Indulgences

I wasn't sure why I was here.

I mean, I knew "why" I was here: my soon-to-be ex-wife had asked me to come by our house to talk. She refused to meet elsewhere and wouldn't talk to my lawyer. She wanted to meet on the front lawn, in full view of the street, with any recording devices I wanted to bring, in order to prevent even a hint of impropriety causing a problem for me. After conferring with my attorney, he agreed, if only to just get it all done; she hadn't fought on anything else, so there was no reason to suspect she was trying to play dirty now.

But the "why" that I didn't get was this: I'd never, at any point in these proceedings, given her any reason to believe that there would be a reconciliation. There was no reason to talk. I might eventually be able to forgive, but I could never forget. She'd broken my trust, and without that, there was no hope of a path forward for us. She'd already apologized. The settlement had been negotiated. There was nothing else to talk about. So why have a sit down and why do it here?

Shelley had hauled our patio table and chairs around to the front lawn. There was a tea service and cookies on it; all we needed were a couple stuffed animals for a good old-fashioned pretend tea party. Maybe a nice floppy brimmed hat for me, while we were at it; style matters, after all.

My wife was standing next to a chair when I arrived. I parked my car diagonally in the driveway so the dash cam could capture everything, started my phone recording, then got out and approached. She smiled as she saw me. I can't lie, seeing that beautiful smile made me wish, for the thousandth time, that I could find a way past her infidelity and what came after.

She was beautiful; she always had been. Chestnut hair in a long braid, robin's egg blue eyes, a dusting of freckles across her girl next door face, and a body that could make the Renaissance masters hang up their brushes in despair of ever doing it justice: these were the least of her positive attributes. Combine them with an open and kind manner, a filthy sense of humor, and a sharp mind, and it's no surprise that I fell in love with her. It's no surprise that any man would. And that's why we were here.

My expression changed to a frown, and hers mirrored it. As I got closer, I saw that the time apart had been hard on her, maybe harder than it had been on me. She was thinner. There were dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes and new wrinkles that hadn't been there before. She hid the changes well with makeup, but I knew her intimately; I could have drawn her face from memory.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet, Troy. You're looking well." I stopped a bit out of arm's reach, not wanting to encourage a hug.

"You too, Shell." She motioned to the table, and we sat.

"Do you want something to drink? Eat?"

I shook my head. "I don't plan to stay long, Shelley. Just say what you have to say so we can go our separate ways."

She swallowed and tried to put on a brave face. "That's what I'm trying to avoid, baby. I don't want us to go our separate ways; I want you to come back home."

With a snort I said, "Well, I'm here, but this is as close as I'm going to get, I think." God, that was irritating. Even when she frowned, she couldn't help but be effortlessly beautiful. "Shell, nothing's changed. You cheated on me. You hid it from me for six months. I only found out because one of your coworkers got an attack of conscience and told me. You tried to deny it and only gave up when I produced proof. What on earth would make you think we could ever get back together?"

Shell nodded unhappily. "That's all true. I behaved deplorably. I shouldn't have cheated; I was drunk and angry at you for the fight we'd had before I left town, but that's no excuse. It was only once, not even a whole night, just one quick..." She sighed. "One time was too many. I broke my vows to you. I ran back to my own hotel room and cried all night. I almost called you then, but Deb told me to take it to my grave. It happened on the road, it was a guy I'd never met before and would never see again, and she convinced me I could keep it hidden."

She shook her head angrily. "No. No, that's blaming her. I'm responsible for my actions. I convinced myself I could keep it hidden. I-- I should have told you. Given you a chance to make your decision then, but I thought I was doing what was best for both of us."

I nodded. I had heard this all before. But if she wanted to go over it again, it was easier to just let her get it all out at once rather than interrupt her and take twice as long to get to the same conclusion: we were getting a divorce.

"I hated lying to you. I hated that I was able to, that it worked for a while. When you actually did find out, I was so... so committed to the lie that I couldn't shift gears fast enough to tell you the truth. I kept trying to trickle truth my way out of it." The look of disgust on her face, I knew, was directed inward. "I broke your heart, and I broke your trust, and I broke our marriage. Any of those would be enough for me to hate myself for the rest of my life, but all of them together? I can barely live with it.

