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Authors: Richard Paul Evans

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BOOK: Promise Me
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Marc called around seven that night to talk to Charlotte. For the first time since I sent him away, I was glad to hear his voice. In all honesty, it was more than just exhaustion from going through all of this alone. I missed our family. And even as deeply as I'd been hurt, I missed
him
. But I wasn't about to tell him that.

“Hi, Beth,” he said. “How are you?”

“Here's Charlotte,” I said, handing her the phone. As usual, Charlotte was happy to hear his voice, and within just a few minutes she was laughing. As I watched her, I knew just how much she needed her father. After they had talked a while, I told Charlotte to say goodbye and give me back the phone. I put it up to my ear. “Marc, I need to talk to you.”

“Okay,” he said tentatively, “I'm listening.”

“I need to go into the other room. Call back in a couple minutes.”

“All right.”

I hung up the phone, kissed Charlotte good night, then went to my bedroom. The phone rang as I was walking in. I picked it up and sat on the bed. “Hello.”

“It's Marc.”

“Listen, I don't want you to take this wrong. I'm just as angry and hurt as I was a couple days ago. Maybe even more. But this isn't a time to just be thinking about us. Right now our little girl is sick and she needs you. And I need your help. I can't do this alone. I've missed so much work lately that I may lose my job.”

“You want me to come back home?” he asked.

“I don't
want
you to. But I think, with things the way they are, it would be best for Charlotte.”

He was quiet for a moment. “When can I come back?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Then I could work the late shift.”

“I'll be back around lunchtime.”

“I want to be very clear about this, Marc. You can't touch me and you're not sleeping in my bed. You can sleep in the front room on the couch. Are you clear on this?”

“It's for Charlotte,” he said. “No touching.”

“It's only for Charlotte,” I repeated.

“Understood.” We were both silent for a moment, then he said, “It will be good to see you.”

“I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” he said.

As I hung up, my eyes welled up with tears. Beneath my veneer of anger I was soft. Part of me, a part of me that I despised at that moment, wanted to curl up in his arms and cry. I hated being so needy. I hated wanting healing from the man who had inflicted the injury.

The next day, Marc arrived at noon carrying a McDonald's bag. As he walked in the house, I thought he looked a little peaked, which was understandable for the emotional ride we'd been on. “I brought Charlotte something for lunch.”

“I already made her a sandwich, but thanks. When do you leave town next?”

“Three weeks.”

“Not for three weeks?”

“I told Dean to go ahead and change my territory like he wanted. It will cost us some commissions, but I won't need to be gone as much.”

I couldn't believe the changes Marc was making. “That will be good,” I said.

“Hold on. I got you something.” He brought a long, narrow box out of his pocket and set it on the kitchen table next to me. “It's a . . .” He suddenly looked embarrassed. “Just open it.”

I lifted the lid off the box. Inside was a beautiful strand of pearls. I had always wanted pearls.

“What is this for?” I asked.

“It's a late Valentine's Day present.” Then more softly, “It's a
token of my love
.”

I put the lid back on the box. Under different circumstances I would have squealed with delight. I would have thrown my arms around him, grateful for such a fabulous gift. But circumstances had changed. I knew that the pearls weren't a token of his love, they were a token of
what he'd done
. I knew I could never wear the necklace—it would only remind me of
her
. “Thanks,” I said sadly. I left the box on the table and went to work.

Is it our actions or our desires that define us? That's like asking if the trip is made by the horse or the buggy.

Beth Cardall's Diary

Roxanne clapped enthusiastically when I walked in through the cleaners' front door. “I should have baked a cake,” she said.

“Should have,” I replied.

“So how's it going?” she asked, following me back to the press.

“Char's been doing a little better. I think she might be able to go back to school in a couple days.”

“And how are things with Marc?”

I thought of the pearls. “I don't know. He just got back.”

“But you've talked with him.”

I looked up at her. “He's remorseful and humble and walking on eggshells. And part of me just wants to smack him. Why can't he have the decency to at least be a jerk? Then I could feel good about hating him.”

“Well, don't kid yourself, he is a jerk and deserves to be smacked. Just don't get too carried away.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple math. If you really want your marriage over, then spare yourself the drama and cut loose. But that's not really what you want.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I know you better than you know yourself. You still love him. You wouldn't be so angry if you didn't. So if you're not going to end the thing, don't damage it any more than you have to. You can beat your car with a baseball bat for breaking down, but if you're not going to get rid of it, then someday you'll end up paying for all the damage you inflict. Does that make sense?”

I looked at her, wondering where she came up with this stuff. “In your usual twisted way, yes.”

“I know it sounds strange to say it, but in some ways you're lucky. Everyone makes mistakes. Under the right circumstances even you might.”

“I would never—”

She interrupted me. “Never say never, baby. Good people sometimes do bad things. But at least Marc is willing to own up to it and seek forgiveness. That says something about him. And he's been there for Charlotte all along. It's not easy for him to come crawling back into the lioness's den to take care of his daughter, but he's willing. He gets a gold star for that.”

“You're saying he's a good guy?”

“I'm saying that he's human. And to err is human. To forgive . . . well, that's love.”

Hate, resentment and anger are parasites that feed off the heart until there's nothing left for love to live on.

Beth Cardall's Diary

Over the next few weeks Charlotte's health remained about the same, except I was having more trouble getting her to eat and she was still losing weight.

Ironically, I hadn't had Marc around the house that much since we first got married. It's like I had to get rid of him to get him back. He seemed changed in other ways. He seemed more of a homebody, as if his previous ambition had drained from him. He even started going to bed early. I asked him if he was all right, but he just shrugged. “It's just a hard time,” he said.

As things fell back into a natural rhythm, I found myself mulling over what Roxanne had said about beating the car. She was right about one thing. I still loved Marc. That's why his cheating hurt so much.

BOOK: Promise Me
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