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From: "H. Jekyll" <h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "The Long Fall," conclusion -- 'Falling. Apart.'  (MF)
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Date: Tue, 13 Jun 2006 12:10:02 -0400
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The Long Fall
By H. Jekyll
Conclusion: "Falling. Apart."
 
*  *  *  *  *

Copyright 2005-2006 by H. Jekyll. All rights are reserved. Do not read
this if you are either under the legal age to read sexually explicit
stories, or you live where it is illegal to read such stories.

An earlier version of "The Long Fall" appeared at Ruthie's Club. An
illustrated and formatted version can be found there.

The only reason to stay in on-line life is the ability to meet
interesting people. Please write with criticism, praise, or
conversation: h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com

H. Jekyll story archives:
Alt Sex Stories Text Repository
(http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/)
Ruthie's Club (http://www.ruthiesclub.com/)
StoriesonLine (http://storiesonline.net/home.php)

*  *  *  *  *


"Falling. Apart."

This morning was bad. How bad will the evening be?
 
Ruth was asleep on the couch when I got up. I wondered how long she lay
there before falling asleep. I'd let her sleep. At least I wouldn't
have to talk with her. I made the coffee as silently as I could and got
the paper. I ate in the dining room instead of the den. When it was
time I woke the kids quietly and began gathering their clothes. I
wanted to get us out without waking Ruth. Of course Will didn't want to
wake up, so I lay down with him and woke him slowly, trying to be quiet
about it. Then Kaetlyn wanted to wear something different. It wasn't
going to work. By the time we came out, Ruth was sitting up, and when
they saw her they ran to give her hugs, yelling "Mommy! Mommy!" in
their little, piping voices. 
 
"Come on kids. We're going to Mickey D's for breakfast!" I used the
super-ebullient voice. "Come on Willy-Wonka! Come on, Katie-Kat!
Bee-boo-bob-breakfast won't waiiiiiit!" The kids pulled Ruth by her
hands. "Let Mommy go get dressed, kidddaroos!" I pulled them away from
her, and I stared her down while they picked up their little packs.
"You look like shit." I was quiet, but Kaetlyn heard.
 
"Uh-oh! Daddy said a bad word!"
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
I expected Ruth to stay home today while she tried to come up with a
strategy, but I was wrong. She's not here. I half expected her to come
by my office, or call, and try to apologize. Wrong again. I don't know
what she's done all day.
 
It's Ruth's day to pick up the kids, but I wanted to get them myself,
so I went early. Will rides my shoulders into the house. "Yo, Sir
William, sir! Dragon at two o'clock! Prepare to charge!" Has she found
them gone from aftercare yet? Maybe she won't come home at all? Maybe
she's taken off? Maybe with Bill? That would make things so much
easier.
 
"You can watch TV for one hour, kids. Okay? You can watch the end of
`Sesame Street' and then `Barney.'"
 
Here's an email from Bill. Oh brother! Oh "brother" indeed. It's marked
with a red  exclamation point, announcing its importance. Why? Do I
need to think about this even more? Hasn't it swamped my entire little
universe? The Big Bang fills the void. Well, Bill's Big Bang did, but
it opened the void.
 
"Dear John:" 
 
That's certainly original! 
 
"If I could undo what happened last night, I would. I don't know what
to say. I'm sorry! You're my brother and I love you, and I know it was
unforgivable, but I hope that you *will* be able to forgive me
eventually. Please, whatever you do, don't blame Ruth. It was all my
fault. It was all my doing. I pushed and pushed and... "
 
Blah, blah, blah.
 
That's about the gist of it, though it goes on for a while. I guess
Ruth isn't with him right now. That means she'll probably turn up at
home.
 
Here's my reply: "Yes, it was unforgivable. And next you'll tell me
Ruth wasn't there at all. I could see she enjoyed what she did. I don't
need any more emails." Hit the send button. Ruth kissed the hand he hit
`send' with, the one that had grabbed her vagina. Hit the fucking
button.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
Ruth is just getting home. She's pulling into the driveway. Be still my
beating heart. It wouldn't help to stroke out just now.
 
I started a load of laundry and I'm cooking, because I don't want her
to have anything to keep herself occupied, and because it gives me
things to do. I can't stay still. I've been checking the driveway every
few minutes, but really she's right on time. Okay. Deep breaths. I lean
back against the sink. Come on in. Ruth looks over at me, and then
closes the door softly. She's careful with it, careful to look away
from me and at the door knob, but she can't avoid me completely. She
finally looks back, at about the middle of my chest. Potatoes are
bubbling merrily. Barney is saying something exuberant in the next
room. Finally, "John..."
 
"If you want to say hello to your kids, it would make them happy." I
turn back to the sink.
 
"I'm sorry." Barney is singing. He sounds gay to me. "I love you."
 
"Sure you do." I pretend to scrub a dish.
 
