(Friday Afternoon, May 8)
About an hour ago I left the marina and started driving. I found myself on the 101, heading north. I just had to drive to clear my head. I reached Malibu and have now turned around toward home.
No radio, no phone. Just the silence inside my Mercedes.
My mind wanders in my self-disgust. Ten miles maybe… past Las Flores, I begin to speak.
“I guess I thought I was supposed to figure it out, just manage it, and somehow life would work. I’ve always been smarter than everyone. So, then, how can someone with my intelligence rip apart his own marriage, be disdained at work, and feel so miserable? Andy tells me You’ve been waiting for me to ask that.”
More miles. My mind drifts to disjointed snippets of growing up: childhood, my first girlfriend, sitting on the hood of my Mustang, in college with Ronnie Oliveri, getting drunk on Spanada, my first job after college, my wedding day… all the way to the tense, calculated, angry man sitting in Fenton’s. It’s like my mind is combing through old files, trying to figure something out… .
“About a month ago I said it seems like something is whispering to me. It’s the same whisper that’s been there all my life. I’ve hidden from it, but it’s always been there.
“It’s always been You, huh?”
More miles. Past the Will Rogers State Beach turnoff.
“I want You to hear that I now know I’ve been blaming You and just about everyone else. I use my anger as my weapon of choice—to get my way, to control my world and leverage my positions. I’ve done it so long I don’t know another way.”
More miles.
“A big part of me doesn’t want to face any of this. I want to drive, as fast as I can, somewhere I can hide, where I don’t have to face what I’ve done, who I’ve been.”
I speed past the turnoff for Pacific Palisades.
“No. I’m done running. It’s time to face whatever You want me to face.”
I am now entering Santa Monica. This place has my full attention. Coasting down this palm tree–lined boulevard here on the Pacific Coast Highway, all my senses are heightened. This is the scene of my successes, where I’ve made a name for myself. I’m always on my game here. I am known at these restaurants. I’m respected, given preference.
Sitting at the long stoplight at Wilshire, I take it all in. After the morning I’ve had, it all seems surreal: hollow, thin. Standing outside the crowded restaurants and bistros, everything seems so different now. Several years from now a whole new stable of thirty-four-year-olds will be given these window-side tables.
I park on Palisades Beach Road at the grassy strip of City Park that overlooks the Santa Monica pier. In my paint outfit I blend right in with the street people sharing cigarettes and scraps of lunch. Anytime now, well-dressed colleagues will start filling the ocean-view patios across the street, brokering at white-linen-covered tables procured earlier in the day by eager interns. I should be among them, bluffing my way through another day.
Instead I wander down to a secluded spot at a railing on a walking trail below me. I’m now facing the ocean and the landmark Ferris wheel on the pier’s boardwalk below.
“Andy says that in all my controlling, I’m the only one who’s really been deceived. The thought sickens me. Drains me. I want to make some sort of penance. But I guess that’s part of the problem; I can’t make up for any of it with more religious pretending. Please just forgive me for all my lying and pretending, the hurt I’ve caused. I can’t stand how it feels like I’ve been wasting my life—and others’.”
I stop talking as a couple strolls by on the path behind me. I turn and wait until they’ve passed.
“Andy also says I should trust You with the stuff I’ve never talked about. I don’t really know how to do that. And I guess I always figured you were put-out, disgusted with me. You take care of the big stuff, but maybe You’re here in the small stuff too. I want to believe that. I think that’s the only way I’ll get through this.”
I take a deep breath, preparing for the next words. Somehow, I’ve been waiting to get to the place where I could say this my whole life.
“I’m sorry about who I’ve made You into all these years. Right now, I want You to take the real me—if You’re really willing—all my fear and junk. I just give that to You. I don’t want it anymore.”
I want to say more, but… I think He understands what I’m trying to get out.
