Chapter 10

The next morning, Sunday, I was up early, so I showered and dressed, and left the house without seeing or talking to Martha, to get a quiet breakfast.

I did phone Stephanie to see if she cared to join me, and she told me that she would be along in a couple of minutes. I ordered my coffee, and told the waitress that someone would be joining me, so I would wait to order until she arrived. I sipped at my coffee for fifteen minutes or so, before Stephanie arrived.

We ordered our breakfasts, and started talking.

I briefly explained what had happened the night before, and what I had decided.

"Mark, I'm so sorry. While I have my own selfish reasons for being close to you, I never wanted to see Martha suffer," she told me.

"Honestly, Steph, you're just a bystander to this little drama. The problem existed before you and I got together, and as far as I can see, there is no real solution for it. I've just been forced to accept that I can change my life to be happy, or I can continue being angry, frustrated, and miserable. As far as Martha is concerned, there is nothing I can do about her happiness. I can't change her. She doesn't need a husband, she needs a handy-man," I replied, laughing at my own little joke.

Then I turned the subject to my objective for the day.

"I'm going to find someplace to rent, and move out of the house. Tomorrow, I'll print out the papers for the do-it-yourself divorce, and put together a plan for splitting our assets that I can present to Martha later in the week," I explained, laying out my plan.

At that point our food arrived, and we started eating.

"Why don't you just move in with me?" Stephanie offered, flirting with her eyes, before taking a sip of her orange juice.

"I would be very tempted, you little vixen, you!" I smiled as I said it.

"But as much as I appreciate the offer, I think that it would just create more problems.

"First, it will be much more palatable to Martha if I'm living by myself while the divorce is taking place," I told her, and she nodded that she could see the point.

"Additionally, Steph, as strongly as I feel about you, I'm also worried that we could be moving too fast as it is. It may be that we should be together, but what if what you, a love-deprived widow," we smiled at each other as I said that, "and I, a lustful old man, have together isn't enough of a foundation upon which to build a long-term relationship? In a way, you and I are both on the rebound, and as a couple of mature, intelligent people, and it would be wise to give ourselves a little time.

"Anyway, wouldn't it be embarrassing if five- or six-months down the road, you got fed up with me, and had to kick me out of your condo?" I put my hand over hers as I made this last point.

"Darling Mark, you're right, I'm sure. But my heart wants to move your butt into my bed, where I can keep all of those other horny widows away from you!" she replied laughing.

It was good to have someone to talk with, who could lift my spirits while I was confronting one of the hardest acts of my life.

Stephanie looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds.

"You know, Mark, maybe I can't have you in my bed immediately, but would you consider renting a place close enough that we could walk from your place to mine?" she queried.

"Sure. You know of a condo for rent in your neighborhood?" I asked.

"I think so. Let me make a phone call," Stephanie suggested, and away she went.

That afternoon, I had signed a lease for an elegant condo, just a block away from Stephanie's, whose owner was on temporary assignment on the east coast for a year. It was mostly furnished, and I could move in immediately.

It was late afternoon when I returned home, or at least to the house that had been my home for so many years. As of that moment, it was no longer 'home.'

Martha was sitting in the living room. I don't know what she'd been doing. She had obviously gotten up and showered and dressed during the day, but I couldn't see a book next to her, and she didn't switch the TV off when I entered the room, so maybe she'd been just sitting waiting for me to return all day.

She looked somber, and a little angry, but she wasn't emotionally falling to pieces.

"Off with your girlfriend for the day, I suppose. You and she have a good laugh about my 'shortcomings' last night?" she asked bitterly.

Again, I felt the impulse to comfort her, to reassure her, to be her anchor in the storm. But this time, I resisted, knowing she would just rebuff any sympathetic move I could make.

"I've rented a place, and I am moving out. I came home to get a few things for tonight, and I'll come back during the week to get the rest of what I want," I said, calmly, my emotional batteries drained.

I looked at her again,

"Martha, I would never laugh at you or intentionally be cruel to you. I've always admired you in many ways, and I've always been proud of you, and that will never change."

She cringed a little.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have lashed out like that. I know you better than that. And I've always been proud of you. I've always thought that you are the best man that I know," she whispered, looking down at the carpet.

"Is this really necessary?" she finally asked.

"I don't see an alternative," I sadly concluded. She didn't offer me any alternatives, either.

I packed a suitcase of clothes and toiletries, grabbed my computer equipment and a few other things from my office that I would need in the next couple of days.

On my final trip out to the car, I stopped again in the living room. As far as I could see, Martha hadn't moved.

"I'll stop by later this week, and we can sit down and talk," I proposed, waiting for her affirmation that she agreed.

"OK. Call me at the office to let me know when you're coming first, just in case, so I don't work late or go out to eat or something," she requested.

"Sure," I said as I closed the door behind me, and walked away.

I rented a truck that week, and retrieved my things from the house, mostly clothes, my tools, and some odds and ends — some CD's and DVD's that I knew Martha would not want. The only piece of furniture that I took to my new place was my king-sized bed, mattress, and the linens and blankets that fit it. It was a lot more comfortable than the bed that had been in the condo.

I didn't see Stephanie much the first week — at dance class, and once she did come over and we made love once on the bed that I had expected to revive Martha's and my relationship. It worked better with a more cooperative partner.

On the whole, I was feeling down and depressed. I couldn't help but seeing myself as a failure as a husband. Martha was the woman with whom I'd expected to grow old. Instead, it seemed most likely that we would be going our separate ways.

