt my bowels turn to water. What worse thing could he do to me?"

He picked up the envelope with the large number 3 on it, opened it and took out another scarily official looking piece of paper covered in signatures. Part of my mind noted that it least it wasn't a cyanide capsule. "Option 3 is the longest and hardest. Everyone in the family has agreed to this. And everyone in the family, but me, has signed this. It is here because Father beat on me for the past three weeks and forced me to admit something, and the counsellor pulled it out of me in a very brutal session. This says that if you pick Option 3... none of this ever happened."

My mind went completely blank. My body couldn't react at all. I didn't comprehend...

"If you pick Option 3, no one in the family will ever mention this again. If anyone makes a comment, a snarky remark, even an innuendo, all you have to say is 'Pink Flag' and they will have to immediately apologize and never bring it up again. And if you say something, anything about this, they will say 'Pink Flag' and you will have to immediately apologize and never bring it up again. I cannot sign this, because you and I will OBVIOUSLY have to do a LOT of talking about this. If you pick option 3, Ellen has promised me that she will not name you in the divorce petition and everything related to you that is in her possession will be destroyed."

I heard my mouth saying, shakily, "What are you saying, Dave?"

"Option 3 is reconciliation. It is your 'Get Out Of Jail' card. Notice that I didn't say 'Get Out Of Jail FREE card? There are some mandatory things that go along with it, and some things to be negotiated in good faith. Mandatory stuff like NEVER seeing or contacting that bastard EVER again. Counselling. Being PERFECTLY exclusive and faithful from this day forward. Negotiable stuff like how you are going to make this up to your family and how you are going to earn back trust. But it comes along with this." Dave pulled a fat white letter-size envelope out of the number 3 envelope.

"What's that?" The word 'reconciliation' was still rattling round in my head; like I couldn't quite understand it.

"For the past few years I have been trying to get our love life out of the doldrums, but you didn't seem to have any interest. It was frustrating. Exasperating. But I never suspected that you were getting some on the side. I certainly wasn't."

He had started to get heated, and I could see him control himself with an effort. "So six months ago I decided to go for a last ditch attempt to resurrect our flagging relationship. Our 15th anniversary is in three weeks. And I was going to sweep you off on that South Pacific Cruise we always used to talk about. Here is the itinerary and tickets. When Ellen came to me I almost tore these up. I was enraged. Then I tried to turn them back in; only to be reminded what 'Non-refundable' meant." He took a deep breath. "But like I said, Father beat on me and the counsellor counselled me; so I talked to the agent and while I cannot return them, I CAN move them up. Today is Wednesday. They have been moved up to a departure this Friday. If you do not pick Option 3, your sister and her husband have dibs on the tickets and are packed and ready to go."

I was still grappling with the concept; and then felt the van pull off and slow down. Dave glanced behind me out the front window.

"We are at the truck stop. Your car is here. Both our families are here and Father Carson is here. We are all waiting on what you will choose." He sighed heavily, suddenly looking tired and careworn and ten years older. "Option 1." He held up the envelope. "Option 2." He held up that envelope. "Or Opt...."

He didn't get to the end. My body lunged forward and my arm darted out on its own accord to snatch the Option 3 envelope. I sat, cross-legged on that van floor, clutching that envelope to my chest and weeping like a waterfall. Anyone trying to take it from me would have died an instant and messy death. My three children launched themselves off the back seat and hugged me, hard; clinging to me like they were afraid I might vanish in a puff of smoke. If I did, they seemed determined to go with me. My heart melted and exploded at the same time.

"We love you, mom!"

"I was afraid, momma!"

"I knew you wouldn't leave us, mom!"

How could I have ever done ANYTHING to risk this?

I didn't see Mark roll down the driver's window, put out his hand, and hold up three fingers - but I did hear the cheers and clapping and foot stomping. It sounded far more than the dozen or so people that had to be out there.

I looked up at Dave, still sitting on the bench seat. Through my personal curtain of tears I saw him look upward and mouth the words, "Thank you, God." Then he looked at me. I made my mouth form the words, "Thank you." My voice still hadn't caught up to my miraculous reprieve. Dave gave me a stern nod, but his eyes held relief.

