Sunday November 9, 2008
“Are you busy?” she asked into the phone, without preamble, when he answered.
“No. What’s going on?” he replied, an edge of apprehension in his voice.
“I need you to do me a favor.”
“Name it,” he said immediately, and her heart squeezed.
“I need you to come get your children and do something with them. Anything. Take them to the park. Play with them in the backyard. Take them to a movie. I don’t care.”
He laughed. “Are they driving you crazy?”
“No, I need to finish reading this book,” she said, soft and serious. “I was up until nearly four am. I couldn’t stop reading. I fell asleep in the middle of a story. I need to finish it. I can’t think about anything else.”
He was quiet for a second. “You like it?”
“Clark, it’s… I can’t talk to you about it yet. I need to finish it. But it’s breathtaking. I’m not kidding, I can’t do anything else until I finish it. Please?”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Tell them I’ll take them to lunch and a movie if they can agree on something without fighting.”
“Good luck,” she said with a laugh. “Thank you.”
***
She almost felt guilty as she closed the front door behind them. Almost.
She returned to the living room, where she’d left the manuscript on the table, and let herself fall back in.
She had known from Clark’s brief summary that it was a collection of short stories that spanned the globe and were set throughout history. What she hadn’t expected was for the collection to be a love letter to his adopted home planet, with a description of the land and its people so beautiful it bordered on poetry. And though he’d told her he had written it for her, she had never expected each story to be a love letter to her.
On the surface, the characters of each story had little in common. Their age, gender, race, class, location, and personalities were unique to each couple. Sometimes they fell in love immediately. Sometimes it was a slow, gradual process. And sometimes the love was interrupted before it could even blossom. Some stories were long, almost novellas. Others were only a couple pages. Each couple faced, and were ultimately felled by, a challenge to their love. Sometimes the threat was external — war, death, or other circumstances beyond their control. Sometimes they were their own worst enemies, refusing to trust or open up to each other, allowing themselves to be torn apart by secrets or petty differences.
Some of the stories were so heartbreaking that she sobbed as she read them. But the saving grace that kept the book from being maudlin or overwrought was in the layered reading of the stories, not as individual short stories at all, but as one interconnected story — the building realization that each couple, no matter how different from the last, was the universe’s next attempt to get it right. That no matter how many stories ended in heartbreak, another story was only a page away. Every ending was a new beginning, and the world in all its beauty went on, never giving up. If not here in this time with this couple, then next time in a new place with a new couple.
It was truly a masterpiece; a sweeping epic that laid bare all the beauty of this planet, and she knew readers would find hope among the heartbreak.
But for her, it was so much more than a beautiful novel, because each vignette was a piece of their own story, every challenge was an echo of something they had faced together.
The soldier, duty bound to return and defend his village, leaving behind his wife in the big city where they fell in love. The newlywed, falsely accused and imprisoned in the castle dungeon, executed for a crime they didn’t commit. The secret admirer, too scared to reveal his true identity, losing the girl to another suitor because of his own stubborn pride. The young mother, dead in childbirth, leaving her husband to grieve alone.
She recognized in each story not just the universe’s refusal to give up, but their own. They had faced — and conquered — a millennium’s worth of challenges in a single lifetime. The details were changed, but the emotions were the same, and she recognized each trial, each heartbreak they had faced.
And she knew that when he wrote this, they were in the midst of their darkest trial yet, the one she’d thought had broken them. And yet he’d still obviously believed their story wasn’t over. He’d had faith that they would find their way back together to begin again.
It was an achingly beautiful testament to his love for her, and she found herself completely at a loss for a response.
Almost without conscious thought, she reached for a pen and began writing - first just leaving little notes in the margins about the beauty of his writing, and then eventually flipping the pages to write longer, more impassioned responses to each of their stories, sharing her memories, confessing her fears, and detailing her desperate love for him during those times.
She lost track of time as she wrote notes on one story and then another. Eventually the front door burst open, and the kids shouted a greeting, running past her to the mud room to gather some sort of sports equipment before stampeding to the back yard.
Clark followed, telling them he’d meet them outside in a minute and then coming to crouch in front of her.
“Hi,” he whispered, stroking her cheek.
“Hi,” she replied.
