Part 8

Day 24

On Wednesday morning Caitlyn was alone again. Jon was long gone; it was, after all, nearly nine in the morning, and he had been at work for almost two hours. Caitlyn, for her part, had very little to look forward to; the new semester at Shellview State would not resume for another few weeks. Jon had suggested she look for a short-term job, an idea she wasn't particularly keen on but knew she didn't really have a choice over. They were paying $2,000 a month in rent, expenses, insurance and other bills; that was most of Jon's paycheck. If they wanted to make or save any, it would have to come from Caitlyn—a startling thought for a twenty-year-old woman who had never held a steady job before.

Well, I can sleep in a little bit. I won't miss any job openings by closing my eyes for another twenty minutes. Or will I? What if someone's auctioning a job off on eBay? —Okay, maybe not something that crazy, but, what if someone's about to apply for my dream job, and if I don't get up right now, I'll miss it?

She was still pondering this potential quandary when a banging noise came from the door. Moments later, there was a buzzing noise as her mystery visitor figured out how to operate the doorbell. Caitlyn sat bolt upright. Whoever might it be, here on January 2nd at nine in the morning?

Caitlyn got out of bed and was about to head for the door when she remembered what she was wearing: specifically, nothing. They had long gotten out of the habit of wearing clothes when they went to bed: they never seemed to be wearing them when they got up. She grabbed the nearest things to hand—a pair of Jon's sweatpants and an old sweater—and was about to answer the buzzing doorbell again when she noticed the used condoms on the nightstand. (I swear, those are like a permanent decoration. How many have we gone through?—and us being married for less than a month!) She shoveled those into the trash, thinking in passing that, for once, they'd served a good purpose; whoever this person was, leaning on the doorbell like the Devil himself was after them, it would probably suit her to greet them without dried come crusting on her legs.

When Caitlyn finally opened the door, it was no one she knew: a woman, maybe her mother's age, with mousy brown hair, a seamed, lined face, careful eyes. Caitlyn thought she'd seen her around the apartment complex, but she couldn't be sure.

"Good morning," said the woman.

"Umm," said Caitlyn. "Good morning."

"I hope I'm not interrupting you," said the woman, with a smile that did not carry into her eyes.

Caitlyn felt a budding kernel of dislike: with as long as it had taken her to answer the door, it ought to be clear that she had been interrupted. She said, "No, not at all."

"All right," said the woman.

There was studied silence for a moment. Caitlyn tried not to fidget. Where was Jon when she needed him? He had always been far better at dealing with new people.

"I'm Margaret Clarke," said the woman abruptly, holding out her hand.

She shook it. "Caitlyn De- Caitlyn Stanford."

"Is your boyfriend still here?" said Margaret Clarke.

Caitlyn frowned. How would she know there's a man here? "No," she said, "I have no boyfriend. My husband is at work."

"Oh," said Margaret Clarke. "Well. I see."

"Is, uh, is there anything I can help you with," Caitlyn said, desperate to find out what this woman wanted. Either that, or get her out of her face.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I came here to approach you about something," said Margaret Clarke.

Caitlyn kept her face impassive at the odd choice of phrasing. "All right."

"Two days ago," said Margaret Clarke. "My children and I were watching the New Year's ceremony at Times Square. Did you see it? It was marvelous."

"Yes, we saw it," said Caitlyn, with a cold feeling about where this was heading.

"Well," said Mrs. Clarke. "During the festivities, my two boys—they're only six and nine, it was very exciting for them to be allowed to stay up and watch the ceremony—during the festivities, my two boys happened to be looking out the window. They were bored, as young boys are wont to be. And, as we live in 547, across the courtyard, we can see this side of the building fairly well."

"I see," Caitlyn said.

"Can you recall what you and your 'husband' were doing at about 11:50 on New Year's Eve?"

Caitlyn fought to keep her voice neutral. "Yes."

"Then you can imagine what I and my boys saw when we looked out our window, Ms. Stanford."

"What you saw," said Caitlyn, "was husband and wife, sharing with each other a gift from God, to express their love for each other and strengthen their marriage."

