Marsha and Gary Blackwell

I was really riled, "You remember the old lady with the farm don't you? Remember how the 'so-called' businessman had talked her into signing away her property, and how he'd lied. You remember because she stayed over our house one night she was so distraught. You've got to remember how she clutched at me and held me, and how she cried on both our shoulders. Jesus Marsha we won that case! You've got to remember that one."

She wasn't listening. I fired off another shot, "Remember the college girl who almost got swindled out of her trust fund by a smarmy in-law. You remember me telling you how we beat the bastard at his own game, and got her money back for her. You do remember! You remember she offered herself to me, and how you and I laughed about the offer?

She growled, "My dad said you took her up on it when it was all over."

"Marsha!" I couldn't believe her.

"Gary," she added, "I don't know what to say. You told me that woman was nothing; that what you did meant nothing. Don't you understand? It meant everything; it was my whole life, it was everything that mattered."

She took a deep breath and went on, "Gary I love you. I've always loved you. I'll love you till the day I die, but you slept with at least one other woman. You broke our solemn vow. You committed adultery! Once a cheater always a cheater!"

Flummoxed, stumped, I said, "Marsha we can fix this."

With a slapping sound the palms of her hands dropped to the table, "No. No we can't. It's like the candy dish that broke that one Easter. It broke. We tried to glue it back, but it didn't matter. It was broken. This is broken," she held up her left hand to show me her wedding rings. Then she got up, thanked Dr. Whiting, and exited stage left.

Dr. Whiting smiled at me, "At least she said something; that in itself is something."

I looked at her, "I don't know what to do. I just don't know," and I didn't.

The doctor surprised me, "Mr. Blackstone your wife loves you, but you're missing something here. I've heard your story, how you two met, the courtship, the problems. I know you feel like you're down for the count, but don't you think it's time you stopped apologizing and started trying something else?"

I asked, "Like what?"

She looked at me like I was some cretin, "You want her back; try what works."

I was dumbfounded, I said, "Oh sure, how do I do that?"

She smiled, "You don't know? You're the knight, not me."

We shook hands, and that was that. One last session, one last chance; was that all there was?

On the way home I admit it, I had a real good almost cry. All right so I choked up, but I was thinking too. What did I need to do? How was I going to get her back? What might work? What the hell could it be? I thought about things from our past...

Geez, getting her to agree to marry me; that was something. Actually it started after the bowling alley. I remember what the guy said at the bowling alley had a downside; it kind of took the wind out of Marsha's sails, the 'bag over the head' wasn't a new phrase for her. In fact even her brothers used it on her a few times. I wished now sometimes I knew which ones.

Getting her to go to more public places was troublesome. I wasn't expert at any of the stuff we did, but I had a pretty good variety of experiences. We went roller skating, skiing, and fishing. We went to the beach and with all that pale creamy skin she got burned, we went to town carnivals, we went all over the place. Sometimes I literally had to pull her out of the car, but I felt kind of proud after a while. Sure people noticed her, they looked at her lip, but they saw other things too. I made sure they did. It took some time, but not as much as one would think, after a while she really became the little extrovert, giggly and perky. Marsha's always been a pretty girl, well to me, to others maybe not right away, but she grows on people. She'd tiny, well-shaped, graceful, and very feminine, I'd say bubbly, sparklingly, if that's a word. It should be.

And then she agreed to marry me. Brother that was a Donnybrook! First I had to get her to agree. She'd planned on being a nun. Talking her out of that took forever, and to be sure, while I thought about it, there'd never been any pre-marital sex, none whatsoever, not even any petting, just kissing and cuddling.

There were church people who I thought tried to get in the way. I couldn't and still can't say for sure, but Marsha's dad might have been behind some of that. Mr. Fitzgerald was from a big family; one of his brothers had become a priest. I had a feeling Mr. Fitzgerald, his priestly brother, and one of the parish sisters who'd been around since Marsha was small tried to gang up on her; throw the old guilt trip at her about how she was destined for a life of service and all. Somebody thought she needed counseling; what for I couldn't say, but after every visit to the church counseling center she'd be a little cool toward me, uncertain about what she wanted.

