Marsha and Gary Blackwell

After dinner I left.

~~~V~~~

The first days were awful.

As I drove away I thought, 'She said I could still come over each evening, but I couldn't be there for dinner. I could show up either before or after. I chose after. I thought maybe we could... but I found out it didn't work. Marsha just went to her room while I was there.

Those evenings were awful! Meadow cried when I got there and she cried when I left. Jamie wouldn't talk to me: Wilson and Allan did what he did. After the first few times the boys just went upstairs with their mom so it was just me and Meadow. How many times can someone watch "Frozen"?

Helen was good to me. She was lonely anyway. Her little boy needed someone. She put me up in a spare bedroom. Bryan had been a good provider; she had good life insurance, mortgage paid off, the best health care. With the part time job she got, plus Social Security for Marion, Helen was able to get by. With me on hand she'd have some extra help around the house. Me, afraid about what Marsha might do I was careful not to be too generous with my money with Helen. Still I did pitch in.

The days seemed to drag. Helen and I talked some. Actually we talked a lot. No we really did. She didn't ask many questions, but she talked. She told me Marsha was definitely going for a legal separation. Helen said Marsha just couldn't put her head around what I'd done. Helen said she cried almost all the time.

We talked about other stuff too.

Marsha was the youngest of six. Before Marsha Helen had been the baby. Marsha's unexpected birth, coupled with her deformity had thrown the Fitzgerald household into turmoil. First, Helen told me how when her sister first came she hated her; she'd been the baby, then suddenly she was just another toddler.

One night while Helen and I were wiling away the time she told me what had happened. Helen figured her parents felt guilty; first about having what they thought was one too many kids, but worse how their last kid was so deformed. Helen said she understood later; her parents never wanted Marsha, and then when she did come she was so messed up. I'd seen the pictures, but Helen showed them to me again; they were awful, my poor Marsha.

Helen had gone on about other things I'd never known. Though Mr. Fitzgerald was a policeman and they had terrific insurance, it never seemed to quite cover everything. They'd been doing pretty well with five kids, but then there was Marsha, and 'the problem' and the money. Apparently there'd been procedural options regarding Marsha's surgeries, and there were several. The Fitzgerald's had been given some pretty stark choices; it was like they could do 'this' and she'd be 'really good', or she could get 'that' and the 'not so good'. The difference always came down to money; the Fitzgerald's had to make the hard choices, and Marsha was just a baby, a 'primi' at that. There were never any guarantees.

~~~V~~~

And now here I am...

At work the case involving the single mom and her toddler was going well. The rest of my caseload wasn't much of a strain.

I couldn't sleep. When and where would I be served? What would I do? Would she even do it? Maybe she wouldn't? This was Marsha for Christ's sake. She wouldn't like to hear that; using the Lord's name that way. What am I doing?

I talked to a friend of mine who dealt with these matters. He wasn't helpful. He said no matter what I'd be pilloried. He warned me, if Marsha had me served at work it was like the 'kiss of death'.

It was around that time Helen came to me and said she wanted to talk; it was a stressful conversation, and it clouded out everything for days.

Helen caught me in her laundry room repairing a clogged S-trap, "Gary can I ask you something?"

I stopped right away, "Sure. Anything."

"Other than that time...you know at the Antique shop; had you ever...done anything...you know?"

"No Helen, never. Never even thought about it."

"Then why Gary?"

I was suddenly very nervous. Was Helen asking me this because Marsha wanted to know? Of course she was. I got up and put the pipe wrench down. For some reason I was scared. What could I say? What if I said the wrong thing? I knew I had to be honest, if I lied or said something stupid and Helen told Marsha she'd know. I replied, "I don't know why. I just don't know. I guess I could say I was tired, or stressed from work, or somehow mad about something, but none of that was true. In fact I was feeling pretty good, even ebullient, a little bit anyway. Was the woman some kind of siren? No, she was quite ordinary. Out on the street I wouldn't have given her a second look. I do remember thinking about how Marsha was going to like the chairs. Then the woman was on me. It happened...it started so fast. Believe me Helen, if I knew, if I had an answer I'd...well"

Helen shrugged, "OK." Then more afterthought than anything she added, "Oh and thanks for fixing the S-Trap." Then she walked off.

Looking back, again...

I reflect back on Marsha and me, our courtship, that first date.

