My Husband's Affair Became the Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me (15 page)

“Brian, I do care,” I protested. “Why then, Brian? Why do you say that you don’t think I’m concerned about having nice times together?”

“Why should I tell you? It’s too late now. Obviously you don’t care,” he said.

“Obviously, I do care. That’s why I’m here.” I argued. “Brian, why are you doing this to me? I don’t understand. Don’t you see that this

is a mistake? Think of all the good times we’ve had. Whatever the problem is, we can work it through. We can fix it.”

“Well, I’ve been trying to fix it, but you don’t listen,” Brian said. “You never listen to me.”

I had always considered myself an excellent listener. “Brian, what do you mean I don’t listen to you? Of course I listen to you.”

“No, you don’t. And you’re not listening now.”

“Yes, I am. You’re saying that I don’t listen to you when you talk,” I said.

“That’s right. But it’s too late now,” he said. “I’ve made my decision.”

“Brian, it’s not too late. You can change your mind. We can work things out.”

“Look, Anne, I’m making a mistake,” Brian said. “I’m making the biggest mistake of my life. And I want you to leave me alone and let me make it. If I’m making this mistake, I want to make it really big.”

As I heard the nonsensical words he was saying, I could hold the tears back no longer. He was acknowledging that his actions were a mistake, yet he was choosing to make a mistake consciously. Did he not understand that the bigger he made the mistake the more painful it became for me? I felt as if I was not even speaking with a sane individual.

“I hear you tried to phone Helen today,” he said.

We sat facing each other on stools in his cluttered office. My skirt had creased up to about the middle of my thigh, revealing most of my smoothly shaved legs. I crossed them in a sexy manner. I needed him to notice me, to remember who I was.

“Yes, that’s right,” I replied, changing my posture to confidence, strength and defense. He was evidently picking a fight.

“Well, you’re not allowed to contact her without going through me first,” he said. “If there is going to be any talking between you and Helen, I am going to know about it and you are going to do it through me.” he said with authority, as if he were the President of the United States, giving war orders to the national defense. Now, I was mad. Timidity and caution left me.

“If I want to talk with Helen, I will talk with Helen,” I said, raising my voice. “I will not arrange it through you, and I do not have to tell you about it. You have been meeting Helen behind my back for two months. You have been sleeping with Helen. Now you dare to tell me that if I want to speak with her I have to do it through you and tell you about it! Forget it. Yes, I want to talk with Helen, and, no, I won’t do it through you. I’ll do it myself, thank you very much.”

Brian was left speechless. I think he understood his hypocrisy.

Before either of us had a chance to say anything else the door flew open. In walked a thin, dark haired man in coveralls, letting Brian know about a problem on the site. Brian told me he had to get back to work. I understood.

“Well, thanks for the talk and the water,” I said, holding back the majority of tears. Attempting a smile, I reached towards him out of habit for a hug. He gently put out his hand, resisting me. There was no hug. Again I was rejected.

Aware of his eyes following, I made my way back to my car. I stole one quick glance back at him before I got in. He was still looking, and if I wasn’t mistaken, it was a look of attraction. The outfit had done its job. I continued looking at him, but didn’t wave. He did the same.

Reflecting on the conversation as I retraced the road back home, I felt it had been a positive step forward. At least he had talked to me, and I had actually gained some insight. His feeling that I didn’t listen to him was a major issue-apparently worth leaving me for. I just didn’t understand why he felt this way? Could it not be fixed? I played over his words in my head:
Leave me alone and let me make this mistake. If I’m going to make a mistake, I want to make it really big.
When I arrived home, I was worn out from sobbing.

The afternoon necessitated dealing with some of the regular duties of living life, including a trip to the grocery store. Still dressed

in the same clothes that I had on during my meeting with Brian earlier, I headed out on my errand. Walking past the parked cars towards the waiting shopping carts at the entrance, I felt confident. I hadn’t dressed this way for years, and it made me feel sexy, as I became aware of the fact that the construction site was not the only place where I was turning heads.

After choosing the items I needed, while waiting in line at the till, I noticed Lenora Unger in another line. She was Suzie Homemaker
extraordinaire,
and one of the last people I wanted to run into by chance. She had a “perfect” life or so I thought. I didn’t think I could tolerate even a brief conversation with her. What would we talk about? Her bathroom décor? I looked away.
Careful, careful, avoid eye contact, don’t look that way,
I coached myself.

Then, I looked right at her, and she looked right back at me. I was standing there with my new hairstyle, new clothes, twenty pounds lighter than she last had seen me, my eyes covered with dark sunglasses. As I looked, and she looked, I realized, she couldn’t even recognize me. This amused me. What a timely disguise! At this moment, I realized I had nothing to fear in public. My appearance had changed so drastically in the past nine days that I was unrecognizable to acquaintances. This fact provided me with a mild sense of pleasure and amusement, making me feel like a famous Hollywood movie star, avoiding the onslaught of unwanted publicity, as I hid my face in public with a sleek scarf and dark glasses.

Again, it was Wednesday, and I could not get out of my regular Bible study hosting commitment without drawing unwanted attention to myself. So again, I gathered inner resolve to make it through a social event for a couple of hours.

Pastor Dave was a welcome addition to our group that night. I felt safer with him there, knowing he would be sensitive to my pain and needs this night.

