My Life as a Doormat (in Three Acts) (10 page)

I paused. Hadn't I only said maybe he didn't know he was the problem?

“You're taking Henry's side.”

“I'm not taking his side. I'm just trying to help.”

“Believe me, I've tried everything. There's no hope.”

“So you want a divorce?”

“No, I can't divorce Henry. What would I do? Where would I go?” She dropped sugar cubes into her mug as fast as I was trying to drop hints, but I could see this conversation was dissolving as fast as the cubes. “I'm a permanent fixture on the wall of disgruntled mother figures. That's Henry's problem too. He wanted a big family. It's a trap. Men know that once you leave the workforce and have small children, it's impossible to do anything else.”

“Elisabeth, maybe you could try getting a part-time job. Maybe that would help. Get a nanny.”

Her eyes turned fierce. “I don't need a job, Leah. I need a passion. A reason to get up in the morning. You should see how Creyton treats me. In all the years I've known Henry, he's never made me feel this way.”

“Maybe it's not Creyton. Maybe it's the idea of having something that is forbidden.” I shrugged at her scowl. “I mean, I'm just thinking out loud here.”

“I realize it's hard for you to be rational in this situation because you haven't met Creyton, so you don't know what kind of amazing man he is.”

“How am I being irrational? I'm trying to help you.” That wasn't what I wanted to say at all. But that's what came out of my mouth, which was like a double-edged sword except one edge was too dull to cut through baloney, and the other edge was really just there for appearances.

“Leah, your definition of help is to push your high-and-mighty ideas about what is right and wrong onto other people. You see your fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants friend pursuing a lurid, hypocritical affair because she's bored with her life. What you don't see is that this just may be my ticket to salvation.”

“But Elisabeth, don't you see that—”

“Don't I see what? The world through your eyes? No, Leah, I don't.” She slammed her mug onto the counter. “I don't know why I came over here. I'm in a crisis, and I don't need lectures from you!”

She swept past me and grabbed her handbag.

“Elisabeth, wait. Please.” I rushed after her, and she waited for me at the front door, arms twisted around each other and handbag pushed hard against her chest. “I'm sorry.”

She eyed me, letting her arms fall slowly to her sides.

“I don't want you to leave angry. I wasn't trying to upset you.”

“You did upset me.”

I chose my words carefully. “I guess I don't fully understand your situation, and I shouldn't . . .”

“Judge me?” She gave me a tight squeeze. “I'm going to need you to get through this. Whatever happens.”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

She smiled a little. “I think I'm going to find happiness again.”

I blinked, and the scene faded as I continued driving through the rain. I turned the corner, and the sight of an empty parking spot against the curb in front of the building just about sent me into tears. I parked the car and sat quietly, listening to the rain.

Why was I here again? I glanced up at the gloomy building, washed in rain but still looking dirty. I pulled my yellow rain-slicker hood over my head, but couldn't get myself to get out of the car. I was so stunned I'd come back, and not against my own will. Edward had given me an out. Yet here I was, using the darkness and rain as cover, returning to my biggest nightmare.

There was one irony I couldn't escape. I wasn't having dinner with Edward on Thursday. I couldn't remember the last time that was true.

I looked up at the building. It was absurd to think that I didn't handle conflict well. And maybe that's why I was here, to prove him and myself wrong. My gaze dropped down to my car clock. In three minutes, I could be late. Or in three minutes, I could just start the car again and go back home.

A fist pounded against my passenger-side window. I screamed and shuddered, making sure my doors were still locked. Then I looked at the face staring at me through the rain, the nose nearly pressed against the glass like a little boy's.

Cinco?

I rolled down the window.

“What are you doing?” he shouted over the racket of the storm.

“What are you doing?” I shouted back.

“Wondering if you needed to use my umbrella.”

“No, I've got my raincoat.”

A clap of thunder filled in the pause.

“Are you coming?” he finally shouted.

I sighed and pulled the keys out of the ignition. No turning back now. I opened the car door and closed my coat, ducking into the rain. I hastened toward the building, and he followed me with his umbrella. Inside, I wiped the wetness off my face. He shook out his umbrella.

