The House's Wife

THE HOUSE'S WIFE, PT. 2

Author's note: For clarity, you should read Part 1 first.

Thanks again to cvmawirenut for proofreading.

"Beverley, have you seen my blue pin-stripe suit?"

"Yes, Trey. It's at the dry cleaners."

"But it wasn't dirty, and I wanted to wear it today."

"Trey honey, who's in charge of the laundry, me or you? If you want to take over laundry duties or any other household chore, I will gladly let you."

"No. It's just that I wish you had asked me first."

"Dear, if I had to call you every single time I have to make a decision on a household issue, you would not get any work done at the office. Now, go put on another suit and get your cute little butt off to work."

This incident was my first red flag since Alfred warned me at the closing on his half of the house. I came to the meeting with him ready to rip him a new one. He came to give me advice.

"Trey, Beverley is Bi-Polar, which used to be called Manic-Depression. Even when she is on her medication, she is a little on the Manic side. During that time, she's easy to love and a delight to be around. You need, however, to keep track of whether or not she is taking her medication. It's typical that after a time of feeing good she thinks she doesn't need her medication anymore. She won't tell you she's stopped. If she does stop taking the medicine, watch out. Her manic activities will increase gradually. Her energy level will be amazing. Beverley wore me out trying to keep up with her. She will seem to stop needing much sleep and stay up late at night. Bev will take on unneeded home projects and start buying things for the house you won't see the need for. She will take total control over the marriage and the family. You need to be very careful in how you approach her when she's like that. Anyone who challenges her decisions becomes her worst enemy. In her mind, you either are for her or against her. As soon as you realize that you have become an enemy, you need to leave the house along with your kids.

"After a while, she will physically burn herself out and then, all of a sudden, she will go into a deep mental depression. That's when she's most likely to harm herself. Although in her depression she remembers how irrational she has acted and will tell you she is sorry, she will not take any responsibility for stopping herself when she was high. It comes in multi-year cycles. Although her episodes got worse over the years, I hung in there as long as I could for the kids' sake. The real reason our children didn't challenge your desire for guardianship -- they didn't want it. Oh, they love their mother, but they have started their own families and have enough drama in their lives.

"Trey, I would suggest you see a therapist now if you're going to stay with her. You need to get advice on how to detect when she is increasing her mania, how to slow down her progression once it starts, and how to persuade her to seek help. Good luck with that one. I never succeeded."

I mistakenly took Alfred's comments as merely bitterness from a hurt ex-spouse. I was offended by his suggestion I see a therapist. Nevertheless, I was on alert at home for a few days, but I didn't notice anything significant I would consider Beverley do that was peculiar. Everything about her was positive from what I could tell.

Beverley and I got married about three months after her divorce from Alfred was finalized. I told her that we had to wait that long anyway before I would have built up enough vacation time for our honeymoon. Do you want to know where a newly married man with two kids go for a honeymoon? We went to Disney World, of course. Yep, we took the kids. Beverley thought it was too soon in our family blending process to leave them with someone else. We all had a great time, but if I hear the 'It's a Small World' song one more time . . .

Beverley was a loving but strict parent, at least stricter than I or my first wife would have been. The kids put up a little fuss now and then with statements like 'But our Mommy never made us do that' were heard decreasingly over time. We had settled into a new routine without significant bloodshed. One thing I noticed was that Beverley may be older in years than my first wife, but she had more energy and that made her seem younger. We were by all measures a happy family.

Several years went by and our family unit grew stronger. I enjoyed everything about being with her. I could tell that my love for Beverley had matured. Part of me knew that I was drawn to her to some degree because of the need for someone to fulfill the role of the children's mother and housekeeper that had been taken from us. I am even willing to admit that having a willing and talented sex partner helped the transition.

'Mommy Beverley' made a comeback to a new generation of young children in the neighborhood. Cookies are loved by all generations. When I looked around, it seemed like there were always extra children in the house besides our two. One other thing there always seemed to be present and that that was laughter -- children's and adults'. Oh, there were times when there were tears also, but it was more likely from laughing too hard than from sadness or pain. I marveled at how Beverley seemed to have control over what might otherwise have been viewed as chaos.

