the Dance

by Alison G. Bailey

  With a gentle soft tone, Joanne said, “Will is everything okay?”

  His eyes stayed focused on his phone. “Yeah, why?”

  “We haven’t started yet and you seem distracted.”

  “Just work stuff.”

  “I understand but I have a rule, cellphones must be turned off during a session.”

  “I didn’t know that. How about I put it on silent?”

  “I’m sorry, Will, but I’m going to have to ask you to turn it off completely. Even on silent the buzzing from texts and voicemails is distracting. It will only be for an hour.”

  Will looked at Joanne as if she had two heads growing out of her neck. Reluctantly he powered down his phone, cringing as it went dead.

  “Thank you, Will. I appreciate you doing that. I want to do a communication exercise with the two of you today. Many times when a couple argues, they get so wrapped up in wanting to get their individual comments out they don’t listen to their partner. You’ll each have a chance to ask the other one a question. While the person answers you can’t comment. You listen and really hear what they have to say. Once they give their answer you’re allowed one follow-up comment/question. Understand?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Will nodded.

  “Okay, ladies first. Bryson, what would you like to ask first?”

  Without looking directly at Will, I said, “I’d like for him to explain exactly what he does in his office at home.”

  I knew it was a difficult question to start with but how Will spent his time in that room was a major concern. I’d told him before we got here today that Joanne was aware of what I’d seen.

  Joanne turned her gaze on Will.

  He cleared his throat. “I work.”

  A slight huff escaped me at hearing his answer.

  “Would you elaborate a little more, please?” Joanne said.

  “You really want a detailed description of my job?”

  “The point of the exercise is twofold. We want to create an environment in which you feel safe to speak without fear of being interrupted and also give your partner the opportunity to really listen to what you have to say. It’s difficult to work on communication if your answers are general and monosyllabic.”

  Will blew out a deep breath. “I supervise the construction of various projects—working with the client and architect, the budget, the hiring of subcontractors. I also go out and obtain new clientele.”

  “Bryson, you have one follow-up comment/question?”

  “Besides work, how else does he spend his time in that room?”

  Joanne and I both looked at Will.

  He focused straight ahead. “I don’t know what she’s asking.”

  Joanne gave me a slight nod indicating I could ask my question again.

  “I want to know what other activities besides work take place in that room?”

  “Um . . . I play solitaire . . . and um . . . I don’t know . . . occasionally I’ll get on a couple of gaming sites, listen to music, or mindlessly surf the net. It helps me destress.”

  I couldn’t believe Will wasn’t coming clean on the screen slut incident. He knew I knew. He knew Joanne knew. He knew what a huge problem it was for me. A problem we needed to deal with openly and honestly.

  Not wanting to push Will into becoming defensive, Joanne shifted focus.

  “Okay, Will, what would you like to ask Bryson?”

  “Nothing.”

  How in the world did he not have at least one question he’d been dying to ask me? Just because the last week seemed like old times, didn’t mean things between us were fixed.

  “Are you sure?” Joanne asked.

  He nodded.

  “Okay, Bryson, do you have another question?”

  Deep down I knew it was going to be up to me to bring up Will’s extracurricular porn activity. I was hoping he’d man up and admit it, save me from the embarrassment and shame of asking the question out loud.

  “I’d like to know how often he uses porn to get off.”

  My insides quivered as I waited for Will to digest my words.

  “What the fuck kind of question is that?” There was a bite in his tone.

  I focused on the painting of a beach scene that hung above Joanne’s desk as I felt Will’s gaze burn into me. Was he delusional? He had to know this topic would be brought up.

  “I’m not sitting here for this shit,” he snapped.

  Joanne attempted to diffuse the situation before it escalated further. “Let’s stay calm and address this in a reasonable way. Bryson has every right to ask that question. It’s obviously something that’s been on her mind. Will, I don’t want you to feel attacked, though.”

  “Too late for that. I’m done. I took valuable time out of my work day to come here. And you’re accusing me of being some sort of pervert.”

  “Will, why are you acting this way? You knew we needed to talk about this,” I said.

  Joanne stepped in. “No one used that word or even implied it. It’s not unusual for men or women to seek out those types of sites.”

  “Okay then . . . I get on porn sites. What of it? I’m a red-blooded male. I’ve been doing it ever since middle school.”

  The fact that he’d started getting on these sites at such a young age stunned me.

  “Will, do you feel these sites have impacted your marriage?”

  “Listen, let’s not make this a big deal. You said it yourself, its normal. I’m not going out and having an affair for Christ sake.”

  Tears began to pool in my eyes. “It feels like you are to me, though.”

  “Will, look at your wife. What’s your reaction?”

  “I don’t like it when she cries.”

  “Bryson, what would you like Will to do?”

  “Stop looking at porn.”

  Focusing back on Joanne, he huffed. “Why? I’m not hurting anyone.”

  “You’re hurting me,” I whispered.

  “Both of you have a responsibility in this relationship. If your actions hurt your partner then it’s your job to decide what you’re going to do about it.”

  “Jesus, if it bothers you that much, I’ll stop.”

