Chapter 3

"Right then ladies. Who gets the macchiato?" asked Deanna, holding up another Starbucks and peering at the name scribbled on it. There was a special ring of hell for those who wrote the names on cups at Starbucks, she decided, since she could neither read this one, nor the other one. The only one she could read spelled Deena, not Deanna. She sighed. It's not like it was rocket science.

The other women looked at each other and beamed. Not having to deal with Deanna's coffee was a definite plus, and from all reports, the Plan was working.

Deanna had called the team together, explained that things were going well, and called a celebratory meeting. Everyone immediately agreed when she suggested Starbucks, instead of her place. So they all ended up sitting at the Starbucks on Nightingale road, in Schaumburg. Even better was the fact that Deanna was buying.

Rhonda had gotten there just after lunch, and commandeered the couch section of the coffee shop, glaring at other people when they came to sit down. Eventually the others filtered in and took up spaces and they talked books until Deanna arrived, looking flustered.

"Sorry I'm late, ladies. Things to do. There was an emergency hotel situation with the conference I'm working on. The damn thing shut down, and we had to find places to stay for eleven delegates. All very tedious, I have to say." She smiled around at all the other women and then said brightly, "Let me get you a coffee or something. To say sorry."

No one was going to say no.

After the coffees were gotten, Deanna plunked herself down in the last free chair and looked around and said, "Right then. Update time. Good things are happening!"

"I'll drink to that," said Rhonda, raising her cup.

"Here here," answered Mae.

They all toasted.

"Right, give us the details. You ... enjoyed him, yet?" asked Rhonda, smiling naughtily.

"You know that's not the plan yet. Get him comfortable, before the onslaught!" said Deanna, sipping her latte.

"Yeah, but if things are going well, no reason to wait, right? You have needs too," smirked Rhonda.

Deanna gave her a look.

"Trey came up with something. It really worked out."

Mae looked around and then asked, "He's not gracing us today?"

"No, I'll meet him later," Deanna brushed her off, brusquely.

Mae looked steadily at Deanna and had some thoughts she kept to herself.

"What was the idea?" asked Gina, speaking for the first time.

"Well," said Deanna, conspiratorially, "he suggested we take up a sport together. Something on the same team, that we have to practice together. Something neither of us had done before, so we are the same ability. Something the family can join in. So we took up ... tada, Frisbee Golf."

There was a stunned silence for a moment, then Gina, struggling to get out her statement without laughing, said "Well, that sounds ... original."

"I know it sounds stupid. But we had the best time. It was great. The entire family together, laughing, being silly. It was like old times. Which is the whole point of the exercise."

"That's certainly good to hear, " said Mae. "Are you thinking this is going to work? What's your feeling here?"

Deanna put down her drink and considered. "I've been taking it day to day, mostly. Not really thinking about it long term. Just trying to make sure each event and meeting is the best it can be. You are right though, I need to take a look at Ryan, talk to him, see if I can get a bead on his emotional state. It's so hard to know with him, even though he used to be so open. He's so guarded now. I thought we'd have more to talk about after the diaries, but apparently not"

"What was his reaction to reading those?" Gina wanted to know.

"Well, it was weird. It was all very hesitant on his part. He asked a couple of questions about where I was when I was writing, what my mindset was, stuff like that. He asked questions about what I was thinking, but he didn't volunteer anything about what he was thinking."

"Did you ask?" persisted Gina.

"I tried, but Ryan has this ... way, about him, where he can put of you asking questions he doesn't want to answer. It's quite aggravating when you realize later that you didn't get a clear answer to what you wanted to know, but at the time, you often don't realize he's doing it."

Deanna considered for a moment, and then said, "If I had to guess, befuddled and bemused is what he is right now. He's not resisting, per-se, but it's just happening to him, if you know what I mean. He's not that much of an active participant yet – wanting to do things. He's just sitting back and letting it all happen to him..."

"Well," said Gina thoughtfully, "that's certainly a drawback to the tack you've taken. I mean, you are the one trying to win him back and overcome your ... indiscretions. It stands to reason he'd be at arms length. We knew that going in."

