Chapter 10

That Saturday I rode with Frank to the church. He parked the car and as he took the keys out of the ignition I impulsively reached out and snared his hand. "Frank, I'm scared."

"I am too, Genesis." I knew it was hard for him to so openly admit it. "But you know as well as I do that we don't have any other choice."

We did, actually – but in sense we didn't, for divorce wasn't something either of us would consider. For if we tried to stop now, we would certainly come to that. I wasn't going to let myself go down the road to suicide again.

I squeezed Frank's hand. "I know it," I said, "but that doesn't lessen the fear."

"Nor does it lessen mine, Gen." And I could see his face firming, and knew it mirrored the hardening of his resolve. "Let's go in, Genesis."

So we got out of the car, and walked to the door of the church, and neither of us reached for the other. The occasional touch, for reassurance or comfort, was there between us now, but that was all we had become capable of over the past month.

In Tyrone's office we had a moment of awkwardness trying to determine who sat in which chair. But we got that settled – I sat on the left, and Frank on the right. Tyrone settled into his chair behind the desk, leaning back against the leather and folding his hands across his belly. "How terrified are you?" he asked.

I smiled, and when I looked over Frank was smiling too. "You knew precisely how to diminish the tension," my husband said.

"I've been through this before," Tyrone said. "I know what it's like. And while there's no way to absolutely avoid fear, letting it fester doesn't help."

"I don't suppose it does," Frank said, and his voice was a bit cold.

"You haven't yet completely learned to appreciate my sense of humor," Tyrone said. "Genesis, on the other hand, thinks I'm a riot."

"I do not!"

He waggled a finger. "You haven't exactly frowned at my jokes, you know."

I felt warm, and was afraid I was blushing. "That's true, but..."

"But you haven't encouraged me to make standup a career." Tyrone chuckled a bit. "All right, I'll leave the comedy aside. Have you talked this session over between yourselves?"

I glanced at Frank again, and no, he wasn't smiling anymore. "We have," I told Tyrone. "We're not sure how it's going to proceed."

"I'll mostly listen, again. I want you two to talk to each other."

"But we've been doing that," Frank said, and I nodded.

"I'm sure you have. But one thing's restrained you – the confidentiality of the solo sessions. You've been free to discuss them with each other, but I know that what you say in private, when it's about things as sensitive as you've both discussed, you want to keep private. Today, and in the future, I want you both to be as frank with each other as you've been with me."

That was a new thing. I looked yet again at Frank, and his face was the same glacial surface I'd grown familiar with. And I realized that as much as it frightened me, I had right in front of me a way to begin. "Frank," I said, "what are you angry about now?"

"Angry, Genesis?" I recognized the voice and the diction of the long months of our separation. "Why do you believe I'm angry?"

"Because I see you, and I hear your voice. Remember, Frank, that I've lived with you for a year while your anger festered inside. I've learned the symptoms."

"All right, I'm angry. Are you satisfied?"

I considered my response. Honesty seemed to be the best policy, but I didn't want to restart our feud. I took Frank's hand – his fingers and his arm were stiff – and held it in both of mine. He was looking straight ahead, over Tyrone's head, I thought, but I turned in my chair so that as much as possible I could look him in the eye. "No, Frank, I'm not satisfied. I want my husband back. I want the man I love back. We've come such a long way, and now you're retreating behind that face of ice."

Now Frank looked at me. "Genesis, I really don't think—"

Tyrone interrupted. "You need to be as open with her as she's being with you, Frank."

"Tyrone, you keep out of this."

The pastor opened his eyes about halfway. "I'm already in it," he said mildly. "And you ought to know by now that you can't intimidate me."

"Frank," I asked, "have you been trying to bully Tyrone?"

"The man is an infernal snoop!" Now there was a natural utterance – angry and petulant, but natural.

"The man is trying to help us, Frank."

"By prying into our personal affairs."

"Our personal affairs, Frank, are such a mess that if it weren't for Tyrone, I'd be dead now by my own hand!" That began angry, and ended in a mess of tears and sobs.

And Frank softened. I hadn't intended it as a manipulative technique, but breaking down before him broke through Frank's armor. "Genesis, please don't cry." I felt his hand pulling out of mine, and then his arms were around me. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Genesis."

"But you did," I said, my voice choked. "We're trying to fix our marriage and all of a sudden you reverted to the man who nearly wrecked it, the man who drove me to..." I couldn't continue.

"I'm so sorry, Gen." And I felt his hand stroking my hair, tangling in my curls. It was the first time he'd done it in that way since my confession. And realizing that, and remembering how he'd used to do it so tenderly, I broke down afresh. It had been his one truly tender, truly emotional gesture, and feeling the tugging on my curls sent me into a paroxysm of weeping. I leaned against him, and then collapsed out of my chair and laid my head in my husband's lap and let go. For the first time since my confession I was able emotionally to allow all my control to slip in front of my husband. For the first time I abandoned myself into Frank's hands, and it felt so good.

After a while I calmed down, and raised my face, and one of Frank's hands left my head and appeared in front of my face with a few Kleenex. Still kneeling, with Frank's hands once again gently stroking and tugging on my hair, I wiped my nose and eyes, thankful that I'd learned early on not to wear mascara to these sessions.

Behind me I hear Tyrone. "Frank, how do you feel when Genesis needs you like that?"

I was afraid to look up, lest I disturb Frank's emotional openness. "I feel like a protector," he said, and his voice was unsteady. "I feel like someone who is worthy of love."

"You say that," came Tyrone's voice, "as though you don't believe yourself worthy of love."

"I don't..."

"But Genesis loves you. When she falls apart, she turns to you."

"I know."

"Do you think she has enough discernment to know a good man when she sees one?"

I laid my head down in Frank's lap again. Now that I was calm, I was actually comfortable, with my legs folded under me and Frank's hands moving just slightly in my hair. And if my position as a supplicant, as a dependent, helped him express what he felt, I would kneel at Frank's feet through eternity.

Frank's answer was slow, as though his reason and his feelings were at war. "I believe she is a discerning woman. But if she is, how can she not see how unworthy I am? But if a discerning woman loves me, how can I be so unworthy?"

"It's a paradox, Frank." I couldn't see Tyrone, but I imagined him as I'd seen him so often, leaning back and looking like a sleeping bear. "To resolve it, you need to examine your premises."

"Have you read Ayn Rand?" Frank asked, surprise in his voice.

"Hard to believe, ain't it?" I'd never heard Tyrone use that ungrammatical word before, and knew he'd done it this time deliberately. "Yes, I have. I just wish she'd thought as clearly about God as she did about some other things."

"Which premise," Frank said, "ought I to check?"

"You've got two which are in conflict. One: Genesis is a discerning woman, and can therefore discern whether you're a good man. Two: You're not a good man. The fact that she loves you creates the conflict. Resolve the paradox."

Frank was silent for a long time, perhaps five minutes. I had closed my eyes, and it seemed as though every sense I had was concentrated in my ears. His hands were still now, though I could feel a slight and not unpleasant tension where his fingers were bent into my curls. Finally he said, "I cannot conclude that Genesis is wrong. I therefore must conclude that I am – but I find that every feeling I have resists that conclusion."