"What I saw," said Mrs. Clarke, "I saw through open windows."

Caitlyn's mind found a gap in the logic. "The lights were off. I'm surprised you saw anything at all."

"Well," said Mrs. Clarke, bristling. "My sons have exceptional eyesight. At first I thought it was innocent—my little Robert turned to me and said, 'Mommy, what are those two people doing?' But when I looked myself—why, my heart almost stopped in my chest."

"And what did your little Robert's father have to say?" Caitlyn asked.

Mrs. Clarke's face closed. "His father divorced me just after Robert was born."

I can't imagine why. It was an unworthy thought, but she could not prevent it. Nor deny it. "And what did you tell them, Mrs. Clarke?"

"I told them that they should turn their faces away from those who would sin in the sight of God and man," said Mrs. Clarke.

The only other person I've heard say that—'In the sight of God and man'—is Jon. I wonder where they got it. Caitlyn picked her words carefully. "Well, you'll be pleased to know that it was not a sin, Mrs. Clarke. Jon and I are happily married. We have only been so for a few weeks, which is why we are, perhaps... Eager, at times, to enjoy ourselves. But we made the decision to wait, and have never regretted doing so."

"I see," said Mrs. Clarke, in a voice that suggested she believed nary a word.

"So, tell me," Caitlyn said in a pleasant, conversational tone. "What sin did you see?"

"What I saw," said Mrs. Clarke, "was you, and your 'husband'—" The quotes were even more audible now. "—sharing pleasure, in the sight of God and man."

"Well," said Caitlyn. "I can understand how that might dismay you, and I apologize for alarming your children, but I don't see how that's a sin."

"It is," Mrs. Clarke insisted. "Coupling is a shameful thing that should be done in secrecy, not, not on the couch in front of the window for all the world to see."

Caitlyn tried to keep from gawking, and almost succeeded. "A— A shameful—"

"God frowns upon you when He sees your wanton lust," Mrs. Clarke declared in sepulchral tones. "It is the way of sin. It is the way of the devil. Your coupling must be chaste, and only for the purposes of procreation."

Caitlyn was devoutly glad she'd hidden the condoms. "Must it."

"Yes."

"Where'd you get that idea?"

"It's in the Scripture," Margaret Clarke insisted.

"Book, chapter, verse," Caitlyn demanded, marching over to the bookshelf where her own copy of the Bible rested.

"1st Thessalonians, chapter 4, verses 3 through 5", said Mrs. Clarke—and then, before Caitlyn could even open her Bible, recited the quotation. "For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you should abstain from sexual immorality; that each of you should know how to possess his own vessel in sanctification and honor, not in passion of lust, like the Gentiles who do not know God." Then she stood there, glowering.

Caitlyn finally got to the assigned page. Her copy had it a little differently: "It is God's will that you should be sanctified: that you should avoid sexual immorality; that each of you should learn to control his own body in a way that is holy and honorable." The crack about lustful Gentiles made her bristle—what right, after all, did this woman have to judge her faith based on a few glimpses of a passionate moment? Did it say that sex was intended solely for childbearing purposes? No, not really... But it could be interpreted that way, depending on one's definitions of 'sexual immorality.' Perhaps it should be; it was certainly true that almost all sin starts as an excess of something. Heck, Caitlyn herself might have seen it that way, once upon a time, not all that long ago. A lifetime ago. A marriage ago.

But she wasn't going to let this snotty, mouse-haired lady who didn't have a husband and maybe didn't even have kids boss her around.

"Ma'am," she said finally. "As a Christian, it is my duty to inspire the love and faith of Christ in all those around me. If I share in the sacramental love that God ordained me to share with my husband, I don't think God will frown on me. However—" She held up a hand, interrupting Mrs. Clarke as she began to bluster. "—However. It is not my duty to inspire sacramental love in other people. If you would prefer that your family not be... Exposed... To what my husband and I do together, then, very well. Next time I shall close the windows."

Mrs. Clarke's face grew grim.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," said Caitlyn primly. "I'm a student at the university, and class starts in about ten minutes." It was a lie, but a small one—only jumping forward three weeks, as opposed to, say, killing millions of Jews. "Thank you for your visit."

