Taking Chances

Catherine looked at her daughter, wondering if she should tell the truth, unsure how Melissa would react to her now sixty year old mother telling her she was having an affair and in love with another man other than her father, but the lie she was living was festering in her like an infected sore and she had to say something, change something or she would not be able to endure the pain she had been swallowing. She sat down at the kitchen table, gripping her mug of tea and told Melissa she had been having an affair for over a year and how much she loved Tom and what a wonderful, talented, passionate man he was, how when they first met in the park, they threw leaves over each other and how they go bike riding and camping then took a deep breath and stopped talking and saw the smile on her daughter's face and couldn't believe her ears when Melissa said, "Wow, mom, that's great. Go for it!"

Somehow having Melissa's approval helped her know what she should do.

"Aren't you upset at how Dad will feel if I tell him I'm in love with another man and I want to be with him?"

"I know it will devastate Dad," Melissa said. "But he's a grown man. He will just have to deal with it. He's not the first man this has happened to. It's up to him how he handles it."

"I don't know if I can do it," Catherine said. "I love your Dad very much and don't want to hurt him."

"But you're hurting yourself, mom. Listen, you only have one life, you have to take a chance and live it and be happy before it's too late."

"That's what Tom said, "You have to take chances."

Melissa held her mother's hand. "He's right and he sounds like a great guy."

When Melissa left, Catherine knew she had to tell Martin and though she dreaded what he would do or say, she made up her mind that she would tell him that night. She called Tom and told him she told Melissa and how she responded and that she was going to tell Martin and how frightened she was. All Tom said was "I love you" which she understood was his way of encouraging her, that he would be there for her and he knew how difficult it would be to tell Martin she was leaving him.

It was a Saturday that Melissa came over for lunch and got the news. Martin was out running errands, getting new batteries for his flashlight, picking up clothes at the dry cleaners, getting a haircut. He would be home soon.

After rinsing the dishes, putting them in the drain board, Catherine stood at the sink staring out the window at her back yard, seeing the leaves on the small patio and on the barbecue grill, now covered with a green tarp but her mind was wondering if she could actually do it, what would she say, how would he react, she wondered, would she be able to stay calm and not cry. She knew he was having heart issues and was taking medication. The doctor didn't think it was too serious, told him to cut down on the ice cream, but it occurred to Catherine that the shock might trigger something and she knew she had to be careful not to upset him too much though she couldn't imagine he would take the news lightly. She found herself having an imaginary conversation with Martin. They're at the kitchen table. She brought him a cup of tea. Should she take his hand, speak softly, gently? Or, just say, Martin, I have something to tell you and just bluntly blurt it out, straight forward and direct--the way Tom was with her--a trait she admired but wasn't sure she could duplicate.

That night, she made a pasta dish with a red meat sauce, garlic bread, a salad. Martin said it was delicious and how much he appreciates all the good meals she made. Catherine liked how he complimented her when she made a good meal or brought home a special dessert from the bakery though this night it was hard for her to have a conversation while they ate. She stared down at her plate, nibbled at her food, glancing up at Martin twirling the pasta on his fork, closing his eyes when he raised it to his mouth, savoring the taste. When they finished eating she took his plate, put water in the tea pot and asked if he would like some mint tea or the Earl Grey he often drank.

"Either's fine," he said, sitting back in his chair, picking up the magazine he had been reading earlier, thumbing through it then stopping at the article he had been reading and told Catherine, "I've been reading this article about climate change and how they think there's going to be more severe storms," then added. "What do you think?"

Catherine's mind was thinking about what she was about to do and didn't respond. Martin looked up and repeated his question, "Catherine, what do you think?"

"About what?" Catherine responded turning to Martin. "What do I think about what?"

"Climate change. Do you think it's changing?"

"Oh I don't know, Martin. "I don't know what I think," she said pouring the water over the tea bags, the string and label over the edge of the mugs then brought them to the table, "Here's the Earl Grey," she said placing the mug in front of Martin then sat down and took a deep breath and looked at him reading the article.

"Martin, I have something to tell you," she said, sitting straight in her chair, looking at him.

He shoved the magazine aside and looked at Catherine. "What is it? I'm all ears," he said.

"Martin, I'm having an affair with a man I have come to love." She looked at Martin, dreading his response but glad she finally said it--blunt and direct.

He looked at Catherine, his eyes widening, him mouth opened, stunned, as if he had been stabbed with a blunt pole taking the wind out of him. She saw him looking into her eyes and before he could say anything she said, "Oh Martin, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to hurt you but I had to tell you. It's been going on for over a year." She reached for his hand, wanting to hold it but he immediately pulled his hand away.

"Catherine!" he said.

She reached for his hand again, "Please, hear me, Martin. I love you. You are a wonderful man, a wonderful husband, but I met this man, completely by accident and I didn't want this to happen but it did. I'm in love with him and he's in love with me."