His eyes flicked to the coffee table where his manuscript lay in piles, marked with ink. “You couldn’t resist making some edits?” he teased.
“They aren’t edits, Clark. There’s nothing you should change. They’re just notes.”
His teasing smile slid away and he held her gaze. “I can’t wait to read your thoughts.”
She reached for him, and he leaned in to kiss her. “I love you so much,” she whispered.
“I love you, too.”
“Dad! Come on!” JP called from the doorway.
“Just a minute, buddy. Let me talk to Mommy for a minute,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “Do you want me to stay and do dinner? Bedtime?”
She nodded. “Please don’t leave.”
“I promised them batting practice. I’ll be outside if you need me.” He kissed her on the forehead and turned to their son. “Ok, buddy. I’m coming.”
She returned to her notes, smiling at the happy sounds of her children playing with their father. It was impossible to be sad with this evidence of their happiness filtering in from the backyard.
She hesitated for a minute, then went to bundle up and took the stack of paper still to be annotated to the back deck, settling at the table, where she could watch them play while she wrote.
She took a break when it was time for dinner, lounging in the kitchen while Clark made sauce and boiled noodles. Over dinner the children regaled her with details of the movie they'd seen, and she tried not to laugh at the faces Clark made when they weren’t looking, betraying his feelings about the animated monstrosity.
After dinner they cleaned the kitchen and tag teamed prep for the morning, checking backpacks, packing lunches, setting out clothes, and supervising showers and pajamas. The comfortable domesticity came so naturally, it was hard to believe that this wasn’t how it had always been. After the kids were read to and tucked in bed, she stopped him in the hallway with a hand on his arm and stepped into his embrace.
“I want this all the time,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“I know, honey. Me too. We’re so close. Soon, I promise. We just need to figure out what to tell the kids.”
“I’m almost finished with my notes. Come sit with me while I finish? You can start reading. Or if you want to read them alone later, you could read something else or watch tv while I finish.”
He nodded and threaded his fingers through hers, leading her downstairs to the living room. He sat in the corner of the couch, and she curled up beside him, reaching for the slim stack of pages that remained.
“I didn’t expect this,” he said, picking up the the thick stack beside it and flipping it over, blue ink showing on most of the pages as he rifled through them.
“Well, I didn’t expect this,” she countered, waving a hand at the manuscript.
He chuckled softly. “I wanted to tell you so many times. Especially this last year. I almost gave it to you a dozen different times. I thought… I thought it might…” His words trailed off, and he shrugged.
“You thought it might convince me to try again,” she finished for him.
He nodded. “I hoped. But I was afraid it wouldn’t work and … I wasn’t sure if you would love it or hate it.”
She looked up sharply.
He shrugged again, and laughed nervously. “It could have gone either way. It was either an epic love letter or an obsessive and creepy manifesto.”
“That’s not-” she began.
“I needed you to be ready to read it,” he clarified, joking aside. “I wanted you to know how I feel. About you. About our love. But I never meant it to be persuasive or manipulative.”
“It’s perfect,” she said. “I always knew you had a novel in you. I’ve been waiting for you to write one for years. But this is so far beyond anything I expected. Even setting aside the personal aspect, Clark, this is breathtaking. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read.”
He squirmed, and started to speak and she held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t do it. Do not minimize my compliment. You never give yourself enough credit. It’s stunning, Clark. The way you describe this world…when I see it through your eyes…it’s magnificent.”
“Thank you,” he said finally, and she smiled at the way it pained him to accept her praise without deflecting.
“You should send it to your agent.”
He looked skeptical. “I don’t know, Lois. It’s so personal.”
“It is, but no one will know that but us. Even if they pick out tiny details in one or two stories that could be inspired by our life, no one would ever imagine that every story is about us. The world deserves to read this book.”
“We’ll talk about it.”
She nodded, satisfied for now with that response, and curled into him, resting her head on his shoulder and draping her legs over his, using her knees as a table to write the last of her notes. He wrapped his arm around her, stroking her hip gently. He placed the completed pages on the arm of the couch and began to read her notes, flipping the pages with his free hand, and she smiled as she realized he intended to take his time reading, savoring her notes slowly, rather than speed reading.
She finished the rest of her notes quickly, then stayed snuggled in his embrace while he read, drifting peacefully between sleep and wake, exhausted from being up half the night reading and crying.