"Can I explain?"
 
"There's nothing to explain." 
 
Later I see her sitting on the couch with the kids while they try to
watch their show. Will wriggles to get off her lap, so he can play with
some toys on the coffee table. In between songs, Kaetlyn is reading out
loud: "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish." Ruth keeps giving them
kisses, but they aren't paying any attention.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
We're playing this little game, Ruth and I. I'll be in a room, maybe
pretending to watch TV. If Ruth comes in and isn't just passing
through, I get up and leave. I won't stay in the same room as her
unless the kids are there. As soon as they leave I do too. Ruth
followed me out a couple of times before she gave up.
 
She looks awful when she isn't putting on a front for Kaetlyn and Will.
I passed our bedroom door a few minutes ago. She was lying there with a
book, as though she was reading, but she was just staring at the wall,
washed out, eyes red and baggy. I almost felt sorry for her. So she's
been crying. Well, she has too much pride to cry in front of me. She
won't beg me. She wants it to be like we simply had a fight and I'll
get over it. She's going to try to outwait me. Damn. What am I going to
do? It can't go on like this forever.
 
When she noticed me I walked on.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
Something new and terrible happens every day. This time it's Jolene on
the phone.
 
"Bill confessed to me."
 
Oh great. Now we'll have to commiserate. Misery loves company and all
that, but I don't want to have to talk about it, especially not with
Jolene. I don't know if  I can stand that.
 
"Yeah... I'm sorry you had to find out. I guess it's as bad there as it
is here. You say he confessed?"
 
"He said it was something I'd find out about sooner or later, about him
and ... your wife. The home-wrecker."
 
"Yeah." Here it comes. "What did he say?" 
 
"He said they weren't in bed, but that things went too far. Can you
tell me? He wouldn't say exactly. Just that you caught them." 
 
"Too far. Yeah. Too far." I have to sigh. I don't want to show any
emotion to Jolene. I've been thinking that maybe if she were a better
fuck this wouldn't have happened, though that's dumb. "I guess that's
technically correct. And no, they weren't in bed." I take another bath
and let it out loudly. "Well, you might as well know it all. They were
doing it on our couch."
 
"Oh!" Jolene's voice gets tiny, as though I've just knocked the breath
out of her. A sledgehammer to the chest. How could it be worse? I
shouldn't have blurted it out, maybe said `are you sitting down' or
something and built up to it, but it's too late. Everything is too
late. "Oh." Poor Jolene. "I thought ... I thought maybe they were just
kissing or he was feeling her ... or something." Her voice trails away
completely with `or something.'
 
So I get to fill her in. Why did you confess in the first place, Bill?
Did you think I was going to play it down for you, maybe help you get
out of trouble and back into your wife's cunt? Oh you'll never get in
there again! Now I could get in if I wanted! It would be easy. She and
I would have to comfort each other, wouldn't we? One thing would lead
to another. I could arrange for photos and send them to you and the
home-wrecker. Wouldn't that be fun?
 
"I'm sorry, Jolene. I'm sorry I have to be the one to tell you. They
were sexing. Ruth did fellatio on Bill. All the way." She doesn't
answer. I wonder if we've lost our connection. "Jolene?"
 
I hear her crying in the background. I'm such a shit. I wish I hadn't
told her anything at all. I could have been vague, told her I caught
them on the couch, said they were in the middle of something but not
completely undressed, and that I couldn't see everything, then moved on
to telling her about throwing Bill out. I could have taken that route.
It would have been almost as true. But she asked. Yes, and I know the
answer to that, don't I?
 
"What are you going to do?" 
 
"I don't know."
 
"I made him leave. I'm going to file for divorce."
 
"I'm sorry."
 
"I can't believe you're letting that whore stay there. That whore!"
 
"I don't know what I'm going to do."
 
"Were you ever going to tell me?"
 
"What?" Worse and worse. We don't keep any secrets in this family, do
we Ruth?
 
"Was it just going to be poor, stupid Jolene? Am I the only one who
didn't know your wife was giving blow jobs to my husband?"
 
"Jolene ..."
 
The kitchen door opens. It's Ruth.
 
"Were you all going to go around pitying poor little me? You and Bill
and ... the slut? Was I the only one not in on the joke?"
 
"Jolene, it wasn't ... wait." I hand the phone to Ruth. "This is for
you."
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
Maybe I'm being infantile. Once at a party this well-toned guy
monopolized talking with Ruth and danced with her a few times. On our
way home, she mentioned him and I got huffy. "He should play with
someone a little less married."
 
Ruth turned to me and smiled a wide smile. "You're jealous."
 
"Oh, just forget it!"
 
"My husband is jealous for me!" She had this look of absolute delight.
 
"I said forget it!"
 
"You think that great big hunk is going to steal me away!"
 
"Drop it!"
 