The side doors of the van got tugged open and there was a mob. The children gave me another hug and scrambled out, assuring me that they loved me, that they were staying with BOTH sets of grandparents tonight, and they would see me tomorrow.

Then my parents-in-law were hugging me. And after sisters and brothers, and my dad, my mother hugged me tightly and whispered in my ear. "Don't mess up again, dear. Make it a wonderful vacation. We'll keep the children out of trouble."

Then a couple of bags were tossed into the van and the doors slid shut. The van rumbled into motion.

I looked at Dave. "Where are we going? Home?"

He shook his head. "No. We are going back to the motel. We are going to negotiate our agreement and spend the night in Room 22."

I stared at him.

"I want the very last time that my wife spends in that damn room to be with her husband - who loves her, and exasperated and angry and humiliated as he might be, he wants to reclaim her. Mark and Bethany will be with us through the negotiations, and then they will go to 23. Tomorrow they will drive us home, where we will pack for our trip." He had a most earnest and sincere look as he said, quietly, "I know this will be - uncomfortable - and probably at times - embarrassing - but I really think we need to hammer this out right now and go on this cruise with lighter hearts and a clear idea of what we BOTH need to work on. We have put off a lot of things for too long. Agreed - wife?"

I nodded, and then found my voice again. "Agreed - husband." I savored the word. I still had a husband. I still had a family.

Mark parked the van and we went into the office. I almost wanted to attack the clerk, but I restrained myself. As he filled out the paperwork and put the room card keys on the desk, I asked, somewhat pithily, "You didn't think to tell me that Matt had a parade of women going in and out?"

He returned my glare with a completely neutral expression. "Mrs. Thomas." He emphasized the, 'Mrs.'. "I don't ask questions. Seems that's why people come here. If I did, I could call the spouses of a bunch of other 'Mrs.' and 'Mr.' patrons. And put myself out of business. This is all I've got and I have kids in college. I gather I'm gonna be losing about $880 a month on 22. That's more than $10,000 a year, and that will hurt. I don't make people take them rooms; I just rent them. And how would I know you DIDN'T know about your FRIEND's other friends? And if my question embarrassed the two of you into taking your business elsewhere, what does that do? This used to be a respectable place, until the highway moved through, and now it's a just hanging on, 'no-tell, mo-tel,' with an old man who can't sell it and will close it the minute he can. Will that be all, Mrs. Thomas?" The last was said with no heat and an expressionless face. Then he leaned closer and nearly whispered, "Seems you've made out a LOT better than some that have been caught here over the years. I could tell tales. Don't blow it."

Suddenly uncomfortable with the sincerity in his eyes, I mumbled something about being sorry and thank you.

When I turned away, Dave was there with a Lysol wipe cleaning up my phone. He gave me a slight, crooked smile as he handed it to me. "Since you are back, you are ALL the way back. I had my dad reactivate your phone and your cards as soon as you chose Option 3." He made no comment about my little exchange with the owner, though he must have heard it. For some reason I didn't dare kiss him, yet, though I badly wanted to. So I settled for a hug and led the way to 22.

It was just the way I left it, cleaner though, and the bed freshly made up. I immediately pulled a chair over to the end of the bed, stood on it and peered into the louvers of the duct. There was some kind of gadget with a lens there, which I pulled out, tossed to the floor, and jumped down on, smashing it with a satisfying 'crunch'. "Pervert," I muttered, tossing the pieces into the wastebasket.

No one made a comment, for which I was grateful.

Mark had brought in two chairs from 23 and Dave had one chair in the middle of the room. He took the one I had climbed up on and set it about four feet away from the other, the backs facing each other. I almost smiled and almost cried. Dave knew I liked to sit backwards on a chair, arms crossed on the back, when talking. One of a million little courtesies from the past fifteen years that I had taken for granted.

