Friday, February 03, 2006
Grace Triumphant 015
March 13, 2005
Greg's mother was clearly more nervous than I. I walked into the short walkway from front room to kitchen to speak with her.
"Grace, Greg told me that he's upset you very much," she said. "But he wants to know if you and the children are all right. He's very worried."
"Had he told you what he's done?"
"No," she said, and I believed her. I could tell from the shaking in her voice that she was pretty certain, but I respected her too much to tell her this way. Greg's parents and sisters are like something out a storybook, all kindness, good manners, and a certain refined and genteel quality.
"Thank you for calling to check on me," I said. "I'm not ready to talk to him. But the children and I are fine. They're out playing with some other children right now."
"Will you let him speak to them later tonight?"
I paused. "I don't know."
"Do they miss him?"
"Yes," I said. "And I don't want him to make it worse for them by trying to get to me through them."
"Grace." She tried to keep her voice gentle. "He is their father."
"He should have thought of that a few weeks ago when he did what he did. I'm not ready to let him hurt me through them. He's hurt me enough. And they've been frightened and are confused. But right now they're calm again and happy. I don't want that happiness interrupted this soon."
"What if he just says good night to them?"
I paused. I had made a lot of bad decisions while still in the first shock. But now I realized that I had to obtain the good wishes of Greg's family. Not to get their help, but to stop this from turning into a war. Whatever happens, this is where the happiness of my children really hangs in the balance: a peaceful transition.
"I have two conditions for Greg," I said.
"All right, Grace. What are they?"
"That he not bring the children into this. I haven't blamed him to them. I want them kept out of it."
"All right," she said. "I'll tell him. What else?"
"He has to get out of the house. I won't come home if he's there. Tell him to move out."
"Are you sure, Grace?"
"Yes, I am. I plan to see a lawyer when I get back."
"Oh Grace!" And now her voice was filled with genuine shock and sorrow. "Please think this over."
"I just want to know whatever I should know," I said. "I didn't say I'm going to divorce him."
She began to cry. "Please, just give him a chance to make things right with you, Grace. Please think before you do anything."
"I will," I promised her. "I want to prepare quickly and then act with deliberation. But I have to have the advice of a lawyer."
It took her a moment to get hold of herself. In the hesitation, I said, "I am sorry that what I said caused you so much pain."
"I don't know what we did, what we could have done---"
"He's a grown man. He made this choice. It's not your fault. I've been wracking my brains too, wondering how I lost---"" And then I stopped because anything I said after that would be telling her expressly that he had been unfaithful, unfaithful with a 24 year old girl. I'd been thinking about how beautiful 24 year old girls are. But suddenly I thought about her as a real 24 year old. Greg is 41. Not quite old enough to be her father, but getting close. I realized that the utter loathsomeness of fornicating with a mere girl would horrify his mother. Jim's words came back to me: "He's a pig."
And suddenly I realized that, even if perhaps I had lost Greg's love without realizing it. He didn't love this 24 year old child with the tattoo on her lower leg and the tiny jewel embedded in the side of her nose. Everything about her said that she thought sex was cheap and recreational, so he had taken what had so little value to her. And then a new thunderbolt hit while his poor mother cried on the phone and told me she was sorry: I would have to be tested for STD's. He'd been with her for a month and also with me. If she'd been carrying anything infectious, he had passed it to me.
"Tell him not to call tonight," I said suddenly. "But he can call tomorrow night, after I get the children ready to talk to him. I'm not going to blame him, and I expect him to leave me out of any conversation he has with them."
"Yes, that's wise, Grace. Thank you. You're in our thoughts and prayers, and---I'm, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry." And then she cried again. And for the first time, without it having anything to do with me, I hated and despised him for what he had done. And I hated myself for not knowing the wise thing to do: the exact right thing that would have protected the children, unveiled all his motives, made the situation perfectly clear, and shown me the only right choice. I wonder if such a knowledge even exists on the face of the earth. Adultery is the beginning of all confusion. It doesn't make you understand anything; it only shows you everything you don't understand.