Marsha had been pretty ordinary too. Well the 'lip' that ugly red line and the way her nose didn't quite...well. Our first date wasn't really a date. That day we'd gone to MacDonald's. We'd talked for more than an hour. Once I got past her 'thing' Marsha was really interesting. For someone with a problem like that she had a melodious little voice, kind of chirpy. She reminded me of a hummingbird. She told me she was going to be a nun. I was Catholic and been around nuns; I never figured them as being real people. They were either uncommunicative or overmuch gushy and gooey, but that was probably me. In a way I saw Marsha becoming a nun; she'd never have to worry about dating or guys or any of that. But that first day in another way I thought her being a nun would have been kind of a waste; even then, troglodyte that I was, I think I saw a mother in there somewhere.

We talked but instead of just dropping her off I suggested I take her home. Wow! What a mistake that was. Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald had a timetable, and Marsha was late. Stupid me, I walked her to her door. She got to the door and her dad opened it.

Mr. Fitzgerald pulled open his front door, smiled at Marsha and glared at me. Looking at her he said, "You're late. Who's this?"

First day, first trip to the house, and I found out little Miss Marsha had a perverse streak. She smiled at me, looked at her dad and said, "He's why I'm late."

'Shit', I thought, that man's going to clobber me. He didn't. He smiled at Marsha again, glared at me and said, "Thanks," and slammed the door in my face.

'Well shit,' I thought, but before I could turn around the door was back open. It was Marsha. She reached out, tugged at my arm, and starting pulling me in saying, "This is Gary Blackwell. He took me to MacDonald's."

That's when I realized she had brothers, lots of them, four of them. They were all bigger than me, and I wasn't some shrimp. Dragging me in Marsha said, "This is my dad," I shook his hand, "this is Ryan," I shook his hand, "Robert," another hand, "John", hands again, "and Steven," the last handshake was the worst. I knew I'd been put in my place. Then I met Helen. God was she perfect! I willingly shook her hand.

While her brothers eyed me up and down her dad dismissed me, "Nice to meet you Gary. Come back and see us some time."

I fought back, "I will. I am. I was about to ask Marsha out, but..." Had I made a mistake? Dad looked madder than ever. The brotherhood was about to pounce, but Marsha? Marsha was all aglow.

Hare lip and all she gave me one hellaciously beautiful smile, "Call me later."

More to piss off dad and the boys I smiled back, "Later tonight?"

She smiled again, "Usual time."

As the door was closing I heard her 'old man', "What's this usual time?"

I remember I skipped, I actually skipped back down their walk to my car. Was I stupid?

Snap out if it!

Helen was talking again. This time we were in her backyard and I was sharpening her lawnmower, "How many times did you...uh...well?"

'Oh that,' I thought. I answered, "Twice, I made two visits. That's what's so bad. The first time really scared me, the second time I thought...I thought I could," Helen's look was devastating. She looked like Marsha did the night of the pictures.

"Helen help me. I don't know what to do. I love her so much. I just wish..."

"She's really hurt Gary. It's like it's changed everything," she looked down at the mower, "you don't have to do that."

I put the file back in my hand and held it for a second, "Helen you've got to help me."

She looked out at the grass, "Marsha's my sister, my little sister," then she looked at me, her expression had changed, "You really blew it Gary. You don't know what you did. You just don't know," she turned and left.

I got served, and it was at work. I was supposed to bring my lawyer and meet with an arbiter at the end of the month. Hell, I didn't even have a lawyer yet. I tried to call Marsha but she wouldn't answer. Jamie answered; he told me her lawyer told her to tell me to call him. I called Marsha's representative. He wasn't helpful. He said I should have known. I called my colleague who'd warned me, and he found someone.

Arbitration...

We got to her lawyer's around 10:00 a.m. I hadn't slept at all, tired, too much coffee, bags under my eyes, usual signs of fatigue. It'd been a while; I'd only taken three suits when I moved out, and they were getting kind of shabby. I'd started doubling, then tripling up on cleaning shirts, only taken four ties. Socks and underwear...well... Marsha used to handle all that. I couldn't ask Helen, and she didn't volunteer. I know I needed a haircut; started growing a beard. I'd stopped drinking when I got married, total temperance, but lately I'd started again, still lost close to ten pounds, nothing fit right. Nobody said much at work, but since they found out I'd moved everybody'd been avoiding me. They'd all met my wife. I'd become the office pariah.