I don’t want to leave this spot. This is the best I’ve felt since… I can’t remember. But I have to see Lindsey. I climb slowly back up from the railing, walk across the park and to my car. I stand and stare across the street to the now-filled restaurant patios. Santa Monica is slowly being repainted with something real. As I walk to my car, I notice a street guy with oily, matted hair sitting on a bench, wearing socks on his hands. I find myself saying hello to him. I put the Mercedes in gear and slowly pull away from the curb and down the coast toward home.
Carlos said I’m a saint on my worst day. That I’m righteous right now. Me. Today, I think, is the very first time I’ve started to try that on. What if I’m really not defined by anything else? Steven, who can behave like a jerk… is a saint. Geez!
I don’t want to manage the consequences anymore. I’ve done that all my life. Now I can’t and I won’t. Or I’ll end up managing nothing.
As I work my way out of Santa Monica, I’m terrified of what I will face at the end of this drive home. But I can’t control that. I can only trust Him with me.
I smile to myself, surprised that I’m actually beginning to believe what I just thought. What an incredible feeling.
Just this side of Manhattan Beach I say, “I am asking with everything in me that You will do one thing: allow Lindsey to hear something she can start to believe. Beyond that, I don’t even know what to ask. You take care of it.”
I feel like a man intentionally driving to his own execution. Ten thousand thoughts are now competing for my attention.
I’m not so much afraid that she’ll be angry; for the first time, it actually matters more that she might not forgive me. Or that she’ll let me in again, but for the same old wrong reasons. In the past I didn’t care. I just wanted life back to normal. Now I don’t know what I’ll do if she lets me in again out of resigned fear.
Just let her be there.
I turn the corner into our cul-de-sac. Lindsey’s car is in the driveway. Everything is moving in slow motion now. It seems like everyone I see has been brought up to speed on our situation. Melanie Patton is out watering some bushes, clearly positioning herself for my return. Her eyes follow my car with a disdainful glare that says, “I’ve never trusted you from the day I first saw you. If I were her, I’d so dump you.”
I pull up in front of our house and turn off the engine. I sit there for a moment.
Don’t let me screw this up, I silently plead.
Then I’m in our house. It’s so quiet. Lindsey is not in the kitchen or the living room. I walk upstairs, past the bathroom and our bedroom. The last room at the end of the hall is Jennifer’s. I walk up to the doorway. Lindsey is there, folding clothes on the bed.
“Hello,” I call out tentatively.
She turns and looks at me. I hate that I have caused that look. It is a fragile but determined self-protection. She has had time to prepare a speech I’m hoping she won’t have to give.
I blurt out, far too quickly, “Lindsey, I have so much I want to say to you.”
She has turned away, folding more clothes.
“But you tell me when you’re ready to hear it.”
Nothing. As I turn to leave the room she says quietly, “Steven, I’m not ready to talk. I need to be alone.”
It comes out in a guarded tone that confirms my fear that any trust we may have had is irretrievably gone. Take my fear, God.
I pause for a moment, deciding if I should say something more. I walk out of the room and down the stairs. I move slowly, hoping she’ll call after me when she realizes I’ve actually honored her request to be alone. But there is nothing. I walk out the door and out to the sidewalk, past our cul-de-sac. When I finally stop, I’m in the middle of Crescent Park, nearly a mile away. I sit on a bench, feeling incredibly shaken. I’m afraid if I give Lindsey too long, she could give herself permission to leave me. But not too long later another thought presents itself.
Suddenly I realize something. I’ve never done that before. I’ve never let her alone when she asked me to. And I didn’t do it to gain an advantage. I did it because I want what she wants and nothing more. I love her but I’m not going to try to control her with that. Go figure. Andy was right.
It’s early evening by the time I get up from the bench and head home. I enter the house to find her at the kitchen sink, preparing dinner. I begin to climb the stairs but her voice stops me.
“You really look bad.”
I stop and look down.
“I’ve been over most of Southern California like this.”
We both stand motionless, neither of us sure what to say next.
“My sister told me I should divorce you.”
“She’s probably been talking to Melanie Patton.”
She partially turns to face me, her hands still in the sink. “Are you just going to stand there?”