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Greg's mother was clearly more nervous than I. I walked into the short walkway from front room to kitchen to speak with her.
"Grace, Greg told me that he's upset you very much," she said. "But he wants to know if you and the children are all right. He's very worried."
"Had he told you what he's done?"
"No," she said, and I believed her. I could tell from the shaking in her voice that she was pretty certain, but I respected her too much to tell her this way. Greg's parents and sisters are like something out a storybook, all kindness, good manners, and a certain refined and genteel quality.
"Thank you for calling to check on me," I said. "I'm not ready to talk to him. But the children and I are fine. They're out playing with some other children right now."
"Will you let him speak to them later tonight?"
I paused. "I don't know."
"Do they miss him?"
"Yes," I said. "And I don't want him to make it worse for them by trying to get to me through them."
"Grace." She tried to keep her voice gentle. "He is their father."
"He should have thought of that a few weeks ago when he did what he did. I'm not ready to let him hurt me through them. He's hurt me enough. And they've been frightened and are confused. But right now they're calm again and happy. I don't want that happiness interrupted this soon."
"What if he just says good night to them?"
I paused. I had made a lot of bad decisions while still in the first shock. But now I realized that I had to obtain the good wishes of Greg's family. Not to get their help, but to stop this from turning into a war. Whatever happens, this is where the happiness of my children really hangs in the balance: a peaceful transition.
"I have two conditions for Greg," I said.
"All right, Grace. What are they?"
"That he not bring the children into this. I haven't blamed him to them. I want them kept out of it."
"All right," she said. "I'll tell him. What else?"
"He has to get out of the house. I won't come home if he's there. Tell him to move out."
"Are you sure, Grace?"
"Yes, I am. I plan to see a lawyer when I get back."
"Oh Grace!" And now her voice was filled with genuine shock and sorrow. "Please think this over."
"I just want to know whatever I should know," I said. "I didn't say I'm going to divorce him."
She began to cry. "Please, just give him a chance to make things right with you, Grace. Please think before you do anything."
"I will," I promised her. "I want to prepare quickly and then act with deliberation. But I have to have the advice of a lawyer."
It took her a moment to get hold of herself. In the hesitation, I said, "I am sorry that what I said caused you so much pain."
"I don't know what we did, what we could have done---"
"He's a grown man. He made this choice. It's not your fault. I've been wracking my brains too, wondering how I lost---"" And then I stopped because anything I said after that would be telling her expressly that he had been unfaithful, unfaithful with a 24 year old girl. I'd been thinking about how beautiful 24 year old girls are. But suddenly I thought about her as a real 24 year old. Greg is 41. Not quite old enough to be her father, but getting close. I realized that the utter loathsomeness of fornicating with a mere girl would horrify his mother. Jim's words came back to me: "He's a pig."
And suddenly I realized that, even if perhaps I had lost Greg's love without realizing it. He didn't love this 24 year old child with the tattoo on her lower leg and the tiny jewel embedded in the side of her nose. Everything about her said that she thought sex was cheap and recreational, so he had taken what had so little value to her. And then a new thunderbolt hit while his poor mother cried on the phone and told me she was sorry: I would have to be tested for STD's. He'd been with her for a month and also with me. If she'd been carrying anything infectious, he had passed it to me.
"Tell him not to call tonight," I said suddenly. "But he can call tomorrow night, after I get the children ready to talk to him. I'm not going to blame him, and I expect him to leave me out of any conversation he has with them."
"Yes, that's wise, Grace. Thank you. You're in our thoughts and prayers, and---I'm, I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry." And then she cried again. And for the first time, without it having anything to do with me, I hated and despised him for what he had done. And I hated myself for not knowing the wise thing to do: the exact right thing that would have protected the children, unveiled all his motives, made the situation perfectly clear, and shown me the only right choice. I wonder if such a knowledge even exists on the face of the earth. Adultery is the beginning of all confusion. It doesn't make you understand anything; it only shows you everything you don't understand.