So we met. My lawyer and I got to their office right on time; they still kept us waiting in a conference room for about thirty minutes. They couldn't have been that stupid: I was a lawyer! Then Marsha and her counselor walked in. I almost shit my pants; stomach churned, nerves off the charts.

I sort of figured Marsha would look as tired and unhappy as me, but she looked good, no she looked terrific! Wearing a lime green loosely fitting mini-dress that matched her eyes, matching cotton jacket, two inch brown heels, hair done up in longish pixie, parted slightly on the side, no bangs but combed casually across her forehead. She'd gained a little weight, had a tad of makeup on, some eye shadow, pale lipstick. She'd had her ears pierced and was wearing jade, some kind of crescent moon thing. What a metamorphosis! I gulped; she looked like Emma Stone, no better than Emma Stone!

My lawyer had given me the usual admonition about talking; it didn't matter. I had to say something, "My God Marsha you look beautiful!"

She blushed, but said nothing.

Her lawyer, an older very distinguished man I'd heard of; a real barracuda in cases like these smiled at me.

We were there with an arbiter, a woman who'd come in with my wife and her lawyer, not a good sign. The arbiter smiled at me and my lawyer, "This is an informal gathering. We're here to discuss Mrs. Blackwell's desire for a formal separation agreement. Are we all on board with that?

My lawyer nodded in agreement, "Yes."

I interrupted, it was stupid I know, "Marsha can't we just go someplace and talk?"

The arbiter interrupted me, "That's what we're here for," she turned to my wife and her lawyer, "would you care to begin?"

My wife's lawyer opened, "Mrs. Blackwell is seeking this separation agreement because since his adultery she feels uncomfortable around her husband, but doesn't know if she's ready to think about divorce...yet."

I died inside...divorce, he'd said it.

He noticed but kept going, "Mr. Blackwell has caused my client very grievous suffering and pain, and horrible emotional torment. He's violated their marital contract, caused Mrs. Blackwell incredible grief, and has shirked his parental responsibilities.

My lawyer smiled and nodded, but I broke in, "No wait a minute I didn't..."

My wife's lawyer cut me off, "You did engage in sex outside the marriage?"

"Yes but..."

"You moved out of the house."

"But she asked..."

The arbiter looked from me to my lawyer, to my wife and to her lawyer, "This is all correct?"

My lawyer acknowledged with a nod.

I said, "Yes but..."

The arbiter waved me off and turned to my wife's lawyer, "You're seeking an indefinite separation?"

"At least six months," he said.

I coughed, "Six months!"

Marsha started to say something but her lawyer placed his hand on hers. He added, "It may be longer. My client has to decide what she needs to do."

I'm a lawyer. I had counsel with me. I knew the rules, it didn't matter; I leapt from my chair, "No! Marsha come on!" I was bouncing from foot to foot like I had to piss. I didn't know what to do with my hands. I reached across the table, "Marsha!"

She backed away. My Marsha backed away from me!

The arbiter tapped the table top with her fingernails, "Mr. Blackwell! Please sit down!"

My lawyer pulled on my coat sleeve, "Gary."

I looked across the table to my wife and her lawyer, "Honey!"

Marsha, looking away, finally said something, "Sit down Gary."

I sat down.

Marsha's lawyer went on again, "We're prepared to continue to permit reasonable visitations with the children, and we're open to counseling; we thought five sessions."

I knew the deal. I'd known before; my lawyer had gone over it with me. Five sessions was the minimum. Five sessions usually meant minds were made up and we were approaching the end game. My lawyer smiled...again, "We thought ten."

Her lawyer smiled back, "Five."

Then the arbiter smiled too, "Based on my notes five sessions sounds about right. If there's a change, at some point more could be added."

"Her notes," I thought. This wasn't an arbitration this was a lynching. I looked, I thought pleadingly at my lawyer.

He ignored me and said, "OK, five."

And that was that! We agreed to the standard visitation procedure, one night a week, and alternating week ends. I'd continue to handle all the expenses. Child support wasn't officially discussed; it was assumed I'd do my duty. Marsha was provided with an additional expense account above and beyond what she'd been normally getting. When I asked about that her lawyer mentioned something about social costs, babysitters, clothing, cosmetics, and gas. When I asked if this meant Marsha would be going out, like on dates, her lawyer responded that Marsha might need to stretch her legs from time to time.

