Chapter 7
Faith looked at her watch for the fifth time since the baseball game began. She looked over her shoulder hoping to see Jonah’s vehicle pulling into the parking lot. The game would be over in forty-five minutes. Please let him come.
She’d been begging him to attend a ninety-minute game for a month. Even though she’d spent the better part of the afternoon pitching to him at the batting cage, Eric had missed several balls. He was standing on the base with his head down. He looked so defeated. Eric was super competitive. The more she talked to him about enjoying the game as a form of recreation and exercise, or brought home the concept of teamwork using the cliché, “It’s not who wins, but how you play the game,” the more Eric wanted to win. One conversation with Jonah would probably make a big difference in his attitude.
She smirked, thinking what a hypocrite he would be to give Eric advice when Jonah was pretty much the same way. He was a perfectionist in his work, in his few dealings at the church, and certainly in his play. He was a strong tennis player and had a respectable golf game; he strived to do everything to the best of his ability.
So why was he failing at being in his family?
The answer to that question had to lie in his relationship with his own father. But that was something he just wouldn’t share with her. Before they’d gotten married, Faith had read a magazine article that said there were always signs a person is not quite ready for marriage. Often little things dismissed as nothing should be examined a lot more carefully before the exchange of wedding vows, the writer had said.
When they were engaged, planning the list for the invitations, Jonah locked up tight when she asked about his father.
“He’s not invited.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s just not, honey.”
“Well, Jonah, we’re talking about our wedding. Whatever you and your dad have—”
“Faith, it’s not up for discussion. My father and I don’t talk. We’ll always be that way, and I really don’t want to ruin this evening discussing it.”
“Another time?” she asked.
“Another time.” He kissed her.
That had been her sign. Looking back now, she shouldn’t have ignored that situation so easily. His parents were divorced, but still there was more to this story, and now what seemed like a small thing was a big issue that added to the pile that was accumulating between them.
Like this game. A long wind escaped her lungs. Eric only had a few games left, and the thought that he would actually let the season go by and not attend one was making her sick.
Tears began to pool in her eyes. She reached into her handbag for a tissue. As she did so, she looked around at the people in the bleachers. There were nine men rooting for the twelve boys on the field: fathers. Most of them present and cheering on their boys while her poor son, for all intents and purposes, had no one but her.
Faith was surprised she was able to keep up the front of being “okay” until she put the children to bed because in truth, she was boiling under the surface. How could he do this to her again? How could he do it to Eric?
She pulled Eric’s bedroom door closed, took a few steps, and then stopped. Unable to move forward, she leaned sideways against the wall. Her anger and disappointment were mixing together in her spirit like a cocktail of oil and vinegar. Neither dominated, but each equally strong.
“Lord, how much more am I supposed to take?” she spoke into the darkness of the hallway. “How many more times will it be okay for him to break my baby’s heart?”
She slid to her knees, squatting now as a bevy of tears poured from her eyes, down her face in a flood. She covered her mouth to keep her moans from escaping. She didn’t want to wake the children, but she felt as if she couldn’t take another step without having this breakdown.
You want me to forgive him again, she thought. I don’t want to.
But I’ve forgiven you.
“How many more times, Lord?”
Her cell phone chirped. Faith rose to her feet and quickly made her way to the bedroom where she looked at the caller I.D. Her mother. She couldn’t answer now. Her mom would recognize the pain in her voice and become upset.
Faith waited a minute for the voicemail to finish, and then she picked up the phone. She heard the familiar tone that indicated a new message, so she dialed the pass code to enter the voicemail system.
Her mother’s message implored her to return her call so she could tell her about a funeral at the church. The second call was from one of her neighbors requesting prayer for her brother-in-law who was having prostate surgery the next day. The third message took her completely by surprise. It was the human resources specialist who had originally set up her first interview with Bowen and Jefferies, requesting she contact her about a second interview.
Heart beating wildly, Faith pushed the appropriate button to save the message. A second interview. “Wow.” She smiled to herself. She’d impressed somebody on the panel.
The sound of the garage door rising killed her buzz and prompted her to get up from her seat. Her face was a mess. Jonah would know she’d been crying, which she didn’t want him to see. It wasn’t that she wanted to put a strong presence in front of him or that she wanted to keep her pain a secret. It was the fact that he ignored her tears. He behaved like they didn’t mean anything and that hurt her more.
Faith turned on the cold water faucet and removed a face cloth from the small wicker basket on the counter. After wetting it, she wiped around her eyes and nose hoping to remove the redness that gave away her secret.
Once downstairs, she found Jonah standing in front of the stove, the microwave turning with a dull hum. He hadn’t heard her on the landing. Her shoeless feet and the solid build of the house did not offer the usual creaks and squeaks that would alert him to her presence on the stairs, so she watched him from the back. His broad shoulders, slim waist, handsome height. Jonah was fine. She had to give him that. Visually and professionally, he was every woman’s dream; a good-looking doctor. That’s what she had fallen in love with. Who he was, maybe on the outside; what he had to offer, this lifestyle. Was she that shallow? And was that now why she was paying? Reaping what she had sown.
“I’m sorry about tonight.” He had heard her, because his back was still to her. “I know you’re angry, but it was unavoidable.”