It was silly, sure, and Ruth enjoyed it far too much. When we got home,
she gave me one of those sweet kisses - yes, those kisses - and said,
"You don't know how good that made me feel," and I got very lucky with
her.
 
I'd like to think we could just move on and forget about it, but I
can't. I'm jealous, but a kiss and a fuck aren't going to resolve
anything this time. I'm jealous that Bill could know the real Ruth
while I was stuck with the masquerade. And yes that he has that certain
something she apparently couldn't get from me. How many others have had
it, and have gotten to know the secret Ruth? Are most of them in
marriages based on deceit?
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
It just keeps getting better and better. Today my mom called. Jolene is
making sure everyone knows. 
 
Poor Mom. Caught smack dab in the middle, between two of her sons. I
wonder if she called me first. I'd think it would be so hard for her to
talk with Bill.
 
She is good at offering sympathy - it's one of her things - but she
can't take sides, and since she's the only one in the family no one
will tell exactly what happened, that limits the conversation. We have
to talk in pretty general terms. But she gets to the point: "I think we
should postpone the gathering at Dad's grave. Just until this is all
straightened out. I don't think everyone would be able to come. Some
people might feel uncomfortable."
 
Like all of us.
 
"Sure."
 
"I hate for this to come between you."
 
"Well..."
 
"I don't understand it. Bill was always the easiest to handle, growing
up." 
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
Ruth still hasn't tried to call me at my office. She sent two emails,
apologizing, but I didn't return them. At home we stay apart except
when we have to be together for the kids. I dread going home when I
know she will be there. There's always an excuse to stay at the office
a while longer. If I'm home alone with Will and Kaetlyn, the air
thickens when it's time for her  to appear.
 
It's hardest when the kids are asleep and there's no one to put on an
act for. Without even talking about it, we've managed to come up with a
routine that lets us both tuck them in, without our actually having to
be in the same room for more than a few seconds. Since we got them down
tonight, Ruth has been in the living room and I've been here in the
den, sitting almost exactly where they did it. I hadn't thought of that
until just this second. It reminds me of when Elsa Lanchester found
that Charles Laughton had sexed another man on their couch. She
supposedly told him, "Just get rid of the couch." Could that help?
 
Here comes Ruth. It's time to go.
 
"Don't leave, John. Please don't. Can't we at least talk?"
 
"What's there to talk about?"
 
"About what I did, and how sorry I am, and how much I love you."
 
"I'm sure you're sorry."
 
"The part about loving you is true too."
 
"Maybe. Sure. But tell me - what does it mean when you tell someone you
love him? What exactly do you mean? I'd like to know that."
 
"Don't leave!" She's trying to be emphatic and keep her voice still at
the same time. `Don't leave' comes out sotto voce. "Please don't leave.
I know I was wrong, and that I hurt you. I'm not perfect. I have warts.
I know it. I want to make it up to you." She comes up behind me while
she's speaking and surprises me by wrapping her arms around me and
holding herself tightly against my back.
 
"Let go!" I can feel her all the way up my back. Her breasts are
distinct. I don't want her to touch me. 
 
"I'm not letting you go!" She is holding her cheek flat against my
back. I pull against her fingers, to break her grip, but I don't want
to hurt her. I could get loose, but I can't bring myself to do that.
"Please. Honey. Let me hold you." Now she's turning her face, back and
forth, against me, and kissing me all over my back, maybe wiping her
eyes, and working her body into mine. 
 
"Let me go!" I try to fling her off but it doesn't help, so I stand
passively. I think, "Give it up. You're not my Ruth anymore."
 
"Please. Honey. Don't let one stupid, stupid thing ruin everything we
have. We can get past this. I'll be so good to you. I'll make you
happy."
 
With that she draws her hands down past my belly, across my belt, all
the way down to my crotch. "Please honey." They're over my testicles.
She strokes me upward. Oh Jeez! Here I can't stand her and she's
getting me hard. She strokes me again, lightly, almost tickling. She
knows how to do it. She knows exactly what I like. Why not? She was my
lover for a decade. She knows me that well. "Please honey. Let me be
good to you."
 
Ruth comes around to the front. She stands on tip-toes and reaches up
to take my face in her hands and kiss me. "Please honey." 
 
We kiss. Oh no. She's always been such a good kisser. She has the most
supple lips. We continue the kiss while she pushes her breasts against
my chest. My penis is inflating and pushing back against her lower
belly. Kiss me, bitch. Oh God. Rub your belly against me. You haven't
felt this good to me in forever. Is a fling what it takes to make you
such a lover? We stand, holding each other, rubbing cheeks, breathing
together. I don't know what's going on. Her hand goes to my penis
again.
 
"Come over here." I pull her around to the couch. "Here." We sink to
it. Once there I pull her pants down. I open her blouse. It isn't easy
with her kissing and writhing and trying to unzip me. I bite a nipple.
 
