Eleven
Dante glanced toward Mary with a frown. She'd quite suddenly gone silent, and considering the topic, he was concerned about her. After another moment passed in silence, he said gently, "You must have been very hurt."
"Hurt?" she asked dryly, and then snorted. "I was freaking furious."
Dante's eyes widened and he glanced quickly her way, taking note of her anger now just at the memory. She was nearly vibrating in her seat with it. Shifting his gaze back to the road, he cleared his throat and asked, "Because the boy was proof Joe was continuing to have affairs?"
"No," she assured him. "Not about the affairs. I didn't give a rat's ass about the affairs by that point. I had been completely asexual since the miscarriage, shutting down that part of myself. What I cared about was his children. I was furious that he'd had them, and paradoxically, furious that he hadn't been a part of their lives or taken any responsibility, even monetarily, for their existence."
"Ah," Dante murmured, and wasn't sure what to say to that.
Another moment of silence passed and then she announced, "I left him that afternoon. I packed up the kids and checked into a motel and made an appointment with a divorce lawyer, all by dinner." She swallowed and then admitted, "But I never went to see the lawyer."
"Why?" Dante asked at once, and when she didn't answer right away, glanced over to see that she was peering out the window at the passing scenery. Her expression was closed and he shifted his gaze back to the road, simply waiting.
After a moment, she sighed and said, "Carol came to see me at the motel. We were good friends even then. Dave and Joe often traveled together, and we were each other's support when they were gone. So, of course, I called her with the crushing news of Joe's betrayal. She came rushing to the motel and we talked and cried for hours. She thought I should leave him, of course," Mary added wryly. "And then she gave me the number of a therapist her sister had been trying to get her to go see. She had no interest in counseling, but if I wanted the number . . ."
"Surprisingly, I did. I knew I was angry and had contributed at least somewhat to things, and I didn't want to carry that anger and self-destructive streak on out of the marriage and into any future relationships. So, I called this therapist. Her name was Linda and she just happened to have a cancellation the next morning, so I went to see her. It was the best call I ever made."
"Really?" he asked, and couldn't hide the doubt he was feeling on the subject. She had stayed with Joe, after all, something he thought was just wrong after everything the man had done. He would have thought a good therapist would have insisted she leave, not convince her to stay.
"Yes, really," Mary assured him solemnly, and then explained, "Linda listened patiently to my tale of woe about my marriage. How he'd convinced me not to go on to further my education. How he'd cheated on me. How he'd refused to face me, forcing me to drive madly off and crash, and how he, how he, how he . . ." She let her voice trail off and then he heard her sigh and she said, "And then Linda asked if I'd even been in the marriage."
"What?" he asked with confusion, casting another glance her way.
She smiled at his expression and admitted, "That was my reaction, but then she said that the way I told the story, I hadn't made a single decision or choice. Linda said I was taking the victim's role. That, yes, Joe had suggested I didn't need an education, but was it possible it was because he'd realized that I was unsettled about what to take and perhaps a little afraid and so had tried to make my decision easier by giving me the option to be a housewife? If I'd really wanted that education to fall back on, wouldn't I have spoken up about it and insisted? Even if only to take part-time courses to see what I liked? After all, as I'd told her, he was making good money, and I wasn't pregnant for the first three years of our marriage. I could have taken courses until we were blessed with that baby if I'd really wanted to. Wouldn't he have allowed that?"
Mary paused and out of the corner of his eye, he saw her raise her coffee cup for a sip. After swallowing, she continued. "I had to admit that yes, he probably would have been fine with that. And she said, so, I hadn't really been interested or wanted a degree. He hadn't forced me not to go on to further my education."
"Hmm," Dante murmured. "I suppose she is right."
"Yes, well that was the first of the revelations," Mary said wryly. "By the time I left her office, I was thinking less like a victim, and acknowledging my part in things. I had told even myself that I wanted my marriage to work, but my actions said something else entirely. In truth, I hadn't wanted Joe back as a partner; I'd wanted to punish him pure and simple. And I had. I'd got exactly what I'd wanted," she said wryly. "And then Linda made me begin to question Joe's motives in all of this. Why had he put up with my punishing him? Why had he stayed married to me when I offered him nothing but food he disliked, a cat he couldn't breathe around, and children who grew increasingly distant from him? What had been in it for him?"
"She suggested I put off the divorce, and that we work together first, her and I, and once we got to a space where I felt comfortable, bring in Joe for couples counseling."
"I was sure Joe would never agree to couples counseling," she admitted quietly. "But I was wrong. We set the divorce aside. I moved back to the house with the kids and he got a temporary apartment close to work while I started therapy. But it wasn't long before my whole attitude was changed and I was able to see things more clearly. And then the couples counseling started. I found out the first session that after I'd spoken to him about the couples counseling, Joe had called Linda and asked if he could see her one-on-one like I was doing. So he'd been working too. We both knew what our motivations were, and understood what we'd each been doing, and it was just a matter of admitting it to each other, and finding out a way to deal with each other without falling into old patterns."
"And what was he doing?" Dante asked dryly. "Aside from having affairs at every turn?"