Martin shook his head from side to side, looking into Catherine's eyes, the stunned look on his face, his mouth open. Finally he spoke, "Are you serious? You've been having an affair for over a year." He paused, closing his eyes, shaking his head then looking at her as if she suddenly had two heads, "Catherine! What's gotten into you? What's wrong with you? "

"Nothing is wrong with me. Nothing. Oh Martin, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to tell you or hurt you. I'm sorry. This is so hard for me. I didn't mean it to happen."

"This is crazy. I don't believe my ears. How could you do this to me?"

"I don't know. It just happened. I didn't mean it to happen. I didn't mean to do anything to hurt you but it happened. It just happened."

"Things don't just happen, Catherine," Martin said, looking at her. "What's gotten into you?"

"Martin, nothing has gotten into me. I fell in love. I'm so happy. This is not about you. You're a wonderful man. I love you. I will always love you, but this is different."

"Different! What's different? We have a good marriage. Thirty five years. A wonderful home. What's different?" He looked at her, anger darkening his eyes. "God damn it, Catherine, what's different?" He stood up, pushing the chair back.

"Sit down, Martin. Please."

"I don't want to sit down. I want to know what's different."

Catherine stood up and went to Martin, tried putting her arms around him but he pushed her away, staring at her, his face growing red with rage. She knew he had a temper but it rarely flared up. They hadn't had a disagreement in months. "Please, let's talk. Please understand. I love you and didn't want to hurt you, but I love Tom."

"Tom!" Martin repeated. "So what's so different with this Tom?"

"It's hard to describe, he's just makes me feel happy, young, even sexy. I don't know what to say. We have fun. It's exciting. I feel alive."

"And you don't feel alive with me," Martin said. "Is that it?"

"Martin, I don't want to compare you with him. You are such a wonderful, good man and so is he. I will always love you Martin, but I want to be with Tom."

"Are you out of your mind?" Martin yelled, grabbing the chair and shaking it."Are you losing your marbles?"

"No, I'm not crazy. I've fallen in love. I mean, I love you Martin but I'm not in love anymore. Do you understand? Can you hear what I'm saying?"

Yes, I hear what you are saying and no, I don't understand. I think you must have a screw lose--falling in love at your age. This is nuts."

Catherine looked at Martin, seeing the rage and confusion in his eyes, his hand gripping the back of the chair and realized there was nothing she could say that would make him understand.

"I'm leaving you, Martin. I can't say any more. And I didn't expect you to be happy and say congratulations. I hope you can understand I'm not doing this to hurt you. I'm doing it because I have no choice. I didn't plan to fall in love. I just did and I want to be happy. Don't you want me to be happy?"

"Of course I want you to be happy, but not like this. I can't believe this is happening."

Catherine didn't respond. She took a deep breath and went over to Martin, wanting to take him in her arms and soothe him. Seeing him so upset, so hurt, so confused filled her with anguish, she felt tears coming to her eyes, slowly rolling down her cheek. She put her arms around him, holding him close. She felt him begin to relax then tense then shove her away. "Don't touch me," he yelled and left the room.

Catherine started to follow him but stopped and let him go. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, feeling she was going to sob but took a deep breath, holding back the urge to cry, not sure what to do next, part of her wanting to go to Martin, part of her wanting to call Tom, part of her wanting fall to the floor, her throat aching from holding back her need to cry, the harsh burning sensation forcing her to shake her head from side to side, then swallow, taking another deep breath in an attempt to gather her strength. "That was so hard," she thought and suddenly started sobbing, shaking, making soft guttural sounds as the tears rolled down her cheeks, the salty taste on her lips.

After several minutes, she decided to go to her room and pack some things to take with her to Tom's in the morning. When she walked from the kitchen into the living room, she saw Martin facing the wall, staring. She wanted to go over to him, to touch him, comfort him, but didn't, afraid of how he might respond. She could see how tense he was, how dark and she didn't have the strength to face an outburst. He turned and looked at her, glared would be the proper word, then turned away. She hated how he looked at her. She didn't want him to be angry but what could she expect. She had stabbed him in the heart, she knew that, knew that he might never recover from the shock and grief of losing his wife to another man and she hated being the person who did that to him, but it was inevitable, she knew. She could not continue living a lie, sneaking off to be with her lover, pretending everything was alright with her marriage when what she wanted more than anything was to be with Tom. Sometimes, the pretending hurt so much, it took all of her energy to sit with Martin at night after dinner or going shopping as if everything was normal, being with him and thinking about Tom was excruciating. For months she dreaded the thought of telling Martin the truth. The thought of hurting him was more than she could bear, but she was hurting so much she knew she had to do it and talking to Melissa earlier made her even more certain. Though she felt relieved to finally tell him the truth, hurting Martin, devastating him was the worst thing she had ever had to do.

She knew that in most marriages when there was a break up, the man left the house, got an apartment, leaving everything to the wife, but this was different. She didn't want Martin to have to leave his home. She was the one who wanted to leave the marriage. It didn't seem right for him to have to find another place. This was simpler. She could live with Tom, maybe find a bigger apartment and she hoped, eventually, she and Martin would still be friends, hoping time would heal the fracture, but now, the pain was far too great to know what would happen in the future.