"Oh!"
 
"Don't move."
 
I suck on her nipple and push two fingers all the way up into her.
Slip-slide, in and out they go. I'm sawing at her vagina, biting Ruth's
breast, forcing her against the back of the couch. I've always loved it
when her chest moved against my face when she was high. It's no
different now. "Oh honey. Oh! Oh!" She could come already, but I don't
want her to, so I pull back.
 
"Not too fast. Here. Do me." I shove my pants down, underwear and
slacks together. I put my fingers that had been inside her vagina to
her mouth. She sucks them in. "Now do me." And she does. Ruth takes my
face in her hands again, to kiss me again, on her way down to the real
action. It's waiting for her down below. It's almost purple by now.
Down, Ruthie. Down you go. Down she goes, until I feel that wonderful
mouth sucking me inside. Nothing else feels like that, or could replace
it. My hands are on her head. Her hair is tickling my thighs and my
stomach. She's so good and I'm so close. So close. It's time to do it.
 
I push her away.
 
"That's about how it went with Bill, isn't it?"

*  *  *  *  *
 
In the movies, this is where Ruth would try to slap me, and maybe
succeed. Or I might catch her wrist. It's not the movies, though it's a
good scene, isn't it dearie? Ruth is sprawled back on the couch, naked
below the waist, her blouse open, still breathing hard, her eyes wide,
incredulous, now a hand pulling her blouse together, the other one
moving to cover her sex. It's something to see, certainly the best
thing in several days. Me, I'm a nice contrast. I stand, pull my pants
up, and fasten everything. I don't know how I managed to pull it off.
 
"Good night, honey." I have to be careful, or I might come in my pants.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
Won't the night ever end?
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
I've got the blues pretty bad right now. 
 
I've been lying here, waiting for the alarm to go off, waiting for the
world to begin, or end, or do whatever it wants. I wish it would do it
without me. It's finally 6:30, time to get busy, but there's Ruth in
Will's bed, and he's snuggled against her in an intimate, tender little
scene, like something in a Romantic painting. Madonna and child. Will
is pressed into his mother's breasts, burrowing his big, round head
into her so hard I wonder how he can breathe. She holds him in both
arms and is curled on her side, so she's making a nest for him out of
her body. I almost expect the sunrise to center them in a golden halo.
It's the first time I've seen her look contented since she sucked Bill.
Asleep she's serene. What will she be like awake?
 
I hate myself. 
 
It's never going to be good again. I thought after last night I'd feel
triumphant because I got back at her a little, but I don't feel that
way at all. We can't be a family anymore, not like this, not like Ruth
is this moment with little Will, not one of those sweet families like
we once were, where you're happy just to see or touch or be around each
other. My God! I'm starting to cry. How did that happen? I can't do
that. How did it happen? I guess I wasn't paying enough attention. It's
not allowed and I don't dare let Ruth see any weakness. I'll be okay in
a moment. I just have to control myself and wash my face.
 
There. There. That's better. Okay. Take a cleansing breath. Dad has to
be cheerful, and it's time to wake the kids. Be cheerful. Pump it up.
Happy! Jolly! 
 
I fucking hate myself.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
The kids just ran out to the car. This morning is special for them
because they have the keys and can unlock the doors themselves, and the
moment the kitchen door slams Ruth turns to me and says:
 
"How could you do that? How could you be such a bastard?"
 
"Me? How could you try to seduce your way back in?" 
 
"That's not what it was!"
 
"Just how stupid do you think I am? Do you really believe all that crap
about men thinking with their penises?"
 
"I was trying to show you I still love you, and that I still want you.
I was trying to be good to you!"
 
"You were trying to get me to fuck you so I would ignore what you did!"
 
"I was trying to help us get past it! When it was you, I forgave you.
We got past that! But you won't do the same for me!"
 
We could go on much longer, and it would get messier and uglier, but
there just isn't the time. I have to be going.
 
"Think about it Ruth. Think about what I did, and what you did, and
compare them. And while you're thinking about it, pack, because it
isn't working with you here at ..."
 
"No!"
 
"... at the house. And I think you need to be out of here for a while
..."
 
"No!"
 
"Yes."
 
"No! Don't make me go. Please! I'm sorry, John. Please let me stay!
I'll do anything! We can get past it!"
 
What just happened? She changed completely. Her response. There's
something in what she said, in how she said it. There's something going
on, as though I've found the chink in her walls, but I don't know what
it is. I don't know what I did, or what to do with it. I'm remembering
her words from way back, "Don't ever leave me. I couldn't stand it." Is
it that? The one thing she's absolutely terrified of? It couldn't be
that simple.
 
"That's not how it works. I'm not going to just `get over' it. You have
to leave."
 
"Don't. Please don't make me."
 
