The Abstinence Teacher (12 page)

He didn’t see her again until shortly after he’d turned his life around at the Tabernacle, when they ran into each other at a Jiffy Lube on McLean Road. Tim was reading his Bible in the waiting area when she stepped in through the service bay door, talking on her cell phone so loudly and unself-consciously you would have thought she was alone in her own house.

“I’m not running a fucking restaurant, honey. You want something different, you can cook it yourself.”

Her voice seemed instantly familiar—it had a ragged, slightly belligerent quality that made him look up in spite of himself—but it took him a few seconds to place her. She’d worn her hair in a long ponytail at the hospital; now it was as short as a boy’s, giving her a pixieish look that went well with her lanky figure and tough-girl demeanor.

“Too bad, kiddo. You’re stuck with the mother you got.” She blew a raspberry into the phone. “I love you, too. Now go do your homework.”

She flipped the phone shut and pounded her palm against the side of her head, as if trying to dislodge water from her ear.

“Teenagers,” she told him, by way of explanation.

Tim smiled; her eyes widened in recognition.

“Holy shit,” she said. “It’s Mr. Deadhead.”

Flattered to be remembered, he stood up and shook Deanna’s hand. She gave him a careful once-over as they reintroduced themselves.

“You look a helluva lot better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’ve been clean for a year,” he told her, doing his best not to grin like a kid who’d gotten all A’s on his report card.

“Good for you,” she said. “Twelve-step?”

He showed her his Bible.

“Jesus.”

A familiar look of disappointment passed across her face. People who weren’t saved didn’t want to hear you talk about Jesus. It made them uncomfortable, like you were bragging about a great party they hadn’t been invited to, though of course they had.

“There’s a lot of that going around these days,” she said.

“I wasn’t strong enough to do it on my own,” he explained. “I needed His help.”

She looked like she wanted to say something dismissive, but then thought better of it.

“Hey,” she said, giving him a congratulatory squeeze on the shoulder. “Whatever works. Your wife must be thrilled.”

Tim’s face heated up, the way it always did when the subject of marital status arose.

“We, uh … we’re not together anymore.”

He gave her a capsule version of the saga, stressing that he didn’t blame Allison for leaving him and insisting he was thrilled she’d landed on her feet so quickly, finding a man who could give her the kind of life she’d always dreamed about.

“I’m serious,” he said, detecting a certain amount of skepticism in Deanna’s nods. “The woman deserves a medal.”

“You have a little girl, too, right?”

“Good memory. Only she’s ten now, not so little. I’m playing catch-up. I feel like I missed so much of her childhood.”

“It goes fast,” she said. “Our boys are in high school now. They don’t even know how to talk anymore. It’s all just grunts.”

The Jiffy Lube guy called out, “Blue Saturn,” and Tim went to the register to pay. He stopped on his way out to say good-bye to Deanna.

“It’s really good to see you,” he said.

She slipped a business card into his shirt pocket.

“Drop me a line if you ever need to talk to someone,” she said, surprising him with a hug that lingered longer than he expected. “I’m really proud of you, Tim.”

HE STUCK
the card in his wallet—it had Deanna’s work phone number printed on the front and her e-mail address scribbled on the back—and told himself she hadn’t meant anything in particular by giving it to him. She was just a friendly acquaintance, making the usual insincere offer to keep in touch. It was ridiculous to read any hidden meanings into it.

Except that he was lonely—he hadn’t touched a woman in months—and as horny as a high-school sophomore. And a voice in his head—the worldly voice of the corrupt, selfish man he no longer wished to be—kept reminding him that grown women didn’t slip their phone numbers into your pocket if they weren’t interested in hooking up. It didn’t matter if they were married or not. He’d been around the block enough to know that some people were more married than others.

Through sheer willpower, he managed to get through two weeks without contacting her, the business card burning a hole in his wallet the entire time. But then Pastor Dennis gave a sermon on the subject of “Temptation” that made him rethink his strategy.

