Thursday, February 09, 2006
Grace Triumphant 019
March 16
I opened the front door this next morning to a world that knows what has happened. I mean, I really opened the front door to take in the mail I missed. But the image holds.
I drove the children to school instead of putting them on the bus. By now the bruise has healed, but when I went to talk to the school administrator to explain that I had taken the children out of school to take an emergency trip, she already had a good idea about what had happened. I intended to give out no details, but I realized she is already close to the mark in her guesses.
She listened to me and practically clucked with sympathy as I talked. I kept touching my forehead, wondering if she could see any mark from the bruise. Neither of us used the word adultery, but she listened to my lame explanation of why I'd had to take the children out of town for a few days. And then she put a sympathetic hand on my sleeve and suggested that I get counseling or consider a support group.
Then I came home and saw Terry out front, walking Tahlia up the street. I went out to say hello and realized that Terry also knows what has happened. Even Tahlia nudged my hand and wagged her tail in a sort of apologetic way. Again, nobody said the word adultery, and neither of us referenced Greg. But she knew. She told me she was glad I was back home, and she asked me if I needed anything.
I wanted to ask how in the world she knew my husband was out of the house, but I didn't. I just took for granted that she knew, so I might as well be realistic about it.
"You live alone," I told her. "Do you have an alarm system? I kept waking up last night. I don't feel safe."
She glanced down at Tahlia. "That's my alarm system. She's a very sedate dog, but she's very protective. If anything comes near the house, she sounds an alarm." She dropped an affectionate hand to Tahlia's broad, cream colored head. Tahlia looked up, mouth open, and wagged her tail. "And she patrols the house every few hours. She's very thorough."
I had such a bad night last night, full of fears I had not expected. The thought instantly struck me that perhaps I should get a guard dog. But I didn't say anything. It's such a huge step, and Greg's dislike of a dog in the house still hangs over me. And a dog is a big step, a great responsibility.
Later in the day, I took my car down to the service station around the corner to see if they had time to do an oil change. Our service station sells Exxon gas and is run by Phil, a gray haired man who has owned the place for years. He's seen my car grow from one baby seat to two, then back to one and now none, and he's called me Ms. Grace ever since we moved into our house and started taking our car to his shop.
Phil was in back with the cars, so I gave the key and the car information to the young man at the desk. Phil came in as the paperwork was being filled out. The young man walked back into the work area to pass off the key, and Phil followed him. As one of the other mechanics came into the front room, the door swung open, and I could hear Phil: "-and say yes Ma'am and No Ma'am to her. " Then the door closed.
Phil has always been courteous to the point of deferential, but he's never given his workers lessons in etiquette before. I saw the truth: Phil also knew what had happened to me. And now he was sensitive to how the young men spoke to me. That means that he not only knows Greg is no longer in the house; I think he knows why.
The realization that the story in such detail has gotten around made the flush come up my cheeks, but at least Phil, like Jim, clearly sympathizes with me.
When the car was finished, he brought me the key himself. "And if there's any trouble, Ms. Grace, you just bring it right back, and we'll look at it, first thing," he said. His eyes, hazel eyes with many fine wrinkles at the corners, held mine for a second, and I knew he was sad for me. "You tell them beautiful children of yours that Phil says hello," he said.
"Thanks Phil!" I tried to sound upbeat and breezy. But I feel mystified by all of this. Everybody knows. Phil, so much like Jim, takes another man's adultery like an affront.
I never meant to be anything other than what I am, but in our culture, especially here in the conservative South, a mother with two children is a sort of icon. I do what a lot of people believe in: I raise my children to know the difference between right and wrong. I have them in church. I teach them Bible verses.
I realize that, whatever started the information campaign, it's spread so quickly for no other reason than sympathy and the shock that a man like Greg would do such a thing. But now I am afraid all over again. Night is coming, and I feel like half the town knows I am alone in the house with the children.
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I opened the front door this next morning to a world that knows what has happened. I mean, I really opened the front door to take in the mail I missed. But the image holds.
I drove the children to school instead of putting them on the bus. By now the bruise has healed, but when I went to talk to the school administrator to explain that I had taken the children out of school to take an emergency trip, she already had a good idea about what had happened. I intended to give out no details, but I realized she is already close to the mark in her guesses.
She listened to me and practically clucked with sympathy as I talked. I kept touching my forehead, wondering if she could see any mark from the bruise. Neither of us used the word adultery, but she listened to my lame explanation of why I'd had to take the children out of town for a few days. And then she put a sympathetic hand on my sleeve and suggested that I get counseling or consider a support group.
Then I came home and saw Terry out front, walking Tahlia up the street. I went out to say hello and realized that Terry also knows what has happened. Even Tahlia nudged my hand and wagged her tail in a sort of apologetic way. Again, nobody said the word adultery, and neither of us referenced Greg. But she knew. She told me she was glad I was back home, and she asked me if I needed anything.
I wanted to ask how in the world she knew my husband was out of the house, but I didn't. I just took for granted that she knew, so I might as well be realistic about it.
"You live alone," I told her. "Do you have an alarm system? I kept waking up last night. I don't feel safe."
She glanced down at Tahlia. "That's my alarm system. She's a very sedate dog, but she's very protective. If anything comes near the house, she sounds an alarm." She dropped an affectionate hand to Tahlia's broad, cream colored head. Tahlia looked up, mouth open, and wagged her tail. "And she patrols the house every few hours. She's very thorough."
I had such a bad night last night, full of fears I had not expected. The thought instantly struck me that perhaps I should get a guard dog. But I didn't say anything. It's such a huge step, and Greg's dislike of a dog in the house still hangs over me. And a dog is a big step, a great responsibility.
Later in the day, I took my car down to the service station around the corner to see if they had time to do an oil change. Our service station sells Exxon gas and is run by Phil, a gray haired man who has owned the place for years. He's seen my car grow from one baby seat to two, then back to one and now none, and he's called me Ms. Grace ever since we moved into our house and started taking our car to his shop.
Phil was in back with the cars, so I gave the key and the car information to the young man at the desk. Phil came in as the paperwork was being filled out. The young man walked back into the work area to pass off the key, and Phil followed him. As one of the other mechanics came into the front room, the door swung open, and I could hear Phil: "-and say yes Ma'am and No Ma'am to her. " Then the door closed.
Phil has always been courteous to the point of deferential, but he's never given his workers lessons in etiquette before. I saw the truth: Phil also knew what had happened to me. And now he was sensitive to how the young men spoke to me. That means that he not only knows Greg is no longer in the house; I think he knows why.
The realization that the story in such detail has gotten around made the flush come up my cheeks, but at least Phil, like Jim, clearly sympathizes with me.
When the car was finished, he brought me the key himself. "And if there's any trouble, Ms. Grace, you just bring it right back, and we'll look at it, first thing," he said. His eyes, hazel eyes with many fine wrinkles at the corners, held mine for a second, and I knew he was sad for me. "You tell them beautiful children of yours that Phil says hello," he said.
"Thanks Phil!" I tried to sound upbeat and breezy. But I feel mystified by all of this. Everybody knows. Phil, so much like Jim, takes another man's adultery like an affront.
I never meant to be anything other than what I am, but in our culture, especially here in the conservative South, a mother with two children is a sort of icon. I do what a lot of people believe in: I raise my children to know the difference between right and wrong. I have them in church. I teach them Bible verses.
I realize that, whatever started the information campaign, it's spread so quickly for no other reason than sympathy and the shock that a man like Greg would do such a thing. But now I am afraid all over again. Night is coming, and I feel like half the town knows I am alone in the house with the children.
