Boston Strong

"Arthur and I walked out arm-in-arm, and I gave him a passionate kiss at his car before walking to my car to follow him to the motel. Who should I see standing beside my car but David, with the saddest expression you could ever imagine, a dozen yellow roses (my favorite) falling to the ground out of his hand.

"'I... I know that I've been neglecting you,' he said, tears falling from his eyes, 'and thought that I would try to make it up to you, but I see that my concern has been misplaced,' as he turned and trudged back to his car.

"'That's right, walk away. Now you know how I've felt while you've been banging your sluts!'

"David turned around and looked at me with a truly puzzled look on his face. 'No, wait,' he said, 'It's not what you...'

"'It's not what I think?' I said. 'God, couldn't you even come up with an original line?' I got into my car and went to meet Arthur at the restaurant. After a nice meal we retired to our motel and a night of the best sex I'd had since the whole mess started. I did make use of that overnight bag, and after breakfast with Arthur returned home, wondering what kind of a showdown we would be having. I had made up my mind that I wasn't going to beg for his forgiveness, I wasn't even sure that I needed it."

I was shocked. This didn't sound like the kind, loving Marge that I knew.

"I was surprised to get home and see that David's car wasn't there. Was HE actually going to walk out on ME? I was so angry that I didn't even see the ring and the note on the kitchen table before I went to take a shower. I had already arranged for the day off, and came back into the kitchen dressed casually and went to make a Keurig. As the coffeemaker was doing its thing I noticed the ring on the table. My anger rose again as I strode over, then I saw the note under the ring.

"'Marge, I have been trying to save you worry, and I have obviously erred greatly in that regard. Please contact Dr. Wilson, he has my permission to discuss my case with you.' I was in shock. 'Doctor?' 'Case?' What was he talking about? I was getting a very bad feeling about this. I called Dr. Wilson and had an appointment to see him that afternoon."

"What was the matter?" I asked. "What did the doctor say?"

"It turned out that David's last physical had shown signs of prostate cancer. Further tests confirmed the diagnosis. In an attempt to spare me the anguish, David chose to go through the treatments alone. All the things that I thought were signs of an affair were either doctors' appointments or side effects of his treatments.

"His attempt to see me the day I slept with Arthur was to tell me about everything, including the fact that his cancer was now terminal. I was mortified! Here was my husband, the man I loved, fighting for his life, and I was cheating on him. It took some digging, and calling in more than a few favors, but I finally found him at the home of one of his friends."

"That must have been awkward," I said.

"You don't know the half of it," Marge said. "Needless to say, I didn't exactly find a warm welcome when I rang the doorbell, but I pushed my way in, not stopping until I fell to my knees beside David who was sitting on their recliner. As I took his hand I could feel him try to pull it away, but I held on tight and he didn't have the strength to fight me. I pleaded with him to forgive me, that I was a stupid, foolish bitch to not trust him, then to cheat on him.

"He just looked at me sadly, I'm not sure if he was angrier at my cheating or at my lack of faith in him, then turned his head away from me. I was ushered, none to gently, out the door. I refused to give up, coming back every day. Depending on who answered the door I wasn't always able to get in to see him, but I got in often enough to wear down his resistance. In the end, he decided that life was too short, no pun intended, and that he did share some responsibility by not confiding in me. I took a leave of absence from my job so that I could devote every minute that I could to David's care, and just to be with him, holding his hand."

Marge took a few minutes to compose herself.

"David and I were recreational runners, and every year we took Patriots' Day off so that we could watch the Marathon. Sometimes we would go out to the course and cheer on the runners, sometimes we would just watch on TV; that year, we obviously watched on TV. It was David's last day of lucidity, and he gave my hand a gentle squeeze, whispering, 'I love you,' before dropping off to sleep.

"The next morning, his breathing was very ragged, and he never woke up before his breathing stopped and he was gone. My wails brought the visiting nurse into the room, and she held me until I could pull myself together. We had already made the appropriate arrangements, and the nurse thankfully made the calls for me.

"It was at that very moment, as soon as I could think clearly, that I decided that I would run Boston in his memory. Now you know the real reason that it was important for me to finish the race."

I was stunned. Of all the things that I could imagine, this wasn't even on the list, never mind at or near the top.