“I was going to go get cleaned up.”
More silence.
“Help me set the table?” she asks. “After you’re done?”
I nod, walk upstairs, and change my clothes. When I come back down, I enter the kitchen and wordlessly go about setting out three plates, three glasses, and three sets of silverware. For the next few minutes, a frightened couple finds whatever small comfort there is to be had in the routine of preparing dinner. Finally, Lindsey sits down at the far end of the table, facing away from me.
“I’m afraid, Steven.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m afraid too, Lindsey. But I’m trying to let God have that.”
“How many times have we been here before?”
“Too many. Where’s Jennifer?” I say, without looking up from folding napkins.
“I let her stay over at Kati’s until dinner is ready.” She taps a piece of silverware on a plate and says, “I can’t do this anymore. I won’t do this anymore, Steven. It can’t keep being like this. This all has to change or… or—I don’t know… what I’ll do.”
I long to jump in and tell her all that has happened to me in the last few hours. But this is what I always do, try to fix something, control things, cut off what she’s trying to say. So I just stand there, shuffling plates around, nodding my head.
She asks, “Where had you been, dressed like that? You can’t have gone to work.”
“I’ve been with Andy, and then I drove for a while.”
“So what did he tell you?”
“Lindsey, I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“Like what?”
“Good stuff, I think.”
She raises her head, our first real eye contact since morning. “Go ahead.”
I take a deep breath. “Every time I’ve come home like this, after one of our fights, it’s been to buy you off with an apology for my behavior. You know? But I’m not sure I’ve ever believed it was my problem. I told myself that you just got me upset with your irrational response. It would make anyone angry.”
She turns toward me. “Is this the new good stuff? Because I gotta tell you—”
I gesture for her to be patient.
“So each time I would apologize for my behavior and promise not to get angry again. How many flowers? How many gifts to buy you back? But nothing ever changed.”
She looks down at her hands. “It’s gotten worse. Much worse, Steven.”
“I know. Because I thought it was almost all about you. I’d think, Yeah, maybe I get angry, but I’m right on almost everything else. Everybody else is screwed up, and I take the hit because I let my temper flare. And I’ve been convinced I was right.”
She looks up at me, waiting. “And so… ?”
“And so…” I pause for a moment. “I was wrong. None of that’s true. None of it. It’s a lie I told myself.”
“What are you saying?”
“Let me try to get this all out, okay? I’ve got like four days’ worth of stuff I want to tell you.”
She leans back in her chair.
“Lindsey, I’ve used anger as a weapon to gain control. With you, at my job, even with Jennifer. I get angry to get my way. I actually thought it was working. Then one day I did it to you again, but I realized it was just for show. I saw that you were right, but I couldn’t face it. I was devastated. I realized I’d been lying to myself and you for years. But I couldn’t admit it to you. I was afraid of what would happen. I couldn’t have explained it well then, and that’s when I started driving around after work. I didn’t know what else to do. I just knew I didn’t want to be me anymore.”
Lindsey says, “That night… when you called and told me not to hold dinner—that first time. I was so afraid I was losing you. I didn’t know what to do.”
I can see the pain in her eyes. Pain I’ve ignored a long time.
“Then I met Andy. He put up with me long enough for me to be able to face it—face my shame.”
I look into her eyes, hoping she can sense my sincerity.
“The hardest thing he’s said to me is this: while I’m trying to control others with my anger, my shame is controlling me. And you’ve borne the brunt of that for so long. You are married to a really unhealthy man.
“There.” I raise my hands over my head like a soldier surrendering in battle. “Is that like the craziest thing ever? Hearing me talk like this?”
There’s hesitation in Lindsey’s voice. “I’ve waited a long time to hear you say something like this. And now that I’m hearing it, I don’t know what to do. Am I supposed to say, ‘All right, then,’ and just go back to life like nothing ever happened?”
“No. You’ve done that too many times.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing, or why you’re saying this. I don’t want to go through this again, Steven.” Tears are forming in Lindsey’s eyes. “I can’t. I don’t know if I can believe anything you say anymore.”