Margaret Clarke's face could have launched a thousand thunderbolts. "You have not heard the last of me, young lady. Nor your 'husband' either."

Who asked you, Caitlyn thought, closing the door.

Now it was 9:20, and she had no idea what to do with herself. She didn't exactly want to be awake, but there was clearly no going back to sleep—not riled up the way she was. Despondent, she threw herself at the computer, checking empty e-mail accounts and boring websites, and then fired up the television, though there was nothing much going on there on a Wednesday morning either.

I wish I could talk to Jon. But she tried not to do that while he was at work; Polkiss-Leyton had been too kind to them to even consider irking them. None of her friends from Greenfield were available, and even if she had made any at Shellview State (she hadn't) they might not be here. And she couldn't even go driving somewhere; Jon had their car. It just wasn't a good time, she decided, to be bored and lonely, she decided.

There's dishes to do, she thought, and laundry to run. And I should do some harp practice at the very least, or pull out my oboe and work on some of that. Jon's been very bad for my music. Of course, if I did practice, that Margaret Clarke would come over and complain about noise pollution too.

The visit had discomforted her more than she had realized. Caitlyn was devout in her faith; she knew what mattered to her, and that this life was temporary while the next was forever. Whatever it took to make sure she would pass between those pearly gates, she would do. But in her mind, as long as she and God were square, no one else had any right to criticize her or make demands of her.

She reminds me of my mother. She knew exactly the buttons to press. Jon's the only person who's ever been able to get a reaction out of me so... Thoroughly.

The problem was, what if Margaret Clarke was right? What if coupling was a shameful thing? What if it was wrong to take such pleasure in sex? Caitlyn was a careful person by nature; she interpreted the Bible broadly, to be sure that no sin or anything even close to it should pass from her. If it was in the Bible, it was something she should heed; it was as simple as that.

So what does this say?

She knew what Jon would say: something fanged and vicious about conservatives and their narrow-minded views. But this was Jon, who had wanted her to break the fornication laws—and not even for her sake, but for his! Jon was selfish; he didn't even deny it, though he certainly did his best to turn it to beneficial use. Well, let Jon be who he wanted to; it didn't bother her to be conservative by modern standards. If he had a problem with that, he'd just have to deal with it.

And, to be fair, so far he hadn't had a problem with it; when their ideologies clashed, he had explained his views and opinions, and then let her make the final decision. This was especially true of their lovemaking, which (she had to admit) she controlled almost totally. True, he initiated most of the time... But she knew that if she pushed him away, if she told him, No, not today, that he would back off and leave her alone. He would if she did.

She hadn't yet.

He has made me more... What was that word she used? 'Wanton.' I thought that was Chinese food. I guess it means, what's the dictionary say... Uh. "Immoral or unchaste; lewd." And also, "Frolicsome; playful." Right. Well, together, they mean... Sensual, I suppose. Interested in pleasure. Hedonistic. Well, yes, he has encouraged that part of me: he's encouraged me to enjoy myself, and it's worked, and I have. The question now is whether that's a good thing or not.

I need advice.

The first person she was able to get an opinion from was her harp teacher, Mrs. Jane Sellitz, who was luckily in between lessons and could spare a few moments for a phone call. Jane was not an especially devout person, nor particularly complex in her theology, but Caitlyn trusted her—she'd been taking harp lessons from her for five years now, first at Greenfield and then at Shellview State—and she had been one of the few people Caitlyn had ever confided in, to small extents before Jon entered her life and to larger extents after. But Caitlyn had never talked to her about religious matters. She wasn't even sure what to expect to hear from Mrs. Sellitz. But she knew she wanted to hear it. She wanted to hear from somebody.

"That sounds Puritan to me," Mrs. Sellitz said. "I mean, I know our country was founded by religious conservatives trying to escape persecution, but some of their attitudes are really outmoded now, and this is one of them. If God had meant for sex to be shameful, it seems to me He would have made us feel shame over it. We don't. In fact, we feel pleasure in it—because God intended for us to do so. Anyone who thinks God doesn't want us to enjoy sex needs their head examined. I don't know about the wisdom of doing it on the couch with the blinds drawn open, though," she added with an audible grin.

