Seventy-Two Hours

by Stringham, C. P.

  He reached out and placed his shaky hand on my breast cupping it as I enjoyed the feel of his skin on mine. “We need to wait, Jenny. Wait for it to be special.”

  “But it will be special. No matter when it happens.”

  “I thought maybe we’d wait until we were married.”

  “That’ll take forever, Chris,” I responded like a spoiled child.

  What I did next surprised me. It just went to confirm my convictions. I reached for his belt and, even with his murmured request to stop and think about what I was asking him to do, tugged it open. I knew that what I was doing had the desired effect I wanted on him when his breath caught as I freed his arousal from his jeans.

  “I don’t have anything with me,” he told me as I held him and the length of it grew and pulsed in my hands once unconfined.

  “Don’t try and tell me that, Christopher Reed Gardner,” I brushed off. “I know for a fact there’s been a box of rubbers in the glove compartment of this truck for the past six months. You got them over winter break. A box of 12 and there’s one missing out of it. I bet the one that’s missing is in your wallet. If it isn’t, you have some explaining to do.”

  “You’re too smart for your own good, Jennifer Rose Sloan.”

  I answered him with a kiss. Before long, the two of us were rolling around in the back of his Ford and building up the momentum of a runaway freight train as Def Leppard’s Hysteria played over his cassette stereo system. The blood coursed through my veins at such a hard, fast rate. It was as if the actual volume had increased tenfold. Every nerve ending was on high alert and savoring, craving even the simplest of touches. And then, what I’d wanted, happened.

  Afterward, as he held me tightly in his arms, I asked with a frown, “Do you think it’s always going to hurt so much?”

  He placed a kiss on my shoulder. “Of course not.”

  “Did you…did you like it?” I asked equally concerned with his experience.

  “God, Jenny, do you have to ask?” he chuckled. “It was incredible. You’re incredible.”

  And it did get better as time went on. So much so, neither of us had to ask, only anticipate and please.

  Chapter Five

  Present Day

  I was positively starved that morning. The first thing I did was make coffee. I then fixed up a plate with a few crab quiche appetizers and a wedge of lemon tart. No sense letting the food I’d prepared go to waste. I set out for the lounge chair on the front porch carefully balancing my plate and mug of coffee while tucking my Louis L’Amour book under my arm.

  The early morning sun was reflected on the lake making my decision to sit outside all the more worth the extra effort involved. The neighboring cottages weren’t too far away. I could hear a dog barking to my right and a woman’s voice as she hollered for it to stop.

  I sipped coffee in between bites of food. Thankful for the distraction from my life the book was giving me as I worked through 25 pages before Chris came outside. He’d just showered and left his hair to air dry.

  “Thanks for making coffee. It hits the spot,” he told me as he sat on the porch railing wearing khaki shorts and black polo shirt.

  “No need to thank me. You know me and my morning coffee.”

  “Was that a nice way of saying you made it for yourself?”

  I looked up from my book and regarded him indifferently as I said, “If that were the case, I would have only made enough for myself. As it is, I made a full pot.”

  “True. You’re right.”

  I sipped from my mug, took a moment to think about how I wanted to broach something unpleasant, and then decided I’d be direct. “You told me earlier you weren’t ready to end things, but let me ask you something,” I posed. “When was the last time we made love?”

  “I thought you said it wasn’t about sex?” he said accusingly.

  I took a deep breath to collect my temper. “I didn’t say sex, Chris. I said the last time we made love,” I chided. “And don’t look at me like that. You know there’s a difference.”

  He hung his head down and replied, “I…I don’t know.”

  “In two years, it’s been nothing more than satisfying a basic need. No emotion involved. And even that hasn’t come about in over six months,” I admitted feeling completely vulnerable. “When did it stop being about our…souls connecting? Do you remember that, Chris? It was like breathing to us before.”

  “I remember.”

  “And while I say it isn’t the reason why I’m unhappy, it has to be considered a part of the whole problem in our marriage.”

  “This is the sort of issue we need to talk about,” he said softly. “This is why I wanted this weekend. It isn’t too late, Jen. Not for us. I don’t want to lose you.”

  I set my mug down no longer interested in its contents. My nervous stomach churned at the very thought of the upcoming subject matter. “Chris,” I started and dove into the obvious, “I was with another man, in the biblical sense, not once, not twice as you thought, but three times.”

  He tapped his knuckles against the railing as he digested my confession. I watched, with great emotional difficulty, while he gathered himself together. His jaw clenched tightly as he stared off at the lake. I wondered if I’d finally gotten my point across that things were irrevocably broken. Or who knows? Maybe he was thinking about how easy it would be to kill me and weigh my cheating body down for a burial in the lake.

  “I’m willing to move beyond that.”

  “Chris,” I let my voice trail off.

  “What, Jen? Christ, you’re not making this easy,” he choked out. “You told me you didn’t love him. Do you? Were you lying to me?”

  I swallowed uneasily and then said, “No, I haven’t lied to you about that. I’ve been honest.”

  “Then it shouldn’t matter as long as we still love each other,” he reasoned. “We can fix this.”