"I know. But I hadn't really thought about it in those terms till you just brought it up. I need to give him more choices – make him part of the decision making here."

The women all nodded, clearly agreeing with the assessment.

"How are you going to do that?" asked Mae.

"I have no idea," said Deanna, smiling at her exasperatedly. "The whole point of this approach kinda makes him making decisions moot. I guess I'll just have to find things that can be his decision and make him make them. Make him feel like he's more of a part of this."

Mae cleared her throat, and then said, hesitantly, "Deanna. I say this with the best will in the world, and with all the desire I can to see you two together again, but ... have you considered the amount of manipulation going on here? It doesn't shout 'respect' that you are doing this in quite the way you are. Have you really thought about this?"

Deanna looked at Mae in surprise, as did the other women.

"Well, I've been upfront with him about what we are doing and why? I don't really understand what you mean? We all agreed on this plan?"

Again, Mae took a second before replying, considering what she was about to say. "Deanna, there's more than one way to skin a cat. Telling Ryan 'I want to go away with you to Minneapolis' is a far cry from saying to him 'I'm giving you no choice this is a carefully thought out plan to get you hooked on me again, and you get no choice in it.' I'll bet you didn't say that, did you?"

Deanna looked confused. "Are you saying we shouldn't do this? Let it go?" There was almost whining in her voice.

"No, I'm just ... concerned. I think the 'what' of what you are doing is fine. It's a good plan. I'm just a little concerned about the why. The way you are talking about Ryan isn't the way a loving wife should talk. I think you are in danger of getting carried away with the what and the how and not enough of the why."

"I don't understand. We all know why I'm doing this. I want my husband back. I want my kids back. I want my life back. Surely, we all know that?"

Deanna looked in confusion at the other two women present, who echoed her face.

Mae decided that, on looking round at the faces presented to her, retreat was the better part of valor at that precise moment and just murmured, "Of course. I don't know what I was thinking."

Deanna, looked back at her, searching her face and looking for meaning, and after a couple more doubting looks, turned back to the other girls.

"Ok, so Minneapolis is a go. It's all set. Now we need to talk about Vegas. Because that's going to be tricky. Getting Ryan on board with the exhibitionist stuff is not going to be easy ... but it's part of me now and any relationship we have going forward is going to need it. Here's what I'm thinking – Rhonda, double check it..."

" ... so yeah, that was fun," said Deanna, threading her way through the crowd, with Trey following slightly behind. She was clutching a large stuff Minion, from the Despicable Me movies. It was obviously a knock off, but she was clutching it tight anyway. "You honestly didn't have to go win this for me."

Trey stopped, and did an elaborate bow, complete with waving his hands in circles as he bowed. "For you, my lady, it was nothing."

Deanna stopped and looked him up and down, before bursting into laughter.

"Yeah, right, sir Galahad. Are you going to be throwing your cloak on the ground when it's wet too?"

Trey looked up in mock annoyance. "No, I'm going to push you into the puddle, ungrateful cur."

Deanna smiled and held out her hand, "Well, gallant knight, what she we do next? This fun fair was a good idea. I'm sure the family would have a great time here. They'd love the cotton candy, too."

"I'm sure they would," replied Trey. He looked around and said, "How about the do it yourself Ferris wheel? It looks a bit rickety, but it should hold out?"

Deanna looked over at it and then said, "Sure. Looks like a squeeze, but I'm sure that won't be a problem." She smiled mock vivaciously at him and wiggled her hips. "Come up and see me, big boy." She said, attempting to emulate Mae West.

" ... Any ... anytime..." Trey stumbled out, staring at her.

Minutes later they were seating in the Ferris wheel compartment. It was a small wheel, and there was just room for the two of them. The rest of the wheel was full of high school students, all busily making out.

Both Deanna and Trey looked around, somewhat embarrassed at being older and not making out like everyone else.

"So ... lets talk about something. Anything." Said Deanna, a little desperately.

"It's funny," replied Trey, looking into the distance. "I was never allowed to come to these fairs when I was a kid."

"Really?" asked Deanna, looking over at him, fascinated. "Why not?"

