connected. A look, a smile, a touch, sometimes that is all that is needed to communicate. And Quinn and I are no novices to this. Some time in our past things were good and we could talk without words. It’s just that we lost the art when we lost ourselves, or so we thought. It was still there, under the surface, waiting to be reactivated when love was rekindled.
And that is the thing about our love. It was just a spark, the smallest of embers. In a moment the wind would blow it away or put it out. Or, if it should survive against all the odds, then it could start a wild fire, passionate and out of control. There was hope there and that was enough for now.
“How is Wade coping with you and me?” she asks me. To be honest, I’m a little taken aback, but then we promised to be real with each other, and that’s what she was trying to be. If Wade was going to cause trouble then she wanted to know about it.
“Quite well - surprisingly.”
“Really?”
“Well, actually he has himself a new interest.”
And then I feel instantly sorry for her because she doesn’t know about Wade and Chloe and their history. For that matter she doesn’t know about what Wade has been doing behind her back for the last year. Maybe she did.
“There’s something you should know,” I say grimly.
“What?”
“Wade wasn’t faithful to you.” I laugh. “That’s so messed up. Here I am telling you about that when you were sleeping with him behind my back.”
“Judd...” she says, shaking her head sadly.
“But you should know this. He was sleeping with other people for the past year. Did you know?”
She shook her head. Her eyes were full of tears.
“And the girl he’s with, Chloe, he’s been with her for months. It looks like he started being ‘serious’ with her just after he finished with you.”
She bows her head. “I’m so ashamed,” she says, tears running down her face. She’s slowly coming to grips with the enormity of her betrayal and all I can do is hold her. And I do. I round the table and take her into my arms and she cries onto my shoulder. People are watching but I don’t care.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
And this brings me to another problem. It’s a fact that if we sleep with someone that we don’t know or trust than we’re virtually sleeping with all of the people that they’ve slept with. I sleep with Quinn. She sleeps with Wade. Wade sleeps with god knows how many people. You see what I mean? And Quinn’s choices aren’t the only ones in question here. I slept with Penny. And although I don’t believe that she was sleeping with anyone else at the time, I can’t know for sure. In a lot of ways that is the beauty of only having one person for life – you can be safe - unless of course that person has some sort of callous disregard for you.
So that leaves us with only one solution.
“We need to get tested,” I tell her grimly.
“What?” she says, pulling away.
I tell her about our problem and about my contribution to the whole mess.
“I see,” she says.
And that’s all we say on the subject.
She has to go, and I let her. We live in different places but we are drawn together more and more. But we need to grow as people before we can ever grow together as a couple again. We both know that. We both respect it. And so we profess our love and kiss like we did when we started all of this, like we’d discovered that we’d found the one for us and the future looked bright without a hint of cloud.
But the clouds were real. They were here. They were hovering over us. We had no option but to ride them out and wait for the sun to come out again.
I watch her beautiful behind snake its way through the tables and go out the door into the street. I want her. I need her. I keep seeing her with him in my mind. I’m going crazy because I love her and I hate what she’s done and I have to find a way to accept it and move on.
Wendy was wrong. I did not want to pretend that nothing happened. I want to transcend it.
I call Grant when I get back to my flat.
“I have some good news,” I tell him.
“Is that right?”
“Yes. Quinn and I... well, we’re going to give it a chance.”
“I assume what you mean by ‘give it a chance’ is that you’re going to try and salvage you marriage,” he says without a hint of surprise.
“That’s right,” I say. “And you sound like you were expecting it.”
“It was possible, considering what I’ve seen and heard.”
“I see. Well, I think we have Mary to thank for this.”
“Mary only allowed Quinn to consider the possibilities. The rest was her.”
“Well, what she said must have worked.” I know what she said and it was inspired. “So, what happens now? Will we come together?”
“Mary and I have talked about this. Quinn still has some work to do with Mary, at least another session. So, I was thinking we’ll give them some space next week. Tell me,” he says, “do you fish?”
