The Good Atheist

by Michael Manto

  I recalled coming across those words in the New Testament, but the power to forgive felt beyond me. “You may be right, but I just don’t know how to do that. I don’t feel capable of it.”

  Dad leaned forward. “That’s a good starting point. We are often called to do things that are beyond our abilities as humans, and we need God’s grace to help us do what we cannot do in our own strength. But God has promised supplies of grace to enable us to do His will where we are too weak.”

  This was way beyond me, stretching me past anything I’d previously considered or experienced. It must have shown on my face, because Haddie laughed and looked at Dad. “I think we’d better pray.”

  So Dad and Haddie led me in prayer, and it was the first time I think I’d ever really prayed with other people. They asked God to strengthen our love, bring restoration to our marriage, and give me the grace I needed to forgive Selene. They prayed for Selene’s salvation and my continued growth in Christ. Dad and Haddie did most of the talking to God. I managed a few feeble words, unused as I was to addressing the Divine.

  When we finished, Haddie clasped my hands in hers. “Jack, when you go home, please just talk to her. Get it all out, tell her how you feel and be sure to tell her how much you love her. Don’t lose the love you once had.”

  I cleared my throat and gently pulled my hands away. “Thanks, I will.”

  She looked me square in the eye. “Promise?”

  Her enthusiasm for the spiritual health of my marriage was touching and a bit disarming. But privately I found it refreshing in this day of revolving divorce-court doors. “Haddie, I will. I never say anything I don’t mean.”

  She looked over at her husband with a wink. “That’s a good quality in a man. You take after your father.”

  An hour later we stood in the parking bay saying our goodbyes. I was never much for long goodbyes, and apparently neither was Dad, but Haddie elevated it to an art form. She hugged me and cried and then hugged some more, until I thought I would never get into the waiting limo. Nabil stood discreetly by the passenger door, staring at his shiny shoes.

  After extracting myself from Haddie, Dad and I talked about the best way to contact each other. We agreed to stay in touch through Zuebo for the time being until something better could be worked out. After a final round of hugs I climbed into the back of the limo and waved at them as it pulled away.

  Nabil drove me straight to Aylmer, if it could be called driving, since we zipped along in hover-mode the entire way, five hundred feet above ground in the fast level. When we reached Aylmer he took me right to Rosie’s and lowered the limo into the back alley next to a dumpster not far from my car.

  I thanked Nabil and jumped out with my single travel bag, then stood by the dumpster watching the limo lift off. Dust and litter swirled around me as the limo rose into the sky, kicked up by its air jets. It cleared the tops of the buildings along the alley, turned south, and disappeared.

  There was nothing I needed at the cottage, and I was in a hurry to get home, so I decided to head straight back to Chicago. I would be back to the cottage soon enough anyway.

  I went into Rosie’s and found Lucy, elbows on the counter chatting with one of the regulars. I gave her a message for Jorge, letting him know I was safely back. She promised to deliver it next time he was in. I got a coffee to go and returned to my car. Stella complained about getting left in the alley for so long. I switched the interface to ‘peace of mind mode’ – meaning off – and turned on some classical music. Then I drove hard for Chicago, stopping only twice for brief coffee refills.

  • • •

  It was almost midnight when I got home.

  The apartment was completely dark, and Ellie turned the lights on for me. “Good evening, Jack. Good to see you back home,” she said.

  I stood listening for a moment in the silence. Selene was normally up at this time, working or listening to music or watching holovision with all the lights on. It used to bother me sometimes – we have different tastes in music and holovision shows – but at that moment I found myself missing it.

  The place felt like a morgue. I called out her name and waited. No answer.

  “Where is Selene?” I asked Ellie.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but she didn’t say.”

  “Has she left a message?”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  Getting information out of Ellie could sometimes be like pulling teeth. Every obvious question had to be asked. The computer system couldn’t infer the information that a human would recognize as relevant and provide the missing bits without having to be asked.

  “Okay, when did she leave?”

  “She left four days ago, in the morning.”

  I waited for a second, and Ellie still did not fill in the obvious bits.

  “Ellie, for heaven’s sake – did she say where?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Access the internet for any bookings,” I ordered. “Plane, train, rental car, travel agencies, whatever.”

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “And when did you last hear from her?”

  “I haven’t heard from her since she left.”

  “And she left no message for me?”

  “As I’ve already informed you, sir, she has not.”

  I went straight into our bedroom, taking my travel bag with me. Discarded clothes were strewn over the bed, empty dresser drawers sat open. I went to the closet. Her side – more like her three quarters – was empty. And the luggage was gone.

  She was gone.

  I set my travel bag on my dresser and slumped onto the edge of the bed. Preoccupied as I was with grief at the time, I didn’t see the note sitting on top of the dresser.

  I took out my smartphone and dialed her number. There was no answer, but her voice came on, inviting me to leave a message. I left a short message asking her to give me a call, letting her know I was home.

