Degrees of Love, page 24
We went to church on Sunday. Not surprisingly, the sermon was about giving thanks, most specifically about giving thanks for the love of our families and the love of God. Listening to Reverend Jim’s words, my heart filled with love for my family. I looked at my husband. Matt wore a contemplative expression. What was he thinking? His wide blue eyes met mine, and he squeezed my hand. Matt and the boys were my family, as a package.
Reese’s face flashed in my mind. My heart rippled with pain, and the guilt beast fed ravenously on my stomach. There wasn’t going to be any easy fix. I was still desperately and fervently in love with him. I had to find a way to stay strong for my family. During silent prayer, I dropped to my knees and silently begged for God’s help.
Dear God, I have sinned against you and my husband. Please, forgive me and help me find the strength to resist future temptation. Help me let go of the love I have for another man and love only my husband. Give me the strength to do your bidding.
I hoped God was listening.
Matt had a soccer game that day. I hadn’t watched him play in a while and offered to go.
“Are you sure you want to watch another f-ing game?” he quietly joked.
I cringed, ashamed of how I’d hurt him. “Sorry I said that. I like watching you play.”
“I’ll score a goal for you,” he offered with a wink.
I remembered the first time I had watched him play. I had dragged Serena with me, wanting to show off my new crush. Serena had joked about how cute he was and wanted to know if there were any other hotties hiding in the biology lab. I don’t remember much about the game except Matt scoring a goal and being powerfully attracted to his focus, his competitiveness, his aggression … his maleness. As soon as the ball hit the net, he had turned to see if I’d been watching. Matt had smiled with his eyes crinkled up. I had blown him a kiss, but really had wanted to run up and jump his bones.
I still get a little turned on whenever he scores. I should start watching him play more.
Monday morning I was back at work. I hadn’t heard Reese’s voice in over a week and was jittery knowing we would be interacting later in the day. I intensely wanted to know how he was handling everything. Was I the only one struggling to let go? Was he getting over me? If that were the case, would it be easier for me to move on?
We exchanged e-mails, but they were strictly work related. I listened to Reese lead a two-hour conference call, but couldn’t decipher anything. I legitimately had to talk to him about issues that required his attention; after all, he was still my boss. I looked up his on-line calendar and sent a meeting invitation for the half hour he had open at eleven. He accepted, and I called his office at the appointed time.
Anne put me on hold and then got back on the phone, “Susan, I’m sorry, Reese is going to be a while. He wants to know if you’re available at three-thirty.”
“Eastern time?” Damn. I already had an anxiety-filled morning waiting for this time.
“Pacific. He actually has an opening earlier. Do you want me to check if he’ll take your call in an hour?” she asked.
Knowing Reese, he wanted to talk privately. My guess was he would be calling me from his apartment. There was no point for Anne to attempt to schedule me earlier. Reese would decline. “No, three-thirty is fine. Please, let him know I’ll be in my office.”
“So, you two are back to late calls?”
“Reese is busy. I catch him when I can.”
“Yes, you certainly do.”
I didn’t like her tone, but said nothing. There was no point.
Wanting to minimize my contact with him, I carefully reviewed my list and tried to anticipate anything that might come up later in the week. I started shaking when the meeting reminder popped up on my laptop screen. I hit the snooze twice, each time my stomach a little queasier. At exactly three-thirty, Reese’s personal cell number lit up my caller id.
“This is Susan,” I squeaked.
“Hi, it’s me. How are you?” he asked with his voice seductively silky.
I didn’t answer the question. Instead, I launched into my laundry list. Reese patiently and calmly talked through each item. When I was done, he asked, “Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. I’ll let you go,” I said with a sigh.
“Please, don’t hang up. I want to talk to you,” he said. I couldn’t answer. “Susan, are you still there?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You never answered my question, how are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sound far from fine to me.”
I focused on keeping my voice steady. “If you must know, the last two weeks have been extremely difficult.” I couldn’t stop from asking, “How’ve you been?”
“Do you really want to know?”
I don’t know. “Yes.”
“At first, I couldn’t sleep or eat. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about us together. Just breathing was hard. I tossed in bed every night hoping you would show up on my doorstep, regretting your decision. The night you were in Boston, I waited by my phone expecting you to call, but you didn’t. Afterwards, I felt used and was furious for a day or two. I was so angry I could barely bring myself to congratulate you when you e-mailed me about the meeting.”
“Reese, I’m sorry to have hurt you. Please, don’t hate me.”
“I’m much better now. I don’t hate you, and I’m not angry anymore.”
He didn’t sound urgent, or horribly pained. Something had changed. He seemed at peace with everything. Maybe someday I would be, too. I got my answer.
“I’m glad to hear you’re doing well and please, don’t worry about me. I won’t bother you more than is necessary for business. I should get back to work.”