The humiliation of being there obliterated my social skills, and I walked toward the elevator without him. The doors dinged open and I stepped inside, but his hand reached for the closing door. Soon enough he joined me, but not without a suspicious look. I tried to ignore it.

The elevator lifted us, and I stared forward.

“How's your brother?” he asked.

“He's fine,” I replied, not even hesitating to perpetuate my white lie. I felt Cinco staring at me. I felt the splotching begin. I prayed for those doors to open quickly, and they did. I actually said “thank you” to the elevator.

Marilyn was gathering the group into the circle. I took off my coat and shook the water off, laying it on a steel bar near the elevator to dry, pretending not to hear Cinco's offer to take it. I walked forward, trying to shake off the shakes and look as confident as Marilyn did wearing leggings and a wide-necked purple sweatshirt.

“Hi, Leah. Hi, Cinco. Come sit down. We're just about to begin.” I took a seat next to Carol again, the woman who'd been unable to raise her voice above a whisper.

I was pretty sure she said “hi” when I sat down.

“Hi,” I said back.

Cinco took a seat next to Robert. I was trying to decide whether an attempt at small talk was worth it with Carol when Marilyn began the meeting.

“Before we begin,” she said, flipping through the paper on her clipboard, “there are a few minor housekeeping notes I'd like to go over quickly. First of all, I'd like everybody to be on time. We don't have a lot of sessions to cover a great deal of material, so let's make the most of it. Second, Robert, I have a note here from the court that says you've refused to pay the fee for this class.”

Robert's gloomy face jerked up. “What? What are you talking about?”

“It says here you are unwilling to pay the court fees that include this class.”

“That's absurd,” his voice boomed. “I paid them the day I was in court.”

She flipped through her notes. “No . . . sorry, I don't have any record here except what the court clerk said.”

“What'd she say?” he asked.

“It's hard to read her handwriting, but it looks like she called you . . . oh, um, never mind.”

“What?”

Marilyn glanced up and attempted a smile. “What's important here, Robert, is that you pay this fee. They can actually put you in jail for not paying it.”

“I paid it!”

“Not according to the court clerk.”

“The court clerk looked half-drunk the day I was there,” Robert said with a frightful laugh. He glanced at Carol, and Carol complied by laughing with him, except nobody could hear her but me.

Marilyn wasn't laughing. “Robert, they tend to keep very good records at the court. But this can all be resolved if you can produce the receipt.”

Robert's joyless smile faded, and he reached for his wallet. He thumbed through it rapidly, then thumbed through it again.

Marilyn glanced around the room with a reassuring smile, but nobody but me saw her because everyone else was watching Robert, who was grumbling louder and louder.

Marilyn said, “Well, folks, this is a good object lesson about keeping receipts, isn't it?”

“I paid the fee!” Robert shouted, and the room fell silent to his bulging eyes and beet-red face. He went back to thumbing through his wallet. I looked at Marilyn, who was watching him with careful but fearless eyes. I noticed Carol was trembling beside me. The pastor's lips moved like he was praying silently. And Cinco looked amused. Glenda mumbled something about how all cops are alike.

That broke the mammoth's back. Robert's large frame flew out of the chair, and he threw his wallet to the ground. His large, muscular arm shot out like an arrow straight at Glenda, and his index finger flipped toward her with perfect precision. “Marilyn, you better shut this woman up before I do.”

My heart felt like it was sliding down my small intestine, and at that particular moment I didn't care how or where my hives showed up. I wondered if Marilyn kept a stun gun nearby. But she was grinning. She stood quietly and approached Robert as if he weren't a foot taller.

“Robert, you can sit down. I'm done with my illustration.”

Robert was frowning, still pointing his sharp finger over at Glenda, whose coloring had been reduced to two pink powder-blush circles on her cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

“This class is about conflict, and I'm going to be using a lot of illustrations, so you all should get used to it. Robert, there's no court problem. I made it up.” She swiveled to make eye contact with the rest of us. “But this was a perfect illustration that conflict will almost always take us by surprise. So it's not something that you can plan on dealing with or avoid dealing with; it's something that you have to condition yourself to accept and address. Accept and address. That's going to be a big part of your success in this class.”