Mark and Bethany had chairs along the wall, level with the two back-to-back chairs and facing them. Mark was next to a table and had a pile of paper, a pen, and his big notary stamp. They sat down and looked at us expectantly.

"The first mandatory thing -," Dave began.

"Is never to see Matt again. Don't worry, I never want to see him again. I'll quit my job first."

"That is up to you, but I don't think that will be a necessary. Ellen is suing the bank for not enforcing its non-fraternization policy and its morals clause. Affairs are not permitted, even between consenting adults, by policy. It could undermine people's confidence in the ethics and integrity of the bank. She took all the evidence to the president of the bank and asked him to terminate Matt without references in exchange for not pressing a lawsuit. She also requested that the bank NOT fire the women involved. And that wasn't a nice gesture on her part; it was at the request of most of the husbands. If they are employed, the alimony, if any, will be less than if they are unemployed. For all eight women, private reprimands are to be put into their personnel files. If they are model employees for five years, their notes will be removed."

I gulped. I thought of my fellow, victims? Dupes? And I just had to ask. "How many divorces...?"

Dave shrugged. "We husbands - talked - in the counselor's office. Based on his record, Matt is a very skilled manipulator. He can probably read personalities very well. He probably picked a target and worked on her over months. Probably convinced them that they were in DULL marriages, and could use some excitement in their lives. Once he was done, they probably wouldn't know WHICH of them had suggested the clandestine lunchtime rendezvous. Once he got them there, that was it - a little thrill that they got away with. Like pulling the lever on the slot machine and having it light up. After that the road to room 22 was darn near inevitable. He probably had most of them half convinced it would spice up their own marriage. They would be free to experiment without embarrassment." Dave must have seen the wide-eyed, horrified expression on my face. He nodded. "The sex would provide the thrill at first - the forbidden, illicit, naughty feeling. After a while that would be replaced by the thrill of getting away with it, of having a secret, of no one knowing - only us two. But the counselor said that he chose his victims well; women of HABIT. Even after the thrill of illicit sex wore off and it wasn't any more exciting than the marital sex they had at home; even after the thrill of getting away with it had faded to routine; the women of habit had been dutifully trained to show up in 22 twice a month, as much a habit as taking a turn as 'lunch mom' or getting their hair done. The counsellor even suggested that the guy probably got his 'fuck buddy' to pay the room bill half the time."

I could feel my cheeks burn crimson and I clenched my fists. Anger and humiliation were a powerful combination.

"Well, you asked about the other marriages. Like I said, the husband whose wife dropped out a long time ago, he hired a private investigator to check on her behavior since, and she came up clean. So he decided to confront her and go right for counselling. I don't know what she'll say, but I hope it works out for them. The other six husbands were livid and no matter what the counsellor said, were determined to file for divorce. As far as I know, all six wives were served today - and found the locks on the house changed, their stuff in garbage bags on the lawn, and their phones and cards not working. The husbands are aware that the local Family Court will order counselling, and I hope that at least some of them can patch it up."

I looked at him, and said, "Thank you, Dave."

He nodded. "Father Carson and the counsellor both said that it is important for me to say this - I forgive you. For anything and everything you have done with that slime. I forgive you - I cannot forget - but I forgive you. It is very important that you understand that. Since I have forgiven you, you MUST be completely and totally honest with me about EVERYTHING. Don't lie or tell a half-truth to spare my feelings, or spare yourself embarrassment. Being completely honest earns back trust, which I don't have a lot of right now in you; and that's one of the foundations of a successful marriage. So I promise you, here and now, that no matter what HONEST answer you give me, I will not get angry with you and I will never, ever hold it against you." I glanced, unbelieving, at Bethany. She had been closely studying Dave's face, and now she looked at me and nodded. "That was the truth, the whole truth."

I choked a bit. "Dave, I don't know what to say. If I found out you had been - cheating." I had to force the word out. "I don't think I would have been as - forgiving as you - and I thank you and say I'm sorry about that, too."