It took until much later in the day, after Jon came home, to get the second opinion she wanted, which was Reverend Pendleton's. For the most part, he agreed with Mrs. Sellitz. "Now, there's a line between celebrating our bodies, and celebrating our bodies in a way that offends people, and—in that you seem to have offended someone—" He was laughing. "—you may have crossed that line. Which is something you may want to be aware of in the future. Sometimes the urge to be intimate is... Overwhelming. That's part of God's gift to us: that He made it so powerful, and so enjoyable. But there are always people who will be offended by any honest demonstration of feelings, never mind one of such a private nature. That's just part of life. The only thing we can do is try to stay away from them."

And of course Jon had his own things to say. "Under what rock did she grow up. Just wait until her kids get to The Program. She'll have a heart attack and then they'll be orphans."

"Just because she doesn't want them exposed to sex now doesn't mean she'll mind later," Caitlyn reminded him. "They are less than ten years old."

"No," said Jon, "it doesn't, but she will. That's the problem with our culture. We started off with these religious conservatives and their attitudes never really died. We as a culture are scared of sex. —Which isn't necessarily inappropriate, 'cause sex is a powerful thing. But the only thing to do with fear is face it, not run away from it."

"Still, they're boys," said Caitlyn. "You know how people can be. It's okay for guys to have urges, but not women. Women have to be chaste."

"Is that what your parents believed," Jon asked. "Did they let Nate be all horn-doggy and all that?"

Caitlyn fidgeted. "No."

"There's people who believed that sex is solely for procreation, and that it's a sin to feel pleasure doing it," Jon said, and Caitlyn felt a chill at the echo of Mrs. Clarke's words, which she had not repeated—she had only given him the gist of the encounter. (She hadn't needed to give more before he exploded out of the gate.) "There's people who still believe it."

"Yes, but..." said Caitlyn. "What if they're right?"

Jon stopped, and gave her a long look, half fondness and half exasperation. "Fifty years of scientific research goes up against two thousand years of pure superstition, and guess which one you side with."

"Jon, things are in the Bible for a reason."

"And where in the Bible does it say that taking pleasure in sex is inherently sinful," Jon asked her.

She showed him the same verse Mrs. Clarke had showed her.

"Come on," said Jon. "That's a warning against lust. We're married. We don't have to worry about that."

"Yes we do!" she exclaimed. "Jon, it isn't called one of the Seven Deadly Sins for nothing, you know."

"So, what, are they admonishing us against being too sexual?"

"Maybe," she said. "Jon, we... I don't know what's going to be normal for us, really, I mean, we haven't even been married a month. And I don't know what's normal for people who have been married a month, whether they're always this... Into each other. But we've... We've been having a lot of sex, Jon. Almost every day."

"We haven't today," he said.

"Yeah, but it's only six o'clock, you know we'll probably."

"Well... Yeah. But there's been days when we didn't do it."

"Which we've made up for by doing it more than once on other days. How many times did we do it on Saturday? We've averaged more than once a day by now."

Jon grimaced. "If you wanna... Hold back a little..."

She knew he wouldn't like it if she wanted to; she knew he would accept it nonetheless. He had always put her first; it was part of why she loved him.

But she didn't want to hold back. And that was part of the problem.

"Jon, I think we just need to... Be less... Open about it. I mean, admit it: doing it on the couch with the windows open... Just... That was not... Wise."

"Yeah."

"Let's just try and keep our... Activity... On the down-low from now on."

"On the what?" said Jon.

"And..." she said, ignoring him. He had always given her slang dubious looks. "If other adjustments need to be made, well... We'll talk about them."

"Okay."

But after dinner, another swift crisis came up, when Caitlyn got up to use the bathroom. While there, she discovered something very interesting. "Aack! Jon, I'm on my period!"

"Oh," he said. He blotted out the doorway, probably seeing her panties colored with a faint tinge of blood.

"I can't believe I forgot. I started the first Wednesday of December, it's the first Wednesday of January—"

"That doesn't always work, sometimes there are five weeks in a month."