Once she accepted the preposterous notion of marrying me I had to face her mom and dad. Her mom surprised me; she was pleased, but dad, oh no. Mr. Fitzgerald pulled out every reason he could conjure; she was too weak, too frail, if she got pregnant she'd never be able to carry a baby to term. I was too much of a man; I'd expect too much. I'd hurt her; physically and emotionally. She was still ill in many ways and needed constant medical care. Well she did have a heart murmur when she was a child, but that was history. He said she'd never be able to keep a household together. People would take advantage of her.

In his final assault he angrily reminded me she'd dedicated herself to the Church. I knew that was his strongest point. I was stealing his gift to God. His gift he'd said. I was able to dispense with everything but that. Then I hit pay dirt. Marsha, I told them, was a natural for motherhood, she needed to have babies; any other avocation for her would be a failure. I had them; Marsha loved children, she like being around them. I had her. She was in the bag.

But he had one last argument, and he used it. He proved to her how I was no good. He trotted out my college 'scorecard'. I had no defense except what she and I had done, and he even compromised that with evidence that I'd fooled around during our earliest dates. Yeah I had. The jig was up; he'd exposed me. I remember seeing the doubt in her eyes; it looked like we were fried.

That was when Marsha picked up the spear! She took my side. I was surprised, truly amazed, and unbelievably proud. She became Boudicca Warrior Queen of the Iceni, Andarta Celtic Goddess of war; I can still hear her now, plain as day, "I don't care! I love him! He's a fighter like you dad. I'm going to marry him. He's what I want, all I want. I want to make his babies, and I want a big wedding with a long white gown, and a veil, and rings, and a big bouquet, and bridesmaids, and a ring bearer and a flower girl, and a big reception with an open bar. I said I want an open bar so I can drink champagne. I want throw the bouquet! I want it all, all of it. I want the whole show!" Then she looked at me, "And I want to go to Niagara Falls for our honeymoon."

And that's what we did. All of it.

Now what do I do?" I am so lost and confused. What is it I'm supposed to do? Would somebody please tell me?

Well it had to happen, the third and final session. It had been scheduled for the week immediately after the second, but I'd needed time. Both Dr. Whiting and Marsha agreed to wait.

Meanwhile it'd become harder and harder to get through to my children. Helen told me Meadow had been told what happened, and she'd soured on me. Allan found out through Meadow, and that was how I lost him. Jamie and Wilson were still there, but I could sense the change. Wilson had taken a liking to Willoughby, and even Jamie had started talking about how helpful he was with mom.

I was losing my family.

Marsha loved me. I knew that, but it looked like she wasn't able or didn't want to get past what I'd done. She had help; that was for sure, her dad and Willoughby were spot on. It dawned on me; even if we got back together there'd be no end to it, she'd never forget and I'd be spending the rest of my life apologizing. I wasn't built that way.

Then there were the kids. The way it was, my kids were drifting away. Marsha was right, the candy dish was broken. If I wanted to stay near my kids I'd have to change the relationship. She could have Willoughby; he needed someone anyway. He'd get her and play the daddy. I'd step back and away. I'd become the more distant acquaintance; the one-time father who'd let everybody down but was still be just a phone call away if they needed money or something. But for that I didn't see any other alternatives.

