style="font-size:15px;"> “She was so smug about the fact that you’d lied to me. As though it corroborated her ridiculous accusations. I felt like a fool.”
“I didn’t lie to you. I just didn’t tell you everything.”
“In the end, what’s the difference? I still ended up looking like a fool. Damn it, Tom, she blindsided me.”
“What the hell do you want me to say, Jules? Maybe I should’ve turned to you that first night and said, Hi, I’m Tom. My wife was so miserable living with me that she killed herself. Say, can I buy you a drink? That would’ve gone over really well.”
“I’m not saying you should have dumped it in my lap during the first five minutes of our acquaintance. But somewhere between dinner that night and our wedding, you might’ve found the time to tell me.”
“I might have. I chose not to. You know, Jules, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Other people have feelings, too. Talk about being blindsided! Instead of confiding in me, my wife—the woman I loved, the mother of my children—decided to jump off a bridge. How the hell do you think that made me feel?”
The guilt was instantaneous. If I thought this was difficult for me, I could only imagine how hard it must be for Tom. He had to live with it every day for the rest of his life, the knowledge that Beth didn’t love him or their children enough to keep trying.
“I’m just a man, Jules,” he said. “I’m not perfect. Sometimes you scare me. Your expectations are so high. I can’t possibly live up to the image you have of me.”
I slid off the edge of the bed and crossed the room to him. The hurt in his eyes tore at my insides. I rested a hand against his chest, felt the strong, steady beat of his heart. “I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed by the tears I was fighting back. “It must have been awful for you. I’m so very, very sorry.”
“Aw, Jules.” He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on top of my head. “That’s the real reason I didn’t tell you. It was just too damn hard to talk about it. And the last thing I wanted was your pity.”
“Pity is not something I feel for you. Trust me.”
“I have my pride. Maybe that’s wrong, but I can’t help it. I’m a man. I don’t like to show weakness, and I don’t like to complain. No matter what life throws at me, I deal with it.” His arms tightened around me. “And of course, I know that for the most part, I’ve been lucky.”
It was true. Tom had been blessed with a fine mind, a handsome face, a healthy body and an education that not everybody could afford. Two beautiful daughters, an extended family who loved him, in spite of their differences. A lucrative and satisfying career, a lovely house and a new wife who would walk over hot coals for him.
The only fly I could find in that particular ointment was the first wife who’d killed herself.
But that was then. This was now. A new beginning, a new life. Tossing aside logic and operating strictly from emotion, I stretched up on my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck. Tonight, Tom needed comforting. Regardless of our differences, we were husband and wife. I’d agreed to stand by him, in good times and bad. And the kind of comfort he needed tonight, only I could offer.
He raised his head, looked into my eyes, and smiled.
And I took his hand and led him to the bed.
They say that make-up sex is the best kind.
It must be true, because that night there was a poignancy to our lovemaking that hadn’t been there before. We’d weathered a storm together and, perhaps because it reminded us of the fragility of life and the uncertainty of relationships, it had brought us closer. Left us more attuned to each other.
Our marriage was solid. I had no doubts about marrying Tom; this was a forever thing. We’d had a little spat, but that was an inevitable result of couple-hood. It might be the first, but it wouldn’t be the last. Marriage isn’t a static thing; it’s a fluid entity, one that involves continual adjustments and constant negotiations.
Tonight, we’d foregone all that in the name of something more primal. It wasn’t until later, after the éclairs were gone and Tom was sleeping silently beside me, that I realized we’d never gotten around to discussing Riley’s accusations. We hadn’t gotten around to discussing much of anything. The aforementioned make-up sex had taken precedence over everything verbal. We’d let our bodies do the talking for us.
Which wasn’t a bad thing, but I didn’t want it to become a habit. Although our coupling was delicious, sex can’t solve every problem, and trying to use it as a problem-solving mechanism only leads to bigger problems down the road. Some issues need to be talked out or they fester and grow. Sometimes, guidelines need to be drawn. Not every problem can be resolved with a quick—or not-so-quick—roll between the sheets.
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