As a husband, I tried to make sure I didn't take Beverley for granted, a sin I believed in hindsight I was guilty of with my first wife although she might have disagreed if you had asked her. I have caught myself several times thinking about my first wife with thoughts like, 'I should have told her that more often' or 'I should have showed her how much I loved her more frequently.' I didn't want to repeat my mistakes of neglect with Beverley. Every time I complimented Beverley or gave her flowers or a present for no special occasion, it made her cry tears of joy. Evidently, Alfred was not a husband that willingly expressed his love and affection easily or often. She always made me feel loved.

Periodically, she would take off some time to visit her girls from her first marriage and their families. At the birth of her first grandchild, I almost had to beg her to come back she hated leaving so. It only took, however, one phone call from my kids telling her how much they missed her. She booked her flight home the next day.

Then life happened -- the dark side of life.

One day we took the kids to a large, nearby park. It was a beautiful, sunny but breezy day -- a light jacket day. Flowers were beginning to bloom. Tulip trees and forsythias had started to bud. Families were scattered everywhere having fun. Bikes were moving carefully on all the paths. Old men were playing chess games. Many people were walking their dogs on leashes and/or playing frisbee with them.

Beverly was walking the kids back towards me from the Jungle Gym area when an errant frisbee landed near our daughter Amy. She suddenly broke away from Beverley's grip and went to pick up the disc. Unfortunately, a pit bull thought she was trying to steal his frisbee. He started to attack Amy. I was too far away to help in time. Instantly, in my mind, there was an image of my daughter Amy's throat being torn out by the dog's bite. I've never been so scared in my life. I screamed out Amy's name as I ran as quickly as I could. My legs felt like I had lead weights attached.

I observed as Beverley moved faster than I thought possible for a woman her age. She tackled the dog, knocking him off of Amy. That action on Beverley's part achieved the immediate goal of taking the dog's attention from Amy but now Beverley became his target. Beverley wrestled with the dog the best she could. She held on to the dog's collar with both hands in hopes of keeping his sharp teeth from her face and throat. His claws, however, were free to wreak havoc. The pit bull was full grown, incredibly strong and probably weighed as much as Beverley. Beverley cried out for help as her grip was beginning to weaken. Just then the dog's owner arrived, attached a leash to his collar, and quickly pulled the dog away.

I went to check on Amy first. She was crying but after examining her head to foot, all I saw were some bloody scratches and torn clothing. I cradled her in my arms with my son hanging on to my pants' leg. We went over to where Beverley lay exhausted on the ground, breathing heavily from the struggle. I could see her injuries were numerous and were producing large spots of blood over several uncovered parts of her body and even seeping through some parts with clothes over them. The dog's owner approached us. "I'm sorry. He's never done that before. I guess he thought she was taking the frisbee." Then he started apologizing profusely while holding his dog who was barking at Beverley and lunging to get loose. I was afraid he would escape and attack Beverley again. I yelled at the owner to take his damned dog away from us. Amy and Beverley were still traumatized and in shock.

Amy went from clinging to me for dear life to kicking and hitting me, forcing me to put her down. She ran crying for Beverley and wouldn't be satisfied until Beverley held her despite Beverley's protests that Amy would be getting her clothes bloody in the process. Soon after, police and an ambulance arrived. Beverley's injuries were serious enough for the EMTs to recommend transporting her to the nearest Emergency Room. Amy and Beverley would not be separated so both rode in the ambulance to the hospital.

My son and I stayed to speak to the police about what happened. As soon as possible we headed to the hospital. One of the policemen told us they had talked to the dog's owner. According to him, the dog was current with his rabies vaccination status. They had called the information to the ER. I was glad because I had once had to have shots to the stomach for a bite from a possible rabid bat. I knew the shots would have been very painful, especially for Amy and I was glad that she didn't have that added to her trauma.

