The Woman He Married

by Ford, Julie

  Josie giggled, keeping her eyes closed. “Only about a million times.” She was in heaven. Then, John’s lips, instead of his hands, began to softly trace across her shoulders. Shivers of pleasure rolled down her back. “I thought you said we were just going to talk,” she purred, playfully.

  “This is a new kind of massage,” he teased, “called…kiss therapy. Folks pay top dollar for attention like this.”

  He moved his lips tenderly up her neck until his teeth nibbled at her earlobe. Josie arched her back, leaning into him as he continued to nip at her skin. Her desire for him re-emerged and she turned her head, allowing his lips to find hers. His kiss was light and smooth. Her heart pounded as she drank in the taste of him until she needed more. Reaching her arms back, she pulled his face closer and kissed him hard. John responded by moving his fingers over the swell of her breasts, down the front of her dress, and to the side, in search of her zipper. His touch reverberated right down to her toes, sending her reeling back to reality. She pulled away and turned to face him.

  “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

  “I disagree,” he said, pressing his lips to hers again, this time with an intensity that took her breath way. “I’ve wanted you so bad since the trip,” he said as he pulled back, “to make love to you again.”

  “John.” She could only breathe his name as she finally allowed herself to think about how much she had wanted him too.

  “I thought I was going to go crazy, being this close and not touching you,” he said as his lips traced across her jaw and back to her mouth.

  Knowing John wanted her felt good, and kissing him again felt right. Josie matched his passion with her own desire. She thought how easy it would be to let him back in, to wake up in his arms, to have the kids come home the next day with their daddy moved back into the house.

  She opened her eyes to see his face. To look at the man who, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t turn away from. As she did, she caught a glimpse of Sampson sitting next to the couch. His head cocked to the side, the dog’s expression should have been one of curiosity, but instead, she saw reproach. Suddenly aware she was about to leap into another decision without thinking—thank you, Gina—Josie broke away and leapt off the couch before John could pull her back.

  John looked like a child whose momma had just ripped a lollipop out of his mouth. “What’s the matter?” He hopped to his feet, put his hands on her hips, and pulled her back to him.

  Holding up a finger while catching her breath, Josie said, “I don’t know if I’m ready for this yet.”

  “Don’t be silly, Jocelyn—I’m your husband.”

  “Right, and a few hours ago you had Trisha pushed up against the wall.” Josie shuddered at the thought. “How do I know if we do this, things won’t go back to the way they were before?”

  John tightened his grip. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

  She peeled his hands away. “That’s just it—I don’t trust you.”

  “Come on, Jocelyn, what’s this all about?” he asked. And then his eyes went cold. “This is about Brian, isn’t it? I know you’ve been sleeping with him.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I have not!”

  He ignored her denial and spoke as if he’d already worked out what he wanted to say. “I’m willing to overlook it because of what I did with Trisha, but it’s time we focus on us, on keeping our family together.”

  “I have not been sleeping with Brian!”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because I wouldn’t, I couldn’t.” Josie’s mind was racing. Why wouldn’t I? Why haven’t I? “Because I chose you, John. Not Brian.” She heard herself saying the words as if the voice belonged to someone else. “I still choose you, but you’ve never chosen me.” He’d never professed his love—out loud, at least. Suddenly Josie didn’t know what she was saying. Could it be as simple as John saying that he loved her, and she’d take him back? Is that all she wanted, all she needed, to hear him say it?

  “I married you, didn’t I? I still want to be married to you.”

  He didn’t say it.

  “Having a commitment to being married and being committed to…a marriage are two different things.” Josie felt her emotions welling up and threatening to erupt in a wave of tears.

  “You’re not making any sense. I want you; why isn’t that enough?”

  Tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks. “Why can’t you say it?” she cried, in a weak and shaky voice.

  “Tell me what you want me to say, and I’ll say it. Anything.”

