Marsha and Gary Blackwell

"No, tell me son. I'd like to know."

Our pager sang its little tune. I started to get up, but Jamie pulled me back down, "Not yet...wait, listen,"

I sat back down, "OK."

"Look you're our dad. Yeah you were wrong, but still...we need you. Mom needs you. Mom really needs you! Meadow needs you. Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Dad you've been gone a long time. You're at Aunt Helen's. Mom wanted you there so she could keep an eye on you. She talks to Aunt Helen every day. She hears how it is with you. And yeah; she follows where you go with the GPS. Dad you've got to do something...that man..."

I certainly understood why Marsha wanted me at Helen's, and I knew she'd been taking what I'd done hard, but the GPS? And this man? "Son, what else do you know about this man?"

"Granddad likes him. Uncle Steve was the one who brought him around."

"Really?"

"Yeah, he's a friend of one of Uncles Steve's. They hang around together, a lot! Granddad is really mad at you. He says you're like some politician; some man named Johnathon Edwards. Who is he anyway? Granddad says mom should divorce you."

I ignored the Jonathon Edwards remark, "What does mom say?"

"Come on dad, we're Catholic, and besides."

"Beside what Jamie?"

"You know...mom's...thing. She thinks..."

"Geez son; it's been so long. She had surgery when she was baby, and a ton of procedures since. Sure the lip looked bright red when I met her, but she's had so many cosmetic things since, it's almost invisible."

"Dad, before...before what you did with that woman mom told us about you. You know, she told us how you were."

"I figured she had, and I'm not proud of who I was..."

"What do you mean? She told us about how great you were. How you were like this superman, how you took care of her, and how you made her love you, and all the nice things you did. Man, you must have been something!"

"No kidding; she said I was pretty good?"

"Dad, she loves you so much. You were like perfect, and then...well now she... I think she sort of expects you to...you know."

Just then Jamie was interrupted. Somehow Mr. Willoughby had found us. Damn it, the GPS! He strode toward where we were seated, "Jamie your mother's worried about you. You just ran off."

I watched my son's shoulders stiffen, "It's OK. I'm with my dad."

"Well," Willoughby said, "she sent me out to bring you back."

My son stood up, "I don't need you to take me back. Dad can do that."

I eyed Willoughby up and down. 'Yeah,' I figured, 'he like nothing better than to report back how I stirred up trouble. I turned to Jamie, "You better let him take you back."

"Dad?"

"No. go on now. I'm glad we had our talk," I leaned a little forward, "keep what we said under your hat," I winked, "it'll be all right."

Mr. Willoughby reached out to take my son's arm. He pulled back, "I'll go, but don't touch me."

Willoughby glanced at me. Under his breath he muttered, "Don't force her to get a restraining order."

I held up my hands, palms facing Willoughby, "We're good," I turned to Jamie, "I've got it kiddo. Just stay cool, OK?"

Jamie gave Willoughby a sidewise glance, then looked at me, "Sure dad."

As he walked away Jamie asked me, "Dad, who was Bonnie Tyler?"

I waved after the two of them as they drove off. 'Well', I pondered, 'Where did that come from? What had Marsha said to Jamie? What did Bonnie Tyler have to do with anything, and where did Marsha hear about her. What was it I was supposed to say? Damn, this was heavy stuff.'

Damn! I mean God damn! Double God damn! Where did Bonnie Tyler come from? Shit, she'd been what I used to laughingly refer to as a 'throw back', the fish too small to keep. She was just some stupid little girl so caught up in ideas about love and the 'happily ever after' that she'd fall for the first asshole who paid any attention to her. Bonnie had been exactly that; a skinny, flat chested, mousy little kid I'd found in the library my senior year of college. An English Literature major she'd been working on a Defoe assignment when I ran into her. A little nobody; I dated her some. She fell in love. I could've had her, but just couldn't bring myself to deflower anyone that naïve. Come to think of it; except for the lip, she was a lot like Marsha. I remember I let her down easy. In fact I had a nerdy friend. I introduced them and well... Me, imagine. Later she called me her 'lucky charm'. I heard they'd gotten married.

I thought some more. I had to get my head out of my ass. I had my own marriage to save. 'OK, we've got five sessions. That's a start. Then we'll see from there. Hell, nobody's selling my house. Willoughby's an asshole if he thinks he can take over my life. And Mr. Fitzgerald and young Mr. Steven; ain't they both pieces of work. I'll get to them too."