“You know what temptation is?” he asked. “It’s a fungus. It hides in the dark corners of the soul, those damp cracks and moist crevices we’d prefer not to think about. Well, I’ll tell you what, people. You can’t ignore temptation. Nuh-uh. That’s how it thrives. You pretend it’s not there, and pretty soon this tiny speck of mold turns into a giant poison mushroom with deep, twisted roots. Then see how easy it is to get rid of it! No, the thing to do with temptation is face it head-on at high noon! Right away! The second you realize it’s there! Expose it to the fresh air and sunlight of Jesus Christ! Because you know what, friends? That slimy fungus can’t stand the light of day! It just shrivels up and dies! Amen!”

After the sermon, Tim went home and wrote a long e-mail to Deanna, telling her all about the Tabernacle, what a beautiful positive
force it had been in his life, and how compelled he was to share it with his friends. He didn’t know where she stood on the subject of Jesus, but he thought it might be a good idea for her and her family to come visit on Sunday. It might be an especially powerful experience for her sons, who, as teenagers, were exposed to so many evils that they might not be morally equipped to face. He hoped she didn’t mind his being so forward, but he believed that God had brought them back in touch for a reason.

“I know you’re searching for something,” he wrote. “We all are. I’m living proof of God’s mercy. My only job is to praise Him and spread the word.”

“Nice to hear from you,” she wrote back. “I’m sorry to say that I’m not the least bit interested in your religion. But I’d love to meet you for a cup of coffee. Weekdays are good for me.”

IN THE
name of facing temptation, Tim met Deanna at Starbucks the following Thursday morning. She wore a skirt, high heels, and a shirt with a plunging neckline, and he couldn’t keep from telling her how good she looked. Even as he paid the compliment, though, he berated himself for setting the wrong tone, which he’d hoped would be cordial but not flirtatious.

“Thanks,” she said, nervously fiddling with a bead bracelet. “I’m glad you approve. I must’ve gone through six fucking outfits before settling on this one. It was hard, ’cause I wasn’t really sure what kind of a date this was.”

“It’s not a date at all,” he assured her. “It’s just … you know, old friends meeting for coffee. Nothing datelike about it.”

“Okay, good,” she said. “I’m glad you cleared that up. We’re old friends meeting for coffee.”

And that’s what it felt like for a while. They talked about kids and jobs and the challenge of staying sober, and swapped war stories from their druggie days. She gave him updates on some of the members of
his group at St. Bartholomew’s, including one guy who was in jail and another who died while driving drunk.

“That could’ve been me,” he said. “I did so many stupid things back then. It was only by the grace of God that I didn’t kill myself. Or someone else. You know why the judge ordered me into rehab that time?”

“Some kind of DUI, right?”

“It was after a gig. The guitar player was sleeping in the passenger seat, and I started driving the wrong way down the parkway. Not just driving,
speeding
. It was four in the morning, but there were a fair number of cars out there, and I thought
they
were the ones who were confused. I kept honking my horn and flashing my lights and screaming at those stupid idiots to get out of the way, and I guess that’s what saved me. I musta drove a good five miles before the cops showed up. Apparently I was completely indignant when they put on the cuffs. I kept asking why they were picking on me and not those other crazy fools.”

Deanna laughed and shook her head. Without warning, she moved her hand across the table and rested it on top of his. The gesture felt so natural and unpremeditated that he didn’t think to resist.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said. “I know it’s unprofessional to admit this, but I had quite a little crush on you back then.”

“Huh,” he said, flattered and alarmed at the same time. He slid his hand out from under hers. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah. I wanted to ask you out, but you never returned my calls.”

“Ask me out?” he said. “We were both married.”

“I’m not saying it was a smart move.” Her expression grew sheepish. He felt her foot rubbing against his ankle under the table. “I don’t know. I kinda have a problem with monogamy sometimes. I mean, Jack’s a great guy, but twenty years is a long time.”

Tim listened to this confession with equal parts desire and dismay. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. Or was it exactly what he’d been hoping for?

“Don’t you get like that with food sometimes?” she asked. “You know, you love chicken, chicken’s your favorite, you could eat chicken every day. And then one day it’s like,
wham
, you don’t even want to
look
at chicken.”

“I—I’m fine with chicken,” he said, moving his ankle away from her foot.

