Love Triangle: Three Sides to the Story (4 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Karen

“You should be thankful that you got that job before you started showing,” Shauna said from the settee as I stood at the window and gazed at nothing.

“I know. I am most grateful.”

“Stop pining over him. He’s not worth it,” Shauna said softly.

“I know, I know,” I glanced at her still in her nurse’s uniform. She came home so tired that all she could manage was to kick off her shoes and to drop in the settee.

“When last did you seen him?” she asked casually.

“Will the answer be faithfully retold to my mother?” I asked bitingly.

“Oh no, I have not reported anything in weeks,” Shauna said, no ounce of regret apparent in her voice for telling my mother my secrets in the first place.

“Yesterday.”

“Yesterday … you looked at his picture?”

“No, I saw him yesterday. He came here to see how I was doing.”

“You are still seeing the man, after all the two-timer did to you, not to mention his poor wife?”

“No, I am not still seeing him, he came by to find out how I was doing and if I had an abortion.”

“How noble,” Shauna rolled her eyes heavenward.

“He said he would support his child,” I whispered. “I just wish he would be here for me.”

Shauna leaped from the chair and grabbed her shoes. “You are mad,” she declared, “and I don’t know how you can be helped. I am going to sleep. Tomorrow is my big ring-shopping day with Boyd. I never imagined that I would be the one getting married first.” She looked at me with sorrow and went into her room.

I stared mutinously into the gathering dusk. I was not going to get depressed or suicidal; I needed to stay strong for the sake of my child. I covered my tummy and felt a surge of love grip my heart. I was going to love this child despite the circumstances. I still loved his father and after an ultrasound yesterday, I knew it was a boy. I am going to call him George Junior.

The months ahead seem so bleak. I sometimes catch myself wondering about George and his relationship with Marie. I hoped against hope that she would leave him and he would come back to me confessing that I was the one he really loved. My fantasies got more and more lurid until sometimes I found that I was not concentrating on my junior accounting job—the figures would just run together.

I was angry with George at first. I really thought that we had a future together, but then I realised, after much bellowing on my mother’s part, that there were no guarantees with somebody who was already committed. But after four months of neither seeing nor hearing from George, his presence on my doorstep was a welcome intrusion.

His warm brown eyes stared at me solemnly and then at my slightly protruding stomach and then he whispered, “I am so sorry.”

I wanted to just fall into his strong arms and never resurface. The visit was short and unfulfilling. He declined my offers of food.

“When are you coming back to see me?” I had asked him, hope shining from my eyes.

“I’ll call you before I come.” He squeezed my hand.

“I am having your baby, George. Can’t you just leave her and come and live with us.”

“No, its not that simple, Karen. I love my wife and children. This thing we had between us was madness. I’ve got to go.”

He left in a hurry.

CHAPTER NINE

George

He watched as his assistant’s lips moved up and down as he mentally exited the conversation. He was in some deep waters. His life was going downhill. All the facts and figures and the bank’s profitability were like nothing to him right now. His wife was slowly falling to pieces and Karen was pregnant.

He still could not find the right time or moment to tell Marie the latest development. The truth was, he was afraid that once he told her it would be the end. She was already silently looking for a reason to leave him. He could not remember a moment in his life when he felt so uncomfortable and scared.

It was useless to wish that Karen was not pregnant because she indeed was, and an abortion was out of the question for him. In the earlier days, he was hoping that she would do it and relieve him of this added problem so that he could get on with his life. But after seeing her again, he was happy that she had not done it. He would have to face the hot water somehow.

After seeing Karen again, with her warm inviting eyes and the unspoken plea for him to stay with her, he realised that she no longer appeal to him. She was going to be the mother of his child and as such they will be tied together for life. And his wife, well, she would probably hate him for life. That he could not face.

He remembered the first time he saw Marie. He had been doing his first stint as a lecturer with a freshman English class. She came in, breathless and late.

“Coming from work, sorry to be late,” she said and plunked down onto a seat beside a young man who was holding a chair for her in the over-packed class.

Her intelligent, brown eyes would follow him around the class as he spoke about composition and diction, and he would convince himself that he was not falling in love with a young woman seven years his junior, and to top it off she was a student in his class.

The day came when he asked the class to write an exit essay on something they felt passionately about. Her essay was about a mystery man in her life, she used adjectives like longing and wanting to be closer to this man, and he was jealous out of his wits. The essay was excellently written but he could not bring himself to give more than a B—he was not pleased with the subject matter.

She stayed behind in class on the final day, her heart-shaped face was scrunched up with consternation. “Sir, this is an outrage,” she advanced to his desk, her slim frame poised for war.

“I want to know why I got a B, and Tony,” she said, referring to the boy who sat beside her in class, “in all his awkward descriptions of his homeland got an A. Why?”

She seemed to bristle from head to toe. She asked the question with such devastation that he replied, “Who is he, who is this mystery guy and why are you so passionately involved with him?”

