Chapter 30

Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.

—James 5:16

 

 

 

 

I wanted to talk to someone about what was going on with me, specifically between me and Ethan. But that was easier said than done. One: I didn’t want to give any of my friends an occasion to judge me. And two: my two best friends were too much like refrigerators gone bad—they couldn’t keep nothing!

Several of my friends have told me something like this. But I’ve never really had anything quite like this to happen with me before. Sure, men have hit on me. I’ve even had stints of being impressed with a few guys who have caused me to jokingly say aloud (along with both Shelia and

Kelly), “Now I could get with that!”

Shelia and Kelly knew I was merely kidding (even if I knew that they absolutely weren’t). Anyone who really knew me knew I’d never act on anything like that. So those times with me running my mouth were essentially harmless.

But this situation with Ethan was totally different.

This had me moving toward doing something I knew I shouldn’t, with a man who was not my husband. It didn’t matter that I’d known Ethan long before I ever met Zeke. It didn’t matter that I’d loved Ethan back when I wasn’t even sure I knew what love was.

And now, he was telling me that he’d never stopped loving me. He had professed his love for me. And there was no one I could discuss this with. No one. It was so frustrating. In all honesty, I should have been able to talk to my pastor about this. But he would have loved having something like this to hold over my head. Pastor Hutchings had tried many times himself to kiss me. There was no way I would confess to him that another man had not only tried, but succeeded, where he’d failed. That would have merely communicated to him that he just needed to be more persistent . . . possibly try harder.

Nope. My pastor was definitely out, as was his wife who suffered from her own case of diarrhea of the mouth. I didn’t feel I needed to talk to a psychiatrist since there was nothing fundamentally mentally unstable about cheating. Well, maybe unstable isn’t the best choice of words. Let’s just say people have been cheating since the days of the Old Testament.

I categorically couldn’t tell my mother. She’d likely pull out her bottle of oil and start anointing me and anything else within my immediate vicinity. My three sisters saw me as the responsible one of the family. Definitely couldn’t tell any of them.

And my brother?

Well . . . let’s just say he would have affectionately slapped me on my back, congratulated me, and said, “Welcome to the club! It’s about [insert a curse word here] time.” As quiet as it’s been kept, I know for a fact that two of my three sisters and my only brother all have cheated on their spouses at one time or another. They’ll deny it, but I know the truth.

My sisters had good reasons. One sister was married to a stone fool (fool is used biblically here: he used to say there was no God) who didn’t deserve a wife. He treated her so badly. Another sister’s husband was sleeping with pretty much anything that wore a skirt, breathed, and would let him. She cheated on him to let him know that he wasn’t the only one who could garner attention in their house. Her husband straightened up for a few months before he went right back to his old ways. That sister eventually got tired and left him, only to return six months later. My baby sister has never married. She has commitment issues. Sharon has a good man (a really good man) she’s been with for some ten years, but she refuses to settle down. “It’s just not in my nature to commit myself forever . . . to tie myself forever to one person . . . one soul,” she told me. “Nope. That’s not me.”

Then there’s Baby Brother, a straight-up dog (my sincere apologies to dogs). That’s pretty much all I need to say about him. My mother used to tell him he was like a dog chasing a car. “Should the dog catch it, he doesn’t have a clue what to do with it,” Mother said. Still, Baby Brother loves the chase. And those women slow enough or who stopped long enough for him to catch them? Sure, he’d stay with them for a few months before he was right back out there, running and barking at the next good-looking, two-legged “vehicle” passing his way.

So as much as I would have loved to talk about . . . confess all that had taken place between me and Ethan over this past year and four months, I didn’t have anyone I honestly felt comfortable enough to tell. I couldn’t tell a soul he’d bought me flowers. I couldn’t tell how he and I had kissed on more than one occasion. I couldn’t tell how he made me feel like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes upon, even though I was much, much older than when he and I first met. I couldn’t tell how he’d magically created the most romantic night I’d had (ever, honestly) practically out of nothing when he set that table with candles and flowers and we laughed and ate some of the best seafood on this side of Heaven. I couldn’t tell anyone he’d just told me that he loved me.

There was no one I could tell what was causing me to smile for what seemed like no reason whatsoever. How butterflies were setting up residence in my stomach, fluttering around whenever I saw Ethan or heard his voice.

There was no one I could talk to or tell any of this . . . except for Ethan. And from everything I’d gotten from him, it was the same with him. At this point, the only real confidantes either of us seemed to have . . . were each other.