She was scrambling around for pads. "Uh-oh. Did we forget to get me any, um. Any sanitary napkins?"

His brow furrowed. "You know, now that I think about it..."

"Oh, jeez. Here, let me go to the store. I'll be right back."

She drove Jon's car to the nearest drug store. She had been in it many times, but only in the passenger seat, and it was weird to be behind the wheel. The hardest part was figuring out the levers and knobs and controls to change the seat around; Jon was quite a bit taller than her, enough to make it impossible to drive with the seat in his configuration. And the gear shift was on a stalk control, instead of the center throttle she was used to from her parents' trucks and SUVs. But once she got herself oriented, she and Buffy made good time to the store.

The sanitary napkins were easy to find, and while she was at it she decided to grab an extra box of condoms; they were almost out, and though the Pill ought to be in force by now, she had a thought to make Jon keep using them until her next scheduled ovulation, just to be safe. And even if not, what harm would one more box do?—they might need them someday.

But when she reached the aisle with all the condoms in it, she hesitated.

Come on, she thought to herself. It's just an aisle. All you're gonna do is march down it, pull a box off the rack, and walk away. And then... And then get in line at the cash register, and pay for them, and have to endure the cashier's looks while she thinks, 'Oh, this woman must be having sex.' And every other person who sees me while I walk to the register. They'll be thinking that too. They'll know that I'm having sex—

Suddenly she understood why Jon had always insisted that they buy condoms as a couple.

Okay. Okay. It's all right. They don't know. Maybe I'm a schoolteacher... A really young one. Who is teaching... Sex ed. Or, maybe I'm a single woman who is... Curious. Yes, that's it. Or, or maybe, um. Maybe I was going to make balloon animals out of them, for... For... Oh freaking heck! They're all going to think I'm having sex!

Okay. Okay. Just... Walk down the aisle. You've done that once already. Just walk down the aisle, pick up the box, and walk back out. Very easy, very simple. Very cool. It's easy. Go ahead.

It was all very well until she had the box in her hand. Then she almost ran.

"Why'd you get those," Jon asked. "I thought they said that you'd be safe by your next period. You have been taking it regularly, right?"

"I haven't missed a one," she said. She'd originally thought it might be easy to forget to take the Pill in the mornings, but they'd been having so much sex that it stayed on the forefront of her mind. "But, I just... Want to be safe. You know, around the time when I'm... Most fertile."

"Well, we don't have to use those while you're actually menstruating, do we," he said, standing up, and suddenly she noticed the bubbling air of excitement about him. She had totally missed it during the panic of bleeding. He doesn't want to use condoms anymore... Well, and to be fair, neither do I.

But sex during her period? "Eew! Jon, I'm bleeding down there!"

"So?" he said. "I don't care. I just use my hands instead of my mouth."

"Yeah, but— But— Jon, that's dirty."

"So's most of sex."

She didn't answer. She couldn't really explain what she was feeling.

"Look," he said. "If you don't want to, we don't. But what I'm saying is, I want to, and I can't think of any really good reason not to."

"You just want to do it without the condom," she said spitefully.

He flinched, but stood his ground. "Yes. And I know you do too. The fact that you're bleeding doesn't bother me. And I can't think of any reason it ought to bother you. Besides, from what I saw, you don't bleed much anyway." That much was true; she rarely had anything more than a trickle.

She sighed. "Look. I still want to call Pastor Pendleton. I haven't gotten his opinion yet, and I'd really like to. Let me do that first." And he gave her a look as if to say, I know you're stalling, but made no other argument.

So she called Larry Pendleton, and he gave his opinion on Margaret Clarke and her hard-line Christianity, which was more or less what she'd predicted. "I'd also like to ask, how is Jon reacting to this?"

"He's..." She glanced at Jon, who was doing the dishes—probably to give his hands something to do. "He's scornful."

"Of what?"

"Of... Of the idea that sex is something to be ashamed of."

"And well he should be. Caitlyn, sex can be very embarrassing—especially when you try something new and it doesn't work out quite the way you wanted it to. But it's not shameful, at least not when shared in love. And no one with eyes to see or ears to hear can truthfully claim that you and Jon don't love each other."