That led to the last thing. Marsha was too good a Catholic to get a divorce, and I loved her too much to let her drown in sorrow and anger for the next forty years. After all there was Willoughby; better to let her go, she'd get past it and maybe marry the government guy. So I decided; if she wouldn't get a divorce, but I would.

~~~V~~~

I called and got another brief extension. This time I was told this was it, no more deferrals. I agreed. I went to confession one last time. I told the priest who heard me I was leaving the church.

Of course, the whole thing about staying with Helen had to come to an end. I sat her down and told her I'd be moving out. When she asked me where I'd be staying I told her the truth; I was leaving the Richmond law firm and going out on my own. When she asked me where, I told her maybe Charlotte, maybe Pittsburgh I didn't know. She laughed. I didn't.

Next I called the lawyer who'd 'guided' me into the morass I was in. It really wasn't his fault. I knew who to blame. Just the same I didn't like his comments so I discharged him. I went on-line, found somebody else, and laid everything out. I'd come to a decision. At last it was time for that final session. I'd go with papers in hand. I had come to a definitive moment. I would be a man; total victory or utter annihilation.

The third session...

The big day arrived. This meeting, recalling Marsha's 'discomfort' at the first session had been, like the second, scheduled for late afternoon. Right on time; paperwork at hand, I waited patiently in Dr. Whiting's outer office.

Everything was ready. I'd obtained the divorce materials from my new lawyer that morning, and packed the few personal items I had at Helen's the night before. All that was left to do was hand Marsha the documents; she might take them or not. If she took them then if she let me I'd kiss her good bye, and pay off the doctor. Regardless, she'd get what she wanted, but on my terms

I sat quietly and waited. The documents we'd drawn up were more than fair; the house, her vehicle, child support, alimony, health care, a generous personal allowance, provisional funds for emergencies, and a new phone number if she needed to contact me personally were all included. So I waited. Was I happy? No, I was miserable, but I knew we couldn't go on like we were, it was the only thing left to do.

Twenty minutes off schedule Dr. Whiting came out, "Mr. Blackwell?"

I stood, "Yes."

"Come inside please."

I followed her, not to where we'd met before but to her private office. Once we were seated she said, "I'm sorry. Mrs. Blackwell called a few minutes ago. She won't be able to make it."

I asked, "Did she reschedule?"

Dr. Whiting replied, "No."

"Did she say anything? We need to reschedule. We're obligated to finish these sessions."

Dr. Whiting's face was vacuous, "No, she said she wasn't coming back. When I reminded her of what you said, she said she didn't care. She wasn't coming back."

I was a little back on my heels, 'What should I do,' I wondered. I frowned at the Doctor, "I suppose I should call my lawyer. Have him call hers. Reschedule."

Nodding to the folder in my hand Dr. Whiting asked, "I see you have something there. May I ask?"

"No not at all. I've given up. She's won. These are divorce papers. I suppose I'll have to hire someone to have her served."

DR. Whiting fidgeted with a letter opener, then some papers on her desk, "Yes I suppose," she stood up, "I'm sorry."

We both walked to her office door. She opened it to let me out, "I wouldn't presume, but you're still only separated. There're no legal restrictions. You might see her, serve her yourself."

I looked at the papers in my hand, "I don't know..."

Dr. Whiting added, "You needn't give them to her. You might visit, just have the papers at hand, or leave them in your car."

Still eyeing my paperwork I replied, "I suppose I could do that."

Dr. Whiting tried to smile, "Call me."

I shook her hand, "I'll let you know."

So I left the doctor's office and stepped back in the street. What to do now? I imagined Helen had been keeping Marsha informed. She knew I'd packed up. She knew I was leaving. What'd she think; that I'd stand around and cry and whine for one last session and do nothing?

I got to my car, got in, started it up, and pulled out. My stomach was tied in knots. I was nervous and tense; it was a white knuckled drive over to my old home. When I got there Jamie and Wilson, opting for the bus, were already home. Marsha, I knew would be there soon. I went up and knocked on the door.

After a moment's wait Jamie was there, "Dad," he looked surprised, "Should you be here?"

"I need to see your mother."

"She's not home yet."

I could tell Jamie didn't know what to say or do, "Look I'll be outside," I pointed to my car.

He looked scared. Was he going to cry? He nodded, "OK."

As I started back down the drive he called after me, "You know mom's really been a mess. She cried all night."

I looked back, "I know." He just stood there at the door looking at me, nothing to say. I wondered where Wilson was. Back at the car I waited; it wasn't long.

Marsha pulled up. I got out. Meadow and Allan got out of her car, saw me and started to run over, then stopped, then Meadow charged on ahead, Allan followed. Meadow dove into me, "Daddy, daddy come home! Please don't leave!"

She wasn't crying, but one wrong word from me and... so I held her tight. I kissed her, and said, "That's never been up to me."

Allan was at my side, "Hi dad."