“I am, too,” she said. “That was just a hypothetical.”

Summoning a panicky sense of resolve, he drained the tepid dregs of his latte and jumped up as if he’d heard a gunshot.

“This was a real treat,” he said. “But I gotta get back to work.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah, I, uh—”

“Did I scare you?”

“Not at all. I have an appointment. I completely forgot about it.”

“All right,” she said, pursing her lips together in a sweet little pout. “Will you call me sometime?”

“Sure,” he said, sticking out his hand as if concluding a business transaction. “Great seeing you.”

“Same here,” she said, mimicking his manly tone as they shook hands. “Great seeing you, too.”

TIM KNEW
he’d dodged a bullet, and swore to himself that he wouldn’t let it happen again. Two days later, though, Deanna sent him an e-mail at work asking if he was busy that night. He replied that he had no plans. She asked if it would be okay if she dropped by his place for an hour or so. He saw a perfect opportunity for clearing the air between them.

“NO,” he wrote. “IT WOULD NOT BE OKAY. PLEASE DON’T TEMPT ME LIKE THIS. THIS IS NOT HOW I WANT TO BE CONDUCTING MY LIFE!!!”

He pondered the words on the screen, feeling proud of himself for holding fast to his convictions. But even as he congratulated himself, he
felt an exhilarating sensation of surrender spreading through his body. He had been strong for so long. And weakness was such a good old friend. He held down the backspace key until the screen was clear, then typed, “Sure, that would be great!!!”

He spent the rest of the day trying to talk himself out of what he’d just set in motion. He couldn’t eat or concentrate on his work, just kept trying to think of strategies for keeping Deanna at bay. He could leave his apartment, or hide inside with the lights off. He could leave a note on the front door telling her to go away. But he was kidding himself. Eight o’clock found him showered and clean-shaven and trembling with excitement as he opened the door. She stepped inside, wearing sneakers, Lycra shorts, and a pink-and-purple sports bra. She kissed him hard, running her hand down his belly to his belt buckle.

“You better make me sweat,” she told him. “I’m supposed to be at the gym.”

THAT’S ALL
the affair ever amounted to—a lot of e-mailing and an hour of illicit sex once or twice a week. And yet it seemed huge, casting a dark shadow on everything else in his life, including—especially—his personal relationship with Jesus. Because how could you love Him the way He deserved to be loved if you couldn’t keep yourself from sinning, or worse, if you
looked forward
to sinning? And how could you praise Him the way He deserved to be praised when your heartfelt prayers for strength fell on deaf ears?

To his credit, Tim wasn’t going down without a fight. Every time they were together, he swore to her that this was it, that as much he enjoyed her company, he could no longer continue living as a hypocrite, betraying the solemn promises he’d made to himself and to God. She acted like she believed him, nodding sorrowfully and telling him he had to do what he had to do, that she completely understood, and would miss him very much. But then, a few nights later, as if the conversation had never occurred, Deanna would show
up unannounced at his doorstep in gym clothes, and the whole farce would repeat itself.

As the weeks went by, their encounters grew increasingly hostile. It seemed to him at times that she delighted in his weakness, deriving some perverse pleasure out of watching him crumble, as if his inability to control himself reflected well on her as a woman. But what really irritated him was the air of innocence that surrounded her, as if he were the only morally compromised person in the bed.

“What happens?” he asked her one night, as she was performing oral sex on him. “Do you go home and kiss your sons good night with that mouth?”

She looked up, more surprised than hurt.

“I brush my teeth first, if it makes you feel better. You think I should gargle, too?”

“I don’t care what you do. I was just curious.”

A few minutes later, when Tim was reciprocating, Deanna suddenly said, “I wonder what Jesus would do.”

He raised his head. “What? What did you say?”

“I wonder if he was going down on me, would he do that swirly thing with his tongue? It’s a pretty fancy move.”

“Leave Him out of it, would you?”

“Do we have to?” she said. “You guys could double-team me.”

That should have been the last straw. He should have gotten up, gathered her clothes, told her to please leave and never come back. But he just lowered his head and went back to work.