I tried to listen to Marilyn, but Robert was still standing there fuming, and he didn't look pleased to be a part of her trick.

Marilyn looked at Robert again. “Okay, thanks, Robert. You can sit down.”

But Robert didn't sit down. Instead, he drew air through his nostrils at such speed they sucked shut and made the most terrifying squeaky noise. Everyone gasped, probably because we had geared ourselves up for Robert shouting at the top of his lungs, but that short squeaky noise was just as surprising.

His head rotated slowly toward Glenda, but his eyeballs kept turning, eying me, Carol, and the pastor. None of us said a word. I noticed, however, that I was very, very damp.

He then looked back at Glenda. “I am going to deal with you in a minute,” Robert said, “but Marilyn, I have to say, I don't like being the butt of anybody's joke.
Ever.
” The two-syllable word stretched into four. I looked at Marilyn. She seemed slightly worried, but kept a good poker face.

“I'm sorry, Robert. But again, conflict catches us by surprise. And among other things, we're each going to learn to be the butt of a joke, with class and style.”

I watched Robert's hands ball up, and then he looked at Glenda. “Lady, if I were you, I'd make sure you kept a good distance from me if you want to make it out of this class with your handbag intact.”

Glenda was still pale, but she said, “Are you threatening me?”

Robert started to march over to Glenda, but Cinco hopped up and took Robert's arm. I expected Cinco to be thrown back into his chair with one swift move, but instead Robert stopped.

“Dude, let's just sit down,” Cinco said. “It's not worth taking this class over again, is it?” There was humor in Cinco's voice, and Robert turned and looked at him, then let go of a smile.

Then he smiled at Marilyn. Then at the rest of us. I felt myself smiling, but I didn't know why, because Robert's swing to the lighter side was making me equally as nervous. Now he was chuckling and all I could think was,
We're all going to die.

“If you're paying attention, this is a good example of how layered conflict can be. It's not just a problem that gets solved. Conflict is often complicated because of people's emotions.” Marilyn suddenly stood, clipboard in hand, and patted Robert on the arm. “Thanks, Robert. You can sit down.”

Robert sat down.

“Robert was in on this from the beginning,” Marilyn announced with a smile. Cinco was still standing in the middle of our circle, and Marilyn said to him, “Cinco, you did a great job diffusing the situation.”

“Robert wasn't really mad?” Glenda asked.

“No. He was with me from the beginning, even on the court case. I wanted to do this to show you all how to deal with conflict.” She looked at each of us as Cinco took his seat. “How did you deal with what just happened? From the start when I told Robert about the court problem, to when I told Robert I was just using him as an example, how did you feel? What was your first reaction? What about when Robert got angry? How did you feel then?”

Marilyn looked at each of us, and I looked down. I tried to sort through it all, wanting to be a good student of the class. After getting over the initial shock that this was all a setup, twice, I tried to remember what I was feeling.

Nothing. I'd gone into shock.

Marilyn let silence go by as she took her seat. She let us all dwell on our wretched shortcomings. Then she spoke with a great deal of authority.

“Cinco, I was impressed with your ability and courage to stand up and stop Robert when you felt he was going to attack Glenda. That's a good attribute, but if not reined in, it can be a hindrance too. Some conflicts can't be quickly ‘fixed' and take time and patience. Just remember that. Glenda, it's obvious to me that you take conflict by the horns, so to speak. You're a tough woman and don't take things lying down. But sometimes that strength can fuel conflict that's already in motion. Ernest, while I can appreciate your faith, as I am a woman of faith, remember that God uses conflict to stretch and mold us, and oftentimes he won't deliver us out of the fire. Instead, he wants us to walk through it. You can pray all you want, but sometimes, conflict is just going to happen. Carol, I saw complete and utter fear in your eyes at the situation that was unfolding. You felt helpless and weak. By the end of this class, you're going to feel empowered. And Leah, the expression on your face was priceless. You looked like you were watching an animal die a slow death. I'm certain you would choose root-canal surgery over dealing with conflict. Am I right?”