“I know.” I want to reach for her hands. “See, that’s right, Lindsey. That’s good. I don’t know if you should believe anything I say. Just because I have some revelation at a marina doesn’t undo a decade of manipulation.”
“That’s right, it doesn’t.”
She suddenly stands up, spins around, and angrily points her finger at me.
“No! Don’t do this, Steven! This isn’t fair. Don’t play me! Don’t do this!”
“I—”
“Shut up!” she yells. “I’d made up my mind. I had answers to all the justifications I knew you’d give. Then you pull this crap! Where was this three years ago? Huh? Don’t do this. I can’t do this anymore.”
She’s up and pacing around the kitchen, waving her arms and slamming pots on the stove. Tears are streaming down her face.
“What am I supposed to do?” she screams, running back to the table. “Tell me! What am I supposed to do with all this—this pain?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”
She rushes up to me and yells, “Okay! You win. That’s it. You win. You’ve worn me down. And this game of rehearsed lines you’re playing with my head—I don’t trust a damned word you’re saying! Do you hear me? I don’t trust you!!!”
I want so much to just grab her and hold her. But she isn’t done. She shouldn’t be done. All I can say is, “You’re right.”
She jerks away and moves to the kitchen counter, turns away from me.
“I’m ready to leave you, Steven. I will leave you.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean, you know?” She is sobbing and yelling now. “You don’t know. You haven’t known since we got married! If this is today’s version of more flowers, just save it. I’m too tired. It’s too late. I’m done.”
She is now darting from one side of the kitchen to the other, putting something in the oven, slamming the oven door. She continues, still whirling and not looking.
“If you think nice words someone taught you to say are going to patch this up, you’re stupider than I thought. Don’t play me for an idiot. Don’t do this, Steven!”
I’m sitting at the table. “Do you want me to go upstairs or something for a while?”
She spins around and yells, “Stop that! Stop playing the quiet, compliant husband! Do you know what I want? Do you?”
“Tell me,” I answer quietly.
“I want you to tell me the truth. I don’t need someone’s counseling lines. I need you to tell me what’s going on. Steven, do you not remember this morning? It was absolute insanity. Do you know Jennifer is totally freaked out? She’s been texting me all day from school. What am I supposed to say to her? She’s going to be home in a few minutes. What am I going to say to her? Tell me!”
I get up from my chair. “Okay,” I say gently but more firmly. “Stop, all right? Will you listen for a second?”
She crumples back into her chair at the table, sobbing into her hands. “What am I supposed to do, Steven? Please, help me… .”
She puts her head on the table, sobbing almost uncontrollably.
I walk closer to her, but still at a distance. “I have no idea what to do. I’ve never felt more confused in my entire life,” I say.
No response. Just sobbing.
“Lindsey, I know this all sounds like rehearsed crap. Even as I say it, I know it sounds that way. But I’m praying you know it’s not. You don’t have to say anything. Just listen. And when I’m done, you can call me a liar and ask me to leave. And I promise I will.”
No response.
“I never trusted you with me—the real me. You or God. I didn’t think you were trustworthy—I don’t know why—so I kept you at a distance to protect myself. I used anger to push you and everyone else away. And maybe even more hurtful than my anger was how I didn’t allow you to see me or really love me. You’ve had all this love to give, all this you’ve wanted to say to me, and I made you pay for it when you tried. What can I say? I can’t make it up to you. I can only tell you that I’m here now. And I’m so desperately sorry, not because I want things to go back to normal, as if they ever were, but just that this time I want you to know you were right. I know I’ve destroyed your heart. I know that much. And I just want to beg your forgiveness. Not just for the things I’ve said or for breaking your heart so many times, but for trying to control you with my anger all these years. Lin, now that I see it I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through… . You don’t have to forgive me. You shouldn’t. But I sure want it if you think you ever can.”
I touch the top of the table next to her.
