Consequences
By H. Jekyll
CHAPTER 6: A Beginning
There is no sex in this chapter.
*****
John met Marge in one of those mid-priced restaurants, the one with the nice salad bar, outside their houses and away from the world. She took a sip of San Pellegrino and asked him:
"So, how are you doing with Laura?" There was no beating around the bush.
"You don't want to know." He chewed on a bit of a BLT and took a sip of coke. People came and went and he didn't answer, so finally Marge asked,
"It's
that
good?"
"It's
not
that good. And I don't want to talk about it."
Marge mulled the answer while she dipped a piece of sliced radish into ranch dressing and chewed it.
"You owe me, John."
This time she outwaited him. She should be a therapist. "I've been cruel to her."
"Oh. You've successfully guilted her?"
"Oh, muchly much worse than that," said with a grimace. Confession is good for the soul, don't you know? Maybe not so much for your relationship with law enforcement. "I'm not kidding, Marge. I could be arrested. I've been brutal. Physically. Sexually." Marge tilted her head and raised an eyelid. "Mainly with a belt."
"Oh." She blew out a breath, held a bit of tomato on her fork, and thought about it. "Well. I think I'd like to have watched that."
"Maybe. If you're perverted like me."
"Oh!" again. How do you respond to such a statement? "Have you always been like that?"
"Never before. Never again. I hope."
They ate silently. The waiter came over and asked if they wanted refills, and they both said, "No thanks." She waited until he was out of earshot.
"Will you do it anymore?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"No. I'm not completely sure, but I plan not to."
"How did Laura take it?"
"She accepted it. She cooperated. She completely, damn cooperated."
Another moment of silence. John dipped some fries in ketchup and ate them and wondered why he'd told Marge any of it.
"So, it was consensual?"
John shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't tie her up or hold her down or anything. But I told her if she didn't cooperate, she had to leave."
"And that was all it took?"
"Yes. That was it. So, consensual? I guess it was, more or less. But I don't feel like it was."
"I think ..." began Marge. "I think that shows someone who's desperately seeking forgiveness."
"Yes. Pretty obvious, isn't it?"
"I mean
you
."
"Oh? Oh, yeah. Me too." Is that why he told her?
"Both of you. So, what are you going to do now? Now that you're hopefully not going to beat her anymore?"
"What I'm doing is ... I'm trying to forgive her."
*****
They didn't talk much the rest of lunch, and not at all about Laura. They were a block from a city park, an easy walk to make quietly, across the street, through some trees, and around a large pond crowded with Mallard ducks. It almost seemed there wouldn't be any more conversation at all, but Marge broke the silence.
"It's the same with me, John. I'm trying to forgive Laura, too."
"And George?"
"Oh, there's no hurry on George. But about Laura. She's never even apologized to me."
"Wait. Wait. What about the letter?" There'd been a letter. Laura hadn't known what to write. She'd asked John to help her compose it.
"I read it. It seemed sincere. So, you've seen it? Wait! Did
you
write it?"
"No. I'm not that conniving. I helped her with the editing, so I read it. Those were her words." Mostly.
"Okay. It seemed sincere, but I won't accept something like that. Maybe I'm petty, but I want Laura to apologize to me to my face."
"Well." He had a little argument with himself and decided he should let her know. "The reason she hasn't is ... Laura is terrified of having to talk with you. She's afraid to talk with anyone, but especially you."
"She hurt me the most. No. I'm sorry. The most after you. Well, make her put on her big-girl panties. She's certainly had them off enough." Marge put a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually snarky. But can you do it, make her come over? I promise not to bite, and I think it would help. And there's someone else I'd like to have there, too."
*****
So, it happened. Laura was holding tightly to John's hand, dragging her feet, almost stopping twice on the long sidewalk, but eventually pushing the doorbell herself. She braced herself to face Marge, but the door was opened by Pastor Neuman.
"Hello Laura." He nodded. "John. It's good to see both of you."
He escorted them in but pulled John off to the side so Laura could--at least nominally--be alone with Marge. There was a chair for John by the door, set diagonally in front of the window. Pastor Neuman stood behind him. Marge was over by the coffee table, in front of the couch, fingering a small, silver cross that hung from a fine chain on her neck. She appeared to be reciting something. She also seemed to be at least as nervous as Laura. Laura walked over to her and took a huge breath and started to say it before her courage failed her completely, but she couldn't finish, not on the first try, nor the second. Not at all.