I reached down and gave his hair a tousle, "Hi Allan. You OK?"

"OK I guess. Mom's been crying again."

I looked across the drive. She was still sitting in the car, hands clutching the steering wheel, eyes looking straight ahead. I put Meadow down, got on my knees with them and said, "You guys go in the house."

Eyes wider than saucers they both nodded and went for the front door. Jamie was holding it open for them. I walked over to Marsha. I tapped on the side window. She looked out at me. I couldn't tell exactly; fear, anger, sorrow? "Marsha this is it. We've got to talk."

She looked away. She put her face in her hands. Through the window I couldn't tell if she was crying or what. "Marsha," I asserted, "Open the door and get out."

She looked out again. Tears were in her eyes. She was afraid. She said through the window, "Step away from the door."

I stepped away.

She got out but held the door handle, "Helen said you were leaving."

'God,' I thought, 'this was it! What do I say now?' I answered, "That's right."

She slumped back against the car door. There was road film on it, and she was wearing a pastel colored sheath dress, sort of a muted gold, a very light brown. It was pretty on her. She looked pretty, but tired. There were shadows under her eyes, yes she'd been crying. We were barely ten inches apart. I raised my left hand just slightly, "Don't lean back like that you'll get dirt all over your pretty dress."

She collapsed in my arms, and started crying. I held her for several seconds while she recovered.

She stood up and stepped back slightly. Fully erect, jaw set, shoulders straight she said, "I told Dr. Whiting I couldn't come today."

I could see she was rapidly recovering. I wondered, 'Had the moment passed?' I replied, "I know."

Aplomb restored, in full control she averred, "You shouldn't have come here."

I really believed for a few seconds I had a chance, but now? I said, "I have something I have to give you," I started back toward my car to get the package.

She took a step in my direction, then stopped, "No...wait."

I turned back around. I said nothing. I just stood there. She knew what it was. What would she do? Did it end right here on our front lawn?

Like Kaw-Liga she stood there, "I'm pregnant."

I knew it! I suspected it that first counseling session when she said she was sick. I saw the way she was dressed, and the way she looked at the second session. She was dressed in a loose fitting sheath now. More important, they say pregnant women seem to glow, like there's extra moisture or some kind of extra oil they secrete. Marsha had it; she'd always had it, four times she'd had it. She had it now. I replied, "I think I knew at our first session."

She looked puzzled but just for split second, "Yes I guess you would. Why didn't you..."

I stopped her, "This has been about you not me. What you want."

She sighed, "Can you come back tomorrow? I'm really tired. I need to..."

I interrupted her again, "No I'm not coming back tomorrow. But I'll do this. I'll help you get in. I'll help you to bed." I checked my watch, "Then I'll fix the kids something to eat. Later tonight or tomorrow we can sort this all out."

She nodded. She really was tired, exhausted. I guessed she'd been up all night. I put my arm around her shoulder. She didn't resist. I walked her up the sidewalk to and in the front door.

Jamie, Wilson, and the other two were waiting, "Help me get your mom upstairs." None of them really did anything but walk along side. I half carried half walked her up the steps.

When I got her to our bed I pulled down the spread and top sheet. The kids were all in the room with us. I said, "You guys all wait downstairs," They left and I helped her out of her dress and bra, and got her in bed.

As I stepped to the window to lower the curtain she whispered, "I just need some sleep. I'll be all right in a little while. You'll wait won't you?"

I turned back and, not sternly, but smartly replied, "I'll be downstairs." I stepped to the door, closed it, and went downstairs.

As soon as I got downstairs they were all over me. Wilson was first, "Aunt Helen called and said you were leaving."

Jamie said, "She said you were going to divorce mom."

Allan and Meadow just watched, then Allan said, "Mom cried all night. She called Granddad and Grand mom, and Granddad came over. They had a big fight."

Good news? I thought so. I smiled and got a little riotous, but in a funny sort of way, "Mom's gonna take a rest. What do you guys say for some pizza? Maybe a movie."

Meadow exclaimed, "'Frozen!'"

Jamie scowled, "We all have homework."

I shook him off, "Not tonight."

Wilson rolled his eyes. Allan looked confused. I said, "How about 'Maleficent'?"

Jamie's scowled evaporated, "OK."

Allan grinned broadly, Wilson shrugged, but Meadow trilled "Great!"

So I ordered three large pizzas, we watched 'Maleficent' then we watched an old John Wayne that I liked. I was about to put another John Wayne in when I realized no one else was awake so I got them all in bed. The next day was school, but I'd told them not to worry about homework since we were all taking the day off. I got no arguments.

With my kids in bed I checked on Marsha. She was sound asleep so I grabbed a pillow and blanket, went back downstairs, and curled up on the sofa. As I closed my eyes I vowed; either way tomorrow this nightmare would come to an end.

I awakened to the smell of hot coffee. Looking at the end table I recognized the source; from across the room Marsha stated, "Jamie said you gave the kids the day off."