  Then I started making calls to those family and friends who were most likely to know what was going on. I called her sister first and got through to her. She was on a treadmill, and she puffed hello into the phone. I told her what I’d found coming home. She expressed concern but didn’t know where Selene was and hadn’t heard from her in a week. Same story with her mother.

  I tried several of our friends, and they were just as much in the dark. Either they didn’t know or weren’t telling, but either way I wasn’t getting anything out of them. I left messages with another dozen of our close friends that I was unable to reach, but apparently Selene wasn’t saying much to anyone.

  After talking to or leaving messages with everyone I could think of, I settled down to wait for her to call me back. I hoped she would. She would have to call me eventually, one way or the other, even if it was to make legal arrangements to settle our affairs.

  I began to seriously wonder if the next time I heard from her, it would be through a lawyer.

  My imagination started to get the better of me, and I sank into morose brooding. It wasn’t long before I was half convinced she had left me. All the evidence seemed to be there.

  I went into the fridge and pulled out a beer, reconsidered for a moment and took two. The fridge gave me the requisite legal warning about not driving anytime soon and would notify my car. My car would not start for a few hours, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  I took my beers into the living room and dropped onto the couch. Through the sliding glass door I could see the planter on the balcony, where my tomato plant withered with neglect.

  I sipped on a beer as I looked around the apartment filled with reminders of the life we had together. Once had? I wondered. My mind worked slowly through all the dreadful necessities to follow – the ugly machinations of ending a life once shared. It had been a good life for the most part. We’d shared our dreams and hopes and stuck together through the dark times after the accident.

  A picture of Selene sat on the end table next to me. I picked it up and held it in my hands. It had always be
en one of my favorites. It perfectly captured the special way she had of looking at me that always stirred my heart – the same way she looked at me the first time I ever saw her, years ago in our college cafeteria.

  My mind went back to that most wonderful of all days. Her eyes sparkled and danced with quick intelligence and humor, and I felt an immediate connection.

  She was a tall, leggy brunette and one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. I wasn’t very tall, or athletic, or particularly good-looking. I knew I didn’t have a chance, but that had never stopped me from anything before, so I asked her out immediately.

  She said yes.

  Her friends were incredulous, and none of my friends would believe it until they actually saw us together. But no one was as surprised or delighted as I was when the first date became a second, and then a third. Six months later I asked her to marry me, and when she said yes I felt like the frog that just got kissed by the princess.

  Now she was gone and the fairy tale looked like it was ending, and I was back to being just a frog. I finished the beers, and the exhaustion of the past few days and sleepless nights finally caught up to me. I curled up on the couch, still holding the picture of Selene, and fell asleep.

  • • •

  The next morning I was stiff and sore from my night on the couch. I decided there was no sense sitting around an empty apartment waiting for Selene to call asking for a divorce. I decided I might as well go into the office, bury myself in work, and try to forget. I started getting ready, going through the empty motions, and had a shower. After my shower I stood in front of the dresser, looking through the drawers for a pair of clean underwear, when I noticed the corner of a piece of paper sticking out from underneath the travel bag that I’d left on the top of the dresser the night before.

  I picked it up. It was a single sheet of folded paper, and I opened it. It was in Selene’s hand writing.

  Gone fishing. You can catch me if you still care. You know where to find me.

  It took me a moment before I realized she had to be referring to the cottage. It was the only place we’d ever talked about fishing.

  In a sudden flash I realized she hadn’t left. She was at the cottage, waiting for me.

  A new sense of life and hope filled me. I barked orders at Ellie to get me a flight to Vermont while I threw a few more things into my travel bag. Thirty seconds later she responded that I was booked on a flight to Logan with a connector to Burlington. Then she called me a cab.

  Before leaving the house, I left instructions with Ellie to tell Selene, should she happen to call, that I was on my way up to the cottage. The cab got me to the airport in plenty of time. I found a lounge not far from my boarding gate and settled into a chair to make some calls.

  The first one was to Selene. There was still no answer, but if she was at the cottage then she was out of cell coverage. I left a second message telling her I had found her note and was on my way up. Then I called Jorge to tell him I was on my way back to Aylmer. I carefully avoided any mention of Dad in case the Tolerance Bureau really was trying to use me to find him and were listening in.

  I had one more call to make and dialed it next. My boss answered and I told her I wouldn’t be into work for a couple more days. She was somewhat less than pleased.

  The cold silence at the other end of the line spoke volumes, signaling the end of my once-promising career at Telzon Wireless.

  After a moment she asked coolly, “What’s it this time? Another death in the family?”

  There was no point in being disingenuous. “I’ve had some marital problems, and I’m heading to Vermont to patch things up.”

  Her husky laugh sounded of too many years smoking cigarettes. “Oh, please. Is that all? And I thought it was something serious.”

  “This is serious.”

  “I won’t be able to help you with this, Jack. Not this time. This is past the point of ridiculous. I can’t cover your butt any longer.”

  “Sorry you feel that way, boss, but this is important. I thought I’d lost my wife and now I have a shot at saving my marriage. I’m going for it.”