“Daddy?” Mattie’s voice roused her, but she didn’t stir.
“Shh, Mattie. Your mom’s asleep,” Clark whispered. “What’s up? Why are you out of bed?”
“Why are you still here?”
“I’m working on a project with your mom. What do you need?”
“Are you going to spend the night?”
Lois heard the longing in Mattie’s voice and wondered for the first time if their children longed to have their family all in one house as much as she did. She’d assumed that they were so used to their family's version of normal that they never even thought about it. Maybe she was wrong.
“No, sweet girl. I’m going back to my house when I finish this.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in her voice was clear, and Lois’ heart broke again for all the wasted time they’d spent apart.
“Stay,” she whispered, arching her back and rubbing her eyes blearily.
When she opened her eyes, he was gazing down at her and she saw both love and a gentle chiding on his face. She knew immediately that he was concerned about the mixed messages they were sending their kids, and she knew he was right.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Sorry we woke you.”
“Why are you up, Mattie?” She asked, sitting up, untangling her body from his. “What do you need?”
“I forgot tomorrow is school spirit day. I don’t know where my shirt is.”
“It’s in the dryer. I’ll set it out for you when it’s dry.”
“Thanks,” she said, lingering.
“Go to bed, Mattie. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Clark said softly.
Mattie grinned and turned toward the stairs, tossing a good night over her shoulder as she scurried back to bed.
Lois felt his gaze on her and turned to meet it, chagrined. “Sorry,” she whispered, and then yawned.
He shook his head, caught somewhere between frustration and adoration. Finally he tugged her close again, and she curled back into her previous position. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered, kissing her on the top of her head. “We’re going to talk about this in therapy tomorrow.”
She laughed softly, and closed her eyes.
Monday November 10, 2008
Lois practically skidded through the door of the waiting room and then relaxed when she saw Clark still waiting in a chair. She closed the door quietly behind her and went to him, bending to kiss his cheek before dropping into the chair beside him. “I thought I was going to be late. My interview went way over. I kept trying to leave, and he would not stop talking.”
Clark twisted toward her, resting a hand on her knee. “You’re fine. I knew you’d be here as soon as you could.”
She reached up to stroke his cheek and smiled at him. “I missed you.”
“It’s been three hours, Lois,” he teased.
“Well, then I missed you for three hours.”
He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his pleased smile.
The inner door opened, and the couple before them left. Dr. Booker spoke briefly to her receptionist and then waved them in.
Lois crossed the room and sat stiffly on the couch, crossing her legs and trying to remind herself that this was her idea. No matter how much she’d come to believe in the necessity of therapy, or how much she respected Dr. Booker, she still hated every second of it.
Clark slid a warm hand on her knee and squeezed. “Why do you always look like you’ve been sent to the principal’s office,” he teased gently. “You aren’t in trouble.”
“Am I not?” she whispered. “I feel like we have a lot to talk about today and all of it is me.”
Clark’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “No, that’s not- Lois, honey, that’s not true at all. We do have a lot to talk about, but none of it is anything you’ve done wrong.”
Lois sensed the doctor watching them and waiting, and she turned her attention that way. Clark turned too, giving her knee another encouraging squeeze.
“When we left off two weeks ago,” Dr. Booker began, “we were talking about the sunk cost fallacy. Particularly whether that might be contributing to your desire to take things slow, Lois. I asked you to think about that. Did you have any thoughts you wanted to share on that?”
Lois shook her head in disbelief. “Was that just two weeks ago? Um, yes, we definitely discussed that. I do think that was a major block for me, holding me back. Now that I realize that, I feel like I wasted so much time. This whole last year… For at least that long, I feel like I’ve known or should have known. I don’t feel the desire to go slow anymore. If anything, I think maybe I’m pushing now.”
Clark nodded, and Dr. Booker looked at him questioningly. “You’re agreeing, Clark. With what part.”
“All of it,” he said. “We had a long, hard conversation about this. It was intense and vulnerable, and I’m really proud of her. But I’m also worried because I think she feels a lot of undeserved guilt that we aren’t talking about, and I think she’s pushing hard to go fast now...and I’m worried that might not be what she actually wants as much as it’s because she feels...obligated to catch up.”