Never did eat. I took the electric monitor back inside, found my car and went back to Helen's.

Got a call from my lawyer today. Marsha settled on a counselor, a woman, named Melody Whiting, I'm to call her Doctor Whiting. We're supposed to have one private session each, and then the last three sessions will be done jointly. I didn't think that would be how it would go with us; guess I was wrong.

Had my single session with the counselor; went about like I expected. She asked me the expected questions; why are we where we are, what do I want to happen, what am I prepared to do, do I understand Marsha, all the usual stuff. I talked for about twenty minutes while she listened and took notes. She said I'd be notified when the three of us would get together. As I left I thought she was kind of dismissive. That made sense; she's Marsha's person. I didn't think this would be easy.

We had our first joint session today; it went a little rough. Marsha wasn't ready to talk so it was me mostly. She kept saying she had a headache, and she just wanted to go home. Said she felt nauseous. Jesus! How long has it been? I did the best I could. What could I do? I can now say 'I'm sorry' in six languages! I answered all the questions. I tried to explain the unexplainable. Damn it, how many times am I supposed to explain how I couldn't explain how it happened? Dr. Whiting seemed kind of bored with the whole thing. Bored with me for sure. Maybe she and Marsha have worked it all through and they haven't come up with a suitable way to drop 'the load' on me.

Marsha has made up her mind about something. Really, I think she's made up her mind to 'not' make up her mind, at least not yet. I don't think she wants a divorce, but I don't think she wants me around, at least not at the moment. It doesn't make much sense, but then it does; she's working up her courage to make some final decision. I'm ready to work things out, but her? If she'd only say something!

I talked to Helen last night. She said she thinks Marsha's thinking about getting a divorce, but she said there's something else too, something she can't tell me. It also seems this Willoughby character has been making real inroads. Marsha's stalling. Helen said none of the kids like him, but that's only been making Marsha more determined.

Helen said her dad likes Willoughby; says she's never seen her dad this confident about anything.

That last got me to thinking. Marsha's dad is a cop; two of his sons are policemen, and the other two are in law enforcement in other ways. I've always known he'd dug around in my past. He's known all along about my 'spotty' juvenile record and some of the things I was peripherally involved with in college. Of course, juvenile records are supposed to be sealed, but we all know better. So I was into stealing cars when I was a kid. Hell, I didn't even have my license back then. And school; that was the place where a guy went to hit on girls. My college record isn't so good either. I never broke any laws, but there were times when things happened and I'd been nearby. A couple girls tried to name me in a gang rape. I might have been at the house, I might have known what was going on, but I'd always managed to steer clear of that kind of shit. My name's on record though. There'd been an investigations and I'd been questioned. Yeah he had a lot of good reasons to not want me around his daughter. I guess the four grandkids, the big house, her never having to work didn't matter.

I remembered her father, the bastard.

When Marsha and I first started dating, after his initial resentment Mr. Fitzgerald sort of stepped back. I can see it now. When I was taking Marsha places where it didn't matter he'd backed off, but after the bowling and when I started hauling her to places where we were seen together he got, not hostile, but less friendly, more uncooperative, always putting up little roadblocks. I bet he saw the changes; the change in me and then the changes in Marsha.

Fitzgerald, he's Irish: I thought the Irish were supposed to be emotional and hot tempered, quick to anger but equally quick to forgive. Mr. Fitzgerald hasn't been that way with me. He's been cool, no cold, but calculating, and always watchful. He's like that with his wife; she's like some slave he's got. Come to think of it, nobody's allowed to ever disagree with him. His opinions, his approach has always been 'the way'. Jesus, Marsha was like a little puppy when I first started dating her, she was his 'pet' until I came along, then she started to show some spunk. I'd stand up to him, and she'd be the only one to take my side. I can recall that now; I'd be proud of her and I could see she was proud of herself.

My thoughts have been crazy. The bastard had treated Marsha like some kind of cripple all her life. She was supposed to be his 'gift' to the Church. Then I got in the way.

Helen said Marsha thinks I've been propagandizing the kids, wish I could. I'll say this; the relationship I've had with my kids these last few visits hasn't been that good. Wilson and Allan act sullen. Meadow's starting to get beyond me. Jamie just watches me. He's waiting for something. I think I'm supposed to do something, just wished I knew what it was.