“Not yet. I want to tell you why I’m better.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but my curiosity won out. “Okay, tell me.”
“I hadn’t prayed in a long time, but I actually got on my knees. I was convinced God was punishing me. Proverbs 6:32: He who commits adultery with a woman is void of understanding. He who does it destroys his own soul. I felt destroyed, so I went to confession. Afterwards I should’ve been more at peace, but I wasn’t. All I could think about was looking into your eyes and having your love reach so far into me that we became one. I’ll never be whole again without you, and I know with dead certainty neither will you.
“I remembered a verse from Corinthians and had an epiphany. It says ‘But now hope, faith and love remain—these three. The greatest of these is love.’ The Bible also says God is love. I can’t believe God would punish me for loving you. Our suffering comes from denying our love, which is a gift. We’re meant to be together and time won’t alter our bond.”
His voice remained silky smooth and calm all through his narration. So this was his new strategy? Unbelievable, using the Bible as evidence in favor of adultery.
“That was a very pretty speech. How long did you rehearse it?”
“Ouch! I thought it sounded more extemporaneous.”
I chuckled and criticized ungenerously, “You might be good in front of a crowd but your acting lacks technique.”
He chuckled too and taunted, seemingly unperturbed, “You are being a stinker. I’m getting to you. I can tell.” I didn’t respond and he continued in soft, loving tones, “Try not to be so cynical. What difference does it make if I planned what I had to say? It’s still true.”
“Why are you telling me this? It’s doesn’t change anything.”
“I think it does. You can try to deny your love for me, but you won’t be able to forever. It’s only a matter of time and you’ll come back to me. It may be next week, or it could be a year from now, but you won’t be able to stay away. I can wait.”
His audacity dumbfounded me. Underneath his gentle and loving voice was steely determination, so quintessential Reese.
“Wow! You’re not worried about what I’ve said, or how I feel, or what I think?”
“No, I worry about those things. I want to know what you think.”
“I think you’re the cockiest, most persistent man I’ve ever met. Don’t you ever give up?”
He laughed softly and said, “If I didn’t know how much you love me, then I would; I almost did. Have you been happier or more peaceful without me? Is your marriage any better?”
“No, but there hasn’t been enough time. Besides, it has nothing to do with how much you love me or I love you. I’m going to do the right thing and keep my family together,” I answered with as much vehemence as I could muster.
“That’s just it. I don’t think you’re doing the right thing,” he argued. “I know how lonely you were, and I honestly think your marriage drowns you. If fading out of your life were the best thing for you, I’d do it. I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I don’t think it’s the answer. It’ll only be a matter of time before you—”
“Enough,” I said, cutting him off. “I know where you are going with this.” Damn it, I started to cry again.
“I know the guilt is eating you alive. You have to stop blaming yourself for everything. Even if you and I hadn’t met, what condition would your marriage be in today?”
“Not good, but—”
He pressed his advantage. “I think you should see a therapist to help you deal with all of this. I really think it’ll help.”
Gee, where have I heard that before? Matt and Reese each thought a therapist would advance their agendas. I was tempted to tell him that Matt wanted me to see a professional, too.
“Don’t tell me. You already found me a therapist?”
“I have a short list for you.”
“Of course you do.”
He ignored my tone and stayed focused on his objective. “Will you try to see someone?”
Although his presumption and confidence irritated me, I desperately needed to confide in someone or I’d explode. “Yes. I’ll make an appointment.”
“Thank you.” He let out a sigh of relief. “By the way, when are you due in New York?”
“A week from Friday.”
“Have dinner with me.” It was more of a statement than a question.
I cringed. “Matt will be with me.” There was dead silence on the other end of the phone. Reese had been pumped and ready for this call. I imagined him deflating like a popped balloon. “I know it’ll be awkward. I’m sorry. He insisted on coming.”
“I guess I’ll finally meet Mr. Sinclair.” He sounded ruffled for the first time since he’d called. “You realize we’ll be seated at the same table? Mobile Banking will have its own table.”
“Crap.”
“I think fuck is a better word for this occasion.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“That’s right, Love. It feels good to say it sometimes.”
I had to take a couple deep breaths to keep myself from panicking. “Reese, I don’t want the two of you on the same coast, let alone across a table from each other.”
“I guess seeing you alone won’t be possible.”
“No, it’s still doable. He’s leaving Sunday morning, but I’m staying through Monday and possibly Tuesday, depending on Bank of Boston.”
“Then, I’ll plan on spending Sunday with you,” he declared, his confidence rebounding.
“I’ll meet you for brunch, that’s it. We’re not meeting at your apartment or my hotel.”
“Don’t you trust yourself?”
“I trust myself. I don’t trust you.”
He conceded with a laugh, “Fair enough, my little spitfire.”
“I’m not your ‘little’ anything.”
“Okay, Sparky,” he said in the same seductive voice he used when he called me his love.