  “Doesn’t work that way.” She knew he couldn’t say that he loved her because he didn’t; he never had. Josie’s heart felt like it was ripping apart in her chest with a force so fierce it overwhelmed her entire body. “How many times are you going to break my heart before you let me go?” Josie pleaded, watching his confused face searching hers for the right answer. “Please, John, just let me go.”

  Unable, or unwilling, to come up with the right response, John’s shoulders hunched, and he turned away.

  Tears streaming down her face, Josie took a deep breath and willed her legs to carry her away from him. “That’s what I was afraid of,” she mumbled hopelessly as she went.

  He didn’t come after her.

  * * * *

  Groggy and hung-over, John rolled over the empty champagne bottle lying next to him as Andy pounded relentlessly on the sliding glass door. The morning sunlight stung John’s eyes as he hobbled over to the door, unlocked, and slid it open.

  He scowled at Andy. “What the hell do you want this early in the morning?”

  “Wake up; we’ve got big problems.” Andy sounded serious as he moved over to the television. He was about to push the power button when he noticed a small crack in the screen. “What happened to your TV?”

  John looked down at his swollen big toe. “My foot happened to it.” He winced now that he was coherent enough to feel the pain.

  “Why?” Andy started, but then didn’t finish. “Are the kids home?”

  “No, they’re at Momma’s.”

  “Good, let’s go inside. Come on now, there’s no time to dawdle.”

  * * * *

  Standing at the kitchen counter in her robe, a steaming mug of coffee cupped in her left hand, Josie counted down the weeks off the calendar, “…eight-nine-ten.” Biting her bottom lip, she rolled the calendar back to January, and counting up to March again, she came up with the same number. “Oh, dear Lord,” she breathed.

  A moment later, she heard Andy ushering a reluctant John into the family room. Turning on the television, he said, “Just watch, there’s no time to explain.”

  Josie shuffled around the corner to see what they were up to and froze when she saw Trisha’s face materialize on the television screen. Across the bottom, in big bold letters, rolled, Breaking News—Special Report. After taking her place officially behind a podium, Trish cleared her throat before starting.

  “What the hell—” was all John got out before his ex-press secretary started to speak.

  “For the past year I have been engaged in an extra-marital affair with judicial candidate, John Bearden…”

  She continued for several more minutes, detailing the circumstances surrounding their torrid affair and how she felt a sense of responsibility to the community and her husband—Josie didn’t really hear the rest. When the woman finally finished, Andy clicked off the television.

  “Patrick and I both told you not to break it off with her until after the election. Women like her are too unpredictable.”

  John pulled his fingers through his hair. “It probably doesn’t help that I fired her last night.”

  “Are you insane?” Andy started, but then paused when he spied Josie. “Hey, Jocelyn,” he greeted her almost casually before getting back to business. “I have everyone assembling down at headquarters so we need to get moving, contain this before it hits the national news.”

  Face whi
te and void of emotion, John turned to look at her. Josie searched his expression for anything that would tell her what she’d just seen was some sort of hallucination.

  “Jocelyn, are you all right?” he asked in a weary voice.

  “John, we need to get moving,” Andy reiterated.

  John gave his brother a firm look. “Just give me a minute alone with my wife. I’ll be along.”

  Andy unwillingly agreed. “All right, but just a moment.” Then, moving past Josie toward the door, he snatched the coffee cup from her limp hand. “Let me just help you with that,” he said, before taking a sip. “Good coffee, thanks. One minute, John, that’s all you get,” he warned, tapping his watch as he slid the door shut.

  Josie stammered, “Can she do that? Can she just put our personal lives out there for the whole world to see?” Of course, she knew Trisha could—she just did—but the shock of hearing John’s affair broadcast to all of Birmingham seemed too surreal at the moment, and she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. But, worse than that. “Oh my god, the children! What am I going to tell them? There’s no way to keep this from them now.”