Dave actually smiled slightly, fleetingly, at me, and my heart pealed itself out of the mud wallow and looked up at stormy skies to see just a few rays of sunshine. "I confess I have had to deal with some temptations over the last fifteen years, Melissa. I never strayed, but I'd be lying if I said I was never tempted, especially over the last few years, when you were - distracted. But if I expect honesty from you, you have every right to expect honesty from me. Matt was a snake, and a slime, and a predator who was exceptionally good at seduction. He was playing eight women. Eight! I admit that that played into accepting that I should offer Option 3; I think it would have been harder for me if you were the only one and fell for some average guy just blowing through the office. So this has to be a lesson. You are a beautiful woman. I would be astonished if more temptations - slick talkers, passers-through, handsome ladies men - didn't hit on you. You are forewarned to feel flattered but send them packing."

"Option 3 is one time only," I responded, sincerely, "and that's all I need. That and you."

"If Matt attempts to contact you, you need to shut him down and send him off - and then tell me about it. If someone mentions they saw you talking to Matt in the grocery store last week and you didn't tell me about it - that will be bad. If necessary we will get an order of protection for him to stay away. Agreed?"

"Yes, Dave, I agree."

Mark was writing busily.

"I want to emphasize that the minute you chose Option 3, the 'exclusive and faithful' part of our vows was re-agreed to. Like I said, if another Matt comes along, you warn him off. If a woman comes on to me, I warn her off. That is an iron-clad expectation. First warning is polite. Second warning is gruff. Third warning is violent. If we are out, and I am coming back from the rest room, and I see a guy grab you and kiss you, I'd better see you slap him in the two seconds following that. Because I'm gonna deck him right afterwards."

"And if I see you dancing with some tart and fondling her ass, I get to deck her and you, right?"

Dave grinned a tiny bit more, and my heart felt - lighter - and then he nodded. "Fair is fair."

"I'm going to insist on counselling, individually and as a couple. I'll be continuing to see Doctor Eileen Bent. Probably not for long; I just want to be sure I am not walking around with unresolved issues on this. If you want to pick your own counsellor, I have a list of four Catholic counsellors who are well known for keeping couples, and marriages, together; you can pick whomever you want. I really want you to understand why you did what you did and how to keep it from ever happening again. I would like to attend your last session and I would like you to attend mine. Once you've talked to the counsellors, I'd like to agree on a couples' one for both of us, if nothing else to help us with communication and sex. Deal?"

I nodded, then said, formally, "I agree." Mark jotted things down on his paper. I was ninety percent in favor of Dr. Bent without even meeting her; if she had helped get Dave this far in forgiving me some pretty unforgivable stuff, then I figured I couldn't lose.

Just then my phone beeped musically for attention. I glanced at it and then blanched. I looked at Dave. "It's Matt."

His face hardened a bit and he nodded. "Take it and put it on speaker."

I hit the answer and speaker buttons. "Yes?"

"Hey, sweetie, am I glad I caught up with you. Look, I'm having a bit of trouble. I need you to get me some money. Tell your hubby you are picking up some take out from a new place and you'll be a little late."

"Sorry, Matt, no can do."

"What? Why? I need just a little help here. That's all."

"Just call your wife, she's closer."

"Uh, she's not home tonight. Visiting her mom."

"Then who's watching your son at the soccer game?"

"Well, she dropped him off with the team before she left. I really don't want to miss this. Just meet me in the Price Chopper lot in Carson."

"How much do you need?"

"Well, a couple - hundred would be great."

"How much are your other girlfriends kicking in?"

There was silence for a moment. "Other girlfriends? I don't know what you mean."

"Don't you? The OTHER women you meet in room 22. You must remember them, some are very pretty." My temper was rising.

"That's not true, sugar. You are the only one. You are the spice in my flat life. And I need your help."

"No. I'm not 'sweetie' or 'sugar' any more. And I will not be meeting you in room 22 or anywhere else from now on. Stay away."

"Hey, look, I don't want to lean, but I could get word to your husband about what you've been up to that past, what is it? How many YEARS? Bet he'd be all ears for that. Better make that a couple of thousand and make it quick."