Bo's Café (24 page)

She thinks for a second. “I could whistle the happy birthday song.”

“That would be subtle. All right. That’s it, then. Whenever I hear you whistling the happy birthday song, I need to just back
off and shut it down until I get some objectivity. I like that. I’m in.”

We shake hands with great exaggeration.

We’re both looking at each other now, fully engaged.

“So, then, Jennifer…”

“Yeah?”

“What is my signal when I want to ask if you did your homework?”

“Nothing. Our signal will be nothing. Because I always do my homework. I’ve always done my homework, and you never, ever need
to ask.”

“Point taken. That’s what I’ll do then. I’ll… do nothing. And you’ll know when I do nothing that means I don’t have to bother
worrying about your homework.”

“Exactly.” We both laugh. She’s now got her feet up on my knees.

We sit there for a while, saying nothing. We are just enjoying being dad and daughter. I finally break the silence.

“Well, I’m going to go write a note to your mom.”

“That’s a good idea, Dad.”

“Hey, kid. Thank you for doing this.”

“You’re welcome, Dad.”

We both stand up at the same time, and she gives me a hug, something I cannot remember receiving from her since she was a
little girl. It takes me a long time to let go of her.

“Good night, kid.”

“Good night, Dad.” And she almost bounds up the stairs to her bedroom.

I stand there for some time in the dark. How long has she been wanting to tell me all that? Lindsey and I have an incredible
daughter. Just another piece of my life I’ve been putting at risk. Geez.

I am caught off guard with tears.
I just trusted my daughter with me.
Then almost involuntarily, I whisper out loud, “Lindsey, I can do this. I can do this.”

I find my way into the living room and turn on the muted green reading lamp at Lindsey’s desk. I forage through the drawers
until I find some nice stationery. I sit down and words begin pouring out.

Lindsey,

You usually get up before me, so I hope you read this before you see me.

Well, I did it again, huh? I hurt you again. I betrayed your trust… just as you were starting to risk again. I know saying
“I’m sorry” won’t work. I know I need to keep asking you to forgive me when I go out and do the same things over and over
again. I really hate what I did to you today, Lindsey.

I think this is going to take a while. If you even let it go that far. I’m realizing there’s stuff inside me—anger, screwed-up
thinking, a bunch of junk from way back—that may take a while to get any better.

I didn’t see it today… until it was too late. I really thought you were trying to sabotage the lunch. I know—crazy. Afterward,
everyone around me let me know I was utterly and totally wrong. Andy said a while back, “When seven people tell you that you’re
drunk, you might want to find a place to lie down.” I knew, even while you were downstairs in Cynthia’s car, that I had missed
it completely.

I’m so sorry, Lindsey. You were just being you, which is wonderful. They all liked you so much. It was me they weren’t so
crazy about.

I sat at work tonight getting nothing done, really afraid that this time I may have finally scared you off. I’m asking God
to let it not be too late. Here’s all I can promise: I’m believing that God forgives me, even for today’s craziness. This
is all new to me. Even at this moment, it is so hard for me to dare allow myself to believe it.

Andy is about the wisest person I’ve ever met, and Cynthia has been his mentor. She really likes you. If you wanted to meet
with her, I’d be good with that. And you can tell her anything you want.

Enough. Only this: I am so sorry for embarrassing you and making you feel like you aren’t enough. You are everything to me.
I am not well. You are the health and strength of this family. By the way, you wouldn’t believe the conversation your daughter
and I just had. She’s an incredible girl. That’s all about you, and God.

Lindsey, I’m asking again for your forgiveness. I am trusting Him to help me make things right. It’s all I know how to do.

Love,

Steven

I fold the note and place it in an envelope, write her name across the front, and put it on top of the coffeemaker. Then I
quietly crawl into bed next to my wife.

The next morning, I wait until she’s had time to get to the coffee and read the note. Then I walk down the stairs and stand
just outside the kitchen. She is still holding my note when she notices me. She makes no move, but a kind smile slowly works
its way over her face.