Jamie and me text a lot. He uses Meadow's phone. He says that's the only one Marsha doesn't check.

Jamie's waiting for me to do something. I know that. I just don't know what. I keep trying to apologize, but Marsha just won't listen.

Jamie slipped me a good tip; he told me his mom and this Willoughby often go out to eat, maybe twice a week, that's a lot, sounds like the full court press. Jamie said his mom's coaxed him into taking her alternatively to either the Grotto or the Olive Garden. The Grotto specializes in seafood, and of course there's the Olive Garden; it is a big deal though, they're the places we used to visit.

Thought it over and got a call through to Jamie, it wasn't easy. We made a deal. Every time Marsha and Willoughby go out he's to text to let me know where they were going. He was quite firm in his dislike for this man and wants me back home. We're in agreement. What a remarkable kid.

Jamie texted back; they were headed for the Grotto. I called ahead and ascertained they were indeed headed there and that, there being no booths, Willoughby had reserved a table. I arranged for a table also.

I drove ahead and reached the establishment just ahead of my target couple. I watched as he helped her from his car, sure enough a grey Mercedes, he armed her in. I followed.

The restaurant has been subdivided into several rooms. They were in the largest room. I was nearby at a smaller location. Bad luck that, but good luck in as much as I had window seating and could watch the parking lot.

Realizing my original intent to disrupt their reverie by eating in front of them wouldn't work I devised an alternative plan. I waited ten minutes and called my waitress over. I cited the location of the suspect couple's seating, and from the appetizer menu ordered a plate of stuffed mushroom caps and a platter of half shell oysters covered in imperial crab to be sent to them. I chose these things because they were items she and I always ordered. I told my waitress to tell them they were from an old friend who was dining nearby.

I had no idea what impact my offering had, but less than ten minutes after the order my waitress reappeared with the two platters. She told me the couple was grateful, but decided to decline my gift.

Not five minutes later I watched from my table as Mr. Willoughby was assisting my wife back in his car. I was disappointed. I'd hoped for more; couldn't say what, just more. Gloomily I assumed they'd move on to a more hospitable eatery. I was still hungry so I ate the appetizers and followed them with some grilled salmon.

Good news! As I disconsolately sat eating the last of my fish I got a text. It was from Jamie. Mr. Willoughby had just dropped Marsha off; mom, he said, seemed upset about something. I texted back what I'd done. He texted right back, "UGD!" Not being text lingo literate I guessed that meant 'You Go Dad." I knew I had one 'true ally'.

Two nights later Jamie warned me they were headed for the Outback Steak House; aha, a new locale! This time I got there first, and secured a seat near the entrance. Marsha espied me as they came in. She paled; they left. An hour later I got a text from Jamie. He'd been grounded and lost all phone privileges. I recognized the source of his text message; he was using Allan's phone. Oh yes! A new friend?

Intercepting my wife and her villainous associate at restaurants was one thing, but I needed more. As I said before Marsha had a job as volunteer at Saint Tim's, our children's school. She arrived with Meadow and returned when Meadow finished her day. It was time to apply more pressure.

I bombarded Saint Timothy's with a variety of gifts, some for Marsha, but several for the school too. We weren't rich by any standard, but I could afford a few things. I ordered new laptops for the secretaries where Marsha closeted her coat. It was only four computers, but she had to notice, they arrived as gifts from me.

Marsha wasn't overlooked either. She liked flowers, roses. Now my wife's someone others might call something of an 'ethereal', if that word can be used as a noun. For one day all week I saw to it she received a dozen long stemmed roses. Monday she got yellow, the card was blazoned with, "friendship". Tuesday came the orange tagged with 'passion. Wednesday's were the signature red bearing the phrase 'I love you", Thursday's blooms were pink with the names of our children, and Friday's stems were white with the Lincolnesque quotation "Love is Eternal". I knew my Marsha; if she didn't know already she'd checked the meaning of each color. OK, I was begging; what else was there?

On Saturday, while at Helen's cutting her lawn a delivery man appeared with a large cardboard box; inside were five dozen roses all smooshed and crumpled. At least I'd tried.

Jamie bought a throw away phone. We arranged a meeting after school. When I got there I found Wilson was there too.

Jamie started, "First, before we start Meadow and Allan don't know anything, but Will, we called Wilson Will, and I do."

I replied, "OK, what do we know?"