That evening I called up my sons, Dan and Josh, and told them a little about what was happening. Not entirely to my surprise, they let me know that Martha had already called them. I didn't ask what she had said, but rather asked them to meet with me face-to-face the following Saturday, and we could hash things out.

All I asked of them was to let me give them my perspective on what was happening, before they reached any conclusions. They readily agreed; actually, they agreed so quickly and positively that I suspected that whatever Martha had said, they were taking with a grain of salt.

That week was a week like many before it — eating, sleeping, giving lectures and grading papers. I attended my dancing class, and if anyone noticed that I was slightly more withdrawn than normal, they didn't say anything.

That week was also a week unlike any before or since, for me.

Each evening that week, I worked on the do-it-yourself, no-fault divorce kit, preparing a proposal to my wife on the division of our assets.

It was actually pretty easy in our case.

Martha and I each had our own retirement plans; we each had our own jobs. Our savings and investments, we would split in half. The house would be sold, and the proceeds, after expenses divided.

Her jewelry, which I had just had re-appraised for insurance purposes (it came to over $40,000!) would remain hers; my tools I would keep. We each would keep out own cars, which were both paid off.

The only furniture that I wanted was the bed that I'd already taken. Martha could keep whatever she wanted, and either sell or give away the rest to charity. Photo albums, and those sorts of things, we would sit down and divvy up ourselves. I could scan in photos and make duplicates, if there were any unique items that we both wanted.

It was Friday afternoon when I called her office, and we arranged for me to come over. Martha wanted me to come over for dinner but I wanted to wait until after dinner. On this occasion, Martha made the concession.

I took the package I had made with me, and presented it to her.

"Mark, I don't want a divorce. I won't sign," she objected, trying to raise a roadblock.

"That won't stop the process. It may slow it, but it will eventually go through," I patiently explained...

"I want it to be for your adultery," she insisted, pointing her finger at me, jabbing it in an aggressive manner.

I sighed, and sat back in my chair.

"This is a no-fault state. That isn't one of the options anymore. Anyway, you don't have proof of anything," I pointed out...

This went around and around for awhile, and I finally left her with a copy of the papers, and told her to confer with an attorney, but understand that if we could do this ourselves it would be simple and inexpensive. One of the beliefs that Martha and I still shared was that lawyers can make anything complex, expensive and painful.

The following day, Saturday, my sons had decided to both come down together to have the face-to-face with me. I asked them to join me at the condo and they agreed.

Once they arrived, I invited them in, and the first thing I did was to give them the grand tour of the place. I wasn't just showing off my new digs; I was showing them that I was living alone. They could see that the closets contained only my clothes, the bathrooms were bereft of feminine accouterments and throughout the house, there was no sign of occupancy by a woman. I was sure that information would make it back to their mother.

They both told me how nice the condo was, although I assured them, most of the contents belonged to the owner, and would be reclaimed when he returned.

Having gotten the preliminaries over, I asked them what their pleasure would be, and we all ended up with Bass Ales in front of us.

"Mom says you moved out because you have a girlfriend," Dan started the conversation. He was neutral in his pronouncement, suggesting that he neither believed nor disbelieved the contention. Josh just nodded in affirmation, that Martha had told him the same thing.

I was going to be as honest as I could, and hope that my boys could give me a fair shake.

"Dan and Josh, it's true that I have been seeing another woman, but that is only since last Christmas, in fact, actually not until February. So, for a couple of months.

"But let me make something clear, that your mother doesn't want to acknowledge.

"This woman is not a 'cause', she is an 'effect, ' and has nothing to do with the problems between your mother and me." I laid out my premise.

"How's that?" Josh asked.

"Boys, from the time you moved out to go to college, your mother slowly, over time, became less and less physically intimate with me. You are both grown and married men, so I'll lay it on the line — she stopped doing things that caused her to come into physical contact with me, including hugging, kissing, touching, and yes, sex.

"It wasn't overnight or anything, just a little less at a time, so that I didn't even really notice how resistant she was to being in any sort of direct contact with me, until she moved out of the master bedroom and into Dan's old room, a couple of years ago.

"Even this past Christmas, she only moved back into the bedroom with me for the days while you were there visiting, and as soon as you were gone, poof! She was back in the other bedroom," I revealed.

Dan perked up.

"I was wondering about that," he said, "She kept popping into our room, into the bathroom, to get stuff, and I kept thinking, 'why doesn't she just keep her toiletries in her own bathroom?'"

I nodded my head.

"I hope that you never have to face a situation like this with your wives, or if you do, I hope you can nip it in the bud early, because over time it just gets more and more painful, embarrassing, and humiliating to be ignored and rejected. I really hope that you are more observant than I was, but I never expected it, so I wasn't looking," was my plea for mitigation.

"Anyway, I've tried to talk to her, to see if there was anything that we could do about it together — see a marriage counselor, or a psychologist, or even just to get checked out by a physician to see what might be wrong. But she wouldn't even give me the time of day.

"It got to a point where I wondered if I had some medical condition that was giving me B.O., or bad breath, and I had the doctors check me out. They said I was normal, no worse than any other guy my age. Based on that, I assume that whatever your mother finds repugnant about me isn't any sort of physical condition on my part.

"She insists to this day that there is nothing wrong for a couple of people in their mid-50's to be married, and not so much as touch each other!" I said, rather emphatically, getting worked up just thinking about the unfairness of the situation.