  Will and I looked at each other. I could see the struggle in his eyes. His hesitation cut right through me.

  During the weeks that followed there was a noticeable improvement in the way Will and I interacted. At first it was awkward and at times felt forced. I worked hard on not holding a grudge about the porn. Will vowed to me during each session with Joanne that he was no longer using it to destress. Instead, he’d added a couple more days in the gym. Will explained that at this point in his life it was more the mindlessness of the activity that drew him to the sites and not because our sex life was lacking. As the holiday season came and went, my trust began to grow again. The last four months had been rough but with the new year, it felt like we were finally back on the path toward our fairy tale.

  Will had been late for many events over the years—class, football practice, and dates with me. But he’d never been late for work . . . until today. Before the alarm sounded this morning, a familiar and missed nudge woke me from a deep sleep. Before I had a chance to clear my head, Will’s fingers hooked around the hem of my T-shirt, pushing it up. The frequency of sex had slowed down considerably. Working on getting our relationship back had caused a kind of formality when it came to being intimate. This morning was the first time in a long time that we acted like a couple in love, each sending nonverbal permission to the other.

  I couldn’t stop giggling as Will zipped around getting dressed. Like he was making a mad dash out of the room before my overprotective father came in with his shotgun. I never remembered him being so focused and caught up in me that he lost track of time. It made me feel special and loved. Shoving his wallet in his back pocket, Will grabbed his keys and flew out the door. I lay in bed for a few extra minutes enjoying the feel of happiness before getting up and starting my usual routine.

  After
I showered, I pulled on a pair of jeans and my light blue long sleeve T-shirt along with my gray Nike sneakers. This morning would be spent doing laundry and ironing. Before heading downstairs for breakfast, I gathered up an armful of clothes and dumped them on the bench at the foot of our bed. Will was notorious for leaving things in his pockets. And not normal things like tissue or a piece of paper he used to jot a note on. I’d never forget the time I opened up the washing machine to find our clothes covered with a fine coating of sticky caramel from the handful of Werther’s candy. So far my expedition hadn’t discovered anything until I picked up the work jeans he’d worn the day before. I reached in and pulled out his dead cellphone. In his rush to leave this morning he’d forgotten it.

  I knew there was no way Will would be able to make it through the day without his phone. People needed to be able to reach him especially when he was out on a build site. Since a dead cellphone wouldn’t do him any good, I figured I’d let it charge while I did the laundry, then drop it off at his office. I transferred the clothes into the laundry basket and walked over to the nightstand where Will kept his phone charger. I plugged the phone in and within a few seconds it came to life.

  As I reached for the laundry basket my gaze inadvertently landed on the lit screen. Will had the basic phone apps—calendar, weather, clock, calculator, music, and a couple construction-related ones. I was tempted to swipe to the next screen to see if there were any porn apps but I stopped myself. There was no way our relationship would survive if I kept doubting his word. Things between us were going too well for my insecurities to jeopardize it.

  Suddenly, the main app screen disappeared, replaced by an incoming call. Will must have had the phone on silent. The number that popped up wasn’t familiar. But that didn’t give me pause. What kept my gaze glued to the screen was the name associated with the number, Val. It was one of those names that could go either way, male or female. As I stood trying to convince myself this Val was probably a he, the missed call and voicemail window appeared.

  Even if Val was a woman that didn’t mean anything. Will dealt with a lot of different people in construction. Granted, the majority seemed to be male but there were women in all aspects of the business. And then there are the assistants of the business associates who’d call for whatever reason. As I stood mesmerized by the name and number, a wave of shame washed over me. Things had been going well between us, Will was making a noticeable effort and then this morning was wonderful. We were finally getting past our bump in the road, so I didn’t understand why I was letting my imagination run wild with doubts. My gaze shifted to the text message app, the number twelve hovered just above it indicating Will had some reading to do.

  I stared at that number looming over the message bubble for an inappropriate amount of time. Scheming thoughts began to form in my head. It would be easy to tap the screen and open the app. Take a quick look at who was texting Will. Maybe this Val was among the texts. What if Val had some vital information he needed to tell Will as soon as possible? He sent the text and when there was no response he decided to call. It wasn’t an invasion of privacy nor a comment on my trusting Will. It was almost mandatory as Will’s wife to at least check the list of texts to see if Val’s name showed up. If not, then I’d go about my day until the phone was fully charged and I could take it to Will.

  It felt as if I’d been standing and staring for a lifetime, weighing out my options. I could twist and turn the reasons for checking the text messages as much as I wanted in order to justify taking a peek, but that didn’t make it right. Deep down I knew my only intention for looking through Will’s phone was to see if watching porn was his only offense.

  The knots in my stomach that had been slowly forming for the past ten minutes tightened as my trembling finger hovered over the message app. I inhaled a sharp deep breath and tapped the screen. It was as if a spotlight came from out of nowhere, shining brightly, leading me right to the name Val. But what shut all my physical systems down was the brief preview of the message—I miss you. I looked at the words as if they were written in ancient Arabic. I don’t know how long I stood there stuck in space and time before realization slammed into me.