"I can't stand what's happening here. You have to leave." 
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
And she left. She's gone. Her car isn't here. I looked in the closet
and found she took two suitcases, and there's a note. I really didn't
expect it, and I don't understand. Usually the husband moves out. I
thought it would have to be me, and all day I've been wondering if I
could stand to leave Will and Kaetlyn behind with her. I certainly
wouldn't have used force to kick her out. I didn't think I could make
her go, not without a court order, not and have her leave the kids with
me, but somehow she's gone.
 
She left, but she wouldn't surrender. She'll try to make me be
`reasonable,' and she'll bargain. She won't beg. She won't do a mea
culpa. She'll even try to seduce me. She's a cunning one. A cunning
cunt! Yes. How could I have been so blind about her all these years?
The hell of it is, if she'd fallen apart and begged me, if she'd thrown
herself on my mercy, broken down, I'd have taken her back. If she had
cried. Stupid, isn't it? I would have taken her back if I thought she
was really remorseful. 
 
And then I'd be stuck with her.
 
It's quiet around the house. The kids are taking it pretty well, but
Kaetlyn asked me, "When can Mommy come home?" I told her I didn't know,
and she's been pretty quiet since then. Maybe this is too hard for
them. My daughter needs her mother. Maybe we could stay together and be
civil. Couldn't we fake it for the kids? I'm sure Ruth could. She faked
it for me convincingly enough.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
"You shouldn't do it, John."
 
"Why not?"
 
"What if, God forbid, one turns out not to be yours? Say it's your
little girl. It won't make any difference to her. You're her Daddy -
period. But it'll make a difference to you, and to your relationship.
You could ruin her life."
 
"I have to know. What if Ruth's done it before?"
 
"It's a mistake. Just forget it."
 
"If I'm not their biological father, I'll adopt them."
 
"I'm telling you it's a mistake. That's my professional opinion."
 
"I can't help it. I have to know."
 
I hate myself. I hate myself. That bitch! Why did she have to do this
to me? I'm a useless human being, married to a conniving bitch.
Useless, fucking eunuch! I could fix that. All I'd need is a gun and
about ten minutes. Maybe a nice 9mm. Find a place. Compose a note. Call
the police right before. A nice gun and a quiet location. Not in the
house. I don't want the kids to see the mess. I'll have to apologize to
the police in my note, and I'll let Ruth live with the responsibility
the rest of her days. 
 
But then she'd get Will and Kaetlyn.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
Jolene's attorney called. He wants a statement for Jolene's divorce
case against Bill. They don't have any kids. The problem is their dog,
Randolph. Who gets Randy? It's really hilarious if you aren't involved
in the case. I almost joked that I know Bill gets randy, because I've
witnessed it, but I controlled myself. I happen to know Jolene doesn't
much care for the dog, so the cruel legal games have begun. I asked the
lawyer if he wouldn't rather get a statement from Ruth, and he said he
had tried...
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
"John?" Ruth's cell connection is bad.
 
"What?"
 
"I wanted to tell you. I'm seeing a counselor."
 
"I'm so happy for you."
 
"Please, John! You said you were willing to try again, if I made the
effort. I'm trying! Please don't shut me out."
 
"I said I might try for Will and Kaetlyn. So see your counselor. What
do you want from me, anyway?"
 
"Dr. Parker said it would help if you came too. Will you? Please? I'm
trying!"
 
I let it dangle. "Okay. I'll come."
 
"Oh thank you, John!" You don't have to gush.
 
"Ruth?"
 
"Yes?"
 
"I really am glad you've found a counselor."
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
But it won't work, even if she sees the counselor.
 
"I can't do this." 
 
Those are absolutely my first words after `hello.' Ruth parts her lips
as though to say something, but it's Dr. Parker who speaks.
 
"What do you mean, Mr. Cukor?"
 
"I mean I've thought through everything, and it's not going to work."
Around the room I wander, running my hand over book shelves, touching
things, distracting myself. "There's no reason for me to be here. I'm
going ahead with the divorce."
 
"No!" That's Ruth.
 
"I'm sorry to break it like that, but I am."
 
"But I forgave you!"
 
"Mr. Cukor? Can you explain?"
 
Explain. Sure. There are eight long years to explain. I'm aware of the
irony, but it isn't like every dog gets a free bite. I'm not just more
shallow than Ruth, or maybe I am, but that's how it plays for me.
Anyway, I guess she deserves an explanation.
 
"Yeah. What she's talking about was a long time back. Before there were
children to consider. I didn't do Ruth's sister. I didn't do it in our
house."
 
"But I forgave you!"
 
"And you held it over me! All these years!" We're ignoring Dr. Parker,
who is letting us go at it. Around the bookshelves again. Think the
words through. I have to control myself. I've been rehearsing it in my
head since I came to the conclusion after I committed to the
appointment. When I added everything up, it pointed to an enormity I
could never excuse. "All these years. All these years you've used that
to shame me. To control me. To talk about how you can't trust me. About
how I have to prove myself to you!" Take a breath. "And you know what?
It was worth it to me, to keep us together. But now I find it never
applied to you."
 
