Her Blue Dodge Minivan Ch. 03

Whoever came up with the phrase "life goes on" certainly has a point. No matter what you're dealing with, life does go on. The trouble, however, is that life doesn't necessarily go on very well, or in a way you want it to—nor does life tell you what you should do next.

My two choices were apparent from the moment I spotted Eileen's minivan parked next to Martin Netrebko's Mercedes at the back of the Courtyard by Marriott: 1) throw her cheating ass out of my house and get a divorce; 2) find a way to forgive what she did, and work on rebuilding the marriage.

Of course, at the time I wasn't thinking clearly enough to see that those were really the only two choices. All that was on my mind was my rage and hurt, which led quickly to a determination that I would get my revenge (or some of it) by putting her through hell. I did that, and I don't regret it a bit.

There was certainly some satisfaction at seeing her suffer, seeing her full of worry and fear for more than a week, as she wondered whether I knew about her affair. And it felt pretty good to knock Netrebko down and piss all over him—at least it felt pretty good for a few minutes.

But neither of those things "made it all better"—and now, more than eight weeks later, it was clear that there wasn't anything that would make it all better. There was only a choice between two unappealing alternatives.

For two months I'd kept myself busy at work, spent time with my work friends, done some fix-ups around the house, and tried not to dwell on how empty my house and life were without Eileen. I had always done a lot of the cooking and marketing, so feeding myself was not a problem. And it wasn't all that hard to learn how to do the laundry.

What I hoped was that time would help me find a way towards understanding what I wanted. But the trouble was that missing Eileen and being furious at her were so tightly entangled that I couldn't separate them, nor could I see which feeling was stronger, which voice needed to be listened to.

I spoke to her as little as possible—a few brief telephone calls. After six weeks she begged me to give her a chance to explain things, so I let her come over and tell me the whole fucking story, no pun intended.

Hearing it answered some of my questions—now I knew how the affair had started, and what Dennis and Amy's role had been. But it didn't bring me a bit closer to a decision.

I did have some helpful bits of information. Eileen still loved me, and she didn't love Netrebko in the least. She wanted to stay with me—desperately—and she was incredibly sorry for what she had done. And I had to admit, it seemed that her counseling sessions had helped her take full responsibility for the seriousness of her actions. She understood that this was no small matter.

On the other hand....there was always an "on the other hand". Eileen knew very well how I felt about swinging, because we'd discussed it. But she went to the party anyway, and fucked three guys there! And then she let one of them talk her into an affair, because (if I could believe her) she'd enjoyed the sex they'd had at the party.

How the hell could she expect me to live with that? After 20 years of marriage, I'm not good enough for her anymore, she has to have some strange cock? And even worse: a taste isn't enough to satisfy her, so she signs up for the full-course meal?

I'm not a guy lacking in self-confidence, but there isn't any man who could easily take that without wondering about his own abilities as a lover. I always thought that Eileen and I did pretty well in bed—I certainly always tried to please her, and even to play games when that was what she wanted. But there's nothing like finding out you've been replaced, even if only in part, to make you doubt whether you were getting the job done.

********************

Life went on. Eileen's occasional phone calls dropped off to nothing after our get-together and her confession. She was probably terrified of what I would say to her, and figured the best thing was just to give me all the time I needed.

I'd changed the answering machine message the first day after I threw her out; now it said that Eileen no longer lived here, and gave the phone number of her parents' house. Not surprisingly, I had to face several shocked and concerned messages from friends of ours, wondering discreetly or just asking straight out what was going on.

The ones I cared about, I called back and told them the truth—that Eileen had had an affair, I found out about it, and threw her out. I didn't share the details, but I was determined that people wouldn't hear some mixed-up version of the story elsewhere and think that I was to blame!

Two or three couples whom we'd known for years turned out to be terrific friends. They invited me over to dinner, called me regularly, just offered their support, without in any way trying to pump me for information or get in the middle of my marriage. I imagined there were probably others who were doing the same for Eileen, but I didn't particularly care.