  “Oh, please. Don’t tell me about marriage problems. I’m on my fourth life partner.”

  “Well, I’d like to keep my first, if it’s not too late. I’m old-fashioned that way.”

  “Look, whatever her problem is, she’ll get over it. She’ll come around, you’ll see. After a few days she’ll be back. She just needs some space to cool off.”

  “Not sure I want to take marital advice from you, Sandra, with your track record.”

  There was a long pause. The air between us dropped several more degrees.

  “No need to be nasty, Jack. I like you. I really do, but you’re a real pain. The only reason I put up with all your crap is that you’re so good at what you do. But I can’t cover for you any longer.” Another pause, and then the ultimatum. “If you don’t show up today, then don’t bother coming back at all.”

  I heard my flight being called and people around me started making their way to the boarding gate. I had to make a decision whether to get on that flight or not.

  I thought about my wife. Her smile upon which the sun rose and set. The laugh lines around her eyes. The way she looked at me. The way she kissed me. We’d promised to share our life together, and it wasn’t too late to save it.

  The alternative was a little white cubicle, in which I had the privilege of being underpaid and bored out of my mind, accessorized with ignorant coworkers and its attendant jerk-boss.

  It was a no-brainer.

  “Then you leave me with no choice. I’ll save you the headache of having to fire me. I quit.”

  “Don’t do this. Finding work can be difficult.”

  “Sandra, in the last few days, I’ve been in a real fist fight with the police, stun-gunned, interrogated by Inquisitors, thought I’d lost my wife, and found my father whom I thought was dead. It seems to me that just having to find another cubicle in which to be bored is the least of my worries.”

  “You’re torching your career, Jack. What will you do?” she asked gently. This was classic Sandra, alternating between hard-assed nasty and gently sweet.

  “I could always grow organic tomatoes. There’s a huge demand for them in New York, I hear.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “Sandra, I think sacrificing my marriage on the altar of a career for the privilege of sitting in a dingy cubicle eight plus hours a day would be stupid. But what I’m doing isn’t stupid.”

  I must have hit a nerve. Maybe it was the memory of four marriages that she had sacrificed for her career. Her next words dripped with cold fury. “Have it your way, loser. You’ll never work in the industry again.” She hung up before I could answer.

  “Fine by me,” I said aloud into the dead air between us. Organic tomatoes were starting to look promising.

  It was reckless, I knew. But sometimes you had to take a chance on what was important. I could always find another job with an annoying boss, but there would never be another woman like Selene. I ran through the gate just before it closed and never looked back.

  Four hours later I landed in Burlington, rented a car at the airport, and drove north as fast as I could. I made it to the cottage just around dinner time.

  • • •

  I parked in the driveway between the cottage and the tool shed beside Selene’s car. I got out of the car, breathed in deeply, and looked around. The roof on the shed was still unfinished, just the way I’d left it. Packages of unopened shingles were still stacked on the roof. The new black shingles I’d nailed into place only covered half the roof, contrasting sharply with the old warped grey ones.

  If I lived to be a hundred, I doubted I would ever get used to the utter quiet. After the noisy chaos of the city the silence was stunning. A leaf detached itself from one of the large maples next to the shed, and I was sure I could hear it swish through the air as it spiraled down towards the ground.

  Lights were o
n inside the cottage, and smoke rose from the chimney. I grabbed my bag out of the car and walked up the porch to the door.

  Had there been another car in the driveway other than Selene’s, I might have been better prepared for what I found inside. I stood just inside the front door, listening to the sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen. Since the appliances were all dumb, Selene had to be doing the cooking herself.

  But before I could say ‘Honey, what’s for dinner?’, two children ran out of the second bedroom, raced through the living room, brushing by me and straight into the kitchen without stopping.

  “Mom, when’s dinner going to be ready?” one of the children asked.

  Mom?? I thought.

  “Shush. Be patient,” replied a strange female voice.

  “There’s a man at the door,” the kids said in unison.

  “I thought I heard the door open.” It was Selene. “Tell him to come in.”

  But the kids tore out of the kitchen and ran back to the bedroom without even looking at me.

  I followed the voices into the kitchen. My wife stood at the stove, stirring something in a pot while something else sizzled in another pan. A young woman was at the counter next to her, cutting vegetables. I stood in the entrance for a moment taking it all in. Selene used to think cooking meant taking something out of the freezer and putting it in a smart stove, letting the stove read the instructions from the package and do the rest. Watching her cook at a real, primitive stove was a moment to be savored.

  Neither one of them noticed me, intent as they were on the meal preparation. “Boy, I wish I had a camera,” I said.

  They both swung around at the sound of my voice. Selene smiled and came straight over to me. “Hi, honey,” she said, the uncertainty evident in her voice.

  “Can we go someplace to talk?” I asked.

  Selene followed me outside, still holding the spatula she had been stirring the pan with. We walked across the lawn away from the cottage and stood under the old maple next to the pond. We wouldn’t be overheard out here, even if one of the guests happened to come out onto the porch.