  “You’re not going to tell them a thing. This whole mess is my fault; I need to tell them, take responsibility,” he said with a sigh that encompassed his whole body. “Momma’s bringing them home around three. I’ll call her and tell her not to say anything. I’ll be back, talk to them then.”

  Andy tapped on the window. John rubbed his tired face. “Jocelyn, I have to go. Are you sure you’re all right? Do you want me to stay?”

  Josie was quiet, thinking for a minute while indignation swelled within her. Temporarily in control of her faculties, she said, “No, you do what you have to do. Don’t let that woman take you down, John—not after everything you’ve—we’ve—been through. She is not going to be your undoing.”

  John’s face warmed with admiration. “That’s my girl,” he said.

  Andy hit the window again, this time with his fist. John gave Josie a wistful look before turning and dragging his feet over to the door. One hand on the knob, John turned back to face her. “I’m so sorry, Jocelyn…for everything.”

  “Me too,” Josie admitted as she watched him disappear through the door and back out to the guesthouse. Unable to clearly define what she was feeling at the moment, Josie knew one thing for sure—for the first time since she’d married him, she felt like she and John were on the same side.

  * * * *

  The congregation at the FirstBaptistChurch sang “Face to Face” soberly, muffling the creak of Josie’s loafers as she made her way up the center aisle to what looked like the last empty seat in the sanctuary. Tugging at her baby blue cable-knit cardigan, Josie smoothed her tan and brown plaid skirt, avoiding eye contact while taking her seat on the red velvet pew. After John and Andy had left, Josie found herself desperate to avoid answering the plethora of calls coming in from family and friends, and decided the best place for her to hide would be in church—no one would think to look for her there.

  But as she settled into her seat she could sense the intrigue in her fellow churchgoers, imagine them glancing conspiratorially at one another, then to her, and then back at each other again. She knew they couldn’t possibly have all seen the news this morning, but it only took one God-fearing Christian “in the know” to spread juicy gossip such as John’s with such great efficiency.

  What Josie needed was a way to protect the kids. Maybe a witness protection program? No, a scandal protection program. With the abundance of allegations heaved against football coaches, politicians, and clergy, a state like Alabama surely had a need for an agency devoted to protecting the innocent family members. The Scandal Protection Agency, or SPA, it would be called. Josie envisioned green lawns with mature oaks and white sparkling buildings where families could hunker down, attend group therapy, and relax until the storm of controversy blew over.

  Her cell vibrated in her purse. She edged the phone out just enough to see another text from Brian. He’d been trying to contact her all morning and leaving insistent messages that she get back to him. Against her better judgment, she desperately wanted to see him, feel his arms engulf her, and allow the strength of his body to reassure her that this too would pass. She didn’t need scandal protection—she needed Brian. Haven’t I always felt safe with him, reassured? She knew all she had to do was ask and he’d take her and the children away. The kids would never have to know what their father had done.

  Josie thought about all the exciting places she and Brian could take them and the experiences they could have. What are they missing by living their whole lives in Alabama, and like their father and most of their classmates, never going much further than the Gulf coast or Atlanta, Georgia? John let me go last night, but would he be so willing to say goodbye to his children? Eleven years ago he’d married her out of convenience, stayed married to her through a sense of honor, duty. Josie put her hand to her abdomen, remembering that her circumstances were more complicated than she wanted to admit. She decided she couldn’t contact Brian just yet, and returned the cell to her purse.

  When the hymn ended, Reverend Hayes took his dictatorial position behind the pulpit high above the congregation. The sun shining through the stained glass cross built into the forward wall behind him angelically outlined his hair and the whiteness of his robe. Preaching about the hardships of life, the reverend quoted Bernard Baruch: “‘The art of living lies less in eliminating conflicts than growing with them.’”

  Damn, Josie thought, realizing what he’d said negated her scandal protection idea. But then she had children to protect. How could this possibly be a growing experience for them? Surely their situation would be an exception. Assuming a comforting mode of avoidance—too much personal growth at one time could be dangerous—Josie decided to tune out the rest of his sermon until the reverend quoted a scripture in Ecclesiastes 3:1.