Stretch her legs? She was leaving me? I said, "I'd like to get started on these counseling sessions as soon as possible. When can we start?"

Marsha had been looking at me, but after my comment she averted her gaze. Looking at her lawyer she quietly said, "I'd like to wait."

Our arbiter looked concerned, "Usually we like to move ahead fairly quickly, but if you'd rather..."

My wife interjected, "I need time to think first. Maybe in a few weeks?"

"A few weeks," I blurted out, "my God Marsha I've been out of the house it seems like forever as it is. I want to get back home."

The arbiter turned to my lawyer, then to me, "I think we'll let Marsha set the timetable for this."

I looked at my wife. I tried to look as piteously as I could, "Marsha honey...please..."

She wouldn't look at me.

The arbiter looked at Marsha and her lawyer again, "Let's say we take a ten week breather. I've got a list of good counselors," still looking at my wife and never once at me, "you can check their references and calendars. When you decide we'll set up a schedule."

At last my lawyer had something to say, "Ten weeks is a really long time, and it's been my experience both parties participate in the selection of counselors."

The arbiter looked at my wife. She was vehemently shaking her head in the negative.

The arbiter smiled and spoke to her, "There's always room for compromise. Let's say a five week hiatus and you get to pick the counselor."

Marsha still shook her head no.

The arbiter supposed, "Eight weeks then?"

Marsha looked from her lawyer to the arbiter, never at me. She nodded in the affirmative.

The arbiter sat back, "That settles it. An eight week breather while Marsha looks over and chooses the counselor."

Marsha tapped her polished fingernails on the table; something she almost never did, but was something that always indicated agitation, "No, I'll start interviewing counselors after my eight week respite."

I was tearful, but before I could utter another sound my lawyer said, "That sounds fair, and of course, costs incurred setting up counseling will be handled by Mr. Blackwell through my office."

With that the arbiter left her seat, "Well I think this went well."

My wife and her lawyer stood. Each shook hands with the arbiter. Then Marsha's lawyer shook my lawyer's hand, "We'll be in touch."

My lawyer, the turned, smiled, and replied, "No hurry."

'Hurry,' I thought, 'no hurry? I wanted to get back home! I wanted my life back. What was going on?'

Marsha and her counsel left by a side door. As they stepped away I called out, "Marsha can't we..."

My lawyer took my arm, "Not now Gary. Let's let nature take its course. You'll see. These things all always work out in the end."

We left the office. My lawyer went to his Escalade. I drifted over to my Camaro.

Funny thing about that, the cars. Before Meadow we had a Malibu and a BMW, but Meadow meant another seat so we bought an Expedition. That didn't last; Marsha was short and uncomfortable driving it so we bought an Explorer. Even with that Marsha wanted something different, something sporty, so we bought her a Camaro. The boys, too independent to ride with mom, took the bus, but with me gone I'd gotten a call from her dad that Marsha needed the Explorer so she could taxi the boys around for sports. I wondered how that was going.

My first 'new' weeknight visitation arrived. Marsha wouldn't even look at me; she went upstairs. The five of us all sat around the dining room table. I tried to engage my boys in conversation about school, then sports, last about video games, nothing. Meadow was the only one; she and I talked about her writing practice and dance lessons.

After maybe an hour Jamie signaled his brothers and announced, "Dad we have homework," and that was that. They went upstairs. I stayed a while longer with Meadow, but it was no use.

My first 'official' weekend wasn't any better. I got to what was supposed to be my house at 10:00 a.m. Saturday. They were ready and off we went. I tried to cram as much as I could in the time I had. We went out to lunch, MacDonald's, then we caught a movie. Late that afternoon we went back to Helen's, had dinner, watched some TV, and sent them off to bed. The next morning Jamie told me they had to get home and get ready for mass. I said I'd take them, but Jamie demurred; he said that was mom's job, and that I wasn't supposed to be with her.

So the weekend had been a disaster. I'd included Helen's boy Marion. He seemed to be the only one who had any fun, even Meadow was glum and non-communicative.

I gave up and said, "Maybe next time." None of the children said anything.

I dropped them off home before 9:00 so they'd have time to get ready.

The next weeks followed the same formula; the kids were polite and well behaved, but it was obvious I was becoming an outsider. I was even losing Meadow. Something was going on. I didn't know what, but I couldn't imagine Marsha turning our children against me. But I just didn't know. What was I going to do?