Chapter 2

So, given all that, the next two days I had a hard time concentrating. I talked to people – I even talked to Paula. She knew which side was up and had figured it all out; what had happened with her mother was all over the Internet anyway. Saffron and Jamie were less in the loop, but it was nice to chat with her.

I showed her the text from Deanna, told her about our meeting, and then said. "So, child of fifteen, going on thirty, what do you think?"

Immediately Paula said, "You've got to give her that chance. I mean, face it dad, you aren't going to do any better and it's not like you are getting any younger. And I think I'm a bit of a one sided person to ask. Of course I want my parents back. If only so I don't have to share a bed with Mom when we all stay over at that apartment. Two beds? You know the last time we all went, I slept on the couch, just so I didn't have to listen to her snoring."

I snickered. I'd put up with it for years. Hearing Paula having to deal with it as well did make me chuckle.

"Yeah, fair comment. All of it, in fact. So, if I did go for this – not saying I'm going to – but it I did, you'd be ok with it? You might be called on to babysit."

She rolled her eyes in the way teenagers do. "Sure Dad, not like I'm not doing it a lot anyway. We need to talk about a payment schedule, you know? My friends get five dollars an hour for this service."

"I'll tell you what, Paula, you don't charge me, and I won't make you live with mom. How's that?"

She snorted and got up off the couch, picking up the kids' iPad as she went.

"One day I won't be here Dad. You need to make the time I'm here as best you can, while you still can. While you still remember anything."

Cheeky little shit. My god, I loved her.

Two days later I had a council of war at the bar. I'd done a lot of that in the past couple of years. We even had our preferred booth, where no one could overhear our conversations.

Present was me, Simon, Jonathan Bruty and, amazingly, Solomon, who was in town. I hadn't known he was around till he called me.

He showed up late, with this girl in tow who was in full school uniform, and couldn't have been more than sixteen, although he did assure us later that she most assuredly was. She had red streaks in her hair, all done in ringlets. She had at least three piercings I could see, and the pleated skirt was pretty damn short.

Solomon saw us at the table, steered her over to us, said hi, then slapped her on the ass and said, "Go babe. See that movie. I'll call you when I need picking up."

She smiled nervously and went out of the bar, with at least twenty pairs of eyes helping her on her way. And she knew it, too.

Solomon pushed Simon along the booth and sat down. I nodded towards the rapidly exiting girlfriend and said, "Really Solomon?"

He laughed and then proved he had not suddenly got lots of new social skills, when he said, "Aw, she's cute. And she does ass to mouth and swallows."

Simon turned his head and rolled his eyes, murmuring, "Jesus" under his breath.

Jonathan snorted. I had forgot to warn him about Solomon and the way he can be.

I just sighed. "Solomon," I said, "TMI dude. Way too much fucking information."

Solomon just glanced back and me and said, with a depressing amount of accuracy, "Ah, fuck it old dude. You are just jealous anyway."

"So what's this all about? You got someone we need to take down again? That was fun man." Solomon looked around as he picked up the beer list.

"I heard from Deanna. She wants another chance."

"Reeeeeallly? And you gonna give her one? Or maybe two or three?" snickered Solomon.

Simon turned to him and just said, "Dude," in a vaguely warning tone.

"Awww, come on. All of you have a huge pole up your ass. Lighten up a little," he replied.

I felt the need to try and drag the focus back on what I needed it to be.

"Look, I'm more interested in what you guys think. Here's the deal. She knows that trust gets rebuilt over time. And she knows she can't do that unless I let her back in. So what she's proposing is her 'doing things', for me, to convince me to at least give her a chance to rebuild that trust."

"What things?" asked Jonathan.

"I have no idea. She didn't go into details."

"Hmm," said Simon, "I can't say I'm enthusiastic about this, Ryan. I remember you crying desperately watching that video. Why would you do that to yourself again? Look man, you've finally got your shit together, you've moved on. Don't open that door again. There's fire behind it."

I looked at him. He was not wrong.

Jonathan was next, with his clipped way of speaking.

"I honestly don't know what to recommend Ryan. On the one hand I, also, see you opening yourself up for more of the abuse you suffered. But on the other hand, if she's really contrite, well, it makes you the bigger man, and frankly, often the devil you know is better than one you don't." He shrugged and said, "I can see both sides. I don't know what to say. I can say I'll be around, whatever you decide. You are my friend."