Though they slept in the same bed that night, Martin's back was to hers and there was no response when she said good night. In the morning Martin came into the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee. She asked if he would like some eggs but he said, "I'll make some for myself later," then went into the living room with his coffee while she sat at the kitchen table, her two suitcases by the front door. It was a Sunday morning and there was not as much traffic when she drove to Tom's apartment downtown, a forty-five minute drive. It felt strange to realize she was now living in his small apartment but it was cozy and she liked that Tom always had flowers and was fairly neat and the apartment didn't feel cluttered. They both liked to cook and she enjoyed standing next to him in the tiny kitchen, cutting vegetables, listening to classical music, sipping wine, stopping to hug each other and kiss then take a walk through the park, sometimes sitting on the bench where she first saw him. She liked that she could walk the two blocks to work and Gloria and Valerie both admired Catherine's courage for moving in with Tom and she now shared some of the things they did in bed and how they applauded and laughed, calling her a vixen. "No I'm not," Catherine responded, but part of her liked that they said that. She liked that Tom called her at work and before she could say Bronson and McGee, he said, "I love you" then hang up before she could respond but then she would do the same thing, in the middle of the day, impulsively call and say, "I love you" and hang up.

She made sure Martin was not at home when she made trips to get more things, not too much because of the small apartment, but each week, she called Martin to see how he was. At first he was monosyllabic and she could feel his hurt and anger then after two months or so, he mentioned he was taking a trip to England, partly on business but also a vacation and she was delighted. "Good for you," she said. "I want to hear all about it when you get back," and she felt there was a possibility they might be able to stay friends but he responded, "I doubt I will want to tell you about it" and she realized he was still angry. "Are you eating well?" she would ask and he said. "You don't have to worry about me, Catherine." He never asked how she was and she'd hang up, sadness welling up in her at the loss of Martin in her life and still hoped it would change in time. She asked Melissa to spend more time with him, check up on him, which she did though Catherine was aware of the ambivalent feelings she had towards her father, even though he did bring her gifts when she was little and had fond memories, as she got older, she found him aloof and critical of the way she dressed and some of her friends and choices she made when what she wanted from him was to feel accepted and not judged.

One night when she and Tom were in bed, cuddling and things were heating up, the phone rang and it was Melissa telling her that Martin had a heart attack and was in critical condition at Jefferson Hospital. She was at the hospital with him. "I'll be right there," Catherine said and hung up then turned to Tom. "I have to go," she said. "Martin's in critical condition."

He reached over and hugged her. "Go. You should go." Catherine appreciated how generous Tom was, not at all jealous; however, just before she left, the phone rang again and it was Melissa telling her "He died, not to come." Catherine heard her daughter's words, heard her crying then burst into hysterical tears, crying, sobbing, gripping the phone screaming, "Oh, no! Oh no! Oh, no!" She was white with shock and gasping.

"I saw this coming, mom," Melissa said. "He hasn't been taking care of himself. He looked terrible."

"This is all my fault. I did this."

"No you didn't. Mom, it's not your fault. You did what you had to."

When Catherine hung up, she started sobbing again, crying hysterically. Tom held her, rubbing her back, kissing her head, doing all he could to comfort her but didn't say anything, just let her cry and feel safe in his arms.

"I broke his heart. This is my fault," Catherine said, trying to control her crying. "I did this to him," she said. "I broke his heart."

Tom didn't say anything and just held her, knowing this was not the time to tell her it wasn't her fault, that she had nothing to do with his heart attack. He just wanted to hold and soothe her, but Catherine believed that without her, he had nothing to live for, that she took away his happiness and when she said that to Tom the next day, after a restless attempt at sleeping, he tried to convince her that it wasn't her fault. "Catherine, you are not responsible for how he lived after you left him. You aren't responsible for his happiness. "

At the funeral, dressed in black, standing next to Melissa, holding each others hands as they listened to the minister, looking at the coffin being lowered into the grave, surrounded my their neighbors and friends, Tom stood in back of the small crowd rather than next to Catherine. She was crying, reflecting on their life together, but knew that Tom was right. She was not responsible for his happiness. She turned and saw Tom standing next to a tree in back of the crowd. Their eyes met and she could feel his love for her, his sadness for her, his understanding the grief and guilt she was feeling for the way her husband's life ended and how hard it must be to see a part of her life being buried while the man she now loved was waiting for her. After the ceremony, the hugging from friends and neighbors, all of them shocked and dismayed at the break up of their marriage, still offered their condolences. The people Martin worked with for so many years hugged her, saying what a good man he was, and she nodded and smiled, thanking them. Melissa kissed her mother goodbye and whispered in her ear, "Tom is a lovely man."

When everyone one left, Catherine stood by the graveside for a few more minutes, looking at the shiny wooden coffin, covered with flowers and dirt. Tom could tell she wanted to be alone but after a few minutes came to her and put his arms around her shoulders. She leaned into his chest, feeling his warmth and comfort. When they walked back to her car, she glanced back at the grave, holding Tom's hand, squeezing it, feeling his strong loving hand. In the car, she was quiet but she loved the way he looked at her from time to time as they drove back to their apartment for lunch and the years ahead of them.