Requital

Steve didn't know whether he should say anything or not. He wanted to, but there didn't seem to be anything he could do to make this easier for Elaine Porter."

"Mr. Curtis?" she asked. Her voice was marginally stronger, a little more brisk.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered.

"What about the video? You said there was a video."

"Yeah, I have about…oh…ten minutes that I took out at the park," Steve said.

"Can I see it?" she asked softly.

"Sure…uh…you mean tonight?" he asked tentatively.

"Well…I don't have to, I suppose," she said. "I don't want to impose on you…"

"Oh, no…that's not what I meant," Steve said. "I just wanted to make sure I understood you. We're…like…groping for each other's hands in a dark room or something. We don't know each other and I've already hurt you with this message. I don't want to make it any worse. I don't know exactly what to say…I've never been through this before and…"

"That's okay, Mr. Curtis," she said after a short pause. "I feel the same way. I'm ashamed of what my husband has done to your marriage and I don't know what to say either and…"

"Well, for one thing, ma'am, your husband and my wife are grown adults and…it takes two to tango, as granny used to say. My wife is the one who's done something to our marriage, so don't you feel bad. It wasn't you, Mrs. Porter."

"Please…call me Elaine," she said. Her voice was better, more controlled.

"Sure…Elaine…I'd like that," he said, "and I'm Steve, okay?"

They spoke for another few minutes, mainly to find a place they both knew of where they could meet in the open and talk. In the end, they found a small café both of them felt comfortable in.

They met well after the dinner rush. The restaurant wouldn't be busy again until the clubs began closing in the early hours of tomorrow morning. They had plenty of time to talk and Steve showed her the video. It was still on the camera. He reminded himself he really needed to find someone who could transfer it to DVD format.

********

Calls from Lloyd, Diane, and Barbara got nasty after the emails went out. Barbara had taken a long leave of absence from Reynolds and Sons because she felt harassed and uncomfortable. When her accumulated annual vacation and sick leave ran out, she would have to go back to work or revert to an unpaid administrative absence. She wasn't happy about the situation and she made her feelings known at varying degrees of intensity, viciousness, and volume for several days.

Lloyd and Diane bombarded him with "how could you's" until he was sick of the question and quit taking any calls at all from Barbara or her family. The exception was Barbara's grandmother.

"Hey, young man," Lydia said cheerily. "How ya doing over there?"

"Hi, Lydia…I'm doing okay. How 'bout you?" Steve replied. He'd checked the caller ID warily before answering, but this was one phone call he was willing to take.

"Pretty darn good for an old fart," Lydia returned. It was one of her favorite comebacks. Steve always chuckled. It genuinely amused him every time she said it. Maybe it was the different inflections and degrees of enthusiasm she used. Each time it sounded different.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," he said warmly. They chatted about nothing and everything for a while before Lydia came to the point.

"Well, you certainly have stirred the pot in the Montgomery household, haven't you?" she said bluntly. Steve shrugged to himself.

"I know, Lydia," he said. "Some of it was provoked out of me, some of it was just court business."

"Uh-huh," the old woman replied. "You had to do that, I think…you sending that email to everybody and his brother," she said. It surprised Steve.

"Well…you're the first person to say that," he said. "I suspect that opinion isn't that popular over at Lloyd and Diane's?"

"Nah…but I don't let that bother me," Lydia answered. "It was pretty clear to me Barbie girl wasn't going to come to her senses and quit talking and text messaging that dumb ass without some kind of push.

"Now…I don't mean she was seeing him or anything like that but from what she was saying, I'm sure that SOB was telling her how mean you were and how only a jerk would kick her out and stuff like that. I tell ya, I was wantin' to tell that young woman off so bad, I was about to bust," Lydia said.

Steve couldn't help but laugh. As long as he'd known her, Lydia had called a spade a shovel. She'd never sugarcoated anything for anybody that he knew of.

"Anyway," she said when their mutual chuckles died away, "Dipshit called her a couple days after you sent that out and told her in no uncertain terms he didn't want to talk to see her, hear from her, get emails or any other kind of messages from her ever again. Come to find out…his wife is usin' a short rein on 'im, ridin' him rough, and diggin' in the spurs real hard," Lydia said happily.