I’d had enough of Reese’s game playing. “I have to get back to work.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up,” he interjected with humor still in his voice. “Number 116.”
“What does that mean?”
He chuckled and teased, “You’ll figure it out. And Susan …”
“Yes?”
“I love you,” he said in the softest, most genuine voice imaginable. I almost melted, but caught myself just before I reciprocated the sentiment.
After he hung up, it took me all of thirty seconds to decipher 116 was a sonnet. I didn’t need to get down my Complete Works. I had committed it to memory years ago. It began, “Let not the marriage of true minds, Admit impediments, love is not love, Which alters when it alteration finds…” He was telling me that he would never give up. “Love alters not with his brief hours and week, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.”
Reese, Reese, Reese … what am I going to do with you? If I didn’t love him so deeply and completely, I would probably be freaked out by his unrelenting tenacity. His will power and determination were qualities I had found attractive. His self-assurance turned me on. It was an integral part of who he was and the reason why he was successful. Those qualities weren’t as attractive when he was opposing my desires. I kept thinking about the line, “That looks on tempests and is never shaken.” It summed up his personality to me. Once he had determined on something, there was no shaking him from his “ever fixed mark.” I didn’t know how to combat him. He would keep coming at me from different angles until he cornered me.
Over the next week, Reese played games with me. He used silky, seductive tones juxtaposed with facetious remarks and flirtatious double-entendres to keep me off balance. He kept his tone light and playful, always teasing. Sometimes he would text me a number. The number was always a sonnet he wanted me to read. The covert messages were how much he missed me, and the durability of his love.
My strategy was to dodge and weave. In the meantime, he was winning. The new game was fueled by sexual energy. It wound me up, pulling me out of my funk. It was hard to be sad while engaged in a game of cat and mouse.
Exactly one week after Reese encouraged me to see a psychiatrist, I found myself waiting in Dr. Helen Morgan’s reception room. I trusted Reese had thoroughly researched the doctors on his list. The other doctors were men, and God knows I didn’t need another man in my life. Besides, a woman’s perspective would be appreciated.
Knowing Reese, he would play it cool at the party, but would hit me with a full court press as soon as Matt left for California. I had to be prepared mentally and emotionally for whatever he tried. Since I wasn’t in an abusive situation, I was confident any therapist would reinforce my decision to stay with Matt.
“Susan Sinclair?”
“Yes?”
“The doctor is ready to see you.”
The receptionist showed me into the doctor’s office. It wasn’t what I’d expected. There were no couches to lie on or Rorschach prints on the wall. The office reminded me of my professors’ offices in college.
The woman who sat in the chair facing me was not what I expected either. Dr. Morgan looked old enough to be my grandmother. I wished she were younger. The elderly looking woman intimidated me. How would I be able to tell her about my problems without dying of embarrassment?
She stood. “Hello, Susan. I’m Dr. Morgan.” She reached out and shook my hand.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
Dr. Morgan smiled and said, “Please, sit down.”
We both sat, and I crossed my legs looking expectantly at her. “I’m sorry. I’m a little nervous. I’ve never seen a therapist before, so I don’t know what to expect.”
“It’s a natural response. Most people are nervous on their first visit. Why don’t we start with why you decided to make an appointment?”
“Well, it’s rather difficult to talk about,” I replied already shaking with emotion.
“I imagine it is must be, or you wouldn’t be here.” She looked compassionately at me and waited.
“I’ve done something terrible, and I want to talk someone about it,” I admitted, determined not to let tears run down my cheeks.
“Our conversations are confidential. I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to listen and help you come to terms with whatever it is.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, would you like to start by telling me what terrible thing you’ve done?”
“I’ve committed adultery with my boss.” Looking down at my shoes, I felt like a four year old confessing a wrongdoing and prepared myself for her admonishment.
Dr. Morgan gave no reproof. Whatever she thought or felt about what I’d done was well hidden from me. “I see. Are you still seeing this other person?”
“No, I broke things off a few weeks ago, but he still wants to see me.”
“Is he threatening you with your job?”
“No, but he has me confused. I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore.”
“Well, let’s start at the beginning, shall we? I think it would be helpful to understand how you found yourself in this situation. When did it start?”
“Last summer.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Tell me about it.”
Memories of the last six months poured out of me. For most of the session, I recounted the loneliness I had experienced, meeting Reese, and trying to save my marriage. She listened patiently, and occasionally nodded her head or interjected a question.
Dr. Morgan stopped me toward the end of the hour. “We’re almost out of time. I have a few questions and observations before you go.” She leaned forward and looked at me intently.
I exhaled slowly, apprehensive, but ready to hear her advice.
She smiled at me but seemed sad. She made me sad, and I braced for her prognosis. “First, it appears to me your relationship with Reese is more than a temporary fling. You seem genuinely in love with him.”
