It was Wednesday before Mark emailed Belen to ask her to call so they could talk about ending the affair. He spoke to her from his office for I don’t know how long. I didn’t want to know; I also didn’t need to know that he had found the call difficult, but he told me it was. But difficult or not, tears or no tears, afterward he told me unequivocally that the affair was over. I felt relieved, to be sure. But I knew that the flesh and the spirit can lust against one another and I worried that what he had originally said might be true: It might not be so easy to end this thing.
I had long since realized that marriage to Mark was not going to be all roses or romance. Certainly I didn’t always feel loved by him or have that “in-love” feeling for him as often as I would have liked, but that, I rationalized—and believed—was real marriage. I had faith that we had a real marriage, one that could weather the periods of distance and come back again to connection. Our stresses were real but were focused in an honorable direction. My daily prayers had always included prayers for my marriage. After finding that letter, I needed God’s love and grace even more powerfully.
As we’d planned when we cancelled the trip to Switzerland, we traveled that weekend to the mountains around Asheville without the boys. This was meant to be a time to reconnect but it’d been such a long time since we’d made this space for each other that it was more surreal than relaxing. Plus, the circumstances surrounding our decision to be alone now hung over us the whole time. At some point over that weekend I realized that I had just begun an emotional roller-coaster ride, one that would last far longer than I could ever have imagined. Just because we agreed we would put Mark’s affair behind us didn’t mean we could do so quickly. That recognition was a blow as well.
And, of course, it wasn’t yet over. That weekend, Mark broke down and cried, but not for what I expected might bring him to tears. He explained that he had always been so good, so dutiful. He had led his siblings through a tough time after their father died. He had remained true to his conservative principles in his political career although doing so meant going against a considerable tide. It became clear to me this romantic relationship he had was a way of doing something for himself—it felt good and he didn’t really want to give it up. Though on that weekend away he didn’t spell it out explicitly, it was becoming clear that he intended to see her again in New York.
How could he possibly think I would let him go through with the plan I had seen him make in that email, a plan to spend two nights in New York with her? I asked incredulously. I told him repeatedly that I felt it was one thing to forgive adultery but in no way could I condone it, especially in my own marriage. I wrestled with this very thing in my journal that night: “I trust his intentions are good—he says it is over—but how can I trust the result when faced with such temptation? And what of the lack of humility? The lack of respect for me? Is he not putting her feelings over mine? Does he really love me?” I felt so sad and misunderstood. Though forgiveness might be possible, it dawned on me that reconciliation would be a harder thing to manage. I wondered constantly, frantically searching my heart to know if the right reaction was to leave him.
Faith requires prayer and time, and I suspected Mark’s prayers had been neglected given the demands on his time. The world around us conspires to make finding time for prayer difficult. A well-known Psalm says “Be still and know that I am God.” In A Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh also talks of the importance of seeking solitude amidst our multitasking lives. She speaks of the importance of finding empty space—because, as she puts it, our time is all used up or scribbled on. It is in this empty space, or when we can be still, that we find God and reconnect with our true inner self. My sense of security for our marriage came from a deep well of understanding of ebb and flow, a concept that honored commitment over the long haul and was founded in my faith. In accepting our distance as an inevitable part of eventually coming back together, I had settled into a peace with our life and lifestyle with the help of my prayers.
In retrospect, I might have been learning to justify Mark’s lack of empathy, his travels and schedule, or other imperfections. I now wonder if he took our stated certainty of a future together as a license to stray without consequence. But all this is even still just speculation on my part, and in those early days it was far too much for me to even begin to consider. The questions that dogged me were ones that would ultimately break the commitment from my side as well: At what point are children ill-served by the example set by their parents and their marriage? And what of my personal dignity and self-respect if Mark continued to see his lover?
Later in the year, when I’d confided in friends about what was happening and what Mark was asking to do, I better understood that allowing him to see Belen in New York—which is what I eventually agreed to let him do—was ludicrous. Of course, it was ludicrous of him to continue to ask me to let him go, but he wore me down, asking again and again and insisting that the way for this to be over was to allow him the closure he needed. Even stranger—though a lifeline to me at the time—was our agreement that we would ask for a friend’s help in keeping Mark in line.
Every minute of Mark’s two days in New York—including meetings with publishers—he would have a friend of ours, Cubby Culbertson, by his side. Mark could see Belen for dinner with Cubby as their escort. Cubby had been and still is a dear friend to both of us, and he was helping Mark regain his moral focus from the moment I learned of the infidelity. He stepped up and into this odd request, dropping his own plans to help an old friend stay the course and save his marriage. His willingness to help Mark and me discreetly was a tremendously generous and selfless act, but I wasn’t at peace with the decision before or even after the arrangements were made.
Indeed, before Cubby agreed to accompany Mark I wrote in my journal, “I cannot condone this future act because A) it is wrong in God’s eyes B) it would cause me to lose my self-respect, dignity etc—esp as we look to the boys as example going forward…. Perhaps he needs to be thinking of how he gets back his dignity in God’s eyes—by His grace.”