I nodded to acknowledge the nice thing he said.

Solomon leaned back, taking a long sip of his just arrived beer.

"Dude. Are you getting laid?" he asked, point blank.

I was startled and frowned at him and said, "What the hell has that..."

"Yeah, thought not," he interrupted. "Look, what the fuck do you have to lose? You don't have to give her your heart. Go out, have a good time. Use and abuse her. If it works out, great. If not, well, you got laid and you've already overcome her once. You've got practice. I say go for it ... Just ... hold your self off, until you get where she is going."

That was another way to look at it. I didn't say much for the rest of the evening, just got more and more blasted as the beers kept coming. The guys did their best to keep the conversation light, and stayed off the subject of Deanna. Solomon entertained us with stories of what his girlfriend – Tiffany – was into and we all felt incredibly bad for her, and for the fact that he was prepared to tell us this stuff, and, of course, we asked for more information. In detail. None of us were going to be able to look her in the eye when she showed up to pick up Solomon.

By eleven, I was pretty toasted and it was then that I made a snap decision and pulled out my phone, and texted Deanna. I didn't dare call; she'd know I was fubared, just like I knew she was nervous, and I didn't want her to think it was a snap decision because I was drunk, even though it absolutely was. At least I think it was. Looking back, I think I was heading this way all along.

The text went 'OK. I will do this. What happens next?'

I got one back almost immediately that said, 'You have no idea how happy you just made me. Dinner. Tomorrow. My place. 7.'

I texted back, 'Ok' and that was that. The die was cast. I just hoped to god that my hangover would be gone by then.

I knew I was putting myself in a place where some stuff would get stirred up – old feelings resurfaced, old resentments and anger reignited, but if I was completely honest with myself, I hadn't really moved forward in my personal life. I'd tried and not been successful, and if this is what was required to settle some of that – either way - so I really was able to move forward, then so be it.

I showed up early. I knew where she lived; I'd picked up the kids a couple of times – but I'd never been inside.

The apartment complex was nice - very high end. Deanna was obviously doing ok. I knew that she did some kind of convention or conference planning. I didn't know exactly what, I just knew that on occasion she needed me to keep the kids for a weekend because she'd be at a conference, helping organize it.

I knew she also had a blog, about interior design. I have no idea if it was popular or not, but I read it every now and again. More out of idle curiosity than any burning desire to follow interior fashion. I wouldn't know a throw cushion from a pillow. I had a sneaking suspicion that no one else did either, and it was all just for show anyway.

So there I was, bottle in hand. Wondering what the hell was going to happen next.

And what I did, was, in a word, not much. Okay, its two words, then, not one.

I knocked on the door, she opened it, looking a million dollars – again. I was summoned inside and I did have a small laugh as I gave the bottle to her.

Deanna said, "What's so funny?"

I had to be honest. "Oh, this situation. This place. You."

She seemed a little affronted. "What do you mean?"

"Well, look at you. You look like a million dollars, you smell great, dinner smells great, everything is just so. If we got back together, you know that wouldn't last more than a week."

Thankfully, she saw what I meant, and said, "Yeah, I guess I did push the boat out a bit. I'm sure I can go put on a goth costume if you prefer that?"

She was referring to the night we met, at the Crobar in downtown Chicago. It was Halloween and she'd been decked out as a goth girl, while I'd been in full Roman Gladiator attire. I had to laugh at that too, and she looked quizzically at me again.

In response I said, "Yeah, you could still get away with that. Imagine me as a Gladiator now. No one wants to see that."

She just smiled gently and took the bottle into the small kitchen to uncork it.

Dinner was a favorite of mine. Deanna's chicken potpie was to be reckoned with, and as I spooned it into my mouth I did remember again how much I missed this.

