The Marriage Pact (1) (9 page)

“It’s
just…these last few weeks have been hell, Marci. My marriage is getting more
miserable by the day, and not being able to see you, to touch you, it’s
been...” He trailed off.

“I
know,” she said.

When
he looked up, she saw that his eyes were glistening. “Marci, I am so sorry. I
need to think more about all of this, and then we should talk about it and
decide everything together. It just felt so good to be lying here with you
again; I guess I got carried away. Please sit down, and let’s just pretend this
didn’t happen, okay?”

Now
it was her turn to cry. She sank to the foot of the bed, and he leaned forward
to brush her hair out of her face. So many emotions churned inside her; she
couldn’t seem to label any of them. “Okay,” she managed, “okay.”

The
clock next to her bed now read 10:20, and she knew he needed to get moving. He
followed her gaze to the nightstand and said, “I don’t want to leave.”

“But
you have to.”

“Maybe
I won’t,” he said defiantly, almost serious. “That would be one way to bring
all of this to a head real quickly.”

“No,”
she said. “Not like this.”

He
sighed, kissed her on the cheek, and rolled off the edge of the bed. She stared
at the worn hardwood planks beneath her feet while he showered and dressed, and
it seemed like only seconds later that he was standing in front of her, holding
his keys. “I wish I didn’t have to go,” he said.

“I
know.”

“I
love you. Don’t freak out, okay? We don’t have to decide anything right now.”

“Okay.”

“Marci?”

“I’m
fine, Doug. It’s fine.”

She
walked him to the door, where he kissed first her lips, and then her forehead.
“I’ll find a way to call you early tomorrow. And whatever happens,” he
whispered, “we’re going to be great.”

For
the rest of her life, when she heard the phrase, “on pins and needles,” Marci
would think of the days that followed. Contrary to his assurance, Doug did not
call Saturday. This did not greatly concern her until around 8 p.m., because
she did not know what his definition of “early” might be. Even then, she was
more annoyed with herself that she’d spent the whole day attached to her phone
for no reason. By midnight, she was angry and ready for a fight. By 2:00 Sunday
morning, she began to feel panicky. Missing their goodnight call was
exceptional, even on a weekend.

She
did not sleep well, and was up and dressed by seven Sunday morning. She forced
herself to leave the apartment, wandering out into the clear, quiet morning.
She walked a couple of blocks south from her apartment to Lake Austin
Boulevard, where she could see the mist rising off the river and Deep Eddy
pool. She jutted to the river and followed the tree-lined walking trail for a
while, her jeans and sandals looking out of place among all the running shoes
and spandex.

After
a couple of miles, the trail opened up again to the city. She turned north on
Lamar, and followed the road a few blocks to a coffee shop for a caramel latte
and croissant. She walked and ate, gazing in the windows of record and book
stores, novelty gift shops, hipster clothing boutiques, and folksy furniture
stores—none of which was yet open for business. Everywhere she saw the slogan
of the local, independent businesses, “Keep Austin Weird.”
My life has
certainly been weird since I moved here
, she thought.

She
trudged north, with no real plan. Against her will, her mind drifted back to
Doug as she walked, their conversation Friday night and his failure to call
yesterday. She wondered whether perhaps Cathy’s sister had made a turn for the
worse and they’d had to rush back to Beaumont. Or maybe he’d finally registered
her hesitation when he’d suggested he might be ready to leave Cathy, and was
now pouting to prove how much she needed him.

She
did
need him. Even now, his absence was palpable and painful. So why was
the idea of him being free to be with her so terrifying?

She
left Lamar, heading east, twisting and turning until she was on Twelfth Street,
following it toward the looming, regal capitol building. By the time she got to
the capitol lawns, a few tourists were already out taking pictures of the dome
against the bright blue sky. She ditched her empty coffee cup in one of the
public trash barrels, and turned south again on Brazos Street.

Saint
Mary Cathedral was a block in front of her. The gothic white stone and enormous
circular window were beautiful in the morning light. She had seen many
photographs of the cathedral reflected in the glass windows of an office
building across the street, sort of a symbolic juxtaposition of modern and
tradition, which many people seemed to think typified Austin. But this was the
first time she remembered noticing it head-on. The doors were open beneath the
beautiful Gothic arch, and people filed in for the 9:30 Mass. On a whim, she
crossed the street and joined the parishioners going inside.

