Ch 6 A Beginning

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

Laura, hearing her grunting and panting and crying out, hearing that

particular

sound she made at orgasm. She'd been making it for George Mathis, over and over and over again, across the months. That was what had ultimately broken John. Her voice.

My Laura. My dear, fucking wife.

He stopped there. He didn't move. Laura waited, knowing he was going to express something profound. Waiting.

John?

Unforgivable. Yes, it was. His dear, fucking wife. And now? How had he gotten here, to this point of saying he 'forgave' her? He pulled back and stared at her, his poor, fucking, puzzled wife. How did he get here with those memories permanently installed?

"John?"

What else was there?

"John? John, what is it? What's wrong?"

He moved back toward the window, far enough that he wasn't touching her.

But the other memories came, too. Yes, the birthing. And her crumbling, cooperating in her punishment, letting him take over her life when she could have just left. At least in theory she could have left, but no, she couldn't. There she was in that one memory, holding his feet in that bizarre scene, desperately begging him not to release her from her punishment. Utterly despondent. Utterly dependent on him, on John Reynolds, on her husband and no one else.

On me.

It was the Three Lauras problem. She wasn't the Laura he had married. If she were, there'd be no problem at all. But she wasn't George's Laura either, the deceptive cheat who could so easily, and repeatedly give her body to another and get her pleasure from him, ultimately breaking her husband. If she were still

that

one, there'd be no 'problem' because she'd have been out of the picture by now, kids or no kids. But this third one?

She's mine if I want her. But? But what?

Stack everything up, side by side. At some point you make a decision. At some point he'd decided to forgive her, this different Laura, this hybrid. He'd decided before he really knew he'd decided, and this afternoon he knew.

It's my decision to make.

He finally replied. "Be quiet. You don't get to decide the matter. Forgiveness is mine to give and I'm giving it, Laura Helmholtz Reynolds, whether you deserve it or not."

"How can you ...?"

"Stop. Stop again. You did what you did, and we both know how bad it was. But you've paid a price. You've paid a heavy price." Of course she began crying.

"Oh John!" She moved over to him, to be able to touch him again and hold him. "Thank you. Thank you. I love you so much and I'm so sorry ..."

But he pushed her off again.

"I know. I know. You've said it before, and I believe you. But there is something else. It's about what I know you were thinking just now." He held a hand up between them. "I'm not over it. Not by a mile. It comes and it goes. I don't know when ... or if ... I can

ever

get over it. Maybe I can't. Not completely. It's there right now.

Don't think of it. Not right now. Leave it.

But I have to live with it.

We

have to live with it."

"What can I do to help? Please."

"I don't know. Be faithful. Be loving. Try not to make me worry."

Don't go sleeping with other guys. Oh, give it a rest!

"Are we going to be permanent, you and I?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I want to punish you all over again. I won't, not physically, but you have to know. It could get so bad that I'd have to leave." He squeezed her hand. "So, let's go back to the therapist and just take it slowly, a day at a time. With any luck..." he smiled another tight little smile, "maybe you can ask me again in a year or two."

He let her move all the way over to him and hold him. For the moment the memories were under control, enough that he could forgive her again. He'd have to forgive her, privately, inside himself, repeatedly.

How often will I have to do that? It would be fine. It would be perfect except for my damned memories.

It was okay for now, and they kissed again.

The server brought their food. She thought they seemed like such a sweet couple. What did the woman say she wanted? Her guy. And there they were, sitting side by side and half snuggling like they were in a fairytale. Kissing where anyone could see them. Not college kids but not very old. Probably new to each other. She'd bet twenty bucks they hadn't even had their first fight. She thought of Bill, at home with the kids, and the argument they'd had right before she'd left for work.

It was my fault. I goaded him.

She'd been tired, and miffed about some little thing she could barely remember. She decided to call him right away and apologize. If only they could be as good around each other as that couple.

I'll make it up to him tonight.

She got out her iPhone.

Laura and John ate, not saying much but leaning into each other and occasionally turning their heads to look at each other. When they were about done, John had something he needed to broach.

"There's another thing, Laura. I want ... I hope you can forgive me for hurting you."