My arm twisted into this strange position, however, Mark went to New York and Cubby went too. The first night, I received a text from Cubby that read “Sleep well. He played by the rules.” I went to sleep but once again could not sleep long. Instead, I thought long and hard about whether Mark had ever loved me and about whether I should leave him. Again, I turned to my journal. I wrote: “Is M’s suffering now/future because A) he will not have/see his “eternal love” or B) he hurt his wife, whom he truly loves? Can I stay in marriage if the answer is A? I know I can stay if the answer truly is B.” I thought about what it would do to our boys if I left yet I also wondered if I could stay much longer if Mark didn’t show real effort toward making the marriage stronger.
While Mark was gone I prayed for strength and shed many tears. I also began to be more fully aware of how out of touch I was with the demons Mark was wrestling with and that I could not really help him.
I expected or hoped that Mark would be a new man when he returned from New York but in time I saw that was not at all the case. After a few good weeks he became distant again, and before long he was pestering me for permission to see his lover that summer so he could find “the key to his heart.” That he would consider asking me repeatedly for permission to see his lover again was unfathomable. It was one thing for me to forgive his indiscretions and move toward reconciliation, but to condone it further meant for me to compromise my own morals and integrity. That was a bridge too far for me and cut deeply against my faith. I have committed plenty of moral sins in my past, but in each case I have grown in the aftermath, begging forgiveness from the Lord or from others and moving on as a better person, learning from past mistakes. But this was missing with Mark. He seemed to be traveling a path of his own making, seeking his own comfort, no longer guided by a power above. I began to see him as lost, disconnected from his basic values, and I began to pray differently.
Now I prayed
for His will to be done and for me to bear the future with grace and peace. I asked for calm for my boys and acceptance of the future. I sought understanding of Mark’s actions and prayed that the Lord would wake him to the error of his ways. I praised more and asked less. A verse I contemplated was Nehemiah 8:10: “for this day is holy to our Lord. Do not sorrow, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.” I tried over and over to put joy in my head and heart and to remain strong. I focused on the love from God, the blessings in my life—boys, family, faith, and friends.
I began to think differently about the marriage than I had in years past too. I thought of the lies and the deception and questioned how I would know when it had all ended. I pondered humility and remorse. I read of Paul in 1 Timothy and considered how he had acknowledged his sins and become humble in that knowledge. As he matured he grew into a great leader by tapping into that humbleness. Mark’s star had been rising in the political world, but I was not seeing or feeling any humility.
Even as I wrestled with what I might have seen or what I should have understood earlier, I refused to beat myself up over my past choices. I forgave myself my long-standing belief that Mark and I would be together alone again after the next political position. I was proud to conclude that giving and doing more for our marriage than I had received in return had been the right thing to do for our family. But, I also finally understood that our relationship couldn’t be so lopsided going forward. I had told him as much that first day I confronted him: My simple condition for staying together was just that. But I seemed to reach something much more clearly identifiable as a decision, beginning while Mark was gone in New York: I could stay in the marriage if Mark found a true and humble spirit of remorse and if he recognized that he loved me and that he had deeply hurt me. What Mark did had changed the dynamics. I was committed to doing my part but I could not be the only one doing so.
I was under no illusion that Mark would change overnight, so I steeled myself to be gentle and patient. I prayed for the strength to be so. Throughout, I reminded myself that no matter what, I was loved by my God, my friends, and my family, that I was being the best I could be. This knowledge gave me some peace. I felt sanguine about my future, whatever it might turn out to hold for me.
THIRTEEN
THE WEEKEND MARK TRAVELED TO ARGENTINA, A REPORTER called to ask if I knew where my husband was, and I had a choice to make. The choice was not whether to tell the truth. Like everyone in my family, I always pretty much say what I think and move on. In the world of politics, that’s not always the best policy, despite my strong impulse to do so. The goal with a reporter was to reveal enough of the truth to satisfy his curiosity while saying as little of substance as possible.
Consider what I could have said. Mark was a man who spoke often about living according to principles and values, and our family was part of his appeal, evidence of character. Revealing that I had kicked him out would allow his political enemies to gleefully advance any number of agendas. Even in my heartbreak, I considered his public image almost as often as I plumbed the impulses of my heart.
Truth was, I had wanted to leave him almost as soon as he returned from his farewell trip to New York with Cubby, even if it would serve to wake him up and ultimately save the marriage and family. The begging to be allowed to see his mistress again in Argentina began shortly thereafter, and I had had about all I could take.
Mark still saw me as his sounding board. Over those months, he wondered aloud to me if he shouldn’t just follow his heart. What if he could find true happiness only in Argentina? Would he always live his life in regret, in wonder, because he didn’t take this chance? Clearly, these were thoughts I wished he’d kept to himself. He was in a daze, though, a dreamy state similar to the way he appeared at points in the now-famous press conference after Father’s Day. Indeed, when I’d reminded him later of the hurtful things he’d said in those intervening months, he couldn’t remember most of them.