  “You know, I’ve always been one to find complete distaste in the statement ‘it was only sex’ when I’d heard others use it, but here it is, it was only sex with Steve. And here’s some more brutal honesty. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed having another man’s full attention. I enjoyed feeling wanted and attractive and the goddamn center of his world even if it was only temporary.” I used both of my shaky hands to wipe fat, hot tears off of my cheeks. I sniffed and murmured, “Temporary’s better than nothing at all.”

  This time, he was the one to walk away. I watched as he headed up the tree-shaded drive and, with the full head of steam he seemed to have built up, figured he’d reach the Canadian border by lunchtime.

  I knew that what I said was cruel. But it was also reality. No matter how many times he insisted we could work it out, my infidelity would always be at the back of his mind and, eventually, it would eat away at him. It was already eating away at me. I had been so unhappy, felt so unwanted, for so long. My behavior broke every moral rule on marriage I’d ever had. I hated people that did what I’d done. I wasn’t so puritanical to oppose divorce. It made sense that some people in a marriage changed so much over time they didn’t see eye to eye anymore. Making each other miserable. And then there were the ones that never knew each other well enough before heading into their lifelong commitment together. Stuck in a relationship they truly never belonged in. In those two cases, divorce was the best option. Divorce and then move on.

  I truly didn’t fit into either of those earlier categories. No. I was in a third group; the group that stomped on marriage vows and trust and respect without a thought or care spent on how their actions would affect their spouse. It made me hate myself for what I’d put Chris through by cheating. The fact that he knew when it happened, almost precisely, was the worst. No matter how unhappy I was, hurting him in such a way was unconscionable.

  He returned nearly an hour later. Hands in his pockets and a pensive look on his face. I was where he’d left me. On the porch with my guilt to keep me company. I clutched the book in my hands nervously. A book I wasn’t able to read in hi
s absence. Too caught up in my own thoughts. Wrestling the demons I had invited into our lives. Into our failing marriage.

  He settled himself on the rail again. “Jen, this feels wrong,” he said with a shrug of uncertainty. “All of it.”

  “I agree.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, and I’m glad you’re finally seeing it, too.”

  “No, you don’t understand what I’m saying,” he replied tersely. “I can’t imagine my life without you and I’m not willing to throw away what we’ve built together.”

  I scoffed at his comment. “Please. You’ve been derelict from the life we’ve built. Need I remind you of all the times your job’s come first? Really, Chris. It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.”

  “That’s not entirely true.”

  “Sure it is. For example, you’re the first to complain when Clinton gets in trouble or if his grades aren’t up to par, but what have you contributed other than to tell me what needs to be done with him before you leave for work in the morning or for a business trip or stick your nose in your computer? How many school APR meetings did you attend this year? Hmm? I’ll tell you. Zero.”

  His jaw clenched and unclenched. “My job has certainly provided you with the finer things.”

  I tossed the book down and placed my hand over my heart. “I contribute as well, damn it. And I’m still around. I’m around for everything. All the time. I’m married and yet it’s like being a single parent. I can’t even accuse you of only being home for the fun stuff. You missed Carson’s baccalaureate. You walked away to take a phone call during his commencement ceremony. You’ve promised Hudson a guy’s weekend since he came home from school. It’s July already. Put it off much longer and he’ll be leaving for fall semester.”

  He started to speak, hesitated, and then finally said, “It’s been unavoidable. I have certain obligations and I’m under an enormous amount of pressure.”

  “I may not be splitting the damn atom at school, but I, too, have obligations and pressures,” I handed back angrily. “You try teaching, on average, 120 students a year in this day and age of budget cuts. Outdated textbooks. Overcrowded classrooms. Students that don’t care. Parents that don’t care. Try teaching a subject that gets neglected by the administration because it’s not part of the standardized testing system. My job is not easy. Being a parent is not easy. It’s about juggling, Chris, and when you’re married and there’s still no one to help you it’s frustrating as hell.”

  “Frustrating enough to go and fuck someone else?” He looked sorry for his comment as soon as it slipped out.

  “And, thank you. Thank you. You’ve managed to prove my point. We can’t go back to marriage as usual. Not after what I’ve done,” I said candidly. “Just for curiosity purposes, do you feel better now that you were finally able to throw that in my face?”

  He smiled coldly. “I think I deserve some anger, don’t you, Jen? It isn’t everyday a guy gets to hear how much his wife enjoyed banging another man,” he retorted with a dangerous look in his eye. “Not once, not twice, but three times.”

  “That’s not how I said it!”

  Ignoring my remark he said, “I love the fact that another man has carnal knowledge of my wife. Maybe Stevie Boy and I will have something to talk about at the next alumni banquet.” Chris was on a roll. “I could tell him which position brings on the fastest results. How’s that sound to you? I’d be doing you a favor. Him, too. Or maybe I could just make crib notes for him, if you’d prefer?”

  I stood up wounded and devastated. Probably completely deserving of his rant. Only I didn’t have to stay and listen to it. I started for the front door and stopped to say, “I know I’ve hurt you and what I did was wrong, but you don’t have to be so mean, so vulgar about it.”