Talking to the kids about the situation was one of the hardest things I had to face. I called both Emily and Frank the first week. I had planned to say only that Mom and I were going through a difficult time, and that she was staying at her parents' house for a while. But I underestimated my children's perceptiveness and determination. One or the other called me every night for a week, full of concern and full of questions—no doubt they were talking to Eileen too—and not surprisingly they figured it out.

"Dad, there's no way Mom would have left on her own," Emily said to me one night over the phone. "If she was angry at you, she would have made you leave! And you wouldn't have tossed her out for anything small. I can't believe I'm asking this, but did she cheat on you or something?"

After a long silence, I said, "yes, Em, she did. But I'm not saying any more about it. She's your mother, and she loves you and Frank as much as I do. Whatever may happen, you will always have two parents who care for you more than anything in the world."

Emily said, slowly, "I really can't believe it, Dad! But I know you—you wouldn't have done this unless you were sure. What are you going to do now?"

"I have no idea, sweetie. Give it some time, talk to your mom, and see what happens.

"I'm just sorry that you and Frank have to deal with this. You have enough on your plates with hockey and schoolwork, and just being college students."

We talked a little more, and I was just so grateful for my level-headed, thoughtful daughter. Grateful too that she and Frank were out of the house. If they had still been at home it would have been far worse.

********************

As Easter week approached we faced a new problem. For more than 15 years our family tradition was to have Easter dinner at Eileen's parents' house, with the whole extended family, and even since the kids went off to Middlebury they always came home on their spring break and joined us.

There was no way I was going to participate in that this year. I called Eileen and suggested that they have the regular dinner in the afternoon without me, and that l would see Emily and Frank in the evening instead. After trying in vain to convince me to come to dinner, she finally agreed.

I met the twins at the airport on Friday night—they were going to stay at the house, as they always had, and visit with Eileen during the week. It was so great to see my two hockey stars, so full of energy and high spirits! I got a little emotional thinking about the years Eileen and I had spent raising them, and I had to wipe tears from my eyes after our hugs.

On Easter Sunday I spent the afternoon alone at the house, eating a quick sandwich and doing some work in the garden. I'd refused all invitations from friends, preferring to be by myself.

To my surprise Emily showed up about 3pm; she'd left the Easter dinner early to have some private time with me. We hopped in the car and drove over to a nearby park where we both loved to walk, enjoying the trails that wandered around a big scenic lake.

Emily didn't waste any time, and what she said didn't come as much of a surprise.

"Daddy, you and Mom are both so miserable—isn't there any way you can forgive her, and try to work this out?"

I just smiled sadly at her, not knowing at first how to respond, and she went right on.

"I mean, it would be different if you had a bad marriage—if you yelled at each other all the time, like Mona's parents, or if she'd cheated before. But this is the first and only time, right?"

"Emily," I said, "you know I can't talk about this with you. I know you love me and Mom, and I know you want to help. But there's no way I can discuss the details of our problems with you—it's simply not fair to you or Frank to be in the middle."

She didn't give up that easily. "Mom told me it was all her fault, that she was headstrong and selfish and disrespected you. And that she's told you the whole story, and begged for your forgiveness. Can't you see she means it? She has even been seeing a counselor!"

"I know she means it, Em. I'm just not sure if that's enough. There are things you can forgive people for, and then....I guess there are things that are so destructive, that an apology just can't put them right."

She stopped me by putting a hand on my arm, and we stood facing one another, on the quiet path next to the lake.

"Okay, then, think of it this way. It's obvious you're not happy, Dad. You're lonely and angry and you've got too much free time on your hands. So what can you do to make things better? What's going to make you happy again? Is it getting divorced and starting all over at your advanced age"—she gave me a playful poke, and we both grinned—"or is it having Mom at home with you again, loving you and doing all she can to make this up to you?"

"I always knew I raised a smart daughter," I said. "You've put the question just the way I've been putting it to myself: what would make me happy? The trouble is, Em, that I don't have an answer.