It was time to grab hands again, to shake her head.

"I

deserved

it, honey. You

know

I did." Then, "If you did it again, I'd still deserve it."

Time for him to shake

his

head.

"Maybe. But I didn't have a right to do it."

"You had

every

right! John! After what I had done to you? And it was consensual. I cooperated of my own free will."

Why couldn't she accept an apology?

"No. It wasn't consensual! I used extortion."

"You weren't yourself because of what

I

did.

I

caused

all

of this."'

He turned his head away.

"You're right, honey. I give up. You're responsible for

everything

. Everything. Everything!" He stopped because he was raising his voice. He almost whispered it the next time. "Everything. But I still

chose

to do what I did. Stop trying to convince me that you're the

only

one with faults here. I did it to you, and I need to own up to it. I'm sorry. I love you, and I hope you will forgive me."

"Okay. Okay. I forgive you." She sounded exasperated at first, but her voice drifted downward. It became soft and sad. She asked him, "Remember after George shot himself and you made me promise I wouldn't hurt myself?" He nodded. "I don't know if I could have kept that promise if you hadn't let me stay." She stopped there and John didn't say anything at all. "Being punished was better than not having you at all." She touched his cheek. "Please John. There's nothing to forgive. If you decide I need to be punished again,

ever

, I promise it'll be consensual."

He still didn't say anything. There didn't seem much else to say. Maybe:

Be careful what you offer. I might whip your breasts one day.

He sighed and put his arm around her and pulled her tightly to him. She laid her head on his shoulder and he sighed again and leaned his head down against hers.

My Laura? My Laura. I hope so.

They sat there for several minutes, quietly folded onto each other, while the server discreetly ignored them. She would have been content to let them snuggle like that until they closed. Some things are too fine to disturb.

Finally, John asked, "Are you ready to go? I want to make love to you." Laura reached her hand down to John's crotch. They decided dinner was over and he called for their check. The server was going to get a really good tip tonight.

The server had a harder time with Bill, who was flabbergasted by her call and worried that something was seriously wrong. "Em, are you all right? Did something bad happen? I can be there in ten minutes! Are you okay, Em?"

When she could finally get a word in, "Everything is fine. I saw a sweet couple and it made me feel bad about the fight and I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell you I love you. And ... I want to jump your bones when I get home." She listened for a moment. "Oh, my sexy baby. Maybe we can make some extra fireworks after the wee ones are down." She listened. "Uh-huh. Exactly. Now can I talk to the kids?" Bill put them on and he was grateful for the break. He could catch his breath because Emily was okay. And she was horny. And he needed some time to try to remember exactly what the argument had been about.

*****

*****

It didn't mean anything. Not really. Or maybe it meant that Pastor Neuman was a skilled salesman and negotiator. That's about it. It was a few Sundays hence and the church was positively filled, almost like an Easter crowd. The word was out about some really special, but undefined, happening. An ad-man, that's what Pastor Neuman was. It was a stunt. And what a stunt it was. Once everyone was settled and the organ began playing "Amazing Grace," in he walked, straight in from the front door. Immediately behind him were Marge Mathis and Laura Reynolds, holding hands like BFFs. Then came Myra Helmholtz and John Reynolds. They all looked straight ahead and walked down the long aisle to the front pew and ignored the murmuring that filled the church building and poured out the doors. Laura sat between Marge and John.

Pastor Neuman gave a powerful sermon that Sunday. Everyone agreed it was powerful, on his pet, conjoined themes of forgiveness and redemption. He never mentioned a name, never gave a current example, certainly never pointed anyone out. He used Biblical examples everyone would recognize, the prodigal son and so forth. But all anyone could remember afterwards were the stories of the crying prostitute who washed Jesus' feet, and especially of the adulteress he kept from being stoned, and to whom he said, after the crowd had left and no one was left to condemn her, "Neither do I condemn you." Pastor Neuman gazed all around the church, looking people in the eye, here, here, over here. Everyone thought he was somehow looking in

their

eyes. Then he repeated that line, with emphasis. "Neither do I condemn you!" Yes, he did include the part where Jesus added, "Now go and leave your life of sin." People remembered that, too.