The Middle Case

The first words Sherry said were, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"That's nice. Are you sorry because you got caught? Sorry because you hurt me?" I got on a roll. "Sorry because you ruined our marriage? Sorry because you hurt one of your best friends? Sorry because you destroyed my oldest friendship? Sorry for what? What exactly are you sorry for?"

Sherry started to cry, not heavily but genuine tears. They rolled down her cheeks. I drove on. She started to speak, but I held up my hand to stop her. She put her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. She was sobbing.

I stopped the car. "You can get out now," I said. She looked out the window. I was in front of her parents' house.

"No." She almost moaned the word.

"Out. Out or I'll throw you out." I tapped on the steering wheel. I suddenly shouted, "Get out!" I didn't look at her as I drove away.

My plan when I got home was to pour myself a stiff drink and watch TV until I fell asleep. Instead I snapped. I opened Sherry's closet and stared at her clothes. I started tearing the hangars off the rod, clawing at the buttons, trying to rip the seams apart. I went into the kitchen and came back with a chef's knife and a large glass of Dewar's. I stabbed at her clothes, yanking the knife down through the fabric, cutting, tearing.

I got drunk. I built a fire in the fireplace and threw our wedding album into it. I scooped an armload of her underwear and tossed each piece into the flames, watching each one light up. Then I sat in my armchair and watched a classic football game on ESPN until I fell asleep.

These were the painful hours. That stretch of time when every moment is freighted with significance, none of it good. I was crushed. I felt the pull of the dark side. I could now understand why people killed themselves, why jealous lovers killed the ones they loved. I could see that on the other side of love lies anger which runs at least as deep.

The morning brought calm. The house was clean except for the bedroom, where shreds of Sherry's clothes littered the floor around her closet. I left those where they lay. In the fireplace, I could see the charred spine of our wedding album, straps and clasps from burnt bras, a tie from a nightgown. My mind was empty, no longer in a rage.

I took a shower. As the water ran over me, I remembered making love to Sherry the night before. It hit me that my life was changed forever. I wondered why that didn't matter to me more.

"What are you going to do?" can be a little or a big question. My way of functioning is to turn the big questions, the ones that aren't answerable, into smaller questions, cutting them into bites I can manage. Do I get back with Sherry? Big question. When or how do I see Sherry? Little question. What do I do about Tom? Big question. When do I see Tom? Little question.

I called Tom's cell phone. He answered, which surprised me because I'm sure he could see the number on his display.

"I'm really sorry," he said.

"Explain it."

"It just happened. Flirting, nothing more than that, and then one day I ran into her at the mall and then I stopped by your place and it just happened."

"How long? I know how long. I just want you to verify."

"Almost five months." I could hear him wanting to say more so I waited. "We never wanted you to know. Or Peg. We couldn't stop."

At that moment, I knew exactly what I was going do. "I never want to see you again. Our friendship is over. I don't give a fuck what happens between you and Peg. You're completely out of my life. You don't exist. You're gone. Goodbye." And I hung up.

At the moment Tom spoke, when he told me in all sincerity that he never wanted to hurt me, I knew he meant it, that he had succumbed to weakness, that he had gone down the wrong road in the dark. Fuck that. Fuck that. Fuck a friend who fucks over a friend. He ratted me out. He ran away when my life was in danger. He watched me drown without calling for help.

You think regret matters? You think Fredo didn't regret selling out Michael? I'll fucking bet Judas regretted too. You think you get forgiven because I'm not your enemy, because I'm not one of the guys you're supposed to fuck? You can't sell out your enemies. You can't fuck over your enemies. You can't betray your enemies. You were my best friend and you fucked my wife so fuck you. You betrayed me. You sold me out. Fuck you forever, you fucking bastard. You're nothing to me now.

I drove to Sherry's parents. I didn't call first. Her dad answered the door. He looked sad and a little afraid.

"How you doing?" I asked. He stepped on to the porch, pulling the door most of the way closed. He sighed.

"She told us. You know that she loves you. You know that, don't you? I can see you know that." He shook his head again. "What a stupid bitch. Can you believe I'm calling my daughter a bitch? Stupid. She's stupid. I can't believe I'm saying this about my own daughter, but stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid."

I got the point. He sounded disorganized but he knew exactly what he was saying: Sherry made a mistake, a big mistake, but just a mistake. With work and time, we could get past it. Bitch. Stupid. Call her names but get over it.

"You going to let me in?"

"The idiot is in the kitchen."

I didn't know what I was going to say until I sat down at the kitchen table. Sherry was pale, her eyes puffy. Her mother stood off to the side. Her father sipped from a glass of water.

I drummed my fingers on my knee for a few seconds. "Here's what I'm going to do." Sherry nodded. "I'm going to divorce you. Period. I'm not even going to discuss saving this marriage." Sherry looked like I'd felt the day before.