"Joe hadn't intended on having the first affair," Mary said quietly. "That had developed over long hours together working a project. He said he knew he should have arranged for her to be transferred the moment he realized what was happening, but he'd been afraid of looking stupid or weak at work. It had been a mistake."
"I'll say," Dante muttered.
"No one's perfect," she repeated solemnly. "And there were extenuating circumstances. We'd been married three years when I finally got pregnant. I expected it would happen right away, but it didn't. It took three years, so for three years I was just a housewife, cleaning house and cooking meals and getting comments from friends and family like didn't I want to do anything? Didn't I feel I should stop being a burden to Joe and get a job?" She paused and then admitted, "It wasn't very good for my self-esteem. I felt like a failure because I wasn't getting pregnant and started having problems with depression. I doubt I was great fun to live with after the first year or so."
"That does not--" Dante began, but she continued over him.
"Then when I finally did get pregnant? Well . . . I was over the moon, of course, and sick as a dog. I spent more time hanging over the toilet than anything else. Joe used to come home from work to a mess, no food and would spend hours just rubbing my back and holding my hair out of the way as I threw up. My doctor said he'd never seen such a bad case of morning sickness. Which is a misnomer by the way, it was morning, noon and night sickness."
"Then Joe had a big project come up. If it was a success, he'd get a promotion. If not . . ." She shrugged. "He started working late hours on it, probably partially because he needed to, but maybe also a little to avoid coming home to my misery."
"And he started the affair with his secretary," Dante said quietly and glanced over to see her nod in response. His mouth tightened as he shifted his eyes back to the road, and he growled, "You were carrying his child, Mary, and apparently very sick in doing so. It is not okay that he had an affair."
"Oh, of course it isn't," she agreed. "Don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying it was okay that he
had the affair. He should have talked to me. I was so miserable myself; I didn't realize how miserable he was. He should have suggested I see a specialist and see if anything could be done about the nausea. Or, he could have suggested I get a friend or family member in to help me. Or found any other way to handle it. But he didn't. He had the affair. That was his choice, and what he had to live with afterward."
"My choice was in what I did when I began to suspect he might be having an affair. I didn't talk to him either. I too turned to someone else and hired a private detective. And then when the detective gave me that address, I chose to go to the motel and catch him rather than simply confront him with the information when he came home. And when he didn't satisfy my need for confrontation and my "Ah ha!" moment at the motel, I was the one who drove out of there like a maniac, straight into a semi."
"Most of my anger was at myself for doing that, but I buried it under my anger at him and blamed him for everything. He, in turn, felt guilty about his part in it and so let me punish him for the next fifteen years rather than leave me to find a healthier relationship and happiness. He even refused to see his own biological children because he felt that would be the ultimate betrayal."
"The affairs were not?" Dante asked with disbelief.
"The first one was, but after that, as I said, I wanted nothing to do with him in that area. He figured I didn't care anymore if he slept around, but acknowledging and being a part of the life of a child he'd had a part in creating when I couldn't have children anymore . . . ? To him, that seemed like the ultimate betrayal. Especially when he felt guilty for his part in the accident that caused the miscarriage and my inability to have those children. He felt like he'd ruined everything, especially me. And I felt the same way. So I punished him, and he took it. But it was a punishment for me too. I wasn't any happier than he was."
"And yet you stayed together," he said grimly.
"We almost didn't," she admitted. "I mean, when I realized how much time I had wasted on punishing us both . . . And I think he felt the same way. Like we'd done enough damage. But Linda suggested we at least see if anything could be salvaged. We'd been in love once. Could we get past the hurt of the past and find that love again?"
"She sounds like a quack to me," he said abruptly, anger sliding through him for everything she'd been through. Mary was a beautiful, smart, and caring woman. She should have been loved and cherished, not cheated on and betrayed and that quack counselor should have said as much and encouraged her to get the hell away from Joe Winslow.
"Joe said the same thing," Mary said with a chuckle. "He'd liked her until then, but that suggestion convinced him she was a quack and he said it to her face. She just smiled and asked, "What's wrong? Are you afraid? Besides, what have you got to lose? If it doesn't work, you divorce, just a couple months or so later. But if it works . . ."
"So, we both agreed to give it a try with her counseling. He continued to live in the apartment and we started to have dates that we then dissected in her office during our appointments." Mary sighed. "At first, it was hard. There were still a lot of emotions to work through, but she helped us get through them. And eventually, we started to find each other again, but this time it was better."
Dante couldn't keep the skepticism from his voice as he asked, "How?"
"I'd always looked up to Joe and kind of put him on a pedestal," she said, trying to explain. "First he was the "senior boy" to my freshman in high school, and then he went and got his degree while I didn't, and then he got the big impressive job while I was a housewife. In my mind, we weren't so much a couple as he was the star and I was just the supporting cast," she admitted quietly. "But after everything that happened, he was no longer on that pedestal. He was just Joe. On top of that, I realized that I needed to boost my self-esteem and think more of myself, so I started taking classes at the university."
Dante glanced to her with surprise. "In what?"
Mary hesitated, rolled her eyes and then admitted, "psychology."