We spoke of the kids, of our jobs, I explained what I was doing with the video game thing – how I'd met the guys I was working with. I could tell she wasn't thrilled about the risk I was taking, but she did at least shut up and offer me support. Then she explained to me what she did – how she'd fallen into helping organizing some of the girls at the car show at McCormick Place. She'd been living next to one of the girls who modeled there, and been invited to go check it out by this girl. When she was there, it became apparent that one of the organizers just hadn't shown up, and Deanna had volunteered to help take care of the girls and get them where they needed to be. The company who was supplying the girls and organizing this part of the show was impressed with her moxie – what a 1950's word. 'Moxie'. I did smile when she used that. They offered her a part time position working on various conferences. While they were based downtown, she could work from home, it was thirty bucks an hour and she was doing quite nicely from it. It meant she'd have to be at some conferences to help shepherd speakers and deal with hotel issues and all the rest of it – she did roll her eyes at what prima donnas some people were – and some of the conference subjects were tedious beyond measure. She said she'd been at some geology conference and just about every session had put her to sleep. But she was happy – it was interesting work, it was part time some of the time, and full time when a conference was impending, she earned enough and she met lots of different people.

I did privately wonder that she wasn't being hit on constantly at those kinds of events; I was well aware of the way people behaved away from home at conferences and there she was, looking all cute, being efficient and most of all, single. Then I thought, "Why the hell do I care?" And I realized that I did still care. Not in the burning anger of a wronged husband, but in a way that it did still matter to me. I suspected there would be a long bit of self-examination of my feelings after the night was done.

We did everything but dance around the reason I was here.

When we were done, I pushed the chair back, belched, and she rolled her eyes.

"Are you done? Cause you did look surprisingly like a pig, stuffing itself, with both trotters in the trough."

"Hey, you invited me," I said, with mock anger. "If you don't want me to enjoy the food, don't cook it."

"Yes. I guess we'd better start that conversation," she said. "Don't worry, it's not scary or anything. Well, it is for me. You've got nothing to worry about."

I just sat there, wondering what to say.

"Ok, so if you are in, here's how it works. I have several ... tasks ... to complete. A bunch of things to do for you. The first is tonight."

I shuffled in the chair uncomfortably. I could see where this was going, or I thought I could. Turns out I'm just an old perv.

"No, no ... nothing like that. Still have a dirty mind I see," she said, grinning.

"Let me tell you about the first thing. The first thing is to give you my journals. Since ... what happened, and I first saw Jim, I've been keeping a journal. Five or six sentences a day, about my day, my feelings and so on. It's supposed to be a chronicle of my journey of self-understanding. Jesus, that sounds pompous, doesn't it?"

I did smile back and nodded. "A bit."

"Yeah, I thought so too. It's cathartic though. Although hard to maintain every night. Anyway, I've tried my best to do it. There's a lot of stuff in there. Some days I had a lot to say. Ryan, I want you to read them."

There was a brief silence. Again, I had no real understanding of why. I was just about to ask it – and it must have been obvious on my face -, when Deanna said, "Why? Because it'll show you where I've been for the past eighteen months. What I've been doing, why, what my feelings are and all the rest of it. It's the best way I can show you how I've been trying to put my life – and self respect – back together again. I think it might give you some insight, and it'll almost certainly generate questions, and we can use that as a starting point for future conversations."

I could actually see her point. She got up and went into the other room, then came back with three notebooks and handed them to me. I leafed open one and found it full of her neat handwriting.

I looked up and said, "Didn't do it electronically then?"

She shrugged and said, "Didn't have a laptop at the time. There's something about writing something down to make it permanent though..."

I looked at the books some more, and she said, "Some of the stuff in there may ... upset you, Ryan. I'm not nasty or anything, but particularly at the beginning, there was a lot of anger towards you because of the way you ended it all. I'm sure you can understand that. It took me a while to really accept my part in it all. I knew what I'd done, but I wasn't ready to totally face the consequences of it. There's some ... ranting, shall we say, that you won't like. But, please, understand, it's just indicative of how far I've come."

I put the book down on top of the other ones and said, as evenly as I could, "Ok. I understand. I have to read these. Then... ?"

"Well, for a start, you'll be seeing a lot more of me. I want to see you at least twice a week. There's going to be stuff for us to talk about based on what's in those," she said, indicating the notebooks. "And once that's done, we are having a weekend, where I'm around all the time. I'm not going to go into too much detail on each thing, except for when it's time to do it. Right now, that's your homework. Get readin'"

I raised my eyebrows and nodded. Not what I'd expected of the evening at all, but that was ok. The prospect of sex with Deanna gave me the heebiee jeebies, if I was completely honest with myself, so that was ok. Although also a little disappointing, that she wasn't gagging for me. All so confusing.