He went around his desk and stood before her, forcing her to look up at him. He wanted to shake her then find the guy and shake him.

“It’s you,” she whispered and then walked out of the classroom, leaving him with his mouth wide open.

He had to run her down as she fled the building. He turned her around; her body was tense as if she expected a lecture.

“I feel the same way. I have been hiding it well.”

She sighed as if a burden had lifted from her shoulders and asked, “Where do we go from here?”

Three months later they were married. Within a year they had their first child, and twelve years on, he was facing the unpleasant gun of divorce pointed squarely at his heart. In a warped way, Karen had initially reminded him of all the promise and the anticipation of those first days with Marie.

“Will that be all, Mr. Cameron?” his assistant asked, her face set in disapproving lines.

“Uh huh.” George realised that he had not heard a word she said.

“Cynthia,” he said, before she left his office, “get Jean Abrahams for me please.”

“You mean the counsellor?”

“Yes the counsellor, and my mother after.”

“Okay, sir.” Cynthia shut the door and left him swimming in his thoughts.

CHAPTER TEN

Marie

I gripped my tattered diary closer as I sat on the steps of our back veranda. I could hear my mother-in-law fussing over Gabrielle’s hair somewhere in the house. She came over the house more and more frequently since the dramatic revelation of her son’s infidelity.

I guess in her own quiet way she was ensuring that we stayed together, and that the family was living as smoothly as possible. I stared at the pink and yellow buds of the mango tree and tried to do the detachment exercise that I was fast beginning to learn. Every time I envisioned my husband stewing in a vat of oil with Karen, or burning in a fiery furnace somewhere hopefully still with Karen, I would relax my muscles and stare at an unmoving spot. The mango tree was making for a good location.

I hated the tinge of guilt that still clung to George whenever he was near me. The furtive looks, the walking on tenterhooks. I did not want to feel as if I had something over him or that it was my responsibility to the family for things to run as smoothly as it did before. I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted to take my children and hide somewhere from my husband and his defection.

Mrs. Cameron came and sat beside me, her purple-rinsed hair hidden under a stylish hat.

“I heard that there won’t be a divorce,” she began.

I nodded and continued to stare at the mango tree. I was not interested in having a heart to heart.

“That’s good,” she looked at me fully, her face set in friendly lines. “I know I am not your favourite person, Marie, but I have to tell you this.”

“Okay,” I gave her one of my monosyllabic answers.

“My husband cheated on me for years”

I gasped and looked at her fully. I was surprised that she knew and even more surprised that she would say it out loud to me.

She half-smiled. “I know that you know. Hell, the whole district knows. Her name was Bertha.”

I held my head in my hands and stared at my overlong toe nails.

“Can you imagine your man taking up with a lady whose name is Bertha? My grandfather had a cow on his farm whose name was Bertha. I preferred to think of her as a cow-looking woman with little sense. I buried my head in the sand. Then one day I met Bertha.”

“You met her?” I asked curiously.

“Oh yes.” Mrs. Cameron crossed her legs and leaned back on the step. “She was a beautiful woman with a tremulous smile. She confessed that she loved Norman and that he loved her too and they did not want to hurt me.”

“What did you do?” I wanted to know. These days I felt indignant on behalf of all the wives who were two-timed and left to pick up the pieces.

“I cried for months, I threw tantrums, I made his life a living hell,” she grinned. “He did not leave me for his Bertha, even when I was a nag and a bore and I decided if the man can still stay with me when I was at my worst, then it must be worth something.”

“You should have left him,” I said with finality, “he was with that woman for close to five years.”

“I loved, love him and he was with me for close to forty so I waged a campaign to get him back. I knew him better than Bertha ever would, so I won him back fair and square, and Bertha the cow is no longer an issue.”

“And the moral of the story is?” I asked sarcastically. I was in no mood to hear about fighting for something that was already mine.

“If you love him, you’ll fight for him.” She smiled and patted my leg.

“Karen is no longer an issue,” I mumbled, “he fired her two months ago. I personally went to the bank to check.”

“And if she was still an issue?” Mrs. Cameron raised her eyebrows.

“I would pack my bags and leave. I am not into self-sacrificing and staying for the children.”

“It’s probably too soon after the event to have this conversation with you.” She got up reluctantly and gave me a vague look of sorrow and went into the house.

“What did that mean?”

I was so suspicious of everything these days that the moment anything seemed even remotely mysterious I would tear it apart, piece by piece. I was so busy unravelling the conversation with Mrs. Cameron that I did not even hear when George pulled up in the garage or feel his presence at my back. He cleared his throat and I jumped.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I yelled.

“No.” He seemed to move with great effort and his expression was pained. “Will you ever trust me and respect me again?”

“I don’t know,” I answered reluctantly. “What are you doing home so early?”

“I … well … ” he stammered his way through. “I … well … ”

“Don’t tell me you are cheating on me again,” I said spitefully, stressing the word
cheating
. “What’s her name? Let’s see you had a K last time so this time it’s an L. Is it Lolita or Loraine?”