His head swiveled toward her, his eyebrows flying up in surprise and she shrugged helplessly.
"I wanted to better understand myself so I didn't mess up again," she admitted wryly, then added, "And I wanted to help others who might be going through the same things I had. Joe and I had wasted so many years on useless emotions we didn't even understand." Mary was silent for a minute, then sighed, and said, "So I got a bachelor's, then a master's, then went on for my doctorate."
"You're a doctor?" he gasped, unable to hold back his shock. That surprised the hell out of him. He'd got used to the idea of her being the housewife she kept talking about. This news was a bit surprising.
"Dr. Winslow, psychologist, at your service," Mary said lightly with a nod, and then admitted, "It took me a while to get it. I was thirty-four when I started taking courses, and that first term I only took a couple classes. But then I started going full time, and even taking summer courses and I got my doctorate just before turning forty-four."
Dante didn't care how long it had taken; it was damned impressive.
"A psychologist," he said with a smile. "Nice."
They were both silent for a minute, then he glanced to her and teased, "So how does a psychologist end up with body issues?"
Mary's eyes narrowed and then he saw her nose rise before he turned his gaze back to the road, and wasn't really surprised when she snapped, "Actually, I don't have body issues."
He was starting to smile at the show of spirit when she added, "At least not with my body."
Dante's head snapped around with shock. "Surely you are not suggesting you have problems with my body?"
"Eyes front," Mary said sweetly, using his own line on him. Once he turned his attention back to the road, she said, "Yes, I'm afraid I do have issues with your body. If you looked more like Dave I'd be dancing around the RV naked and jumping you at every turn."
Caught briefly by the image of her dancing around the RV naked, it was a moment before the rest of what she'd said sank through his muddled brain. Once it did, Dante squawked, "Dave?"
"Well, not like Dave," she said quickly, and then soothed his ego by adding, "I'm not attracted to him like I am to you. I just meant if you looked like you but more his age."
Dante relaxed a little, a slow smile coming to his lips before he reminded her, "I am older than him."
"Yes, but you look twenty-five," she pointed out with exasperation.
"So?" he asked mildly.
"So my children are older than that," she said with disgust.
"And that bothers you," he said gently, and then pointed out, "Many women would take pleasure and pride in being able to show off a handsome younger man as their lover."
Mary snorted. "Then they're idiots. Because everyone is snickering behind their hands and assuming he's there for money or something."
"I have a great deal of money, Mary. I am not with you for anything but yourself," he assured her solemnly.
She fell silent for a minute, and then said quietly, "It's okay when you're kissing me. Then I forget about how young you look and how old I am. But when you aren't kissing me, all I can think about is that you look twenty-five to my sixty-two, and I feel like a dirty old woman contemplating raping a child."
Dante chuckled at the claim, and then assured her, "I am not a child. And trust me, it would not be rape." He glanced in the side mirror as a car whipped past them on the highway, then cast a smile her way and offered, "I could tie you down the next time so you can be sure you are not raping me."
Mary's eyes widened and he could hear her heart rate speed up at the very thought, then she swallowed thickly and said, "Anyway, Joe and I--"
"Coward," Dante interrupted, affectionately. "I know you would like me to tie you up. Your heart sped up at the suggestion."
Mary flushed, but forged on as if he hadn't interrupted. "Joe and I got back together, but this time it was totally different than the first part of our marriage. We were equals, and friends. We had learned how t
o communicate with each other, and made sure we did. The last twenty-eight years of our marriage were wonderful. We enjoyed ourselves and each other and did everything together." She paused then added, "But maybe it wasn't as great as I thought. Because I trusted he was faithful to me after that, but apparently Dave--"
"Dave was much younger in his memories of his catting-around days with your husband," Dante interrupted solemnly. "It is most likely they occurred during those fifteen years when you and Joe were having your war of a thousand tortures."
Mary breathed out a little sigh of relief at this news, obviously glad Joe hadn't betrayed her again after all the work they'd done to save their marriage. Dante supposed it would have put a pall on what she presently considered the happiest years of her life. But he intended to show her what true happiness was. He would spend the rest of his days doing so. He would never betray her, would always want her, and once he turned her, she would be able to have those children she had always longed for. And Dante would be happy to give them to her. In fact, he knew without a doubt that he would enjoy planting them in her belly and fully intended on practicing doing so the first chance he got. And he would continue that practice until he could convince her to accept being his life mate and agree to the turn, then he would keep her in bed for a year whether she got pregnant quickly or not.
Dante glanced to her again and almost sighed aloud. The woman might think she was too old for him, but he could not look at her without thinking about getting her naked. The things he wanted to do to her . . . and would already be doing to her if not for the constant interruptions and then the arrival of the box and the need to save his brother. But once they had captured his and Tomasso's kidnappers . . .
By the time he was done, Dante was determined the woman would know how beautiful and sexy she really was.
"War of a thousand tortures?"
Dante glanced to her at that squawk. She'd obviously just realized what he'd called the fifteen years of misery during the first part of her marriage. Shrugging, he said, "That is what those years sound like to me." Smiling to soften his words, he added, "And I will be most careful not to anger you ever."