Mary glanced to Dante and smiled wryly. “Joe admitted that most of the women he had affairs with had no idea he was married. He said a friend had helped with that. I’m guessing now that it was Dave, but Joe wouldn’t tell me who it was at the time. I suppose that was to prevent me outing Dave to Carol. Joe would only say he was just a chum from work. But he told me that they went out together to meet women, often double dating. A woman who met two male friends hanging out didn’t imagine that he would be married and carry on an affair with his friend’s knowledge. And his “chum” backed up any story he gave to explain why he couldn’t see her at certain times, or why she hadn’t met his family or any other friends.”
Mary shook her head with remembered disgust. “Of course, once the girlfriend started pushing for those kinds of things, it was time to end it and move on anyway in his mind. Or if she got pregnant,” she added grimly. “As far as Joe was concerned, birth control was the woman’s problem and he always asked if they were on the pill when they started up. If she said no, he moved along. He wanted no chance of having to explain why he had condoms in his wallet when we weren’t having sex. So, they were all supposed to be safe, and if a woman got pregnant, he was sure she was just trying to force him into marrying her. Joe claimed he offered to help with an abortion and if she refused, it was “sayonara sweetheart.”
“He really was a bastard,” Dante muttered.
“Yes,” Mary agreed solemnly, “And I was a total psycho bitch.”
“Mary!” He gaped at her with dismay, and she smiled slightly.
“I was,” she assured him. “I was making his home life as miserable as possible. For instance, he traveled a lot then and one time when he was gone for two months, I bought the kids a cat. Joe was deathly allergic to cats. But the kids had had it for two months by the time he returned. He could hardly take it away from them then. He had to get an inhaler and start taking allergy shots twice a week just to be able to breathe at home. Joe hated shots.”
“Diabolical,” Dante said on a laugh.
“Hmm. I did other things as well.”
“Like what?” he asked with amusement.
Mary considered the various things and said, “Oh, if I knew he hated something, I made it a lot for meals, saying I was sure he’d said he’d liked it last time. If he liked something, I never made it again. I deliberately used his razors on my legs so the blade was always dull when he went to shave his face. I constantly washed his whites with reds to turn them pink. I bought him the loudest and ugliest patterned shirts and ties every birthday and Christmas and then acted wounded if he didn’t wear them. And I used to cook him something with mushrooms in it as his meal before each flight. It didn’t matter what, so long as it had mushrooms.”
When Dante glanced away from the road to give her a confused look, she explained with amusement, “Mushrooms gave Joe gas, you see. Which made the flight miserable for him. Gas expands as the plane climbs in altitude and causes terrible stomach pains.”
Dante’s mouth dropped a little at this news, and then snapped shut. Turning back to the road he muttered, “Remind me not to anger you.”
Mary grinned faintly, but shrugged. “He was the only one I did those kinds of things to. I’m pretty sure I was a good mother. I worked very hard at it. And I was perfectly lovely otherwise.” She pursed her lips and admitted, “I think getting all my aggression out on him made me much more patient with the children and everyone else.”
“Thank God,” Dante breathed.
“Yes, I could really have screwed up those children had I allowed my anger to stretch to them. Fortunately, torturing him was enough.” Mary paused and frowned and then admitted, “Although, I did influence their opinion of him a great deal. It was inevitable, of course. He was often away and I was always there. I shuttled them to school, practice, friends etc. And I never praised him to them. I didn’t put him down either really. I mean I never said he was a lying, cheating louse or anything, but I did often use the term, “Oh, your father,” in that derogatory manner you really shouldn’t use in regard to the other parent in front of children.” She made a face and admitted, “I’m pretty sure I undermined his position with them without even really trying.”
“But that may not have had much affect had he been there to spend time with them,” Dante pointed out reasonably. “Had he been there, they would have got to know him as his own person rather than the man who occasionally showed up at the house and the one you ‘oh, your fathered’ about.”
“True, but then I didn’t make his being home an attractive proposition,” she pointed out.
Dante frowned, but Mary continued before he could argue further. “As I say, that went on for years. Fifteen to be exact.”
“And then his son showed up at your door,” Dante said quietly.
Mary nodded and fell silent as the pain of that discovery washed over her anew. She loved her children and had considered them her own from the minute they’d been placed in her arms, but in that moment, looking at the young carbon copy of her husband . . . Mary thought she might have killed Joe if he’d been home at the time. But she knew without a doubt that after she’d heard what else the boy had to say, she definitely would have killed her husband had he been there.
Eleven
Dante glanced toward Mary with a frown. She’d quite suddenly gone silent, and considering the topic, he was concerned about her. After another moment passed in silence, he said gently, “You must have been very hurt.”
“Hurt?” she asked dryly, and then snorted. “I was freaking furious.”
Dante’s eyes widened and he glanced quickly her way, taking note of her anger now just at the memory. She was nearly vibrating in her seat with it. Shifting his gaze back to the road, he cleared his throat and asked, “Because the boy was proof Joe was continuing to have affairs?”
“No,” she assured him. “Not about the affairs. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about the affairs by that point. I had been completely asexual since the miscarriage, shutting down that part of myself. What I cared about was his children. I was furious that he’d had them, and paradoxically, furious that he hadn’t been a part of their lives or taken any responsibility, even monetarily, for their existence.”
“Ah,” Dante murmured, and wasn’t sure what to say to that.
Another moment of silence passed and then she announced, “I left him that afternoon. I packed up the kids and checked into a motel and made an appointment with a divorce lawyer, all by dinner.” She swallowed and then admitted, “But I never went to see the lawyer.”
“Why?” Dante asked at once, and when she didn’t answer right away, glanced over to see that she was peering out the window at the passing scenery. Her expression was closed and he shifted his gaze back to the road, simply waiting.
After a moment, she sighed and said, “Carol came to see me at the motel. We were good friends even then. Dave and Joe often traveled together, and we were each other’s support when they were gone. So, of course, I called her with the crushing news of Joe’s betrayal. She came rushing to the motel and we talked and cried for hours. She thought I should leave him, of course,” Mary added wryly. “And then she gave me the number of a therapist her sister had been trying to get her to go see. She had no interest in counseling, but if I wanted the number . . .”
“Surprisingly, I did. I knew I was angry and had contributed at least somewhat to things, and I didn’t want to carry that anger and self-destructive streak on out of the marriage and into any future relationships. So, I called this therapist. Her name was Linda and she just happened to have a cancellation the next morning, so I went to see her. It was the best call I ever made.”
“Really?” he asked, and couldn’t hide the doubt he was feeling on the subject. She had stayed with Joe, after all, something he thought was just wrong after everything the man had done. He would have thought a good therapist would have insisted she leave, not convince her to stay.
“Yes, really,” Mary assured him solemnly, and then explained, “Linda listened patiently to my tale of woe about my marriage. How he’d convinced me not to go on to further my education. How he’d cheated on me. How he’d refused to face me, forcing me to drive madly off and crash, and how he, how he, how he . . .” She let her voice trail off and then he heard her sigh and she said, “And then Linda asked if I’d even been in the marriage.”