Marci
sat in the furthest corner of the back pew, whose only other occupant was a
homeless man muttering to himself several feet away. She was not Catholic and
wondered how her Presbyterian parents might feel if they could see her right
now. But the soft, monotone Latin of the priest felt comforting to her, even
though she had no idea what the words meant. She wondered whether someone might
approach her—in her parents’ church at home, visitors were always singled out
and accosted as soon as they’d found a seat. But no one did.

 She
watched as the parishioners kneeled, sat, and stood in some dance they all
seemed to know by heart. She saw children coaxed into participating, or
occupied with coloring books and Cheerios, depending on their age. Young
couples held hands. A few rows in front of her, a man wearing a gold wedding
ring absent-mindedly rubbed his wife’s back. Women leaned over the pews to
greet one another in whispers and silent laughter. She felt like a child
standing on the edge of a birthday party to which she had not been invited.

This
was the heart of her longing, and the heart of her fear. This was a community,
the one thing she did not have in her life in Austin. People brought their
lives here, imperfections and all, to plug them in to the lives of others. To
recognize and be recognized, to remember values and priorities.

This
was what Marci envied about Doug
and Cathy’s life together. They went to church sometimes, but it was more than
that. It was late-night card games with long-established friends. It was the
connection of their families and their second-nature devotion to those
families. It was the rings they wore that told the world they were a unit,
together.

She
knew, of course, that Doug could—did—take that ring off. Marriages ended
sometimes and people chose new partners, as he was now suggesting. But he could
not know how small she felt, here in this room. How what they had built in her
tiny apartment over the last few months felt insignificant in the context of an
entire community. She wondered whether he really knew what he would be giving
up—the card games, the couples’ dinners, working on old cars with his
brother-in-law.

If
he left his wife, they would be starting over with nothing, no one. Would his
family support him after he ditched his high school sweetheart, who had
celebrated the last twenty Christmases and Easters with them, for some tart at
the office they knew nothing about? Would Marci’s family and friends accept
with open arms the older man who had obviously taken advantage of a vulnerable
subordinate, and of course could not be trusted to be faithful?

Could
they stay in Austin, where his friends would all understandably align with Cathy
after she’d been so wronged? Move to Atlanta, where he would have to sell out
his partnership in the firm he’d helped found and start over working for
someone else? She tried to imagine Doug joining her for a night out with
Suzanne and Jake, or even Beth and Rebecca. What would everyone talk about?

When
Holy Communion started, she stood and quietly slipped out of the church. She
breathed the fresh air deeply and tried to calm her spiraling thoughts.
It
was so unfair
. Why hadn’t she met Doug before he was married? She tried not
to answer herself that she would’ve been in middle school then. Why couldn’t
she be crazy in love with Jeremy, who was available, or Jake, who might even
want to marry her? But Doug
could
be available...

Didn’t
it sometimes work out this way? How many of her parents’ friends were on their
second marriages and happy as clams? Surely at some point her family would
understand, and learn to trust him. And they could move somewhere new at first,
like Colorado. Marci had always wanted to live in Denver. They could escape all
the history and start fresh. Maybe on a ranch. They could have horses. Farm
goats. Make cheese.

She
felt dizzy. Maybe she shouldn’t try to think about everything all at once. This
was a big decision, and she needed to figure out what she
wanted
first,
and then try to deal with all the problems. She was suddenly aware that her
legs ached from walking all morning and she was still probably an hour from
home on foot. She rummaged in her jeans pockets and was grateful to find a few
dollars for the bus. It was time for someone else to drive for a while.

#

Doug
did not call for the rest of that day. Nor was he at work Monday or Tuesday.
She had the horrible thought that he was in a car accident on the way home from
her place, but logic told her that she would’ve heard something about it at the
office if he had been. She kept thinking up excuses to access the file cabinets
on the creative side of the office, verifying that his office was still dark
and the door closed, but could get no information about why he was out. Was
there a business trip he’d forgotten to mention to her? But then why hadn’t he
called?

