Lovey

Safe and Happy

There comes a moment in every marriage when you, as a spouse, are standing at the edge of the steepest precipice one could possibly imagine. It is that moment when you realize that the man or woman you married is perhaps a vestige of the person you thought, but, in reality, bears very little resemblance to the forever you had seen in your mind’s eye. The way he mouth breathes on your back in the morning when you are trying to catch the last moments of sleep before one of the babies you have created together issues the morning rooster crow. He refuses to cover his mouth when he coughs and only lifts a finger to assist the children when you are in public and people will see and rave about what a terrific father he is. And then, sometimes, a secret is revealed. Something even more shocking than the fact that this perfect specimen you studied under what you thought was a very fine microscope for years before walking down the aisle, is, in fact, human, comes to the surface in the broad daylight—or maybe in the dead of night.

And you are faced with a choice. He has crossed that giant chasm without you and is standing on the other side. So there you are, waiting, choosing, deciding. Do you cross over and hold the hand that, while not as perfect as you had once imagined, is the one you promised to hold until your last breath? Or do you stay on your side, closed off, unrealistic and utterly unwilling to imagine that perhaps this marriage, this man, this choice is as good as it’s going to get?

Some women would have stayed on their side. They would have swept and scrubbed and made it up tidy, steeled their jaw and faced the world alone. But me? I crossed over. Maybe it was the way I was raised by parents who valued hard work and sticking to your vows above all else. Maybe it was that, in reality, I had no good options. I was a mother of five darling girls, but, as beautifully as our package was wrapped, there was no doubt that Dan was the bow atop. And finding another was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

Sometimes, I wonder if maybe choosing the path I did was weakness. But, I’d like to say now, when I know it is almost over, when the man I risked everything for, the man I leapt across that great expanse for, is gone from me, that it was strength.

“Oh, Luella, I don’t care for any more tea,” I say, after the funeral is over, after the guests have left, after I have slept alone in my room for the first time in sixty-three years, as I am sitting in the living room that has held so many of the most treasured memories of my life.

“Sal, I’m proud of you,” Lauren is saying, meaning that my most headstrong girl and my most passive one have mended fences.

Sally smiles sheepishly. “I guess I have you to thank for my current happiness, so thank you.”

Lauren tips a fake hat. “And, for the record, I heard there was some speculation over whether I would actually date Kyle. And, just so we’re clear, I feel as though I shouldn’t have to say this, but, no, I would not date anyone that any of you are or have ever been in love with. So let’s just get that straight.”

“Sort of ironic,” Jean says.

“What?” Martha asks.

“That Lauren would be the one to go to all that trouble to make sure that Sally ended up with the love of her life.”

Sally leans over and rests her head on Lauren’s shoulder. “Thanks, sis. You really took one for the team.”

Lauren puts her arm around Sally and squeezes. “Anytime.” She looks up and says, “I would do the same for any of you.”

They all laugh. I smile, but I’m not sure where I stand on any of this. I suppose that it’s better to divorce and be with the one you’re going to be with than to spend your life sneaking around. As has happened so often in my life, I’m not sure whether any of my girls, all chattering around me, notices my silence or lack of contribution to the conversation.

Louise chimes in, as spiritually as one could expect, “You only get one chance to live an authentic life. If this is it, then there’s no fighting it.”

Jean, predictably the devil’s advocate and the voice of unemotional reason, adds, “But, Sally, what about Doug?”

“Yeah,” Martha chimes in. “Are you sure it’s over?”

I smile, though I’m not sure why. Maybe it is because Sally has stood at her own divide and, instead of taking the hand of her husband, she chose a different path. I would have told her, had she asked, that no one is perfect. I’m sure she thinks she loves Kyle, but give it a few years and he will be just as imperfect as Doug. The newness and the passion will have worn off to an extent. I have seen this so many times in my years. But a mother knows when her daughter won’t listen. She knows when to bite her tongue. And so I did and, on this particular issue, will continue to do so.

I want to judge her for abandoning her life or feel embarrassed by what people are going to say as my family is in the midst of yet another scandal, but I am too old, too tired and too sad for all of that. Life is the choices we make, and, I am reminded again, I can’t choose for them.

Sally squeezes my knee. I am sitting in the only chair left in the room, a leather wingback that was Dan’s favorite. All of my girls are sitting around my feet, and, as if I have rewound the tape fifty-five years, I expect them to argue over what board game to play. I almost look over to Dan, in his chair, grinning behind his newspaper at the world he cocreated. But when I turn my head, he isn’t there. And, in some ways, I’m glad he isn’t here for this part.

But, as I look around, I know that my girls will take care of Sally. And they will take care of Jean while she takes care of Annabelle. And so on and so forth for the rest of their lives, no matter what the world sends their way. Life will change without us here to bring them all together every holiday, but they are strong. They love each other and they will stick up for each other the way they always have. I’d like to think that I had something to do with that.

“I’m so sorry, Momma,” Sally says, the tears filling her eyes. “I know this isn’t what you need right now.”

But, in truth, I’m happy for the distraction. Worrying about one of my daughters is the only diversion for the void so wide and so thick and so deep that I know the only way out is to close my eyes and not open them again.

“You know what, darlings? My prayer every night was that the Lord would keep you safe and happy. Safe and happy,” I repeated. “Not married to the same man, not free from heartbreak or small-town scandal or away from hard choices. Only safe and happy.” I smiled at all of them. “I have to say that, sitting here now, it appears every last one of you is both safe and happy.”

And that’s when I knew. My job here was done.