  “You’re right—“

  I cut him off, “No, don’t apologize for saying what you really feel. I should have spoken up months ago and maybe we wouldn’t be here and having this discussion.”

  I closed the door on the apology he was making. Nausea was rearing its ugly head as my body dealt with the stress. I didn’t know how much more I could take. Forty-eight hours. The very thought made me shudder.

  Chapter Six

  January 31, 1991 - Elmira, New York

  “How did this happen?” Chris asked rather incredulously while both of his hands clenched the steering wheel of his Honda Accord.

  I shook my head and replied, “I don’t know. We’ve been so careful.”

  “Apparently not careful enough.”

  The unthinkable happened sometime over winter break while we were home together. I was pregnant. Not by much. A few weeks. I was late nevertheless. I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around it. Chris and I were expecting a baby. It didn’t seem real. I told myself it was a bad dream and I would wake up at any moment basking in relief. Only I wasn’t sleeping and it wasn’t a dream.

  “How far along do you think you are?”

  “Four weeks. Maybe five. I’m not sure.”

  We had this life changing discussion while sitting in the parking lot of Fay’s Drugs. Chris returned moments prior from purchasing a pregnancy test. Actually two pregnancy tests. Just to make certain. I’d take them first thing the following morning. Nothing like having to sneak something like that into the house and behind my parents’ backs. I couldn’t tell them. At least not until we knew for certain and Chris and I had time to figure things out. I wasn’t sure how they’d react. Even though my mom had hinted during our conversations about Chris and I having a sexual relationship, it was never anything I’d confirmed or encouraged additional chit-chat about. God. Not with her. It was too embarrassing. And, well, the thought of my parents doing it? Even worse. What if she brought that up? I’d be in counseling.

  On Saturday morning, I waited in my room for Chris to arrive. I had so much nervous energy I began rearranging the furniture in my bedroom. Aerosmith’s Get a Grip cassette played loudly in the background on my boom box.

  Both tests were irrefutably positive. Positive. A word I’d always associated with describing something in a favorable manner. No matter how hard I tried to find the good in my current predicament, I drew a blank trying to find my silver lining. Being pregnant was bad. Very bad. The timing couldn’t have been worse. Chris was attending graduate school at RIT and I would be graduating from Mansfield University in four months. My plan was to attend Elmira College in September and begin my Master’s program. Obviously, a baby would change everything.

  Chris arrived to find me wedging my body between the wall and my double bed as I tried to slide it across the carpeted floor. “What are you doing?”

  I ran to him and practically knocked him over. Greeting him with a rush of rambling words and sobbing. Basically, everything I said incomprehensible. He hugged me to him. Stroking my hair. Rubbing my back. Trying to calm me by reminding me that my mother was downstairs and would hear the commotion if I didn’t settle down. I focused on what he said and forced myself to regain my control.

  “I didn’t understand a word of what you just said, but I’m going to go out on a limb here,” he gently teased while holding me. “You’re definitely pregnant.”

  “What am I going to do, Chris?” I asked as I pulled away from him.

  His orange and black RIT hooded sweatshirt stained where I’d blubbered all over him. Chris looked well composed as he guided me to sit on the bed with him. He took my hand and told me, “You don’t have to do any of this alone. We’re in this together, Jenny. Everything will be fine.”

  “How can you say that?” my voice went shrill. “It isn’t fine! I’m not ready for this!”

  He shushed me. “We’ve talked about having children before,” he soothed.

  “Yea, like 90 years from now! I have two more years of school. You have one more.”

  “I have one semester to go. Remember? I’ve been carrying extra credits.”

  I stared at him and retorted, “Well, how wonderful for you. At leas
t you’ll be able to go to school.”

  “You’re pregnant not a typhoid carrier,” he joked. “You can finish your undergrad this spring, take some courses this summer, and then have a semester off. By January, you’ll be able to go back to school full-time status.”

  “With a baby?”

  “Christ, Jenny, what are you saying? You’re acting like you’ve already made up your mind.”

  I thought about what he said and then answered, “I guess I have.”

  “Were you, at any point, going to take my feelings into consideration?”

  “You say we’re in this together, but let’s face it, I’m the one that’s pregnant. I’m the one that’s going to have to sacrifice the most.”

  “We’ll get married and we’ll move to Rochester. You can go to school there,” he ticked off in an attempt to sway me.

  “Chris, geography isn’t going to make it any easier. I’ll still be pregnant and putting my college education on hold. What if I never go back to school? This is a major, life changing situation.”

  “I agree its life changing and I think you’re being selfish.”

  I felt all the breath rush out of me. “What?”

  “Every point you’ve made has the word I, me, or my in it. What about how I feel? That’s my baby, too.”

  I’d try to appeal to his rational side. “Wouldn’t you rather do this after we’re both settled in our careers? Think about it. Being a parent is a full-time job and not a class you can drop because you don’t like it.”

  “Jenny, I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment we started dating. I knew we were going to be together. We don’t talk about if we get married. We talk about when we get married. We talk about how we’re going to raise our kids,” he reasoned. “This isn’t the end of the world. Yes, things are happening out of order, but we can do this.”

  I was torn. Each of his remarks hitting home. “I don’t know…”