In my church, we believed the Bible is divinely inspired, and is therefore true and relevant to our lives today. My Christian friends and I also believed that some people, including Pastor Dave, have a

special prophetic ability. That evening Dave spoke these words:

A thousand years is like a day to the Lord, and a day is like one thousand years. To God time is not. You live your lives in a sequence of time, one event following the other, but in eternity all things that will be, have already been. In eternity there is no time. All has been done already. There is no in between. I knew every day of your life before any of them came into existence. Do not doubt your future, for I hold your future in my hands. I have not forgotten you. Don’t doubt. Don’t doubt.

I received the words as a divine and personal encouragement.

CHAPTER 10
Small Miracles 

DAY TEN-THURSDAY, MAY 2 5, 2 0 00

There are parched and barren fields in our lives.

There is autumn in our existence.

But these are the grounds of our growth,

The seedbeds of our miracles.

In these fields we will someday blossom ...

And the innocence of the world

Will return, with our own.

RICHARD CANIELL FROM
WHAT THE ROAD PASSES BY
JONES/HUGGINS

I woke up and embarked on my new routine, with my new companion pain securely at my side.

Weight: 146 pounds. I felt encouraged that I had lost twelve pounds in nine days. I recorded my weight in a journal, where I also kept track of the items I allowed myself to consume. Whether I should have been encouraged by my weight loss, or whether I should have been concerned about my health, I do not know.

After returning from driving my kids to school, I poured a glass of fruit juice and retreated to my bedroom for a time of spiritual meditation, reading, and prayer. Sometimes sitting in my bed, sometimes pacing my floor, sometimes loud and sometimes quiet, but always with the blinds drawn. Always hiding from the world outside. It was my private and personal time.

When I was finished, I would force myself to dress attractively, fix my hair, and put my makeup on, no matter how much I felt like giving up and staying alone in my bed to cry all day. Daily I fought the forces that sought to lure my life to the bottomless depths of despair.

Lori phoned. “Anne, you need to come to the ladies’ meeting this morning,” she said. “Otherwise people are going to be wondering what’s going on with you. It will probably be good for you.”

I had been in the habit of meeting with a small group of women from our church, committed to helping the teenagers in our community in practical and tangible ways. This morning, I did not want to go. But I willed myself there anyway.

Since the weather was so nice, we met in a park instead of someone’s home. Only three other women were there this morning: Lori, Mameha and Gloria Neufeld. I liked Gloria, but she was someone I was not supposed to tell. Pastor Dave and Lori had encouraged me not to tell anyone except the leaders in our church, and Gloria was not one of our church leaders. (Neither was Mameha, but I told her anyway for obvious reasons.)

We sat around a picnic table, trees in bloom, birds chirping. A beautiful moment, but I felt as though I was in a dungeon, carrying a ball and chain around my ankle.

I did not want to be there. I did not want to keep quiet. I thought of nothing but my broken family, my endless unanswered questions and how inadequate I was as a woman.

Gloria told us about her life with the many teenagers in her family. She had five biological children and had adopted a sixth. But

while she described her children’s interests and the activities they did as a family, I found that I didn’t care.

My head hung down and I looked at the picnic table. I felt as if I might die talking about these seemingly trivial things, so I spoke only when a question was directed at me. Otherwise I was silent, on the verge of tears. I did not have it together this morning.

When we finally closed with a traditional prayer, I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and lost it. Tears flowed and sobs came. Gloria put her arm around me, offering comfort. I longed to tell her the truth, but a lie came out instead.

“It’s okay. I’m just having a bad day,” I said. “I had a fight with Danielle yesterday.” Danielle had become an easy scapegoat for me, and everyone bought it. “Don’t worry about me. I just need to get home.”

Shortly after arriving home, my peace was disturbed by the ringing telephone.

“Hello,” I said. Gone was the formal telephone greeting. Whatever I had done before, I wasn’t doing anymore. Everything was changing: my attitudes, my routines, my beliefs about what was important.

“Hi. This is Helen. Is this Anne?”

“Yes, it is.”
Thump, thump.
My heart was beating fast and loud. I was sure I could hear it beating within me.

“I understand you would like to meet me,” Helen said.

“Yes, I would,” I replied. “Thank you for returning my call.”

“Well, I think that’s a good idea,” she said.

Good, good,
I thought, scared to death.

We made plans to meet the following week at her house. This way I could see the setting where Brian had been having many of his secret rendezvous lunches. I wondered if I could find a way to see the bed, where they had made love. I wanted to know every detail about

Brian and Helen’s relationship. I wanted answers to my many questions. To me the most painful part of their affair was the secrecy and the lies they told, not the fact that they had sex together. I didn’t want another woman to have any more secrets with my husband.

After we arranged our meeting time, Helen carried on the phone conversation.

“Brian is very special,” Helen said. “He’s not just an average carpenter.”

“Yes, I know he’s not an average carpenter.” I thought of what an amazing man Brian was. He not only did exceptional work in terms of quality, service and speed, but he was also a very friendly, kind, well-liked and trustworthy human being. “I’ve been married to Brian for eighteen years, and I know him much better than you do. I think very highly of him and I’ve never once thought of my wonderful husband as average. I don’t think I need you to tell me my husband is not average. It never once occurred to me to think of him that way.”

I didn’t mean to sound aggressive, but what did she think? That I needed her to tell me what kind of man my husband was? That I didn’t think he was a great man? I think it surprised her to hear that I had no anger or animosity towards him.

“Brian and I are soul mates,” Helen said next, beginning to ramble a little nervously. “Brian and I are planning our future together, and I hope this can go as smoothly as possible. Brian tells me you are a loving caring person, and I am too. I want to have a positive impact in your children’s lives as well.”