"Being alone, dating again, trying to find someone to share my life with, someone who could mean as much to me as your mother, that's pretty unappealing. On the other hand, having her around, and knowing every time I looked at her that....wait, I can't talk about this with you."

I closed my eyes for a minute, trying to regain my composure.

"Honey, I simply can't discuss this with you any more. You're already more in the middle of this than I wanted, and I can't talk to you any further about my relationship with your mother. You're just going to have to trust me to do what's best—once I figure that out!"

I smiled at her again, a bit ruefully, and she gave me a big hug.

"Okay Dad. Thanks for listening, anyway. I love you!"

"I know you do, sweetheart."

********************

It was about a month later when Eileen's sister Diana came to see me. I hadn't seen her, or any of Eileen's relatives, since the day I threw her out. My guess is that Diana and their father had both offered to come talk to me, but that Eileen stopped them. If that's what happened, Eileen did the right thing: it would have pissed me off even more to have to defend my actions to her father or sister.

But now it had been more than three months. I didn't feel so angry any more, not as much as just weary and sad. I missed Eileen, yet I didn't want her back—in fact I didn't want to see her or talk to her. I didn't know if I ever would.

To my surprise, Diana and I had a great time. She turned up on a Saturday morning, around 10, just as I was embarking on a big ham-and-cheese omelette. I added a couple more eggs and the two of us shared it.

I'd always liked Diana. She had the same energy and humor as her older sister, and most of the same good looks. She was slimmer, but still shapely, and she loved to flirt. Diana had never married, but there was always a boyfriend in the picture, usually desperately in love with her and ready to do anything for her. Diana on the other hand never seemed to get too serious about any of them.

I knew why she had come to see me, and she knew that I knew. But it didn't stop us from having a fun time. We chatted about this and that—her work, her latest boyfriend, my kids—all through breakfast and a couple of cups of coffee.

Finally I said, "why don't we take our cups out on the deck, Diana? I'm pretty sure you have something to say, and you can say it out there."

When we were settled in our chairs she looked at me, seriously but still with a twinkle in her eye, and said, "Danny, you know me too well for me to try to snow you. I thought about just telling you what a fool you're being, not to take Eileen back. I was going to point out how lonely you are, how sad and tired you look, how much you need her—all that crap.

"But the fact is, we both know who the fool was. It was Eileen." She shook her head.

"I still can't believe what an IDIOT she was! My own sister! The one person in the world I always looked to for good advice."

Diana got lost in her thoughts for a moment, and I just waited, watching her. It struck me how beautiful she was—I could easily understand how her boyfriends got twisted around her little finger.

After a minute or two her mind seemed to come back to our conversation.

"So I won't give you any bullshit, okay? Eileen is miserable. She's desolate. She knows she fucked up bigtime, and she's doing absolutely everything she can think of to make it right with you again.

"She's working with a counselor. She's moved out of Mom and Dad's house into an apartment, though it nearly killed her to do it—she said it felt like making the separation permanent. She's come to you and told you the whole story, and apologized as fully as she knows how to do.

"And she's given you time and space, hasn't she? She hasn't pressured you, hasn't drowned you in phone calls or love notes. She knows that you're suffering, knows that it's her fault, and she's trying to let you deal with it at your own pace."

Diana looked right at me. "Danny, what more could she do?"

"I don't think there IS anything more she could do. That's not the problem. The problem is, did she break our marriage so badly that it can no longer be fixed?"

We sat for a minute. Diana had no answer to that one.

"I know that what happens now is up to me," I finally went on, "and I know that everybody is waiting for me to make up my mind about it. I'm not dragging this out to make a point, believe me. I'm trying to figure out what I want, which of two lousy alternatives—neither of which I deserve to be facing, by the way!"

I stopped and glared at her, and she nodded her head, a little sadly.

"Sorry—don't mean to take it out on you. But the alternatives both suck: try to make a new life without her, or swallow what she did to me and try to find a way to love and trust her again.