"Yes it did. It does."
 
"It doesn't apply to you. I saw it! Eight years ago changed our
relationship. I changed myself for you. But you! You knew what it meant
and you still blew it off. You tossed off our commitment like ... like ...
like it was nothing. With my brother. After a couple of hours alone. In
our very own house. Almost in front of our children. In front of me.
And you weren't feeling guilty. You just worried about getting caught."
 
"No. It wasn't like that!"
 
"It was exactly like that!" I hate using that voice, but today it
exults me.
 
"Why are you here, Mr. Cukor?"
 
"You tell me!" Pointing at Ruth. "She made my absolute commitment a
point of honor, but she violated it just like that!" Snapping my
fingers. "It was all a sham! All those years. Just this Machiavellian
way to control me."
 
That's what I think anyway. Driving along the freeway, whipping through
traffic, tempting traffic cops and commuters filled with road rage, I
wish I'd put it better, but you can't call up words just the way you
want. I can't. Ruth didn't see it my way. Her last words, as I left:
"But I really forgave you! I did!" She was counting on a free bite all
along, counting on my having to let her have her fling. She's been
holding that in reserve all these years, just in case she ever got
caught.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
It's four in the morning, the end of December. 
 
I made the mistake of listening to an old something by Leonard Cohen
this evening. Pop in a CD and float away from the world, only it
doesn't always work that way. I'm still here, and now I've got these
lyrics in my head, and his melancholy voice, joining all the other
things that were flitting around upstairs. For a hideously empty world
it's damned crowded. 
 
I'd been drinking white wine all evening, something respectable to keep
the kids from being able to tell I was drowning myself after reading
still another email from Bill, so I guess I was susceptible. I won't
take Bill's calls but he still emails and I never got around to locking
out his address. It was about Ruth again. They all are. "I ruined my
life with Jolene. Please don't let that happen to your life with Ruth.
She's dying inside for you, and I know you need her. Don't forgive me,
but please forgive her."
 
He wasn't poetic like that the night it happened. "Yeah. Do the dirty
deed to me." I can't seem to forget anything. I remember my wife
touching her palm to his cheek, and looking into his face, and kissing
him lovingly, then diving down to his wonderfully dirty cock with her
wonderful lips and her tongue, her whole wonderful mouth.
 
 "And you treated my woman to a flake of your life 
 And when she came back she was nobody's wife."
 
That's for sure. But now that he's seduced Ruth, Bill wants to play
marriage counselor. I should have listened to any other music, maybe
Britney Spears, anyone who doesn't suck everything up from below and
make you pay attention to it. 
 
 "And what can I tell you my brother, my killer 
 What can I possibly say? 
 I guess that I miss you, I guess I forgive you ..."
 
I guess I wish you'd go away!
 
Oh Lord. 
 
I guess that I miss him. I miss our conversations and the football
games and the way he glommed onto my kids. So, yes, it's four in the
morning, and I miss my brother and the woman who is nobody's wife, and
I wish I weren't here anymore.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
Kaetlyn comes to me crying
 
"What's the matter, Katie-Kat?"
 
"Can I sleep with you?"
 
"Sure. Come on up, Princess. Snuggle in. Is this better?
 
"Uh-huh."
 
"Did something scare you?"
 
"I had a bad dream."
 
"A nightmare."
 
"Uh-huh." 
 
"Do you think you can go back to sleep, now?"
 
"Can I stay with you?"
 
"Of course you can, Princess. You're safe right here with Daddy."
 
In the morning they're bracketing me.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
My doc prescribed a med to help me sleep, but I don't want to take too
much of it. Still, I'm drugged and groggy and I almost knock the phone
off the nightstand in the dark. 
 
"Hello?"
 
"John?" 
 
"What's wrong, Ruth? What happened?" I turn on the light. It's 1:47.
 
"Nothing." There's a long pause. "I'm sorry." She's sad. And there's
something else. "I just wanted to talk with you." There's something in
her voice.
 
"Have you been drinking?" She doesn't answer. "Ruth?"
 
"Yes. Some."
 
"Don't call me when you're drinking."
 
"I'm sorry." 
 
She's so bleak. Her voice is. I've never heard her like that, through
all our bad time. Everything has drained out. It's flat. There isn't
any energy. I shouldn't pay it any attention. It's probably just the
alcohol, but I don't know. I think something is more wrong than usual. 
 
"Oh that's okay. It's just not a good idea. We could talk tomorrow if
you'd like."
 
"I'm sorry. I just needed to talk. Did I wake you?" 
 
"No. I was reading. You need to get some sleep, though." 
 
"I guess." 
 
"Are you okay?"
 
I have to wait for her answer.
 