When we were allowed into the Emergency Room treatment cove, Amy was sporting several cartoon character band aids. She was sniffling but was much calmer now. Beverley had more extensive wound coverings, especially where stitches were required. I waited until the nurses had finished securing the bandages before going in to talk to her. I tried to coax Amy out of her arms. No luck. She was resisting fiercely and crying out, "Mommy, mommy." She wouldn't leave Beverley's arms. Instantly, Beverley started crying too.

I asked Beverley if her wounds were being hurt from holding Amy. She said, "No. Did you hear what Amy called me?"

I hadn't paid attention. I guessed, "Momma Beverley?"

"No. This is the first time she's called me just 'Mommy' instead of 'Mommy Beverley.' Trey, I believe that means she has accepted me as her Mommy now." I joined in the symphony of tears.

That night. Amy and Beverley slept together in Amy's bed a practice that lasted for some time. Some nights neither got much sleep. Both were prone to nightmares of the dog's attack. They comforted one another as best they could. My son decided that it was okay to sleep in my bed since his sister got to sleep with Beverley. It took several weeks before Beverley and I got to sleep together. We did, however, have to keep the door open in case one or both of the kids got scared.

During the daytime, I went out of my way to lavish praises on Beverley for her quick courageous action to save Amy and I told Amy how proud I was because of her bravery. Beverley surprised me by saying she felt guilty for not having recognized the danger and allowing Amy to break away from her. She seemed sure in her belief that I was mad at her despite my denial. Beverley seemed to walk on eggshells around me. I didn't know what else to say or do to ease her anxiety. Then I thought of something we had been talking about but hadn't gotten around to doing yet.

A few days later, I said, "Beverley, we need to talk."

She looked devastated at those words. For some reason, I was suddenly worried that Alfred had said that to her before asking for a divorce. She said, "I'm so sorry, Trey. It was my fault. I should have held on to Amy tighter. Please forgive me. I beg you. Don't send me away." Tears were flowing.

"No, Beverley, I'm not faulting you. I have some papers for you to look at and sign." I plopped down the envelope.

"Oh my God! Those are divorce papers, aren't they? I knew you blamed me for Amy getting hurt after all, and you have every right to. I'm sorry. I wish you could find it in your heart to forgive me Trey. I don't want a divorce. I can't stand the thought of leaving the children or you. Please don't do this to me." Beverley's emotions were out of control. She was the most distraught I had ever seen her or any other person as a matter of fact.

"Calm down Beverley, just look at the papers, please."

She continued to cry before she composed herself and picked up the envelope. "Okay, if that's the way you want it. Since it was my fault, I want you to know that I don't plan to create a problem for you and the kids. I'll agree to whatever you think is in their best interest."

She looked at the papers and then looked up at me in shock. After having trouble speaking, she finally blurted out, "These are adoption papers! These will make the children mine as well as yours!" She laid the papers down and got up and hugged and kissed on me so violently it almost knocked me over. Then she stood back from me with a frown on her face and poked me on my shoulder. "I hate you for teasing me like that, you mean man. Making me think you were divorcing me. Boy, I'm going to punish you in bed tonight. To Hell with it. I'm going to punish you now." We headed for the bedroom. If that was punishment, I want to become a masochist full time.

The next day I was pleased with myself. In my mind, my family had come out of a tragic event and become even stronger. I was so busy congratulating myself for doing something right that I did not notice at first the changes in Beverley's behavior. Looking back, I suspect that Beverley's intense explosion of various strong emotions that were produced because of the attack and the adoption may have started her on her next cycle of her illness.

I wrote earlier that I basically ignored Alfred's warning to me about Beverley's illness. I didn't forget his comments though. After the dry cleaners' incident, I began to pay more attention to Beverley's words and actions.