There was many a time I pictured just packing up the boys and letting Mark sort it out on his own. Most in the small circle who knew my situation recommended I do just that. But that would have put the burden of halting his rising star on me, and I wasn’t ready to shoulder that responsibility.
In the beginning the circle of people I confided in was indeed small. It included two friends, my sister, and Jack, who had advised me well and cooled me down after Mark rented our house out without consulting me. The day after I discovered the letter, it was actually Mark who suggested I call Jack in DC. I wanted help, I needed counsel, and I trusted Jack. As before, he was ever kind and patient, telling me emphatically not to beat myself up. He also gave me two excellent pieces of advice on that first phone call.
He knew that my instinct would be to keep this to myself. “Jenny don’t do this alone,” he said, urging me to confide in just one or two very close friends.
I took his advice, but I didn’t feel comfortable just picking up the phone and telling this shattering news to the two women I chose to confide in: Frannie and Lalla Lee, my close friends in Charleston. Instead, I texted them, asking them to call when they could do so privately. Both called right away. We cried together and they vowed to help me through, as good friends do.
We set up time to pray together as well. Days later, when I joined them in Charleston for that purpose, I gave them the love letter I’d found. I had considered destroying it, but something told me I might need it one day as proof of the affair. I hoped that day would never come but, in the meantime, I didn’t want it around our house where I might read it again. Those were emotions I was trying to move beyond. I trusted them to keep that document safe. A few weeks later, I shared the secret with my sister Gier too, and she joined in this sisterhood of support. For many long and difficult months, I was thankful to have these women ready to listen whenever I called.
Jack’s other piece of advice was how to handle Mark. Jack understood men in power well. He counseled that seeking revenge would erode any chance of reconciliation. I needed to resist the urge to rant or get back at Mark. If Mark said things that hurt or upset me, I was not to respond. Easier said than done, he agreed, but he was offering to take the burden off my shoulders. I should hand these hurts to Jack, who would confront Mark in a way that my tears might derail. This method would allow me, Jack said, to be like “the Bride of Christ.” I could work on forgiveness and kindness, while he worked with Mark to make amends.
I needed Jack’s tag-team support very quickly thereafter. Just a few days later, Mark was angry at me for convincing him not to go to Davos, though it was also clear that he was just plain angry with me for catching him in this entanglement in the first place. Holding my tongue and then tattling on Mark to a third party was difficult. My instinct at a moment like this was to stand up for myself. But I followed Jack’s plan and he backed me up, explaining to Mark that traveling to Davos at a critical time like this was absolutely the wrong thing to do.
There were times when I wanted to scream and rant at Mark, and I’m sure I was snide on occasion or hurt him with the truth. For the most part, however, discussions between us did not spiral into spiteful words. I was quite disciplined. I don’t think I ever said anything I felt I couldn’t take back. With Jack’s wise counsel, I left the punishment to someone else.
Yet Mark was unrelenting, in time escalating pressure to get me to condone his foreign adventure. Once I realized we were going in the wrong direction, I was ready to move out. In April and early May, Jack was of the same mind. He suggested that I’d put up with too much and urged me to leave Mark as a way to wake him up and perhaps save the marriage. My female friends agreed that the shock of us gone was the best chance I had to knock some sense into Mark. But Marshall was just about to take his exams for junior year, the ones that really count for college. If I could avoid pulling the rug out from underneath him just long enough to help him get through this critical educational moment, I would.
In early May I wrote in my journal, “Allowing my husband
to see his lover for whatever reason goes against who I am and my entire sense of right and wrong. I explained this over and over to Mark but he thought I was not hearing or understanding him. I understand him—he loves someone else and he wants to have one final fling with her to see if it brings ‘true happiness’ before he settles with me and puts his ‘heart to rest’ over her. What he does not see is how morally offensive it is to me to even listen to this. It is ripping my heart up and I told him so.”
I was at a real crossroads. And I was very tense. I wasn’t so worried about going it alone. I was worried about direction. Because of his position, I didn’t want to make a rash decision that would bring down Mark’s career, and he knew I cared about helping him avoid that. And I was thinking of the boys, who didn’t deserve this in the least. In retrospect, I know I was probably too respectful of his work responsibilities and was letting him too much off the hook of his home responsibilities.
So we came up with a plan. The plan I favored was to throw the kids into the car on the last day of school and leave with them for the summer to a place unknown to Mark. Jack found us a house in Annapolis, where Marshall was enrolled in a one-week session at the Naval Academy. From there we would find a place somewhere on Cape Cod, and Mark would not know where to find us. Jack said this plan was what a guy like Mark really needed, some real shock to his tightly controlled self-wound world. I felt as though I was still trying to give back sight to the blinded soul.
Before school ended and we could depart in surprise, Mark continued wearing me down. I didn’t like negotiating with him. He wanted my permission to go, but I was never going to grant it. Why did he persist? I explained that I thought the decision before him was if he could commit wholly to me in a way he hadn’t done before. Give it a year. Give it two years. And if it doesn’t work out between us, then go see her, I said. She’s not going anywhere.
Staying True Page 15