The rest of the evening went pleasantly. She'd found a pavlova Russian desert, knowing it was one of my favorites. She'd definitely gone all out. And it was awesome. I had two helpings. So what? I'm a pig! She said so! If you are gonna get called one, might as well act like one, right?

I said goodnight at 10pm, gathered up the books, put my hand on her arm and kissed her on the cheek goodnight. I could feel her trembling as I did it. I think she was more nervous than I was, which in a deep-seated way, made me feel good.

I read her journals over the next four nights. I wasn't planning on it. I was determined that I would leave them for a while, sort out my feelings on it. I had things to do with the kids. Jamie was in first grade now and was having issues with adding tens and hundreds together – the M&M's came out for that evening's tutorial, let me tell you – Saffron was working on a paper on King Tut and Paula was trying to decide what science fair project to do. I kept telling her to do a study on how many people liked doing science fair projects, and poll her class, but she just looked at me with steady eyes – so like her mothers – and then went back to the iPad where she was looking up ideas on Pinterest.

That night, after they were in bed, I had a glass of Jamesons, pulled the books out, settled back on the couch, and off I went.

Deanna was right. I didn't much like some of the stuff she wrote, at least the early stuff. There was a LOT of anger in the earliest entries. Towards me, towards the jerk she'd been fucking, towards Crystal, towards herself, towards everyone. She was pissed at me over what I'd done, the fact that I'd put her in the situation where she was cheating at all (??!!??), her life now, not having the kids around, her financial situation. There wasn't much she wasn't bitching about. I was very cut by some of the very throw away justifications she'd used for what she'd done – I could see what she was doing, pushing responsibility onto me for imagined slights in her life and lack of sex or whatever, but it still, it sucked a bit. I was hurt. Melissa, her sister, who she was staying with, was particularly harsh with her. I was partly surprised – she was, after all, Deanna's sister – and partially not, because Melissa was harsh with everyone. Having discovered that Melissa had been serially cheated on by her dead ex – and was basically now an ex member of the human race, viewing us all with suspicion from on high -, I was not particularly surprised.

Deanna's mindset wasn't anything I was particularly surprised at, but it still was painful to read it.

But after a few entries, it started to settle down. The journals covered her life, and her feelings. Her life, well, it did suck. Living with her sister, being fired, none of our friends wanting anything to do with her, initially not having access to the kids, financially fucked. Yeah, it sucked. I didn't have that much sympathy though. She had brought it on herself. I was of two minds. The part of me that looked at her as my wife of over fifteen years ached for her. The part that was cheated on just shrugged and said, "So? Don't fuck around then".

After about a month, she got a job at Ross. It wasn't great, but she got by. She found a crap apartment and moved out of her sister's place. And the tone of the posts started to change. She was starting to look at what she'd done. I could see the therapy working as the anger and bitterness faded and she started to really examine both what she'd done, and why she'd done it.

The first thing I saw her examining was recognition of the what – how it had impacted her life and mine. She didn't really have a huge grasp of why, but she certainly delved into the what.

There were various entries regarding her dating, and her feelings on it. I could tell she was doing it because she felt she had the chance, she'd already paid the price, might as well get out there and see what was there. See if she could find a replacement for me.

From what she wrote, it didn't sound like her experiments in that area went any better than mine had. Which was reassuring – and again, I questioned why that was my immediate response. In the end I just shrugged it off – no man likes the idea of another man going where he's been. That was my rational and I was sticking to it.

Then came some break-throughs in her understanding of what she'd done. She really started to get it – the impact of what she'd done, her responsibility for it. Honestly, while it was a break-through, the true understanding devastated her, or at least it seemed like it from her writing. She'd seen Crystal Riggs again – her friend she'd worked for, and who had been cheating left, right and center on her husband, Charlie. I'd caught her, used her to get information on what Deanna was up to and then threatened her to stop her cheating -, and Deanna was very bitter towards her, since she felt Crystal got off lightly, at least from her point of view. Looking back, she was probably right. I'd sentenced her to stop cheating and be nicer to her husband. Deanna got a divorce. There probably was a lot of imbalance in that.