"How did Barbara feel about that?" Steve said after a short pause.

"She didn't like it worth a damn," Lydia shot back. She giggled.

"Her Dad and Diane have been giving her what for just about all day long, every day, and she figured her buddy Rafe was her only friend. When he bailed out, the only one she had to talk to was herself and she didn't like what she was hearing even then."

Steve didn't know what to say.

"Well…you couldn't see that from what they were telling me," Steve said. "If I heard it once, I heard it a dozen times how I should work on saving this marriage…how I was making a mountain out a molehill…how sorry Barbara was…and all like that," he told her.

"Yeah, I know," Lydia said sympathetically. "I had the misfortune, you might say, to listen to a couple o' those phone calls from the other end. But what they're saying to you and what they're saying to her are two different things entirely, young feller."

He digested what Lydia was telling him.

"Well, they have to support Barbara, of course," he said judiciously. "She's their daughter and it's only natural."

"Yep," Lydia agreed, "but now guess who's her bestest buddy now huh?" Steve had to think for a bit.

"Oh!" he said finally.

Lydia had begun humming a tune from an old TV show where answers had to come from the contestants within a few seconds. He could almost hear the ticking clock in the background.

"You huh?"

Lydia laughed.

"Bet your last dollar bill, sonny boy," she said. "So, now I get to yak at you every so often and pass messages from your wife on to you and talk to the two of you and all that."

Her voice changed abruptly.

"I think that will be ever so nice, don't you?"

Steve laughed. Lydia had been born and raised in South Texas, but she had been educated in the best private schools back east and could raise a pinky with the best of the bluebloods when she wanted to. Her change of pace in speech patterns threw some people for a loop but it fascinated Steve. Lydia knew that.

"Well…I don't have any messages for her today, Lydia," he said, laughing.

"But she has one for you," Lydia said swiftly. Steve was quiet.

"What?" he said flatly.

"Don't you be takin' that tone with me, young fella," Lydia said, using her South Texas drawl again. "There's no call for that." Steve sighed.

"I'm sorry, Lydia," he said. "I usually don't mind you manipulating the conversation…not to mention me…but you're poking at an open wound there, ya know?"

"I always said you were smart as a whip," Lydia said after a bit. There was no censure in her voice. "Some folks underestimate you because you're quiet, but I saw right off you like to just sit back and watch everyone else make fools of themselves." She was quiet.

"Thing is, Steve, you and Barbara would make a heck of a pair if you could get to pulling together in the traces…and I won't give up hoping to see that 'til I've tried everything an old woman can think of. You hear me, young man?"

"I hear you, Lydia," Steve told her soberly. "But I'm afraid it's a lost cause. Your granddaughter's cut the heart right out of me and I just can't make a life with a woman who'll do that to a man."

"I know, son," Lydia said softly, "I know."

"Steve?" she asked when the silence had grown too long.

"Yeah…I'm here. I just couldn't think of anything to say, Lydia."

"Well, I'll get off the line and let you get back to what you were doing," she said, "but I wanted to ask you something first. This is that message from Barbara I told you about."

"Okay, go ahead," Steve replied evenly. It wouldn't cost anything to hear what Barbara had in mind.

"Steve…what would you think about going to a counselor…someone who might be able to help you fix things up with Barbara, but who wouldn't push you into anything you couldn't deal with? How would you feel about that?"

"Nope," Steve replied immediately. "There's no point, Lydia," he said. "Barb and I are too far apart on too many things and it's just not going to happen."

"Would you think about it, Steve?" Lydia asked.

They talked for a few more minutes. Lydia asked twice more for him to consider individual and marital counseling but Steve refused, no matter from which direction she approached the issue. Lydia finally gave up, but she exacted a promise from Steve to call her from time to time…just to talk, she said. Steve said he would.

Chapter 4 - Late July

He hadn't seen his wife for six weeks, give or take…not since the confrontation that Saturday afternoon. He didn't look forward to the meeting he was about to have with her. He didn't want to be here. Specifically, he did not want to be with his wife in a marriage counselor's office. There was no point to it.

Three days ago, though, he'd been called to the CFO's office. Willis Johnson had the title of Chief Financial Officer for the firm but in reality, he had the final word on any issue in which he wanted to take a hand. He'd been a boyhood friend of the owner and CEO; the friendship had last sixty years and more. When Mr. Johnson spoke, it was the owner's voice that was heard.