"But. But, I-- baby, I love you. I love you so much. It hurts to think of my life without you. And I've talked to Rob. I know you're miserable. I know you want to get back together, but you just can't-- can't find a way past it." She looked me in the eyes. "Do you still love me, Troy?"

"Of course I do. That hasn't changed. I hated you for a while, too, but you-- you just made a mistake. I could have forgiven that. It would have hurt, and we would have had to work past it. You'd have to change-- I don't know. Change something about your life. About you. Something to keep you away from that kind of temptation again."

Her braid danced as she nodded vigorously. "I would do that. I've stopped drinking entirely, I've been going to counseling to find out why I let my anger lead me to bad decisions, I--"

I cut her off. "That's all great, Shell. I'm proud of you. I'm sure it'll help when you find someone else to marry." Her expression changed to pure misery when I suggested that. "But it doesn't... It doesn't fix the core problem: I don't trust you. I can't trust you, ever again. I've spent every hour I wasn't working or sleeping for the last six months figuring if there was a way I could, but I just can't. You cheated on me, you lied to me for months, and then you lied to me even once you were caught. I just-- I can't find a way to trust you after that. I'm sorry. I really wish I could."

"I think you can. I think-- I think I might have found a way."

It was a beautiful, temperate day with only a few clouds in the sky. But that was enough to cast a shadow over us now. "What, Shell? I, what, put a tracker app on your phone? GPS tag in your car, keyloggers for your computers? Maybe an ankle monitor like you're under house arrest? That isn't trust, Shelley."

I looked past her at our house. Her house, now, I guess. We'd been so happy there together. "That's... It's like faith. If you could prove, without a doubt, that God existed, you wouldn't need faith. He'd just be a fact for anyone to verify, like the Earth being round or the sun being bright. Being able to know where you are at any time isn't trust, Shell. It's just-- it's verification. I shouldn't need that. I shouldn't have to treat you like a prisoner to feel secure in our marriage."

She nodded rapidly. "I agree, mostly. That's... I think that's part of the solution, but not the major part. Another part is couples counseling, something to get us to the point where you can feel safe trusting me again." I opened my mouth to speak, but she continued. "But that's not..." Shell shook her head and reached down to her feet. A leather satchel went onto the table, and out came two manila envelopes. "This is the main part."

She looked at each, then handed me the first. "This is an amended divorce settlement. You can look through it, but in essence it says this: you get the house, our savings, the furniture, basically everything except my car, my retirement package, and a small stipend to pay my lawyer." With a shrug, she apologized. "Sorry, he insisted on that last bit."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why? We're a community property state."

Shelley cocked her head and said with a sad smile, "Because it's the right thing to do. I... Look, community property is good. It's-- in most divorces, no one should get screwed. Even ones where people cheat; sometimes one spouse is a piece of shit and drives the other one to it. Sometimes-- "

With a sad chuckle, she shook her head. "Doesn't matter. I've been thinking about all of this nonstop, and sometimes I... Well, you know sometimes I get off on a tangent. I'm sorry." Her tangents could be epic. She'd pinball from topic to topic, finding the slenderest of threads between them, finally weaving her thoughts into a coherent whole. I tried not to smile as I thought about the time she managed to get from the mass production of bandages in WWI to the evolution of the modern feminist movement.

"In our case, you were the wronged party. That's what it comes down to. You loved me, you trusted me, you upheld our vows. If I had been-- if I was worthy of being your wife, we'd have stayed married for the rest of our lives. Instead, you've flushed five years down the toilet-- seven if you count when we dated-- on someone who cheated on you because she got drunk after she had a fight over some stupid shit.

"And-- and the courts can't assign that kind of blame. They shouldn't be able to; a judge or a jury can't look into the hearts of the people involved and weigh their sins against each other. But I-- I know my sins. I know yours. And this? This is the best I can do to try to atone." She chuckled. "I thought about cutting a pinky off instead, like one of those yakuza that dishonored themselves, but I figured you'd prefer the house."