"You betrayed me. You betrayed our marriage. You betrayed what I thought you were as a person. I don't want to be married to you." She gulped and started to cry.

I wasn't moved.

"You've hurt me beyond measure. I don't think you'll ever understand what you've done to me. I know you love me. Do you hear me? I know you love me. That's why I'm divorcing you. Because I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you bad. You love me. You lost me. You live with that."

She made an animal noise. It's frightening how similar the noises we make in pain are to those we make in pleasure.

"Here's what I'm going to do. You listening?" Sherry didn't respond. "You listening?" She bowed her head as yes. "After the divorce is final, after the divorce is final and not a minute before . . . if you're a good girl, we can start seeing each other. " Sherry looked at me, her face a mask of sorrow and pain.

"I fell in love with you once. I'll give you the chance to make me fall in love with you again. I'm not going back. This marriage is over. It's history. You want me, then you have to catch me all over again. That's the only way I'll have anything to do with you."

Sherry nodded. She bit her lip. He mouth formed the word, "Yes."

"I'm through with Tom. He was my friend and he fucked me over. That doesn't get forgiven. If you see him, if you talk to him, then you're with him and not with me. That's the way it is. Friends don't fuck over their friends. He's not my friend."

I barely spoke with Sherry during the divorce. We sold the condo and Sherry moved in with her folks while I got an apartment. I saw her father three or four times. We kept it light. I didn't ask about Sherry, but our meetings sent the message that the deal was still on. With a raised eyebrow, he mentioned my destruction of her clothes. I told him she was lucky she wasn't there. He understood. I always liked him.

The divorce was final in four months, in slightly less time than the length of Sherry's affair with Tom. Peg called me twice in the days after the restaurant scene. I waited outside her house until I saw her drive away and then left a message that Tom was out of my life forever and that meant she was out of it too. I told Peg I was divorcing Sherry and that I would consider starting fresh with Sherry only if she stayed away from both Tom and her. She didn't call again. I heard through friends they were in counseling.

I didn't want to be around when the divorce became final, so I went on an adventure vacation hiking and climbing in Chile. Had a great time. The physical effort completely cleared out my mind. Sherry left a message on my work voicemail, asking if we could talk. I called her from the taxi taking me home from the airport.

"Hey," I said. "You still interested in doing this?" The whole cheating and divorce experience had made me more direct.

"I was wondering if you were going to call."

"I just got back in town. Are we doing this or what?"

"Can we talk?"

"When? Where? What are you doing this afternoon? You want to meet for a drink. Anywhere but Ciro's."

She was waiting in a booth, a glass of water in front of her. I sat down. We looked at each other. I nodded.

I didn't waste words. "Are we going to feel each other out? Is there something you want to say? Do you want to do this?"

"I want to do this."

"Which is what? What do you want to do?"

"You don't give me much room, do you?" I thought she might lose it. She closed her eyes for a moment. "Am I supposed to say I'm sorry. You tell me what I'm supposed to do."

I pulled on the end of my nose, smiled to myself, leaned forward and said, "You're supposed to make me fall in love with you. You did it once. That's both good and bad. I mean . . . I know most of your gimmicks, so you may have to work a little harder, but then again you know a lot of what I like so you sort of have a leg up." I looked at her, the challenge as obvious in my eyes as in my words.

With absolute sincerity, she said, "How do I make you trust me?"

"Wow," I pressed my lips together as though deep in thought. "Wow. This is our first date. Trust is something you build. You have to earn trust." I played my best card. "I know you had some cheating issues in the past and, well to be honest, I have some issues with being cheated on . . . but you know," I lifted my hand and let it flop on the table, "it's funny how life works. You see how it goes."

Sherry was quiet. I could see her thinking. I waited.

"I'm not as easy as you may have heard," she said.

"Really? I heard you were pretty much a sure thing."

"No," she shook her head. "I'm looking for a substantial relationship. If you just want sex, I'm not the right girl."

I raised my eyebrow. She cocked her head, holding her water glass with both hands.

"Do you like what I'm wearing?" She lifted one arm to indicate her blouse and skirt. "I just got it. My ex-husband cut all my clothes to pieces. I had to buy a whole new wardrobe."

"Very nice. It looks good on you. You ex sounds like a real jerk.""

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I guess he didn't like my clothes." She leaned toward me. "You know, there was one good thing about him."

"Just one?"

"More than one, but this one was very important."

And what would that be?" I leaned forward.

"He was an excellent kisser." We were almost touching. "I couldn't be interested in any guy if he couldn't kiss at least as well." She tilted her head. We were inches apart. "I just couldn't . . . "

The words hung in space as our lips met, as our mouths joined, as our tongues touched. A slow, gentle, loving kiss. A good first date kiss.

We lingered in the space we shared, then Sherry leaned back and stretched. I did the same. She smiled as her eyes twinkled. "This," she said, "is going to be so much fun."