  Snatching the Bible from the wooded pocket on the pew in front of her, Josie flipped through the pages, searching for the passage. With no table of contents, Josie cursed her four years of college, three years of law school, and passage of the Alabama State Bar for not preparing her to find a simple scripture in the Bible. Obviously a “real” Christian would know where to find it. When she refused to give up, amazingly the pages finally opened to the right place, and Josie read…

  To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

  She read the passage a few times, trying to fully capture its meaning. Thinking back over her thirty-something years of living, she identified the “seasons” of her own life. The years with Brian, and their carefree lifestyle of school and travel, free to take chances without worrying about tomorrow. With no children of his own, what season of life was Brian in? He seemed to want her back, but would he be willing to embrace the restrictions of being with a woman who had three, maybe four, children?

  Then, marriage and motherhood, feeling stifled, depressed, and insignificant. With each season having a purpose, what should she be focused on now? She’d finally broken free to pursue her dreams, but what dreams was she pursuing? The dreams of a season now past? Now that she was a wife and mother, was she making a mistake by trying to reclaim her lost dreams, to pick up where she’d left off? Maybe she should have been—wanted to be—focused solely on raising her children.

  Overwhelmed by her predicament, Josie had nowhere else to turn for answers. If there were a God, now would be a good time for him to reveal himself, and she humbly closed her eyes to pray. Holding her eyes closed tight, she pled, then waited. She felt nothing, but she persisted. As she did, a warmth she’d never before felt engulfed her soul from the inside out. The feeling grew as the choir sang the closing hymn. She’d received her answer. Josie slowly opened her eyes, now knowing she couldn’t rely on an “agency” or Brian to save her. But she would have to draw upon her own strength to figure this one out. And she took comfort in knowing that, from now on, she wouldn’t be alone.

 
Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, It’s just you and me now, Lord. Don’t let me down.

  * * * *

  Local restaurants braced themselves for the influx of hungry churchgoers as Josie remained in her seat waiting while the rest of the congregation filed toward the back of the sanctuary.

  “Josie, how are you holding up?” asked an empathetic voice with an uncanny resemblance to that of Lori Watson.

  Josie sprang to her feet. “I’m well, fine,” she said, taken aback. Lori’s eyes were strangely warm, compassionate.

  She spoke softly. “These things are never easy, especially once everyone knows,” she continued, her dark eyes watching Josie’s with all the pain of a woman who knew how it felt to be publicly betrayed by her husband. “Thankfully, the pain subsides with time. The trust, well, that’s another matter.”

  Lori talked as if Josie should know about her personal life when the truth was, she didn’t pay much attention to gossip. Josie looked over at Lori’s husband. Balding now, his mid-section expanding considerably in true Southern fashion, he joked with one hand on Reverend Hayes’ shoulder.

  Josie was completely baffled. “I’m sorry, Lori, I really had no idea.”

  “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for bringing my daughter home the other night. And, for not telling anyone.” Smiling, Lori wrapped her arms around her waist. “You’re a good person, Josie, and I’ve treated you unfairly all these years. We…I’d be honored to have you back at the school as a volunteer any time you’re ready.”

  * * * *

  Leaning a shoulder against the front dining room wall, Josie stood next to the window with her arms crossed. Out front, another network news van from a local station parked across the street, joining the others awaiting some sort of newsworthy event they could record and then broadcast to their bloodthirsty viewers.

  “I can’t believe the nerve of that woman, spouting lies ’bout my John,” Gloria ranted while pacing around the table.

  Of course John’s mother was in denial about his infidelity. Unfortunately, denial wasn’t her most obvious character flaw. Like many Southern women, she suffered from generations of repressed assertiveness along with the belief that all women were inherently evil. For her, outward appearances were all that counted. In other words, it was ludicrous to think a woman could possibly be nice on the inside too.