"Dad didn't like them. Didn't like what he called the feebleness of the rides, didn't like the prices, didn't like the Carnies who run the place. Just flat out didn't like them at all."

"That's sad," said Deanna, after a while. They went all the way around in silence and then she said, shyly, "I loved them as a kid. I had my first sexual experience after a fun fair visit."

"Seriously?" exclaimed Trey, astonished she'd reveal something that personal.

"Yeah. Ronnie McCloud. First boob grab and ... well, finger insertion of my life. From another person." She said, primly and looking the other way so Trey couldn't see her embarrassment.

There was a beat of silence, and then Trey said, quietly, "Wow."

Then, hesitantly, Trey offered, "Mine was with Sheila Conroy. In the back of a Geo Storm. Late 90's it was. It was all fumbles, passion and total inexperience. I had no clue what I was doing. Still don't, according to the ex wife."

His bitterness was palpable.

"I'm sorry," said Deanna, gently. "I don't mean to open old wounds."

"No, it's fine," said Trey, when it clearly was not. "I'm over it now."

"Can I help?" asked Deanna. "Tell me about it? Unburden? Talking is good for the soul. Tell me about your life."

Trey looked over at her, and the wheel stopped moving, with them at the top of the arc, while people got off and on below them.

"Sure about that? It's a depressing story."

"Of course I'm sure," she said, softly. "I want to know. Please, let me in..."

"OK, well, don't say I didn't warn you. We were married about six years, and then..."

The carnival music carried on, and the wheel kept turning.

It was a long week for me. Lots of meetings, lots of sitting in meetings listening to our guys talk – there were five of us now – and argue and jeeeze, I thought carpenters were bloody-minded but game developers? They take it all to a whole new level. But what was weird is that these guys could scream and yell at each other and call each other names, and then shrug and go out to lunch and talk about TV shows like nothing had happened.

I'll never understand these creative types, but then I guess I don't have to. I just have to trust them. Which, frankly, is even harder.

Anyway. The weekend rolled around – it was a long weekend and although Monday was officially the day off, we'd decided to take Friday off as well. So I arrived home on Thursday night to find a) a strange van in my drive way, b) my kids bouncing off the walls, c) a bunch of packed bags in the foyer and d) my ex-wife, drinking one of my specialty Keurig coffee's, sitting at my kitchen table with Paula, looking at an iPad.

I just stopped and stared. Kids stopped moving and stared back, and Deanna looked up from whatever it was she was doing to the iPad.

"Ah. There you are. We were just thinking about sending out a search party."

"Nice to see you too. What, exactly, is going on?"

Deanna gave me a devastating smile. "Road trip. This is part two of operation Ryan. I did mention it."

"What?" I sputtered, intelligently. "I have things to do this weekend. I have important things going on. I can't just drop it at the last minute."

Deanna looked at Paula, who had a huge smile on her face, and was almost bursting at the seams with ... something. I don't know. Teenage girls are a mystery to me. Always were, always will be.

"Will you just relax, Mr. Grumpy? I know for a fact that you do not have anything pressing going on this weekend. Operative double oh fifteen here has been on the case, and reporting back to D – that's me by the way – and we have it sorted. Clothes are packed, I rented a van. We are off the Mall of America."

Saffron came racing into the kitchen, screaming, as Jamie chased her. "Dad, dad, Jamie won't leave me alone, he keeps trying to tickle me!"

I grabbed Jamie as he edged passed and picked him up by his legs, upside down, held him up, so we were face to upside down face and said, "Son, is this true?"

He said something really fast, so I shook him and said, "Son, be honest now. Are you chasing your sister just so you can tickle her."

His upside down eyes were hard to read, but he nodded, hesitantly.

I put him down. "Good. That's what older sisters are for. Go get her."

"Daaaaaadddddd," screamed Saffron, in that multi-tone way that only pre-teen girls can manage, hitting notes that do not technically exist.

"Out of my hands Saffie. Serves you right for having a little brother."

They ran off again. I knew I'd pay for that later – there'd be something placed in my bed, or the sugar would get replaced with salt for my breakfast cereal or some such. My children are nothing if not inventive in the art of reactive revenge.