I shrugged. "I dunno, that's pretty hardcore. Maybe I could wear it on a necklace."

That laugh like a bell. God, I loved it. Missed it so much. "Well, I've only got a butter knife out here. Sorry. Rain check?" A small, sad smile remained after she was done laughing. "Seriously. I fucked up, and I wrecked our marriage. I stole that time from you. I wish I could do more to pay you back; money and property, well, I know they're not enough. But--" She handed me the other envelope. "This is what I can do if you're willing to try again."

I opened it and found a thick sheaf of papers with a clear title inside. "A post-nup?"

"Yeah. You can take it and the other to your lawyer to review, but-- " Shelley laughed again, broke my heart just a little again. "Man, if you think the new settlement pissed my attorney off, whew. This one basically says that, for the next year after you sign it, you can divorce me with the same terms of the settlement I just outlined, no questions asked. You can--"

She shifted her gaze away from me. "If you want to, you can-- can-- retaliate for what I did. Find someone else and-- and-- you'd still get that settlement for the first year. I'd-- " Her face turned back towards mine with that same wan smile from before. "It would be worth it to have you with me for another 364 days. I'd find a way to live with it."

Then she cleared her throat and forged ahead. "But that's not the main part. The main part is this: after that first year, we go back to community property rules, unless I cheat again. If I do, you get the same deal as before, but I also pay, in perpetuity, 25% of all earnings going forward: wages, stocks, social security, everything. If I marry again, that goes up to 25% of our combined earnings. It's got a clause like an HOA; I can't marry unless the potential spouse signs it."

I scoffed. "That can't be enforceable."

Shelley inclined her head and shrugged. "Admittedly, that part about remarrying might get struck down if someone fights it. But my guy assures me that the rest of it is ironclad, including the permanent 25% cut of future earnings. If you stay married to me and I stray, I will literally be indebted to you for the rest of my life."

I looked at the contract, leafing through the papers. I'm no lawyer, but it seemed to be what she said. I put it back in the envelope and put it on the table, then looked at her dubiously. "A bribe? That's your solution?"

"Yeah. Yeah, kinda, it is." She put her hand up. "Just hear me out, okay. Yes, it sounds mercenary. Even venal, like some kind of hush money payout bullshit. But it's... look, I was desperate. Am desperate. I started looking at literally anything I could. And I found three things that-- that, when I put them together, made sense. That made this idea make some kind of twisted sense."

I picked up a butter cookie. "Well, hell, I'm here already, Shell. Dazzle me."

"The first was this thing called a 360 contract. It's from the music industry; a record label gets a performer to sign a deal that says the label gets a percentage of all of their revenue streams: acting, product endorsements, whatever. The idea there is that the label spends a bunch of time and resources building up an artist, so they should recoup some of that.

"It's kind of bullshit there; just the companies screwing over their talent in new and different ways. But it made sense here. If you come back, you're spending more time on me, on us. I... you've always supported me in what I've done, always been willing to make sacrifices. And I'm asking you to make one of the biggest ones here, to trust someone you don't think you should. I'll never do what I did again. But if I did? You should get recompense for everything that your sacrifice makes possible, including anything in the future."

I stared up at the sky. "Shell, it's not-- I don't care about the money or-- I supported you because I love you. Loved you."

"I know! I know. But, please. Just hear me out, okay? It will all make sense when I'm done, and if it doesn't-- if it doesn't, you can sign the new settlement agreement and walk away."

Taking my silence as assent, she continued. "So, thinking about the labels screwing artists got me thinking about all of those rich assholes mistreating their employees, which got me thinking about wage theft, which reminded me about a quote I read once: 'If a crime is only punishable with a fine, then it is a punishment for the poor only.' And that..."

She held her hand up. "Okay, I know you're going to want to say something here. Don't. Just hear me out, like you said you would. That got me thinking about indulgences, the ones from the medieval church. How they'd let you buy your way out of your sin, spend some money and skip any kind of real penance. It was bullshit; you had people scourging themselves with whips because they blasphemed, and then you had rich fucks paying a priest off to literally get away with murder.