"No." 
 
She doesn't say anything else. Ruth? Are you thinking of something bad?
Could you hurt yourself? Should I get help? That's what comes up, what
I think facing the black hole of her silence.
 
"Ruth?" 
 
She comes back. 
 
"Do you remember ... how I used to wake you to talk, when something was
on my mind?"
 
"Sure. Like now." 
 
When she did that I'd have to make up my mind to stay awake for her and
talk things out as long as it took. I guess this time I could just hang
up, but I know I won't, and as I think that I realize it's been another
long gap since she said anything. I'm about to ask "Ruth?" again, and I
think just for a second, not seriously but the way these things come to
you in the middle of the night when you're drunk with sleep, that I
could hold her on the line and dial 9-1-1 on my cell phone. Then,
finally, she speaks again.
 
"I wish we could go back to the time before all this ... when we were
together and happy." Her voice has some emotion in it again, but it's
only sadness.
 
"Yeah. I know. I'm sorry, Ruth. You know we can't change the past."
 
"I know. I'm so sorry I did it." There's another long silence. Again, I
almost say her name before she continues, and when she does it is with
starts and halts. "I never told you ... but I always had a little crush
on Bill. I know that doesn't make everything better. I just need to
explain. Dr. Parker says it will help if I can tell you these things
... you know ... to help us come to terms ... so that maybe we can be
..." Ruth suddenly takes an enormous breath that sounds like a sob. "... be
friends again ... not to get back together ... you know ... for Kaetlyn and
Will. Anyway, that was part of why I let myself go that night."
 
"Don't, Ruth. Don't. It's the past. We don't have to go over it. We can
be friends. I'd like that. After all, would I be on the phone with just
anyone at two in the morning?" Ruth laughs. It's a woeful little laugh,
but real. 
 
"How are they?"
 
"I was going to show you when you picked them up on Friday. Will knows
his colors. I have the sheets to prove it, on the refrigerator door.
And both of them have drawn pictures for you."
 
"That's so sweet."
 
The conversation becomes easier, as easy as it can be under the
circumstances. Ruth sounds a little happier, and it's nice to talk with
her, so the minutes flow. We haven't talked like this since, well, you
know. I don't want the conversation to end. It would be so easy to
invite her over. She lives not ten minutes away. I could comfort her,
and we'd talk, and snuggle, and kiss, and maybe make love, and wouldn't
the kids be surprised in the morning? 
 
I'm getting maudlin.
 
"Ruth, I hate to go, but I really need to get some sleep. Six-thirty
comes awfully early."
 
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up so late."
 
"I've enjoyed it. Really. Maybe we can talk tomorrow. Okay?" 
 
"I'd like that." 
 
Maybe things will look different tomorrow. 
 
"Anyway, goodnight ... friend."
 
"Goodnight, friend."
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
I don't want there to be any surprises. I never went back to sleep.
It's so overrated, not like love and turmoil and emptiness. I didn't go
to work. I've been sitting around the house all day, thinking about
Ruth and the union that doesn't exist anymore.
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
Ruth is carrying two brown paper bags, overflowing with groceries. It
would be far easier for her if she'd use plastic bags. Her keys dangle
from her fingers, and I think she may drop them because her attention
is so much on the stairs, and on juggling the bags, that she doesn't
even notice me until she's a couple of steps past the landing. 
 
"What's wrong, John? What happened?"
 
"Nothing, Ruth. Nothing's wrong. Everything's okay."
 
"Why are you here?"
 
"I wanted to see you."
 
She stops. Except for her eyes, Ruth does not move a muscle. She seems
terrified. "Why?" 
 
"Because ..." I'm not sure how to put it. "Because of our talk. Because I
need a friend. Because I'd like to try for us to be a family again."
 
But Ruth begins shaking her head before I'm even finished. Then,
 
"No!" 
 
What's happening? She begins crying, rambling, babbling. She shakes her
head the entire time she's talking, a `no' with each shake, like some
metronome. "No! No! No! You don't get to do this! No!" 
 
I don't understand. Ruth swings her arms back and forth with every
"no," and on the last one she heaves both grocery bags to the walkway.
Glass shatters, and there are crashes, and tearing sounds, and cans
banging around. Milk, and some red liquid, and egg yolk spatter over
the walk. Cans roll everywhere. 
 
"You can't do this!" Stop screaming Ruth! They'll think I'm attacking
you. She runs her hands, both of them, through her hair and over her
face, and she's crying, not just little bitter tears but great, gulping
sobs. "You can't!" I'm trying to talk. "You can't!" She takes one, two
aimless steps and her foot comes down on a can and she stumbles to the
wall. She almost falls. "Don't toy with me!
 