"And I don't seem to be at a point where either one of them seems the least bit preferable to the other."

We sat a little while longer. The fun was pretty much gone from our conversation, though a part of me was still enjoying just sitting and looking at Diana. Like her sister, she was a babe. I realized with a shock that it was the first time in more than three months I'd had a particularly sexual thought. Being cuckolded had completely turned off my own sexuality, something I would never have predicted.

When she got up to leave, I surprised myself by getting a little flirty, reverting to the way Diana and I had teased one another for years.

"Thanks for coming, Diana. It's always a pleasure to see you. I'm just disappointed you didn't offer to console me in my loneliness. Just think of how much better you could make me feel!"

She grinned back at me, and flipped her hair in an exaggerated way, pretending to be a seductress. "Don't think I'm not tempted, Danny! But you still belong to Eileen, at least until you tell us all that you don't. And I don't think she'd be too happy about the idea of me easing your loneliness—she's just hoping to get the chance to do that herself."

That night I spent a couple of hours in a local bar with Mike and Tommy, two friends from work. We'd gone out together 5-6 times since I'd split with Eileen, just to have a few beers and watch a game on TV or play some darts. Tonight something was different, and it took me a few minutes to realize what it was.

I was leaning back against the wall of our booth, watching the women out on the little dance floor, when I figured it out. My last few times in the bar I hadn't even noticed the women—it hadn't even occurred to me to look. Tonight I was checking them out, aware of who had a lowcut top on (and looked great in it), who was flirting with her boyfriend, even who was sitting at the bar looking like she was waiting for someone to hit on her.

Without taking the time to ask myself whether it was a good idea, I got up and strolled over to a redheaded woman sitting in front of a martini glass that was nearly empty.

I perched on the stool to her left and said, "that one seems about gone—would you let me buy you a refill?"

She turned and looked at me appraisingly, smiling slightly. "I don't mind having another, but what's that circular gold thing around your finger there?"

I laughed aloud, liking her already. "I think they call it a wedding ring. Honestly, though, I was just looking for a little conversation. This is not a pick-up attempt—I wouldn't begin to know how to do that. I'm about twenty years out of practice."

That made her laugh, and I found myself joining her. I got her a refill, and a beer for myself, and we had a nice chat for an hour or so. Her name was Adele, and she was in town from California for a week visiting her sister and brother-in-law and their new baby.

"He's an adorable little guy, but God can he ever cry! I've been staying with them five days now, and I just needed to get away for a couple of hours and be around some grownups."

I thoroughly enjoyed Adele's company, and she seemed happy to talk to me as well. We kept it light and casual. She mentioned that she'd been divorced about three years earlier. I didn't speak about my marital situation at all; in fact to my surprise we spent a lot of the time chatting about baseball—she was a lifelong Angels fan.

When she said she needed to get back to her sister's house, we parted with a handshake and big smiles, and I strolled back to Mike and Tommy, who had finished their darts game and now proceeded to give me shit about what a pick-up artist I was. I pointed out with a smile that I couldn't be that good, because here I was back at the table with them!

As I drove home that night I thought about Adele, and of course about Eileen. I'd enjoyed being in the company of an attractive woman, but she wasn't my wife. There had been the fun of talking to a new person, of learning things about someone else and hearing stories for the first time; but there hadn't been the warm comfort of spending time with someone you loved and trusted.

Trusted? Yeah, I could remember when I trusted Eileen. But would I ever be able to trust her again?

Probably, in fact, I could. That is, it was easy to believe that she'd learned her lesson and would never cheat on me again. But that doesn't mean that my feelings of suspicion and betrayal would disappear. I had the feeling that I'd be dealing with them for a long long time.

********************

That night at the bar, and the hour spent talking to Adele, began to break the logjam in my mind. Instead of just drifting through my days, obsessing about my situation without making any progress, I started to feel myself thinking more actively about it. Each day the pros and cons of my two alternatives got a bit clearer; it felt like I could see what each choice would mean for my future.