"I... I don't know what to say, Marge. That seems so unlike you, it's hard for me to believe."

"I won't blame you if you don't want to see me any more. You know what they say, 'Once a cheater, always a cheater,'" she said as she ran to her room crying.

"Marge, wait," I said, but I could already hear the door closing.

My mind was a muddle. Marge a cheater? No, it couldn't be, but she had just told me herself. This wasn't the Marge that I knew. I wasn't going to try to excuse her actions; she wouldn't want that; but this wasn't "The Scarlet Letter," we're not marked forever by a single bad deed.

I went to her door and knocked gently. I could hear her softly crying, but she wasn't sending me away; that was a good sign.

"Marge, I know that you're upset, and I can't say that I approve of your actions, but I think that maybe I can understand a little bit. What I do know is that I love you. Maybe that isn't enough, but I'm not giving up on us without a fight. I'm not leaving until we can talk this over. If you still want me to leave then, I'll give you some space, but I'm not letting you go."

I went downstairs, grabbed a beer and put my feet up on the recliner. What a fucked-up mess!

I must have fallen asleep; fortunately, I had finished the beer first as the bottle was lying on my lap. I wasn't sure what woke me up, the sun shining through the window or the feel of her tear-stained cheek on my hand as she held it against her face, holding on for dear life.

"Did you mean what you said? That you wouldn't give up on me, on us?"

"Of course I did," I said as I got up, knelt beside her and took her in my arms. "I'm not saying that it will be easy. We have to figure out how you could do what you did to David, the man you loved so deeply, and assure both of us that it can never happen again. I believe that you, that WE, are worth the effort."

It was hard work, with many ups and downs. Sometimes, she was so wracked by guilt that she would try to push me away, but I would just hold her tighter and not let her go. Other days I'd be having a bad day, and we'd have a stupid argument, and before I could stop myself I'd throw it in her face, and she'd run crying to our room. Of course, I then felt like shit, and had to talk her down.

I have to confess that despite my assurances to Marge, I did harbor some dark doubts. If she could cheat on someone she loved so deeply, what assurances did I really have that she wouldn't someday cheat on me? It got to the point that I went to see a counselor.

"So, what brings you, here, Steven? May I call you Steven?"

"Yes, please, Dr. Ross," I said, "The problem is my girlfriend."

"Oh, what did she do to you?"

"I'm sorry, she didn't actually do anything to me. She's been very good to me."

"I'm afraid that you're confusing me, Steven. If she's been very good to you, why do you have a problem with her?"

I hesitated, not quite sure what I wanted to say.

"Um... Well... She cheated on her late husband, shortly before he died from cancer." That made Dr. Ross sit up and take notice.

"I can see how that might concern you. She wasn't cheating with you, was she?" she asked sternly.

"Oh, no, no!" I said quickly, "This happened over a year before we met."

I then told the doctor the whole story, about Dave's hiding his diagnosis, Marge's suspicions, and finally Dave's discovery of Marge's "revenge" affair.

"I know Marge, I love Marge, and I know that she loves me, but I also know that she loved Dave, maybe even more than she loves me, yet she cheated on him. A part of me, admittedly a small part, but a sharp, painful part, nags at me, saying, 'If she'd cheat on Dave, she's liable to cheat on you.'

"I want to ask Marge to marry me, but I'm afraid that if I can't get rid of this doubt, that it might poison our relationship, maybe even destroy it."

"I think you're wise to try to resolve this now," Dr. Ross said, "While it's quite possible that you can get over this, and have a long, happy marriage, the consequences you describe ARE possible, and it's much easier to deal with them before they come to a head. If you don't mind, I think I would like to talk to Marge, both by herself and jointly with you. Do you think that she might be amenable?"

I was apprehensive. While Marge was obviously aware of our problems, other than my angry outbursts she wasn't aware of how deep my doubts went. I made a tentative appointment for Marge, and went home wondering if I would survive my planned conversation.

I decided that no good would come from putting it off, so while we were relaxing after supper I bit the bullet and addressed the issue.

"Marge, you know I love you, right?"

"Of course, Steve. I love you, too," she said, looking at me curiously.

"The thing is, Marge, I don't think that either of us has fully resolved what happened with you and Dave."