Boxes started appearing on our front porch. Beverley had started watching TV shows on the HGTV network during the day. Since she needed less sleep, she was also exposed to numerous infomercials late at night. Soon, we had enough kitchen utensils to stock two kitchens, two different machines that help remove ear wax, and a nasal flushing machine to help with seasonal allergies that neither of us had. We have CD's of the 50's, 60's, 70's and 80's. One of our neighbors told me something he had witnessed. He saw my wife outside in the yard one day acting if she were waiting on someone. Evidently, on this occasion, Beverley was so sure that a particular package was to arrive that she stopped the UPS truck that was passing by. She stopped it by standing in the middle of the street on its return from one of our neighbor's and then went inside the van and checked to see if the package she was waiting for was there. The driver was not happy, to say the least.

If Beverley wasn't rearranging furniture at 2:00 am in the morning, she was refurnishing or repainting the living room or the kids' bedrooms or our bedroom. Our yard got landscaped although the landscaper threatened to quit several times because of her micromanagement of their work. I learned not to fuss at such things. It kept her busy, the house looked good, and I could afford it. To tell the truth, I was somewhat scared to confront her.

At dinner one night, the kids and I were surprised at what Beverley put on the table before us. It may have been a vegan's dream, but it was a carnivore's nightmare. The kids refused to eat it until Beverley used dessert as a bribe. They should have known better. No decent dessert has the word 'spinach' in the ingredients. She was mad but after a few tries did not want to continue to throw the 'good-for-you' food away every meal. Organic food may be healthy, but it is expensive. I think the real reason she gave up so readily was that she didn't like the taste of the 'politically correct' healthy food herself, but she refused to admit it to us.

The worst confrontation Beverley and I had during this time came over pictures. I arrived home one evening to see that Beverley had replaced the pictures on the mantle and the wall that had included my ex-wife and, therefore, the children's mother with pictures of the new family group. It was difficult for me to not yell at her as soon as I saw what she had done. I asked as calmly as possible where the old photos were. If she had gotten rid of them, I doubt I would have been able to hold my temper. "Don't worry. I didn't throw them away. I just put then in a box in the attic. Trey, it's time for the kids and you to move on. I'm the wife and mother now. The four of us all need to move on together. We can't do that with your first wife staring at us all the time. I never knew your wife, but I bet she would have wanted you three to do that." My counting to myself almost got to 100 before I calmed down.

"Beverley, this is one instance where you really should have asked me first. I worry about what the kids will think." I had challenged her decision. That was a bad idea.

"Well, excuuuuuse me, mister. One of us needs to be more concerned with the LIFE of this marriage rather than the DEATH of a former wife and mother. It just so happens that the kids have asked me what happened to the pictures and I told them that the photos were making you too sad. They told me they understood and haven't said anything more." I put myself in timeout in my home office for the rest of the evening. The fact that she may have made the right decision made it even harder for me.

One thing that began to actually improve during this time was our love life. Beverley wanted sex more often and with more intensity. I had to start using Viagra to keep up with her. Although I began to feel like I might be taking advantage of her illness, it was the best sex I had ever had. I only began to worry about our sex life when she began what I initially thought was teasing about her needing an additional man to satisfy her was not a joke. I began to plot how I could find out if she might be cheating: Cameras? Digital recorders? Special phone application? A private investigator? It turned out that I didn't need any of those items.

She announced one day that she was going dancing Friday night. Since I did not like to dance and someone had to stay with the kids, she would be going by herself. Again, I did not see the need to challenge her and probably face her wrath. It appeared, however, that my silence was perceived by her as my tacit approval of not only dancing with other men, but also relieving some of her sexual stress with other men.

I came home one evening to find a strange man sitting on the couch of my living room. Beverley came in from the kitchen and introduced him to me. She called him her lover, Ben, and spoke as nonchalantly as if she was introducing her new hair stylist to me.

"I beg your pardon. Did you say he's your 'lover?'"

"Trey, I know you try to please me sexually the best you can, and I really appreciate your efforts. It's not that I need better or different sex. I just need more sex. I told you that I was going to find an auxiliary source of sex. What do you think I've been doing on my nights out? For the last few weeks, Ben here has been providing the extra sex for me and we're going to continue seeing each other. It's getting too expensive for us to get a hotel room so we need to work out a schedule where you and the kids can be out of the house those nights Ben is here."