The meeting had been cordial enough. A clear message had been delivered however. The firm felt Steve Curtis's upcoming promotion to District Supervisor was a good decision on the part of the board. They still wanted him in that position when the incumbent retired next fall. On the other hand, it was thought the corporation would be better served by an individual with a spouse who could be a support group of one for a man in a stressful position. At least that was what Mr. Johnson said.

He glossed over the reason for the firm's interest very quickly. He'd been apologetic and vaguely uncomfortable while he went over the reasoning. The point of the conversation was that it was very nearly a condition of employment for the new job for Steve to make an effort to go to the counseling. It was obviously hoped Steve would reconcile with his estranged wife but that wasn't actually mentioned.

Steve hadn't been aware upper level management even knew about his impending divorce. The meeting left a bad taste in Steve's mouth. It hadn't appeared Mr. Johnson felt any better about it.

Nevertheless, bad taste and all, here he was. On a Thursday evening he could better have spent watching a college football game on ESPN, he was sitting across a small waiting room across from his wife while they waited for the counselor to return to his office. Barbara had tried to engage him in conversation but Steve had refused to cooperate, answering every question with a shrug or a monosyllable.

The door burst open and a short, rotund man in shirtsleeves came hurrying in. On the far side of late middle age, he had a ruddy complexion and a ring of snow-white hair around a bald, pink dome. Spry for a man of his years, he was moving fast toward the inner office where his desk presumably stood.

"Sorry…sorry," he called out at large. "Dang traffic on the loop is heavy tonight. Come on in…come in…let's get started." He pushed the office door wide and disappeared inside. Steve blinked, shrugged, and pushed himself to his feet to follow the man inside. He didn't look at Barbara.

********

His name was Verne Houston. He wasn't a psychiatrist; he wasn't a psychologist. He was a graduate of a certified school of counseling up in Austin and he'd been doing family counseling for 26 years. He kept up on all the latest information and information in the field. In fact, that was why he was late--he'd been at a continuing education class across town. He was glad to see them. He was sorry again that he was late.

All the information came in a staccato rush. Mr. Houston seemed impatient to get all of the preliminaries out of the way so everyone could get on with what they came here for. When he'd said everything he'd wanted to say, though, he sat quietly and studied his clients.

"What do each of you expect to gain from counseling…Mrs. Curtis?" The abrupt question caught Barbara off guard.

"Why, I…well, I…that is…I want to reconcile with my husband so we can move on…with our lives."

"I see," Houston said. "Move on? Why is there an issue about moving on?" he said thoughtfully. Barbara's face grew pink and her eyes moved to the curtain rod across the window behind the counselor.

"Steve caught me in City View Park with a man I know," she said finally, "and he thinks the man and I have been…having sex."

"Why would your husband think that?" Barbara refused to look at Mr. Houston. She looked at everything but him…or her husband

"Because we were sitting in his…the guy I know…his car and…oh, I don't know."

Her words trailed off. Her hands lifted, made an odd, dismissive gesture, then fell back into her lap.

Steve was watching Mr. Houston closely. From the corner of his eye, he saw Barbara's hands rise and fall. He caught Mr. Houston's eyes flick toward the sudden movement and then back up. A tiny frown made a furrow in the therapist's brow. In Steve's suddenly formed opinion, Mr. Houston was an excellent observer. He probably could read an individual's body language as easily as most people could a comic book.

"Don't forget to tell him you didn't have a bra on and you took off your panties for that guy you know, okay, dear?" Steve thought he'd contribute something to the conversation. Barbara threw a poisonous look at him.

"You'll have your turn to speak, Mr. Curtis," Houston said briskly, without any particular tone in his voice. "Please continue, Mrs. Curtis."

"I don't think I was going to have sex with him," Barbara protested. "I was confused; I don't even know why I went with him that day, but I wouldn't…I couldn't have done anything with him…it was just a bad mistake."

"A bad mistake?" Mr. Johnson repeated. He looked at Barbara for the few seconds it took her to come up with a response.