"The problem is that, these days? Money is... it's the only real penalty there is. In civil cases, I mean. And, again, that's good: no one needs to be getting mutilated for sleeping with someone else's wife, my joke about cutting fingers off aside. Debtor's prison was a stupid idea, too. But that leaves me with no real way that I can show my contrition through penance. There's nothing I can spend or give you that will buy back what you've lost, nothing to replace that trust."

Shelley steepled her fingers. When she got like this, I'd seen her go on epic, hourlong ramblings that sometimes turned into incredible insights. Sometimes they puttered out and turned into bullshit, too, but it was always fun to watch. This might be the last one I'd see, so I figured I'd just go along for the ride.

"But what if... what if you could loan me that trust? You could loan it to me until you thought I'd repaid it, that I was really trustworthy again. And that got me to thinking about reverse mortgages. Yes, yet another way that the powerful screw the poor. But that-- sometimes that's about implementation more than anything else.

"If you're a widow with no kids, or if your kids have abandoned you to your own devices, the idea of letting someone else pay you for your house until you're dead, giving you something to live off of? Maybe not the worst thing. Maybe the government or society or whatever should be doing that instead, but maybe pigs should come equipped with feathers, too."

She picked up the two folders. "That's what all of this is about. Not the pigs thing, but the idea that-- that I am completely unequipped in modern society to earn forgiveness or trust." Holding the first one up, she explained, "The settlement is about forgiveness. It's a poor form of amends, but other than that and throwing myself at your feet and groveling, which I've already done, it's all I've got. Ultimately, I can't earn it, even if I had access to those medieval torture devices the church had. I can only beg you to grant it."

The first envelope went on the table, and the second was held up. "This is about trust. I can't earn it. And I understand that you can't give it to me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I understand why. So I'm asking you to loan it to me. I'll pay ruinous rates if I fail to meet my obligations. I'll do whatever you need to verify I'm sticking to the terms of the contract: all those tracking tools we talked about, couples counseling, personal counseling, DNA tests for our kids if we ever have them, cutting out toxic friends, all of it, without complaint or hesitation.

"And if you're ever willing to give me your trust again, give it freely? Then I-- I-- " Tears began to flow freely down her face, ruining her makeup. "There is no act that I can think of to properly show you my gratitude." She laughed through the tears. "But I'd sure as hell try to find one. Maybe one even the Borgias wouldn't sell me an indulgence for."

With a shake of her head, she tried to bring herself under control. The second folder went onto the table, and she pushed them both towards me. "Even-- even if you can't forgive me, it's... the first one isn't contingent on that. It's just me trying to make amends. You don't owe me anything if you accept it. But-- god, Troy, I'm begging you to go with the second one. Loan me your trust long enough to show you that I'm good for it, to show you that I'll do anything to repay the debt I owe to you. Please, baby. Please."

I looked between the two folders and her pleading face. Looked at our house, the place we'd bought to have and raise a family. "Why did you have me come here? We could have done this at your attorney's office. Or mine."

Shelley wiped her tears. "Because... because I want you to come home, one way or another. I-- If you can't stay with me, I've packed all of my personal stuff in my car. I'll give you the keys to the house now.

"But if you pick the post-nup, I want you to come home today. Right now. Be with me. We'll go back to your place later and get all of your stuff and bring it back here, but I want you to turn our house back into a home."

Shell was smart. So brilliant that I felt like a dim bulb next to her a lot of the time. And on the surface, her idea was-- well, I'd certainly heard worse ones. But it still didn't fix the problem. It was a good attempt, but you can't loan trust. You can only fake it, and I wasn't willing to do that.

But...

But, looking at her face, I could tell she was serious. She was willing to impoverish herself for even a hint of forgiveness. To sell herself into a latter day indentured servitude for even a chance at regaining my trust. She was putting in the work to fix herself, to not be the person that had hurt me. And, ultimately, behind it all, she was the woman I loved. She talked about indulgences and contrition and penance, but she already had been in hell; I know, because I was, too.

And only I could grant both of us grace.