“Thank you, Steven. I loved what you said.” She says the next words as though she is risking a lot. “I’m here with you in
this… . So, do you have that phone number for Cynthia? I think I would like to call her.”

(Thursday Afternoon, June 4)

Lindsey and Cynthia spent last Thursday afternoon together and have seen each other a couple of times this week. Each time,
I get a little uneasy about what they must be saying. But a couple of phone calls to Andy and Carlos have helped get my thinking
relatively straight again.

So here we are, back at Bo’s. This time it’s Lindsey’s idea. She’s catching the group up on what we’ve been talking through
this past week.

“Steven and I have struggled in our marriage for a long time. Three weeks ago I was contemplating divorce. I’ve thought about
it before, but this time I was actually playing it out in my head—where Jennifer and I would move, what kind of job I’d get.
It was awful.”

I’m listening, imagining how hard—even last week—it would have been to let her say those words to this group. To anyone. But
now it doesn’t seem that bad.

Cynthia laughs softly. “Steven, do you realize how amazing it is that you can let Lindsey say this to us?”

“Yeah, I guess. But it’s pretty hard to sit here and be… pitied,” I say.

“Oh, man!” Carlos responds. “No one at this table pities you. No one. We’re all really sad she had to feel and think that
junk. But look where you are. Surrounded by a table of friends getting to love and respect you like never before. You’re letting
us in, man. This is it. This is the good stuff. We’re so proud of you.”

Andy nods. “Every one of us at this table has stories of failure and immaturity like yours. Remember, all of us are learning
to be convinced that if we have a safe place, where the worst about us can be known, the cycle of shame from old dead issues
can be broken.”

Cynthia adds, “I really think there is this great secret payoff for all those who give others permission to see behind the
mask.”

Once again she is awkwardly close to my face. “You find out the thing you feared the most never comes true. In fact, the opposite
happens. You actually get to
be known
. You find out, in your vulnerability, that the
real
you is validated and loved.”

Keith joins in. “When I was hidden, everybody was paying for it. Even if they didn’t know it. Everybody was being robbed of
the best of who I was. Even when I was on my game, I couldn’t give you the real stuff God put inside me to give away. People
wanted to love me, but they couldn’t; people wanted me to love them, but I couldn’t. Everybody lost.”

Carlos jumps in. “Keith, you’re on it, man. The goal is not just someone’s exposure, but their freedom—so everyone gets the
best of you. That’s the deal.”

Lindsey says, “Sometimes at church it feels like the ones who look all cleaned up are the admired ones. If you dare let someone
know something wrong about you, it’s like you’re suddenly a second-class citizen, part of the leper group. You know what I
mean? Who would dare let anyone in with those stakes?”

“You must have been attending my old church about five years ago.” Carlos laughs. “Maybe you don’t recognize me. I was thinner.”

He stands up and pulls in his stomach.

“No, Carlos, it wasn’t your church.”

“A lot of churches,” Carlos answers, “resemble that remark, Lindsey. But like my dad used to say, ‘There ain’t no together
people. Just those with whiter teeth.’ ”

Cynthia stands up. “I think I was one of those people who could have made you feel that way. If we’re not careful, we can
do it here too. A well-dressed woman of maturity like myself can give the false impression of being above the common faults
and failings of others. So, I guess it’s my turn.”

She takes a long drink from her water glass. “It’s been nearly twenty-five years.”

Cynthia then sets her glass back down on the table. “Keith and I had struggled for some time. We were married young and had
almost no support base or instruction. Keith was a hotshot navy pilot. We spent two or three years in some of the hardest
places in the world for a marriage to survive.”

“Cyn and I had no clue,” Keith says, reaching over and grabbing his wife’s hand, her bracelets jingling. “We grew up in the
same town in Kansas. I had known Cynthia since I was six. At some point, on one of our times home from college, we just realized
we were in love.”

“He told me he knew since fifth grade that we would get married.”

“After college Cynthia and I got married and were immediately stationed in Norfolk, Virginia. Then Annapolis, San Diego, back
to Norfolk, and the Gulf Coast—all within two years. We just thought everything would work out, somehow.”