"Yes…I…" She paused. "I'm sure. I wouldn't have had sex with him," she said. She was almost defiant. Mr. Johnson waited to see if she had anything else to say. When nothing was forthcoming, he turned his attention to Steve.

"What are your goals in seeking family counseling, Mr. Curtis?" he asked. Steve was ready for the question.

"I have two…a short-term goal and a long-term goal," he announced. "First, in the short term, I want to convince my wife to instruct her attorney to quit throwing up roadblocks in the divorce action. Second, I want to get on with my life. That's my long-term goal."

He said nothing more. Steve looked Mr. Houston in the eyes steadily, almost unblinkingly.

"You don't seem to have much hope your marriage to Barbara will be able to get past this mistake, Mr. Curtis?"

"There is no hope," Steve replied.

"Why are you here, then?" the counselor asked.

"Because the firm I work for is making me," Steve said succinctly. Mr. Houston nodded.

"Well…so long as you don't come in here all surly and yelling four-letter words at everyone, we'll deal with that," Houston replied.

"I won't promise anything," Steve said coolly.

He held eye contact with the counselor, refusing to show any cooperation at all. Mr. Houston's expression didn't change but his eyes seemed to be a shade sadder than when he'd begun the session.

"Barbara says she made a bad mistake," he said. "What does the mistake mean to you?"

"Nope, I'm not going to play that game. It wasn't a mistake," Steve replied strongly.

"A mistake is transposing a couple of numbers when you're dialing a phone. That isn't what happened. She deliberately agreed to get in that man's car, she deliberately took off a bra I know she had on that morning, she deliberately took off her panties, and she was deliberately going to have sex with the jerk," Steve said heatedly. He forced himself to sit back in his chair.

"And it wasn't the first time she'd been with him," Steve continued. "You need to know this woman lies when the truth would serve her better. She told her parents a series of lies about why I kicked her out of the house and it was only when I showed them pictures of her playing grab-ass with this "guy she knows" and a video of them in the park that some of the truth came out."

"Is that an accurate account of an encounter between the two of you and your parents, Mrs. Curtis?" asked Mr. Houston.

"And her grandmother," Steve interjected.

"And your grandmother?" the counselor added. Barbara fidgeted in her chair for a long moment. She wouldn't meet the counselor's eyes.

"Yeah…pretty much," she muttered.

"I see." Mr. Houston remarked in a colorless tone. He divided a glance between Steve and Barbara. Abruptly he sat up in his chair to rest his elbows on his desktop.

"Mr. Curtis, Mrs. Curtis…the way I see my function in mediating between the two of you in your disagreement is to provide a neutral meeting place where you can both speak your minds without fear of anyone else taking sides. I do not know you; I will never have dinner in your home…I will never call you up to chat on a Sunday afternoon. Nothing you say in front of me will ever get back to your families, your friends, business associates, or…unless you tell me you're going to commit a crime or something like that…to the authorities." He looked at the two in front of him for a long moment.

"I recommend you agree to meet with me individually once a week, and then both of you come in as a couple at the end of that week. Is that acceptable to each of you?"

Steve opened his mouth to protest the use of the word "couple" but he made a split-second decision not to. It was only a word, after all. It meant nothing. Instead of speaking, he nodded. Barbara followed suit immediately.

"Fine…fine," Mr. Houston said briskly. "Before our first sessions next week, if the two of you could fill out these questionnaires for me, I would appreciate it," he told them, handing a manila folder to each of them from his lower desk drawer. Then he leaned back in his chair.

"Okay, let's set up some ground rules, and then I'd like to define the biggest problem you have between you before we end tonight," he continued. "You're not currently working…is that correct, Mrs. Curtis?" Barbara nodded. "Then, next Monday…how about you come in to see me that morning?" Barbara nodded without speaking.

"And I have an opening Wednesday afternoon for you, Mr. Curtis…any problems with that?" Steve shrugged expressively. He didn't say no.

"Okay," the counselor said. "And then…Thursday evenings at this same time, we'll come together as a group?" Steve inclined his head in acceptance. Barbara showed a little more enthusiasm. She was cheered by the fact that Steve had not refused outright.

"All right…I'll have my secretary make those appointments and she'll call you to confirm them, okay?" Barbara and Steve murmured their agreement.

"Okay, let me say a couple of things," Mr. Houston said quietly.