  It was like an out-of-body experience. My eyes witnessed my hands trembling before I felt the twitching. I saw my knees buckle before I felt the weakness set in. Instinctively my palm hit flat against the wall in an attempt to keep me from crashing to the floor. I don’t remember not breathing, I just remember the sound of gasping when my lungs begged for oxygen.

  “Bryson!” The sound of Will’s voice floating up the stairs hit my ears.

  Joanne taught me that words said in the heat of anger wouldn’t accomplish anything. That I should take a few cleansing breaths and calm down. Then I’d be able to express myself in a clear and concise manner.

  Fuck that!

  Will’s fingers wrap around my upper arm as he turned me around. “Babe, is everything okay?”

  I jerked my arm from his grasp and stepped away. Looking down, he noticed the phone in my hand. By the time his gaze bounced up to mine, his expression was flat. But he quickly recovered in an attempt to look innocent.

  “Thank god you found my phone. I thought I’d lost it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I got all the way to work before I realized it wasn’t in my pocket.”

  Will extended his arm waiting for me to place the phone in his palm.

  My mouth hung open for a second before my brain ordered it to function. “Who is Val?”

  “I’m not following you, babe. Listen, I gotta get back to the office. I just ran in to get my phone.”

  As I stood there still in shock, Will grabbed his phone and headed toward the door. Another second and he’d be out of sight and on his way back to the office. Somehow I forced my legs into action.

  “Who is Val?” My voice sounded stronger and louder than I expected.

  Will continued out of the bedroom and down the hallway. Picking up speed, I slipped past and positioned myself directly in front of him. He stopped abruptly.

  I looked him in the eye and repeated. “Who. Is. Val?”

  His shoulders shrugged nonchalantly as he gave me a relaxed smile. “Babe, I don’t have time for twenty questions. Maybe when I get home tonight.”

  He tried to pass me but I blocked him.

  “It’s not a game, Will.”

  His calm expression dropped, replaced by an irritated one. “Nobody important.”

  “I’m going to need a little more than that.”

  He hesitated, his gaze scanning the hallway. “Val is a programmer for Virtual Life.”

  I narrowed my eyes but remained silent, forcing him to elaborate.

  “I told you, I get on the site for mindless crap. They assign each user a programmer in case there’s a problem.”

  “And this Val?”

  “One of the programmers who helps people with the technical aspects of the site.”

  “Is Val a she?”

  Cocking one brow, he pursed his lips like a smartass teenager. “Yeah, women can be programmers too, you know.”

  “Why does she have your phone number?”

  “You have to give them your contact information. Sometimes it’s easier for them to talk you through a problem rather than show you on screen.”

  “Why does she miss you?”

  “What are you talking about?” He still wouldn’t make direct eye contact.

  “The first line of the text she says she misses you.”

  “You’re going through my phone?” he said, defensively.

  I certainly wasn’t about to admit to him that I had tapped the texts on purpose. Besides, my snooping wasn’t the issue. A strange woman was sending my husband texts telling him how much she missed him. I suddenly remembered the voicemail. Nausea bubbled up in my throat with just the thought of it.

  “I accidentally hit the icon and the list opened up.”

  “Accidentally?” He accused.

  “Really, Will? You’re going
to flip this around on me?”

  “I’m not flipping anything. I just don’t appreciate being accused of something I didn’t do.”

  “Then let me read the text.”

  “I don’t have time for this shit. I need to go.” He tried to get past me again but I blocked him again.

  “If you don’t have anything to hide then let me read it. I promise not to take long.”

  “This is ridiculous.” He huffed.

  We stared at each other, deadlocked in the hallway of the home we’d built together. At this point there was no reason for me to read the text or listen to the voicemail. Will may not have verbally confessed anything but his actions spoke volumes.

  “You could end it in a second just by handing me the phone.”

  “I don’t know what else you want from me, Bryson. I work my ass off to provide for you. I put you in a beautiful home and car. I even took time out of my schedule to go to the fucking counselor. And it’s still not enough for you. All I ask is for you to take care of the house and our kids. That is if we ever have kids.”

  I was standing strong until he sucker punched me with the last sentence. No matter how many times I heard the words, “The miscarriage wasn’t your fault, Bryson,” it never sunk in. There was always a part of me that felt I was the sole cause of losing our child and not being able to get pregnant again. I knew Will blamed me, I could see it in his eyes. He knew what my Achilles’ heel was and used it at the first opportunity.

  “So you haven’t gotten anything out of this deal?” I said.

  “I just don’t think I’ve asked for that much in return for what I’ve given.”

  “I’ve supported you, been patient, and have tried to understand the things you’ve done. I let you touch me this morning and . . .” I choked back a sob. “I did it all because you’re my husband and I love you. I never asked for the big house or the fancy car. All I ever wanted was your heart.”

  He shook his head and chuckled sarcastically. Will disappeared into a blurry haze as tears flowed quietly down my face draining me of all strength. I was on the verge of a complete collapse when he took a step forward trying to escape. Out of nowhere a bolt of energy fueled by hurt and anger took over my body and I snatched the phone from his hand.