I went to the Keurig and got myself a coffee, sniffing at the fact that Deanna had managed to have the last of my caramel coffee escapes – my favorite. And hers too apparently. Hardy surprising at how terrible the coffee she made was. I never understood that when we were married. How can you fuck up coffee? You shake it out of the packet and into the filter, you fill it with water and that's it? How do you screw that up? Yet, she managed.

Another upside of her not living with us; I didn't have to share my good stuff.

"So, Agent Paula. Did you pack for me, or did The Master Controller here do it?" I asked Paula, nodding at Deanna, a little concerned that the answer might be yes. I was prepared to roll with somethings, but that would be a step too far.

"Relax Dad. Nothing embarrassing in there. Although I do think it's time to replace some of those tighty whities. They are getting nasty."

I snorted some of the apple cider I'd just made out my nose. That is not the kind of thing a father wants his teenage daughter to be telling him.

"Well, that's a conversation for another day I think. Possibly several thousand from now." I said, looking at her sternly.

Saffron and Jamie came through the kitchen again. More screaming, only this time it was Saffron chasing Jamie.

Deanna was looking on with an expression I couldn't read. Like regret, pleasure and amusement, all rolled into one.

I sighed. "So, when are we leaving for this amazing shopping trip?"

I hated malls. Especially big ones. The older I got, the less I wanted to be around large groups of people. I've found that it doesn't matter how smart people are individually, when they get in groups of eight or more, IQ points drop dramatically.

I'm also not one for browsing. I know what I want. I do my research. Then I go out and I get it, and then I come home. That's shopping, Ryan style. Women? Well, lets just say that if at least ten different things aren't tried on, then how do you know you got the right one? Am I Right, Ladies?

But, like the lamb to the slaughter, I let myself be led.

Seriously though, I did sit there and think about it. Did I really want a long weekend, cooped up with the ex-wife and all the kids? How did it make me feel? I did feel somewhat ambushed, but then, I reasoned, if we'd not split up, this is something we'd be doing anyway. I had promised to let Deanna have her attempt, so what did I have to lose doing it? So I just let it go. It just wasn't worth the potential aggravation in being a pain in the ass about it.

So into the van we got. It was a nice van too. A Chrysler Town and Country, with leather seats and a 6 DVD TV thing in it.

And we drove to Minneapolis. All 12 hours of it. Complete with movies, singing, question asking; we always had this driving game we played of 'would you rather' - this was the first time Jamie was old enough to comprehend the questions and be a part of it.

There was a part of the trip where the kids were quiet in the back, following a long and spirited discussion of the likelihood of a fight between Pokemon and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I'd learned that, apparently, "Pokemon Theories and Conspiracies" were an actual thing. God bless the Internet, it's such an enabler of educational discourse.

I glanced back, Paula was on her iPad again, and both Saffron and Jamie were out of it, asleep in chairs, pushed back.

I glanced at Deanna, who was driving, intent on the road. I looked out the window and remembered a time in the past, when we'd been on this road before. It was just after we were married. We'd just taken off for a long weekend, very like this one. With no particular aim in mind, we'd headed west, along i90, to see what we could see. We'd passed Minneapolis, and taken a quick afternoon at The Mall of America, and then gone on to go see the faces in stone at Mount Rushmore. It had taken us two days to get there, going through the Badlands of North Dakota. We'd literally spent half an hour there, when we got there – at the time the closest you could get was a mile away – and shaken our heads sadly, and got back into the car and looked for something else to see. Don't get me wrong, it's an impressive accomplishment, but once you've seen it, you've seen it. You don't need to spend more than an hour there to see it.

We'd ended up going over the boarder to go see Devils tower, in Wyoming, which was worth the drive. You could literally climb it, rather than look at it, from a mile away.

Past times, and our current drive was causing a lot of nostalgia. Which, I'm sure, was the point.

I looked over at Deanna, who at that moment was studying me. She smiled at me and said, softly, "Remember the last time we were on this road?"