“It didn’t,” Cynthia adds flatly. “I was unhappy and depressed. Oh, and I was sure to let him hear about it all the time.
I didn’t know how to make friends with military wives. Most of them were so… well, military. And they thought I was some kind
of hippie art kook. And Keith was away so much of the time.”

Keith takes over. “I was spending more and more time in town with officers just as young, stupid, restless, and frustrated
as I was. I started telling Cynthia I was held up after work for briefings with the commanding officer or some such bunk.”

Cynthia looks down at Keith. “After a while I knew he was lying, but I couldn’t bring myself to face it. I wonder now how
may of the lies I helped him create. The poor guy couldn’t win. When he didn’t come home, I was miserable and let him know
it. When he
did
come home, I was miserable and let him know it. Oh, I was a regular witch.”

“Most of you know the rest of the story,” Keith continues. “Trouble knows how to find someone hanging out in the same room.
It was one night, one stupid act. It was never about being in love with another woman. I was just so immature and disappointed
with my life. I gave myself permission to do something very wrong, and somehow, at least in the moment, almost felt vindicated
in doing it. And, of course, I hid it from her.”

It’s hard to believe I’m sitting here on this deck, listening to these two sharing something as intimate as this.

“We drifted further and further apart,” Cynthia explains. “Our double bed seemed like three king-size beds.” She stops for
a beat before she continues.

“Then one evening, at a going-away party just before we were being transferred yet again, I overheard an offhand remark from
a pilot friend of Keith’s who’d had way too much to drink. I confronted Keith when we got home. He confessed. I came completely
undone. Whatever illusions I’d had of a happy marriage dissolved in that instant. I felt anger, embarrassment, disgust, and
fear, all in the same moment. I was suddenly a victim. And Keith represented all that destroyed my childhood dreams.

“Oh, and I was hurt that God knew and didn’t let me know sooner. So I was a victim with no one to run to.”

Keith’s eyes have clouded with emotion.

“It tore me up to see what I had done to her,” he says. “I grew up in a Christian home, but I think that was the first time
I ever took God seriously. I cried out to Him, day after day. I got help from a base chaplain and his wife. I repented to
God and to Cyn. It was an incredibly wrenching experience. But I gradually grew to believe that God had forgiven me. Cynthia
and I tried to get back to some form of normalcy in our marriage, but even after a long time something still wasn’t right.”

“What was it?” Lindsey asks.

“I became convinced I was a better person than Keith. I reasoned that I
never
would have or could have done something like what he did. I was better than that. I was a better person.”

She is walking now behind Keith’s chair.

“And I held it over him. God was freeing him from bondage, and at home I was retying all the knots. I thought I had to be
in control to get my life back. And so I thought my job was to keep him in a perpetual state of penance.

“It worked. He became convinced that in order to regain trust, he had to take the abuse of my arrogant superiority. I leveraged
that control over him in a hundred ways. I used it to manipulate his behavior and ensure that he never forgot what he owed
me for staying.”

She sits back down, her ringing bracelets the only sound on the deck.

“And slowly life leaked out of my husband. He became a well-behaved, compliant little boy, always trying to stay out of the
doghouse. I couldn’t see that I was robbing myself of my husband a second time.”

Cynthia looks directly at Lindsey. “My dear new friend, I fear there are thousands of husbands and wives living in similar
prisons. One fails, and the other finds control by never letting the other feel free and restored. It destroys two lives.
One is kept pitifully pinned down while the other is trapped in arrogant blindness, allowed to ignore their own debilitating
issues.”

Lindsey has been very quietly taking this all in. “So, what changed?”

Cynthia looks steadily at Keith as she responds. “One evening I was looking at my husband. He was sitting across from me in
our living room, watching television. I happened to be browsing through a photo album, looking at pictures of the two of us.
One picture was from soon after we were married. He was full of life, mischief, and playful affection. And oh, dear, he was
so handsome! He was messing with my hair, looking at me with such confident delight. It looked like he was about to say something
funny or take me in his arms and dip me, or tell me about some exotic place he was going to take us on leave… .