Jamie kicked it in overdrive, "Mr. Willoughby's wife lives in Richmond. She left him and moved in with another man. She left him and her daughters."

I already knew that; hired a private agency.

Jamie continued, "I don't think it's about money, or mom, or anything I think Mr. Willoughby just wants a new family. He's got daughters. We've met them."

Wilson interrupted, "They're pigs dad. They're both in high school and they think they're shit doesn't stink."

"Don't call em pigs son."

Wilson looked at Jamie, "There see. That's dad for you."

Jamie grinned at his brother, "He said you'd defend em," he went on, "Mr. Willoughby comes around all the time now. Sometimes he brings his daughters. Sometimes he leaves them home. They sort of make fun of Meadow so she doesn't like them."

I started, "They make fun..."

"Not in front of mom, Jamie added,"

Wilson said, "They tease her about her room and stuff. You know the stuffed animals and the clouds and all..."

I asked, "The clouds Marsha..."

"Yeah," in toned Jamie.

"Painted on the walls," I finished my sentence.

Jamie kept going, "They play Scrabble."

"And he lets her win..."

I asserted, "She always used to..."

Wilson, "Yeah dad, but she really beat you. He's smarter. He's knows a lot more words..."

"Mom's been saying things."

I asked, "Like what?"

Wilson responded, "He asks her things, and she talks about you. She tells him how you used to never be home. You worked all the time. You never had time..."

I got mad, "Damn it, that's not true. I came home every night. Sometimes I was late, but I always had a reason..."

Jamie said, "Mom told him it was because you were out with..."

I was hot, "You know that's not true."

Wilson smiled, "We know dad."

Jamie looked over, "Uh oh," he nodded toward the parking lot, "mom."

I turned and saw her crossing the lot. I looked at my boys, "I guess this meeting's over."

We'd been sitting on the bleachers. They both jumped up and started running. In unison they yelled, "See ya!"

I yelled back, "Yeah, soon."

As my boys climbed in the vehicle I could see Marsha scolding them. I thought about what they'd told me. My sources had pretty much described the same thing; Willoughby was an upper level administrator at the Federal Reserve. He earned excellent money, but his wife had bailed on her responsibilities. I was and wasn't surprised about the wife; adolescent girls often exhibited profound anti-social behaviors directed quite often at their mothers, the stress might have overwhelmed her. Then the second piece; she'd found herself a younger richer fellow.

Willoughby wasn't some predator; it would have been better if he was. No, he was a victim; a victim looking for a refuge, and he most certainly saw Marsha for what she was, a caring helping person, someone always ready to take in the helpless puppy. So he found the perfect home; three well-adjusted boys, an adorable daughter, and a woman who found fulfillment in helping others. There was only one problem; it was my home, they were my boys, that was my adorable daughter, and the woman he wanted was my wife.

~~~~V~~~~

We had our second session. I was lost; it felt like everything I'd had or ever would have was slipping away. No attempt to reason, no effort to appease, promise, or fore-swear worked. I took the only avenue left; I begged, I beseeched, I cried, I got down on my knees. I pleaded with her to forgive me. I begged her to let me come back home, to let me devote my life to making her happy. I was talking to a stone. Near the end of our last session, after forty minutes of stone cold silence Marsha finally made a pronouncement.

She said, "I can't and I won't forget what you did. I don't forgive you, and I'll never forgive you, never."

She was talking! I replied, "I've said a hundred times. I love you. I made a mistake. I want to make things right. Will you at least tell me something? Say something besides this non-forgiveness business."

She killed me, "All right. All right! I'll say something. First, how do I know what you're saying is true. You said this was the only time. How do I know that? You work late a lot. You travel. You get calls at odd hours and never tell me who they're from. Sometimes you come home and I smell perfume. Sometimes there's lipstick. My dad told me you're out there all the time. His police friends told him they've seen you out with women. Sometimes you've come home and you were too tired for me. Other times when I've done your boxers I think I've found semen. My daddy's right you're a philanderer. You've never been honest with me. You're a cheat...I just never thought about it till this happened."

Holy shit! I answered, "Marsha you know that's not true! Some of my clients have been women. You've known that. How many times have I come home almost in tears because some frantic woman's been near hysterics in the hospital with a child? My God Marsha you know this last case has been emotionally draining. You even met the mom! You saw her hug and kiss me, thanking me for taking her daughter's case. That's not philandering, that's being a good lawyer."