“I don’t feel obligated,” she said abruptly. “I want to be with you.”
“I know that,” he said gently, turning to look at her. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t think you feel obligated to be with me. I think you feel obligated to make up that lost time.”
She was quiet for a minute, taking that in. She didn’t want to agree. “I don’t think obligation is the right word,” she said finally. “But I hear what you’re saying. I do feel like we missed so much time, and it was all my fault, and I can’t get us that time back, so the least I can do is not make us miss out on more time.”
Clark looked to Dr. Booker for guidance.
“What do you want, Lois?” Dr. Booker asked. “Moving forward. You can’t go back and change anything in the past. What is your best case scenario? What would make you happiest?”
Lois hesitated. “I want...I want an annulment. A divorce annulment. You know how people get their marriages annulled, and they just pretend that they were never married. Like, oh sure, we were married for ten years and you were there at the wedding and you’ve been to our home, but now we got an annulment. We aren’t divorced; we were never actually married. Our marriage didn’t fail -- it just never existed! And then we all have to play along and pretend they were never married? I want that. But for our divorce. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want to get engaged and remarried or have some big recommitment ceremony. I just want our marriage back. Our home back. Our family back. I just want none of this to have been real. I don’t want it to count.”
There was a long pause, and Lois realized that whatever everyone else in the room had been expecting, it wasn’t this.
“You hate annulments. You think they are ‘ridiculous self-delusions’,” Clark said softly, putting air quotes around her words.
“Well, I changed my mind.” She sounded petulant, and she knew it. She hated it, but couldn’t stop herself.
“This is interesting,” Dr. Booker said slowly. “Because it seems pretty clear based on Clark’s quote of your past comments about annulments, as well as your description of them just now, that you don’t actually see an annulment as an erasure of the past. It seems you see it really as something that is for appearances sake. Wouldn’t you say?”
Lois hesitated. “It’s not just about appearances. It’s about our relationship too. I don’t want to start over. I don’t want a new wedding. A new ring. A new anniversary. When I meet someone new and they ask how long Clark and I have been married, I don’t want to say six months or two years or whatever it is at that point. That’s ridiculous. I’ve been in love with Clark for almost half my life. We have a family. We have a past. I don’t want to erase that and start over.”
Clark took a ragged breath, and she looked at him, unsure what to expect. His eyes were tender and sad. “I don’t want to erase any of that either. No one is asking you to do that.”
“You aren’t,” she countered. “But the world is. That’s what happens next, right? We either decide we aren’t getting married again, and we just...move back in together and we’re...partners of some sort, but I’m not your wife. Or we get engaged and married all over again. We already HAD three weddings! We finally got it right. I don’t want to do all of that again! I don’t want a new marriage to you. I want our old marriage back.”
“Lois, who cares what the world says?” Clark asked, cradling her cheek. “You want to wear your rings? Put them on. Or give them to me when we get home, and I’ll put them on you. You want to elope and not tell anyone the new date and keep our old anniversary? Just say the word. I won’t tell a soul. Someone asks you tomorrow how long we’ve been married? Tell them 12 years. Who’s going to contradict you? Certainly not me. I told you months ago, I don’t care about a piece of paper signed by a judge. In my heart, you are my wife. That never changed.”
“You introduced me as your wife last week,” she said quietly.
“What? No. I didn’t- When?” he asked, obviously flustered, pulling his hand away and sitting up straighter.
“In your office. When your student came in. She apologized for interrupting your meeting and you said, ‘It’s fine. This is my wife.’ And then you introduced her to me and we moved on. You didn’t realize you did it.”
He searched her face, and she was sure he was looking for anger or panic, but he found neither. “See,” he said softly. “I still think of you as my wife. Even subconsciously. I’ll do whatever you want, Lois. It’s not the m word that makes it forever for me,” he began, and she knew exactly what he was going to say next. “My love for you is forever because it just is.”
She collapsed against his chest, sobbing. He held her tight, stroking her hair.
“Where is this coming from,” he asked finally. “We haven’t discussed marriage or weddings at all. I had no idea you were worrying about this. I thought we were going to talk today about what to tell the kids so we can stop sneaking around or sending them mixed messages. I thought we were going to talk about me moving back home.”