Marge tried to interrupt, but I held up my hand to get her to wait.

"I... I saw a counselor today, and I think that she might be able to help us."

"Us? Do you think I need to see a counselor?" Marge was getting a little agitated.

I sighed.

"Yes, Marge, I think you do. You're still carrying a lot of guilt; and it's not just you. I need some help also. If you agree to go, I made an appointment for Thursday afternoon."

"Pretty sure of yourself, weren't you? She asked a little heatedly.

"No, just hopeful. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can get on with the rest of our lives."

"Okay, I'll go, but I still think you're making a big deal out of nothing," she said, getting up and storming out of the room.

That went well, I said sarcastically to myself.

Things were chilly in bed that night, but were more or less normal the next couple of days leading up to her appointment. As we drove to the office, the silence in the car was deafening. I drove just in case the session left her too upset to drive, which turned out to be a wise decision. I had given the doctor permission to share anything from my session that she felt was appropriate.

I was seriously questioning that decision when just as her session was scheduled to end, Marge came running by in tears. I looked back and Dr. Ross motioned for me to go after her.

I found her in tears in our car, and she flinched when I tried to touch her.

"You don't trust me," she said, "I was right the first time, 'Once a cheater, always a cheater!'"

"No," I said as I made her accept my arms around her, "It's not like that at all. It's more like when you have a pebble in your shoe."

Marge gave me an odd look.

"It's not that your foot is injured, or that you want to throw away the shoe, but it's an irritant; you can't enjoy an otherwise pleasant walk. I just need to get that pebble out of my shoe, and frankly, I think you have your own pebble to deal with, too."

Marge sniffled, and gave me a tentative nod as I held her tighter.

"If it's okay with you, I'm going to call Dr. Ross and set up a joint session. After we see how that goes, we can have more joint and individual sessions until we work through this, and we WILL work through this," I said as I gave her a tender kiss that she tentatively returned.

Our sessions with Dr. Ross were rocky, at first. In some ways it was like training for the Marathon: some days it was a struggle just to get out of the house and hit the road; some days the miles just flew by. We signed up for the Dana-Farber team to raise money for cancer research, and together raised $10,000. We never considered who raised what, we were a team, and that attitude carried over to our struggles in our relationship.

Dr. Ross helped us to slowly come to realize that what happened to Marge and David was a highly unusual confluence of events, unlikely to be repeated, and in any case, we were watchful for the signs, and pledged to each other to be open about our problems and concerns.

It took a while, and it wasn't as easy as I might be making it sound, but as Marathon Day approached we were in a good place in our relationship.

As we joined the throng at the start in Hopkinton, we had been in a groove and I felt good, both about the race and our relationship. As the race started, we quickly got onto our pace. Boston is a tough race, and neither of us were expecting a personal best, but I had another objective in mind.

It was a struggle, every bit as hard as we had heard. Heartbreak Hill almost finished us, we were barely jogging as we hit the crest, but it was essentially downhill from there.

We crossed the finish line together, our linked hands raised over our heads. As soon as our finish was recorded I pulled a confused Marge back to the finish line. Her confusion was cleared up as I kneeled on the finish line and pulled the ring out of my pocket.

"Marge," I said, "We've had our ups and downs, hit a few pot holes and a few heartbreaks, but through it all I've come to realize that there is nobody I want by my side for the marathon of life. Will you marry me?"

Marge could only nod eagerly and held out her left hand. As I put the ring on her finger another cheer rose from the crowd as I stood up, took her in my arms and kissed her as if my life depended on it.

It was a good thing that I was guiding her by her right hand, because she couldn't take her eyes off her left hand and the ring.

We resisted the urge to be corny and get married at the Marathon, but we did get married the weekend before Labor Day, so that our Hawaiian honeymoon could include running the Kauai Half-Marathon, which lived up to it's reputation as one of the world's most scenic half-marathons.

Marathon days are still bittersweet for us. They're reminders of Dave's death, and Marge always needs a few minutes alone to shed a few tears, but they're also the anniversary of our coming together. We're still running and raising money in Dave's name for cancer research, but Marge may have to take next year off as we have just learned that she is pregnant with our first baby. We've already decided on a name: David if it's a boy, Davina if it's a girl.