“I’ve caused you to question who you are. I’ve beaten your dreams out of you. I’m not expecting or asking you to trust me. I don’t trust me—I’m like a scared little kid lashing out at anyone who gets in my way. Just try to believe this: I am truly, unbelievably sorry. I’ve repented before God the best I know how. And I asked Him for the first time to do what I was never able to do.”
Lindsey sits up slowly and looks at me. Her face is a red and puffy mess, covered in wet hair and tears.
“Lindsey, I’m getting this all garbled. A bunch of this is what Andy’s pointed out and I’m saying it really poorly. I’m only trying to understand it and make the words mine. Whatever you do next, I just needed you to hear me say this.”
She sniffles. “You’re not saying it poorly.”
“Lindsey.” I want to grab her hands so badly, but I don’t. I won’t. “If it’s going to change, it has to start with me. I think God sent Andy. I think He wants to show me how to dismantle this twisted character I’ve created. These are Andy’s thoughts, but they’re the best things I’ve heard for years—maybe ever. I need to start believing who God says I am and live from that. I’m not a screw up. I’m not hopeless. That’s what I’m trying to believe. That’s my whole game plan. If I can’t start to believe that, then… you should leave me.”
She shakes her head and looks down at the table, wiping at her eyes.
“I’m so confused, Steven. Is this you, or what Andy wants you to believe?”
I smile. “You know me, Lin. I wouldn’t have seen this on my own. I think that’s why Andy’s here. For the first time in a long time, I’m hopeful that I can believe this. So I guess it’s both Andy and me. His thoughts, God’s thoughts, or mine, this is what I need to believe.”
I smile a little and take a step closer to her, still giving her room.
“I need you. You see me better than anyone. You can tell me the truth. I want you to tell me when you see me going toward anger, toward protecting myself, when I’m getting scared or lashing out or whatever I do. You can hold me to it. I want you to, and if I don’t let you, you shouldn’t trust me and I should go.”
“You really want me to tell you that? How do I know you’ll let me?” she asks.
“I’m sure I won’t always respond well. I’m not used to this. But tell me what you’re doing and I’ll try to remember and let you help me.”
“You’re serious.”
“As serious as I get. And even if you do it badly, I’ll work hard to listen to you. You telling me what you see is a hundred times better than me trying to figure it out in the heat of the moment. It won’t be easy, but you can test me on this and see if I mean it.”
She is turned away again, thinking it through, I suppose.
I kneel down by her chair. “Will you look at me?” She does. “This isn’t another attempt to buy a get-out-of-the-doghouse-free card. You believe me?”
Lindsey looks down for a moment. Then she straightens up and looks deeply into my eyes for a long time. We’re only a couple of feet apart.
“I believe you,” she says. “I don’t know what it means, but I do believe you’re sincere. I can’t help but think it will only last a few days, until the next blowup. But I want to help if you think I can.”
“Thank you.”
She looks into my eyes. “I’ve let you back in so many times before. I always hoped you’d change, but I never really believed you would. Mostly, I was terrified of losing everything if I didn’t. In spite of everything, I do love you. And I always wanted your apologies to be real. I just didn’t want our life together to be over. How messed up is that? I don’t think I’ve ever believed you. And I don’t think things are really going to change even now.”
“That’s not messed up. That’s rational. You were just scared. You didn’t know what else to do.”
She pauses and looks at her hands, clasped together in her lap. “I choose to forgive you today though, and not because I’m afraid to leave. If this is a game, I’ll be gone. But I think you’re telling me the truth, for the first time in a very long while. I want to see if you’ll let me really help you, whatever that means. I still want to be… to be with you.” She looks up at me. “Do you realize how long I’ve hoped for that? No. You can’t. You cannot possibly understand—”
Her voice breaks off, and she begins weeping again. But this weeping is different. She leans in toward me. I desperately want to hold her. Still, I wait for a moment, not wanting to frighten her. But she stays pressed against me. So I take her into my arms.
And I hold her as tenderly as I’ve ever held anything in my life.