Page 59 of Nothing Less than Magic
“What happened then?” I ask. “Did you confront him?”
“No. I took his phone to the bathroom, locked the door, and read two years of texts. Two years of him lying to me.”
“And how did that make you feel?” I realize I’ve slipped back into marriage-counselor mode and question whether Sadie just wants a friend. Because then the response should’ve simply beenI’m sorry.
“A lot of things,” she says, seemingly unoffended by my clinical approach. “Hate, betrayal, broken. But mostly fear. This is going to sound pathetic, absolutely pitiful, but I was afraid he was going to leave me.”
“Because you love him?”
She lets out a raspy, bitter laugh. “I hate his guts. No, love has nothing to do with it. Do you know how much I make at Flower Power?”
I shake my head.
“A little more than minimum wage. Do you know how much it costs to raise a family, put a roof over your kids’ heads, feed them, buy them expensive tennis shoes because that’s what all their friends are wearing? Frank and I barely make it on both our salaries. How are we supposed to do it if we have to support two households instead of one? Add to that that I really love my life and don’t want to lose it. My house, my neighborhood, my job, my friends. It’s all I have, and if Frank leaves me, I can pretty much kiss it all goodbye.”
Nothing Sadie has said surprises me. One of the top reasons unhappy couples stay together is for financial reasons.
“So how do you manage, knowing your husband is cheating?” I ask the question without judgment. Neutral.
“I pretend he’s not and continue to live my beautiful life. That doesn’t mean I don’t fantasize that I’ll win the lottery and leave him. Or that I don’t wonder what it would be like to fall in love again, to be with someone who wants me as much as I want him.” She takes a bite of her carrot-cake muffin. “Do you think it’s wrong, like I’m living a lie and setting a bad example for my children?”
“There is no right or wrong, Sadie. Only you can know what’s best for you. But has it ever occurred to you that it doesn’t have to be all or nothing? In other words, there are other options besides staying with a cheating husband in exchange for the life you want, or leaving him and losing that life. For example, you could try to fix the marriage; you could both try to love each other again.”
“How?” Her eyes flicker with something akin to hope.
“First, you can acknowledge to him that you know about this other woman. And then the two of you can get yourself to a good family therapist.”
“You?” she says.
“I don’t see patients anymore, Sadie. But I can recommend someone, someone really good.”
“What if he doesn’t want to stop seeing her? What if telling him I know gives him what he needs to leave me? Where would I be then?”
“I guess it’s a chance you’ll have to take if you want to save your marriage. Because, Sadie, make no mistake about it. What you have now is not a marriage.”
I think about Sadie’s dilemma for the rest of the day, about marriage, about how fragile relationships are, and the extraordinary lengths couples will go to save them, even when they’re unsalvageable. I think about all the times couples came to me, fighting to stay together when it was plain to see that their expiration date was looming. I think about Austin and me, about how I thought he would give me security, and in the end, he pulled the rug right out from under me.
Yet, there’s a part of me that still hasn’t given up on love, even if Austin is out of the picture.
I take the long way back from the computer store and wind up at Knox’s, telling myself that we still have an unresolved bill from the work he did. He greets me at the door, Bailey beside him, barking up a storm. All it takes is a brief sniff of my outreached hand for the dog to quiet down and wander back inside the house.
“We have to square up,” I tell Knox, waving my checkbook in the air. “Or would you prefer Venmo?”
Knox scrubs his hands through his wet hair. “Do we have to do this now? I just woke up.”
It’s then that I notice that all he has on is a towel wrapped around his waist. I turn, so I’m not staring directly at his bare chest, even though that’s all I want to do. Stare at his chest.
“And you’re a farmer’s son?” I say, hoping that if I talk, he won’t see my reaction to his nearly naked body. “It’s almost suppertime.”
“I was writing all night and all morning. I have a full rough draft now.”
“Seriously? That’s fantastic, Knox.” I brush past him, uninvited, and head to the kitchen. “I’ll make you coffee.”
“Let me get dressed.” He climbs the stairs and vanishes down the hallway.
There’s a bag of coffee beans on the kitchen counter, and I measure out enough for a full pot, then flip on the grinder. I should probably let Knox do it, because his coffee is better than mine. But he’s done it for me so many times, it’s only fair that I return the favor.
“If I’d known about your book, I would’ve brought a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”