He turned and faced her. She noted how exhausted he looked. He was burning himself at both ends of the candle.
“You look beat. You’re putting in too many hours.”
He picked up a glass from the counter. Faith was relieved to see it was cranberry juice and not bourbon, particularly since it seemed to be his drink of choice these days.
He paused before answering. “I work hard because we own this house, and the trappings that go with it.”
Faith let her eyes sweep the enormous kitchen. “Then let’s sell the house.”
He laughed. “Sell the house.”
“We can downsize. Lots of people do it. Then you won’t have to work so hard.” If that’s what you’re doing, she thought.
“Faith, you found the house.”
“I didn’t know it would tear our marriage apart.”
He sighed loudly. “The house isn’t tearing our marriage apart.”
“Then what is?”
“Our marriage is fine,” Jonah said firmly. “You just need to be a little more forgiving of my work schedule.”
“Is that it? Is it just me? There’s nothing you need to do?”
He turned his back to remove his plate from the microwave, reached into the drawer for silverware, and carried his wares to the table.
She sat down across from him and touched his fingers with the tips of hers own. “Jonah . . .”
His eyes met her, and then the rich timbre of his voice came from his slightly parted lips. “May I say grace?”
Faith pulled back in her seat.
When he finished saying grace, he began to eat his meal. “Did I tell you I’m lecturing at Morehouse next week?”
“No,” she said for the sake of peace, even though he had dismissed her concerns.
“I think I’d like to teach. Probably not there, but somewhere. ”
“I thought you liked Morehouse.”
“I do. It’s a fine school. I’m proud to be an alum. It’s the neighborhood. Reminds me too much of my childhood.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
His chuckle had an undertone of bitterness. “You ask that question because you didn’t grow up like I did.”
“Maybe not, but to tell you the truth, I have no idea how you really grew up. Remember, you refuse to share,” she said bitterly.
“Share?” He looked at her for a second. “Why? So you can misunderstand and try to play amateur psychiatrist?”
Faith could feel the heat of her temper rising. Jonah continued to eat; like he hadn’t just thrown a dart at her.
“I asked you a question before you said grace. I asked if there was anything you needed to do to improve our marriage. I’d like the answer to that.”
Faith spoke with more confidence than she had. Jonah filled his mouth with two more filled forks before he answered.
“I think we all know that statistically it takes two to mess up a marriage. I’m not perfect, but I am who I am. I’m the same man you married.”
“You may very well be. But you are not the man you promised me you would be.”
Jonah sat back in his chair. A smug look on his face. “All I remember is saying I would love, honor, and cherish. Did I make any other promises I’m not keeping? I’m faithful to you, though only God knows why. We haven’t made love in a month.”
Faith flinched. “That’s not completely my fault. You might be able to get some sex if you came in at a decent hour,” she said. “Or maybe you’re getting it where you are.”
“If that was the case, would I be complaining about it?” He paused. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”
Faith took a deep breath, bit her lip, and choked back bringing up the phone calls. She knew her husband. He’d dismiss it as nothing. Besides, it wasn’t the most important issue right now. The disappointment on Eric’s face as he glanced through the wired fence of the dugout, scanning the crowd for his dad, was fueling her temper.
“You come in and out of this house like it’s a hotel, take showers, and eat meals. You could hire a cook and a maid to do what I do.”
The expression on his face changed for a fleeting second—from arrogance to something else—and then flickered back. He had regained his controlled composure. But what was that she had seen for that brief moment? She was hoping it was guilt, remorse, recognition of the truth.
He let out a long breath. “I’m just busy right now.”
“No, it’s not right now. This has been going on a long time, getting worse by the year, and our marriage is falling apart.”
“There’s nothing wrong with us that a little less complaining and a little more loving can’t fix.” His mouth twisted before he added. “You know, the stuff I can’t hire a cook or maid to do.”
Faith crossed her arms over her chest and counted to ten. He was really getting to her. “I disagree,” she said. “You’re keeping things from me.”
In lightning fast speed, Jonah was on his feet. His fist thundered like a ball of iron as he banged on the tile surface of the table. “I’m tired, and I don’t want to hear this crap tonight.”
Faith jumped to her feet, making him less of a towering giant. “You missed Eric’s game. You promised me you would come.”
He ran his hand over his short, cropped hair. “I can’t do this.”
“You keep breaking promises.” It was a struggle to keep from yelling and waking the children.
“I don’t want to hear this now,” Jonah growled as he mangled the knot on his tie in an attempt to loosen it.
“You never want to hear it, but hear me when I say this; I’m not going to continue to be your little Stepford wife. Sitting around the house making meals for a man who doesn’t have the courtesy or respect to even call home and say he isn’t coming to eat it.”
He picked up his plate and walked to the sink. She followed him.
“I’m not going to continue to raise these kids like a single mother with no man and . . .” she paused for maximum shock appeal. “I’m going back to work.”
Jonah dropped the plate into the sink. Chards of glass splintered and flew out like tiny missiles.
Faith flinched, and then steeled herself against his anger. She wasn’t backing down; not tonight. “You can break every dish in this house, but things are still going to change around here.” She turned her back, left the kitchen, and walked up the stairs trembling with every step.