I knew I was being unnecessarily bitter, but everything he did was suspect.

“Marie, you have to stop this.” George was looking at me earnestly. “The children are in the house. We have never had a fight before them, but each day it seems as if you want to lash out at me in front of them.”

“Oh, I should shut off my feelings and pretend to be happy for the children,” I hissed at him. “Are you implying that I am trying to break up this family?”

“No, Marie. I did not say that but you refuse to come to the counsellor since the last session, and everyone can see that you are eaten up inside.”

“The counsellor,” I laughed harshly, “the man should have chauvinist stuck to the end of his name and pinned on his office door. He told me I was prone to overreacting and drama. Men will be men, blah blah blah. I thought he was supposed to be objective.”

“I came to tell you that today I booked another counsellor. This time, a Christian marriage counsellor with countless experience at the job and numerous letters beside her name. We start on Monday.”

“Oh … okay,” I conceded reluctantly. He was obviously making an effort, so the least I could do was meet him halfway.

“Oh there is something else …” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know how to tell you this. I have fought with it for days.” His handsome face took on a lost expression. “Marie, I would do anything not to lose you.”

My heart softened.

“Marie this isn’t easy … ” his voice trailed away, as Timothy came running outside.

“Mommy, look at this.”

I looked up. He had a book in his hand, “I got an A for my science project. Here is the formula.” His face was eager as he sat between his father and me. “I already showed it to Daddy.”

I hugged him tightly until he started to wiggle.

“You are my brain child, you know that? Your father’s only son.” I kissed him on the top of his head. “Let me see that formula.”

George looked slightly pained. It did not even cross my mind that something important was hanging in the air.

*****

The cellphone was ringing incessantly somewhere in the bed. Gosh, why did George leave his phone on, the one morning that she decided to sleep in, Marie thought. With her luck, it would ring all day and she would have to be holding court for George in the middle of her Marie day. No children, no husband. Just Marie. She groped around and found the telephone.

“Hello.” Her voice was groggy and sounded ill-used.

“Ahm … may I speak to George please?” The person on the other end sounded hesitant.

“Who is this?” Marie asked, still half-awake.

“It’s Karen. Just tell him it’s Karen.” She sounded frantic.

Marie could barely speak. She knew that she was dreaming, that this was a living nightmare. After months of trying to get her life together and getting Karen out of her headspace she was calling George on his cellular phone.

Was George crazy? Was he still seeing Karen?

“I need him,” the girl was whimpering over the phone. “He is not at his office … ” Her voice trailed off.  “Who is this?”

“His wife,” Marie answered crisply. Karen sounded as if she was in pain, but Marie did not want to extend any sympathy to George’s little slut.

“I am losing the baby,” she whispered, “I need to have George here with me.”

“The baby?” Marie asked incredulously.

She heard voices in the background and the unceremonious slamming of the telephone. She got up immediately. No longer half-asleep but wide-awake. This was not happening to her. This was not happening to her. It was a prank call, staged by a very clever person determined to destroy her fragile peace of mind. Her husband did not get that girl pregnant and had known about it and did not tell her for six months!

She got up like an automaton and reached for the telephone. George was at his mother’s helping her with her spring-cleaning.

She listened to the ringing of the telephone and sighed when she heard George’s voice on the other end.

“George.”

“Hi, hon.” His voice was as smooth as honey.

“Your girlfriend is losing her baby and she wants you there with her.”

“Marie … ” His voice was hesitant. She clutched the phone for dear life hoping that her husband would laugh at her and tell her to stop it.

“Marie, I…”

“It’s true then?” She sat on the edge of the bed, her heart beating a mile a minute.

“I wanted to tell you, but there was never a right time.”

Marie could hardly breathe. It was not enough that Karen had taken her husband; she was now going to give him a child or rather she was losing his child.

“Marie, are you there?”

She slammed down the phone in his ears. How much more can one woman take from a man?

Marie sat on the edge of the bed, and assessed how much emotional damage the news that Karen was pregnant for her husband was doing to her. I am still alive and breathing, she thought. Okay, that’s a good first step.

Let’s think of happier times Marie, like the first time you brought home Timothy from the hospital. My God, Karen was almost going to carry home her first child for my husband.

I can do this I don’t have to think about this madness. I can cope. I can cope.
The hot tears trickled down her face.
I can cope.
The shudders began the toe-curling shakes that overpower a body when you are completely without resistance emotionally.

I am going to die. I know it. I don’t even have energy to reach for the telephone and to speak.

“Marie, Marie … ” She vaguely heard George’s frantic call.

“She’s in the room.” Her mother’s voice and her cool hands touched her hot forehead.

“You were right; she’s trembling like a leaf,” she said to somebody in the background. “Put on the hot water, I am going to draw some chamomile; it will calm her nerves.”

The last thing Marie remembered was being forced to drink the foul tasting tea and then nothing. She was out like a light.