I nodded. Then smiled as I remember some of the other stuff we got up to. That was my first and last blowjob when driving. She'd deliberately edged me, so I didn't get to cum, and it had not been a good thing, when driving through traffic. Terrifically sexy, but not good in terms of us not driving into another car. We'd both agreed afterwards that it was great, we'd done it, it was fun, and we'd probably not do it again, at least, not like that.

She smiled back, with the same sort of smile. She remembered too. But we had kids in the car, so there wasn't going to be any discussion of, which was probably just as well. We both remembered – we had the shared history; that was all the moment needed.

The entire weekend was fun, if I had to grudgingly admit it. We went to the mall, I managed to avoid almost any shopping. We did the Lego attraction; Jamie, Saffron and I did the Nickelodeon theme park in the middle, although I was convinced that is should have been a Charlie Brown theme park. When I'd gone to the Mall of America with Deanna I'd swear it had been a Charlie Brown theme park then. We did Sea Life Aquarium and Paula and Deanna went shopping and spent more than is humanly possible; Paula would be baby sitting for the rest of her life to pay back the advance she demanded from me to pay for it all.

The hotel worked out – we ended up having two rooms. Deanna stayed in one, with Paula and Saffron, and Jamie and I stayed in the other. On Saturday night, we went down to the hotel bar to have a drink together while Paula babysat, but it was mostly just small talk; no big subjects discussed. Thankfully.

Really, it was just like old times, except there wasn't the closeness or intimacy we'd previously enjoyed. I got the distinct impression that was the point though – to re-invoke familial feelings, and not jump on the whole "lets get naked" bandwagon.

It was smart. I could feel myself falling into patterns we'd had before. It was scarily easy in fact. I'd been without Deanna for over 18 months, and I'd learned to adjust. I still had a lot of thoughts about her – you can't have been married and have kids and not have a bucket full of memories that drag up at the drop of a hat – but I'd gone though the pain and – at least partially - come out the other side.

What was surprising was being back on the other side, and being re-introduced to our familial situation, and finding how much of it wasn't related to our individual feelings for each other. I could be comfortable around Deanna, be a co-parent with her, and everything that comes along with that, while having no romantic relationship with her at all. I was astonished at how much of the parent mode has no relationship to romantic mode. That's not to say that there weren't moments where, pre The Event, I wouldn't have smacked her ass and got a kiss, or threatened bodily retribution later that night for some imagined or manufactured slight, but there were less of those moments than you might think. Or, at least, it felt that way.

When we went down for a drink, I was quite nervous. Deana and I had never really had 'the conversation' regarding what she did. We'd never gone into it in much detail, beyond her video she sent to me. And I wasn't really ready to do so tonight. I still wasn't even sure of my own feelings. I'd tried, one drunken evening, to talk to Simon and Polly about it, but Simon had been sarcastic, and Polly vitriolic, and it was more about them expressing how annoyed they were than anyone really listening to me.

I knew that I could never just condone or 'get over' what she'd done. Our marriage, as it was, was over. There was no question about that, and I'd done what I needed to do for my own self worth. But now? Now the dust had settled? I'd gotten my life back on track, managed to keep my kids with me, and moved on. Mostly. I still hadn't really jump started the love life, and I was still a little puzzled at that. I'd tried, and just not been that interested. That couldn't be healthy.

Were there still left over feelings that had to be dealt with? If so, they weren't obvious ones. Did I want to pick up with Deanna again? Part of me did. She was a known quantity. I'd been happy – before I very much was not. She evidently wanted to pick it back up. She'd seen the value in what we had and was trying to reconnect. It was no effort for me. But the fear of being hurt again, that was there. As was my own self-respect, and lastly, a lack of trust. For almost anyone in fact.

In fact, the more I examined it, the more I saw how much the trust crack fault lines went out further than just the Land of Deanna. When she'd busted open that landmass, with her little earthquake, the damage had gone out far and wide. Maybe that's why my attempts at dating had just not worked out.

All this went through my mind as I sat in the hotel room, after having taken a shower, listening to Paula complaining about the state of her feet (My statement of "Well, if you will run around a mall all day in flip flops with wedges in them, what do you expect?" had been met with an eye roll, and a second stream of complaining. She was So Much Her Mother at times.) I'd dressed in the bathroom then just sat there, on the bed, listening to Paula bleat on and on, much like the teachers in the Charlie Brown cartoons, while Saffron and Jamie were in Deanna's room, watching some cartoon about a kid with fairy god parents.