“It’s going to be the first question they ask,” she said, sitting up and wiping her eyes. “If we tell them you are moving back home, the first thing Mattie’s going to ask is if we’re getting remarried. I have no idea what to say to that.”
“And that’s why you didn’t want to say anything to them,” Clark filled in. “Well, that answers that question.”
“What question is that, Clark?” Dr. Booker asked.
Clark sighed. “ I couldn’t figure out why Lois seemed reluctant to have this conversation with them when she’s been so confident about our relationship otherwise.”
Dr. Booker nodded thoughtfully. “Have you discussed what to tell the children and when?”
Clark shook his head. “I thought that was the main agenda for today’s session. We’ve been… sneaking around for a few weeks. I’ve spent the night a few times at her place and snuck out before the kids woke up. That sort of thing. But this last week… My mom was visiting and the kids stayed with me all week instead of going back and forth every couple of days. And some stuff was going on with our oldest and she needed support from both of us. So Lois wound up staying at my house a few nights last week. And I’m pretty concerned about the fact that we aren’t addressing this with the kids. We’re just letting them draw their own conclusions. Then last night…”
Dr. Booker waited quietly for him to finish, as he cast around for the right words.
“Lois took the kids home Saturday. I offered to stay Saturday night, but only if I snuck in and out. She doesn’t want to sneak around. Which I understand,” he said quickly, putting a hand on her arm. “She’s right that we aren’t doing anything wrong and shouldn’t act like it’s something to hide. And also we don’t want to get caught and have to lie to them, especially when we agree that we want to tell them the truth about us reconciling and moving back in together as soon as reasonably possible. But I don’t want to keep spending the night together without addressing it. I think it’s confusing for them. We either need to be sneaky, or have a talk with them, or just cool it and wait until we are ready to have that talk.”
“You had a disagreement about this yesterday?” Dr. Booker prompted when he trailed off.
Lois huffed out a small, awkward laugh. “Nope, I just completely disregarded what he wanted and asked him to stay last night... in front of Mattie, when I knew he wouldn’t say no.”
“I’m not sure that’s a completely fair retelling of events,” Clark said gently. “But…I really think we need to get on the same page here. The fact that Mattie asked last night if I was going to spend the night seems like a pretty clear sign that they are getting mixed messages and are confused about what’s going on.”
“I think they would be just as confused if we were sleeping separately every night,” Lois replied softly.
Clark looked at her with raised eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.
“Clark, you can’t touch me the way you do, and kiss me so sweetly, and tell me how much you love me in front of them, and then expect that they won’t be confused just because we sleep in separate houses. Last night when Mattie asked if you were spending the night, I was asleep in your arms on the couch. They aren’t blind. They are used to us being friendly. Affectionate. Teasing. Flirting even. That’s not what this week was. You spent all week loving me in front of them. Of course they are confused.
“And I’m certainly guilty of the same thing,” she rushed to add. “I’ve said and done plenty of confusing things this week. But I don’t think you even realize what you’re doing. Just like when you called me your wife when you introduced me to your student. It’s like you don’t see yourself. The way you look at me. The way you touch me. You kissed me twice in front of JP yesterday when you got home from the movies.”
“Why didn’t you say something about that when we talked about this on Saturday?” Clark said, reeling a little.
“Because I didn’t want you to stop,” she admitted. “I knew if I pointed it out, you’d back off. I was so happy. I wanted more of you, not less.”
Clark’s eyes softened at that, and he nodded quietly, acknowledging her reference.
“I’m not upset or criticizing you. I love the way you love me,” she said gently. “I’m just pointing out that this isn’t just about sleeping arrangements.”
Clark wiped a hand across his face, clearly frustrated. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. It’s not just about where we sleep. This week has been an emotional roller coaster. Everything has been so intense. It’s like my filter is broken, and I can’t hide how I feel about you. There’s no way they could overlook what's happening even if we were sleeping separately.”
“I don’t want to hide our love from them,” she said softly “It’s not hurting them to see their parents so happy and in love.”
“Of course not. But we do need to address it. We can’t just pretend the last four years never happened. We can’t just decide our divorce was a figment of our imagination and leave them to try to solve the riddle of what happens next. They deserve some answers.”
Lois nodded. “So..what do we tell them?”
Clark turned to Dr. Booker, and Lois followed his gaze, waiting for guidance.