"I know you hate me, Marge ... and I deserve it ... but I'm so ... I'm so sorry... what I did ..." That was where she had to stop. It was impossible. She could never be sorry enough. There were no perfect words, no magic sentences. In the end she stood nakedly apologetic before Margery Mathis, while Marge observed her quietly and then said, "I'm trying to forgive you, Laura, I really am, but I don't know if I can."
Then Pastor Neuman walked up to them, and joined hands with each, and talked with them quietly. John couldn't hear much of it, but at some point the three were praying together and he could make out some cadences. Nothing profound happened, no miracles, no thunder or lightening, but at some point Marge reached over and took Laura's other hand and said something to her too quietly for even Pastor Neuman to hear. Laura nodded, wiped her eyes, and thanked Marge.
Laura thanked Pastor Neuman, too. He told her they were missed at the church, and he'd love it if the two of them would return, and to please give him a call. Then Laura got John and they left. She held his hand tightly all the way out to the car.
"What did Marge say to you? At the end? That you thanked her for?"
Laura made the bleak little smile that signifies something like despair and replied, "She said she'd keep trying."
*****
*****
It was the same, old coffee shop they'd used for their first conversation after he'd kicked her out. The same booth. The first time there hadn't been a real conversation, had there? More a brief exchange of disagreements. They were back because John had decided they needed a date night after their trying afternoon at Marge's, and Laura had agreed because John had decreed it. It scared her, only partly because they might meet people they knew. Mainly because of how badly it had gone the first time. She was in the same spot she'd sat that night. When the server asked what they'd like, John again ordered his favorites from college, but Laura hesitated.
"Well," asked John. "What do you want?"
She answered in that small voice she used so often now, looking up at him from under her eyelashes, "You."
John smiled. It was a tight little smile, but there you have it.
"She'll have the Cobb salad."
After the server left, John slid Laura's water glass, napkin, and cutlery to his side of the table. "Come sit beside me." He scooted over and Laura joined him, but she looked worried. He put an arm around her to pull her close, and when she looked him in the face, he kissed her.
"I've got something I need to tell you. Don't be worried. It's good. I think it's good. I hope it's good." He turned toward her and reached his other hand around to her cheek. "The thing is ... I haven't actually told you before, but I forgive you. I mean I have forgiven you. Already. Not just this minute. I just want you to know for sure."
Did she know? Did she believe it? She shivered and pulled him to her as hard as she could and buried her face in his shoulder. Forgive her? Wasn't that weak? Any number of people would agree, and maybe that's what John was. Weak. Or maybe generous, sweet, high-minded, tender, compassionate. Or everything combined. There are differing opinions, and not everyone would accept forgiving her to be a legitimate option, including the person sitting right next to him, burying her face in his shoulder.
You love me again. You've taken me back. But you can't truly forgive me, not ever.
She was sure of that.
It was unforgivable. You can't forgive it.
She couldn't say that out loud, not for the world. How could she call him a liar when he was lying so wonderfully? Could she?
"You don't have to say that, John. I know you can't."
"I can't?"
"I don't deserve it. You don't have to say that." She was shaking her head, back and forth on his shoulder, but he pushed her away--not too far, just far enough so he could lean back in and they could touch noses before he kissed her.
"Laura Helmholtz Reynolds!"
That was the wind-up. Get ready for the pitch. But at that exact moment he remembered finding out. The whole sequence. It filled his mind, out of nowhere, the way it had come to him at other times. Those first, unexpected text messages, the phone logs, the video scene from their bedroom, the confrontation. Flashes of everything. Especially the video. That was the worst thing. You can
know
about it, but actually
seeing
it is different. You don't want to see it, not if you love her, not if you knew without even thinking about it that you two were exclusive, not if you had never once thought of her as unfaithful, not if you had never,
ever
bothered to consider how remarkably good she could be at deception.
He'd seen the video--how many times? He couldn't leave it.
Seeing his deceptive wife naked with George Mathis, pleasuring George Mathis, squirming under George Mathis. That's what had broken John. And the sight wasn't even the worst thing about the video. For John, the worst thing was
hearing