Suddenly she stopped and looked at me.

"You ok Dad?"

I just looked at her, for a second, not saying anything, feeling nervous, miserable, like everyone had expectations of me that I had no hope of fulfilling, and wasn't sure I wanted to.

"Oh Dad..." Suddenly she was sitting next to me and I was wrapped up in her arms. "It ok ... Dad ... it's ok."

I wasn't crying. At all. Just wanted to point that out. Not even remotely. I was just ... withdrawn.

She pulled away from me and looked at me.

"It's all happening very fast, isn't it? Mom being back, us doing something like this? No one's even asked you what you want, have they?"

I didn't say anything again, not trusting myself to speak. Why is it my daughter doing this, and not anyone else?

"Dad, it's ok. If you don't want to go down and have a drink, stay here with me. We can watch a movie. Jamie and Saffie are fine in the other room. Don't let her little plan pressure you."

I have never been more proud of my daughter than right then.

"I'm ok Paula. I'll survive. I'm just ... not even sure what I think or want some of the time, you know?" I managed to croak out.

"I love you Dad. Whatever you want, it's fine by me," she replied.

I just smiled back and got up, one last check in the mirror to ensure I hadn't peed down my chino's, or tucked my jacket into the back of them.

"Off into the wild blue yonder," I murmured.

"Pixar movie?" asked Paula on the bed, tilting her head.

"Philistine!" I snorted at her. "Look it up!"

All that pride fled.

As it was, it was an anti climax.

Deanna was waiting in the hotel bar, a red wine in front of her and a beer waiting for me. She brightened with a smile as I sat down. She was dressed conservatively, but classily. Like she always did.

"There you are. I was about to send out a rescue party."

I grimaced and said, "It takes more than a days shopping to put down this hunter."

She patted my hand and said, huskily, "I'm sure it does. I have a good idea what does..."

I involuntarily started and moved my hand away. That was a warning shot across the bows.

Deanna noticed and said, quickly, "That was a joke, Ryan. While I would not be averse to a little bedroom play, we have kids to consider here, and I don't think either one of us is really ready for that. That time will come."

She stopped, looked more closely at me, and then said, "And I can see you are worried. Don't worry Ryan. I'm not here to propose to you, nor am I here to cross-examine you. Or me for that matter. They'll come a time for that, but not now. Now, lets just enjoy an evening of company and stuff, ok? No one needs to bare their soul – or anything else – tonight. Take the pressure off yourself."

With that somewhat reassuring statement, she turned the conversation to another area, that of conference development, where she went on and on about how hard it was to make girls show up for conferences on time. Apparently women who are paid to be pretty don't tend to imagine they are paid for anything else, like being anywhere on time for example.

It was a pleasant night, as I said earlier. We talked, had a few laughs, a little reminiscing, staying very far away from the danger areas. At the very least, it proved we could be in the same space for a prolonged time and I'd not want to kill her, which was a step above where I'd been for the most of the past 18 months.

I did at one point ask her about the people who were helping her.

"Who are these guys? How did you meet them?"

"You won't really believe it. Jim – our therapist? Remember him? – talked about a support network. I mean, all I had that the time was Melissa, and she's ... well, I love my sister, but she's not supportive of anyone. You know what I mean. Way too damaged. Crystal wouldn't speak to me, although honestly, what she'd have to say that I could keep a straight face to, I don't know. So I went looking. I found them on Craigslist, of all things."

"Seriously? What did their ad look like?"

"Oh it was titled something like "Post Cheater Support network' or something like that. They made it plain in the ad that it was women only, and not dedicated to just going out to find more people to fuck. I mean, you take that risk right? Like some AA groups are really about finding more effective ways to hide your drinking? I did worry a bit. But I called them, talked to Mae, who started the group, and met them and, well, we meet once a week or so. Talk about all sorts of stuff, with the whole recovery thing mixed in. It's like a social club where everyone is tied together because of what they did."