I thought she'd be excited. I thought it would make her happy. I had
these visions of being with her, all ecstasy and trumpets and choruses
of angels, at least that's how it felt, though what it looked like was
just we two standing nowhere special, nuzzling each other. There were
no details of scene, no place, no objects that stood out, not even our
children. I should feel guilty. It was sappy on the face of it, but I
thought she wanted to come back. 
 
"Ruth ..."
 
"No! You don't get to wait ...oh God ... until ... I've accepted being alone
and then come waltzing back into my life!" She's wiping her face with
her hands, over and over. "You can't do that! It's not fair!" 
 
A pity, you say, this kind of irony, and I agree, because now I know
that, however much I want to despise her, I can't not love Ruth, or not
want her, or not miss her. I'm so tired of life as a locked room, and I
just can't stand to punish us with aloneness any more. It doesn't work
at all. A pity, but it's the wrong time to give in to pity. I wade
through the mess on the walkway. Egg yolks, flour, milk, red liquid,
cans. Everything but the cans sticks to me. The bags cling to my feet.
"Ruth. Please."
 
She puts her hands against my chest and won't let me get close. She's
still crying.
 
"What happens when you change your mind again?" 
 
"That won't happen. Never. Never." I take her hands. "Never. It can't
happen. I won't let it. We'll go to counseling together. As long as it
takes. Please. Come home." 
 
At that she grabs my lapels and pulls her face to my chest. I hold her
and she shudders and buries her face in the front of my shirt. I reach
all the way around her. 
 
We're not in a romance. We aren`t Prince Charming and Aurora. There are
no trumpets or angels, and neither of us is waltzing anywhere. We're
two ordinary people, holding each other on the trash-covered walkway of
a nondescript apartment building, with the mess of shattered groceries
all over our feet, and I can't tell you how lucky I feel.
 
Ruth has finally gotten control of herself. She wipes her face on my
shirt again. She looks up. The storm is passing. She wipes her face
with both hands yet again, and dries them on her slacks. "Promise me!"
She takes my face in her hands. Even damp, they're hers. "You can't
ever change your mind. You have to keep me if you take me back." 
 
Then, finally, we're holding each other, our faces together, nuzzling,
kissing, murmuring, and I don't want it to end. Was it ever like this?
It's been so long. I have an idle thought that we should clean the
walkway. 
 
*  *  *  *  *
 
No the family hasn't died. Not exactly, and not completely. I still
don't know where it is going. I hope our little family unit will heal.
I think it will. Ruth once learned to trust me again. I think I trust
her, but who knows what's growing in their cellars? I don't know, but
I'm trying. I'm more than trying. I'm committed to our being together,
so I think we'll be okay. Even not knowing the last act, I'm happy
she's here. I'm more than happy. At some point, I swear I heard them,
the angels, the trumpets, the whole symphony.
 
But what if I found she'd done it again? What if I caught her? A while
ago she gave me one of those intimate looks, and I remembered her
giving it to Bill and saw her hand caress his cheek. What if ... stop it!
I don't want to have those thoughts, and I don't need them! They're
what's lurking in my dark corners. Paranoid fears, I banish thee!
There. That should work for now. We're together. We're going to rebuild
a life, a stick at a time.
 
I don't know about the larger family.
 
Ruth is asleep. I keep my hand on her, touching her here and there.
Yes, she's really here. She's even naked. We made love and she drifted
off right afterward, during afterglow. It was healing sex. We were each
trying to make it special for the other, and it worked better for her
than for me.
 
"Ruth?" I brush her shoulder.
 
"Huh?"
 
"You should get your nightgown on. We may have visitors later."
 
"Oh. Okay, honey."
 
"And I have a couple of things on my mind."
 
"Uh-huh? Wait." She turns on her bed light and gets up on an elbow.
"What is it?" She's rubbing her eyes.
 
"I need to make some calls tomorrow. To family members."
 
"Mm-hmm." She puts a hand on my arm. "Did you think I wouldn't agree?"
 
"That includes Bill."
 
"I'm glad. I didn't know how to bring him up."
 
"It's about time we became brothers again."
 
"Well, I need to talk with him too, honey, if we're going to become
whole."
 
"I'm glad." We kiss. "And also Jolene. I need to tell her we're back
together."
 
This time Ruth is quiet. Finally, "I don't think I can talk to her ...
just yet."
 
"I know. But I have to. I owe her that much. And who knows? If it
worked out for us...?"
 
We kiss again. Those lips. I can't explain the wonder of them. Since
Ruth is still naked her breasts are hanging there right in front of me,
too, and of course I love how soft that skin is. And the skin of her
stomach. And her sweet, dark hair, and her thighs, and it's time to
make love again. She caresses me back, the way she knows I like it, and
I imagine her caressing my brother. It's such a strong image I have to
lie still for a moment and breath through my mouth until it passes. I
hope she can't tell.
 
So, no, the family's not healed, and there's work ahead of us. We'll
begin to deal with it tomorrow. I'm hopeful.
 
End.
 


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