Saturday
It’s strange. Quinn and I are talking every day on the phone, but we don’t feel the pressure to see each other. We seem content to know that we’re going to try and make us work and that will take some time and effort and space. That’s not to say that I wouldn’t see her is she asked. I’d be over in a second if she called me. But she doesn’t because I think she’s still going through what happened to her last week. And it appears that this week she’ll be working on that again. I don’t know if she’s doing the same things that I’ve been doing with Grant, but I suppose she is to some degree. Men and woman are different after all and there’s likely to be some variation.
I don’t really think it matters - as long as it works.
She’s quiet on the way to the Uptons. She’s not nervous and chatting. I leave her to her thoughts. I’m not trying to push things. I’m letting things turn out as they do.
Later I’m sitting next to a slow moving river with a fishing rod in my hand, saying absolutely nothing and not knowing quite how or why I’m here and what I’m doing. Grant sits next to me in silence, looking over the river to where his line strikes the water.
My line suddenly comes alive. My rod bends under some unseen strain and I fight to keep it in my hands. Grant is beside me immediately.
“She’s a big one!” he tells me excitedly, and I guess I’m excited now. I’ve never fished and I’ve never seen the point of it. All that sitting about. All that wasted time. But I had employed the moments up till now thinking and I guess that’s why Grant took me here.
“Easy,” he tells me, then shows me how to play the fish on the end of my line, how to let it go a little, then reel it in. Let it run, then reel it in. Then we see the tell-tale splash of a tail and there’s fight still in it.
“Reel her in,” Grant instructs me, and I do. The fight goes all the way to the bank where Grant scoops my prize up in a net. I’m out of breath and flushed and feeling a just little proud of myself.
“Well done,” he says to me. “She’s a beauty.”
He’s right. My catch is quite a size, and it’s my first. Grant unhooks the fish and puts it in a bucket full of water to splash around.
We sit for a bit while I catch my breath. Grant has reeled in his line and checked his bait but he doesn’t cast back in.
“How do you feel?” he asks me.
“Good.”
“Quite a battle, isn’t it?”
“Sure,” I say.
“But in the end it’s worth it – all that letting go and reeling in. You get your prize at the end.”
I can’t help feeling that there is a lesson there for me he’s trying to impart. He doesn’t say it right out, he’s hoping I’ll get it on my own.
“So,” he says, “I suppose we should talk then.”
“That’s what I’m playing you for.”
“How is your homework going?” he asks me.
I tell him about what I’ve been through in the week,
now I’d made a decision for us when she asked me to. I had come to the point where I accepted that I loved her and that I wanted a future with her. Quinn did the rest.
“I want to talk about bitterness,” he says after that, and I’m not sure I know where he’s going. “When we don’t forgive then we foster bitterness in our heart,” he tells me.
“I’ve forgiven her.”
“I know, but I’m sure you know that forgiveness is something that we do on an ongoing basis, especially when we’ve been hurt.”
“I get that.”
“Good. And forgiveness is an intentional act. Sometimes it’s hard to forgive, real hard, but the forgiving heart will forgive regardless. When we don’t we allow bitterness into our hearts and it slowly poisons us.”
“Okay.”
“So, this week I want you to look inside yourself, look for hurts that you’ve held onto, that you’re bitter about, and forgive her for them. That goes for others in your life too, but I would start with the person that means the most to you.”
“I can do that.”
Grant nods. “I’d like you to look at the way you speak to her. What you say protects against bitterness. When we’re bitter we say all sorts of destructive and hurtful things. Sometimes we aren’t aware of them, or we’re in destructive patterns we can’t shake loose. You know what I’m talking about, right?”
I do. That was me. We were drifting apart and I was making it worse by my sarcasm and comments and biting remarks. Sometimes I told myself that I was being clever, but really I was just being cruel. I nod sadly.
“So speak life into your marriage and forgive.”
“Okay,” I tell him. It sounds