During
one of these forays across the office, she thought she noticed Tracy and Elena
whispering and glancing in the direction of Doug’s office, but she could not
make out what they were saying. When she turned to try to see Elena’s mouth
moving, they noticed her and she had to quickly ask, “Have you seen the
McDougal invoices file?”

“That
wouldn’t be in those cabinets, would it?” Tracy replied. “I thought it would be
in Victoria’s area?”

“Um,
yes, normally,” Marci stuttered. “It’s...just that we can’t find it so I
thought it might have been misfiled here. Thanks anyway.” She hurried back to
her cubicle.

On
Wednesday morning, her fears about his physical safety, at least, were laid to
rest. As she got off the elevator, running late, Doug walked past her with one
of the other partners, talking intently about a client account. They ignored
her, which she told herself was normal, but she was saddened nonetheless by the
coldness of it. No looking back to wink at her over his shoulder, no teasing
reference to her as “Megan.”

She
tried to focus on her work, and to remember their conversation Friday night. He
was thinking of leaving his wife to be with her, for heaven’s sake. This odd
behavior couldn’t be about
her
. Marci had given him no reason to be
angry with her, so that couldn’t be the problem. Unless you counted being a
little taken aback by his whole proposition, but who wouldn’t be? Surely he
didn’t blame her for that?

There
had to be some other explanation. Maybe he was preparing to leave Cathy and
wanted to be on his best behavior in the meantime. She thought about all the TV
shows she had seen where people got divorced and how people who had committed
infidelity always got nailed in court. If he were getting ready to leave Cathy,
they would have to be extra careful not to be found out. Maybe the seriousness
of his new mindset also had him being more cautious. If that was the case,
Marci was glad. She always thought he had been a little reckless...

Marci
decided to focus on the positive possibilities. Despite her hesitance over the
weekend, she now realized that she would give just about anything just to sit
and talk with Doug again, and have him push her hair back from her face. That
had to mean something.

When
no one was looking, she went to a couple of Denver real estate websites just
for fun and searched for ranches for sale. It was a silly exercise, she knew,
but it was calming to look at the pictures of wide open spaces and mountain
views. She pictured herself standing on a rough-hewn porch at sunrise with a
cup of coffee, looking off into the majestic distance, and Doug, quietly coming
up behind her and wrapping her in his arms. In this fantasy, they shared an
enormous workspace where he ran an advertising consultancy and she wrote all
day, her hair held up by a pencil...

Just
after 2:30, her heart skipped a beat when she looked up and saw Doug walking
through their department. He nodded at her and then at Jeremy in one smooth
motion, courteous but professional. He looked exhausted. His golden hair was a
disheveled mess and there were dark circles under his eyes. He passed them and
went into Victoria’s office and closed the door. She saw Jeremy glance at her
before turning back to his work.

He
emerged a half hour later, and she hoped he would stop by her desk, but
Victoria walked with him down the hall. Victoria, at least, did not seem to
sense that anything was amiss. She was chatting animatedly about a band she had
seen that weekend.

Just
before the end of the day, an e-mail from Doug popped up in Marci’s inbox.
Are you available to stay late
this afternoon?

Relief
washed over her.
Finally
. She noticed that he’d been careful to make the
e-mail sound appropriate from a vice president to a temporary office worker.
Maybe he was learning something about discretion.

She
typed back hurriedly.
Sure!
Whatever you need, Mr. Stanton
.
She hoped the veiled
flirtation of her response would at least make him smile. She’d never seen him
look so worn down.
                                                                  

The
response came a few minutes later.
Great—just
stop by my office when everyone over there is done for the day
.
She knew this meant to wait until the office was
deserted so that they could be alone. Her memory drifted back to their first
out-of-control kiss, which had taken place in that office more than six months
before. If she had only known.

Part
of her wanted to refuse to stay late to talk to him. Why would she have nothing
better to do but wait for it to be convenient for him? Why shouldn’t he suffer
in the same uncertainty she’d been living with for days? She knew she should
want to hurt him as much as he had hurt her. But somehow all her anger,
frustration, and fear from the last few days had evaporated, pushed aside by
the excitement of being in the same room with him, talking to him, having her
curiosity satisfied. Maybe today they would start devising a plan for moving
forward. She warned herself that he might need to cool things off for a bit
while he settled things with Cathy. She prepared herself to be supportive and
understanding.