"Yeah. But now he's... Unh."

"He is... ?"

Caitlyn colored. "Well. I'm... It's that time of the month."

"And Jon is... Not deterred?"

Caitlyn colored further. "No."

"Well, Caitlyn. Believe it or not, I often get couples asking me about bedroom matters, and this issue comes up quite a bit. And I've always said, If your man isn't willing to put in, he shouldn't expect you to put out. Sex is a matter of give and take, like anything else in a marriage. If all he wants is to go in and serve himself, it's totally within your right to take issue with that."

"No, no no, that's the thing. He said he'd..." Her face was positively on fire now, and the words were practically a whisper. "He said he'd just use his hand."

"Oh."

"I don't... I mean, that's dirty."

"What is? The hand or the blood?"

"The... The blood."

"Well, there's a precedent for that. Blood is a powerful thing. People bleed when they're hurt. When a child looks like their parents, or has their talents, we say that it's in their blood. When Orthodox Jewish women are on their period, they are supposed to stay away from men for fear of contamination. And Christ gave us his blood, to seal our new covenant with him. Not Budweiser, not Dasani, but blood. Blood is a powerful thing."

"So what if... What if Jon gets contaminated?"

"Do you really believe that?"

The likelihood of that was slim, especially since that law was more spiritual than biological in nature. The question was not whether her blood would harm him in this world, but rather the next. "I don't know. Probably not."

"Well, it's up to you. But, personally, I don't think menstrual flow makes you unclean. If anything, it's a celebration of God's divine gift of Creation, given to you as to all women. You can bring forth life out of your body, Caitlyn. That is a precious gift. Now, creation is not an easy thing; you pay for it, and with one of your most important parts. But if anything, that blood makes you holy. And if Jon wants to, ah, worship at the altar of your holiness, do you really want to turn him down?"

"... Did you just make an innuendo?"

He laughed. "Well, Caitlyn, I may be a minister, but I'm also a human. That makes me prey to all the other human failings—like innuendos. I understand that Gerald and Dacey's small-group study came to an end last year."

It took a moment to follow the topic shift, and another to follow the calendar. Last year? —Oh, yes: it's January 2nd. "Yes, it did."

"Well, I happen to know that George Larson is starting up a group this week—I believe the first session is this coming Tuesday—for people in college or just out of it. I thought you might like to know."

"Ooh! Yes, I would like to know!" She had been in George Larson's small groups before, and they were inspiring; he always found new ways to not only make the Bible fun, but make it make sense. "Do you think he would mind if Jon came?"

"Well, I'm sure he wouldn't, but the real question is, do you think Jon would mind if Jon came."

"... Well, yeah. I'll ask him about it."

"Do. But if Jon wants to come, I'm certain he's welcome."

But Jon was less than pleased with the idea. "Caitlyn, I'm not sure... I don't know if..."

"You don't want to go," she said flatly.

"No, it's not that, it's..."

"You don't want to go," she said again.

He sighed.

"Jon, it's okay if you don't want to go."

He gave her a sideways look. "Just listen to the way you said that and tell me if you really meant it."

She felt her cheeks heating. Okay, so she hadn't really meant it. She'd live with it if he didn't want to, but in her opinion his relationship with God was dangerously unhealthy.

"Caitlyn, you've just demonstrated why I don't want to go. I've already had... Well, do you remember what I told you about that girl Karen I used to date?"

"A little," Caitlyn said. Jon had had a fairly constant string of relationships from high school onward; it was a little difficult for her to keep them straight, especially since thinking about them fed her own feelings of inadequacy. Jonathan Stanford had been playing the field since he was fourteen, while Caitlyn Delaney had had exactly one relationship ever. Of course, that man was now her husband, so she supposed her dating life had been successful, but she still couldn't tell Karen from Alice from Tia from Maggie from Jennifer from a hole in the ground.

"Well, this was back in high school," said Jon, "and I really liked her. I'm not sure how she felt. But she was... Intense. About her faith. And she seemed to think it was her mission to convert me."