Chapter 5

The psychiatrist came to see me in my room the next day. He seemed harried and hurried. I was in the University of New Mexico Hospital this time – our insurance was already overloaded from my previous hospital stays – and that's where everyone goes. I'm sure the man knew his job and wanted to do it well, but he had a whole city's woes upon his back.

I don't remember in detail what we talked about. I know I told him that I'd been having marital troubles, and that I'd turned to suicide in despair. But, I said, my husband had told me that he wanted to seek counseling for both of us, and I was in agreement, and so I no longer wanted to die. And it was all the exact truth. And the poor man, with more people to help than time to help them in, must have seen that it was the truth. He declared me ready to leave the hospital as soon as my physical condition would allow it, and that's exactly what I did.

Frank took me home, and while we weren't as easy and open as we had been, this time the barrier was somewhat lower and thinner. "If you're up to it, Genesis," he said, "I'd like you to go to church with me Sunday, and meet Tyrone."

"That's the pastor at MJT?" I'd taken to calling the church by the acronym alone, as Frank did.

"Yes. He knows I was the pastor at Gilead – we first met, in fact, while I was there. He knows that I've had some problems, and he knows that you've stayed home by your own choice. I haven't told him much."

"I suppose that it wasn't something you'd tell everyone..."

"Genesis, I've kept quiet, even with my own pastor, because of my pride. Frank Carter a cuckold? It was a shame I could hardly bear. Tyrone's probably heard the rumors, but my back was too stiff to tell him." I remembered that on the day I'd confessed my sin to him, he'd described himself with that same word. But what someone says in the heat of the moment, and what he says later when his pride is operating, are often different things.

"We can't afford pride, Frank," I said. "It's almost killed us."

He risked a quick glance at me. "That statement has a literal meaning. I can't tell you how sorry I am that I drove you to ... to what you did."

Perhaps it was unworthy of me, but I felt a soaring happiness at his admission. For so long it had, in Frank's eyes, all been my fault. Now he was willing to agree that he wasn't perfect. But I didn't tell him any of that – I knew it would be the wrong thing to say. "How does one accept such an apology?" I asked. "To simply say 'That's okay' seems trite, and insufficient."

"That I don't know, Gen. That's something we're going to have to figure out, I guess."

And the knowledge that he was willing to work at finding out was another cause for happiness.

Frank woke me up Sunday morning, and as I swung my legs off the sofa I felt a terrible fear. I almost rolled right back under the blanket, and the only thing that kept me from doing so was the knowledge that if I did, it might mean the end of my marriage and the end of my life. And however much I'd wanted to die a few days before, I now wanted to live.

So I forced myself to get up and carry my blanket and pillow into the bedroom. I forced myself to get dressed, putting on a gray pantsuit I'd picked out the night before. I forced myself to put on makeup for the first time in weeks, doing what I could to hide the gauntness of my face. I forced myself to put a choker around my neck, a velvet and rhinestone affair that normally I wouldn't have worn, but which hid the loose skin my weight loss had left behind.

I forced myself to pick up my Bible and follow Frank out to his car. I sat in the passenger seat while he drove, knowing that I didn't have to force myself anymore. Everything from there on would be inevitable.

Frank parked in front of the church, which appeared to be a former business building. I remembered how at Gilead we'd always held hands as we walked from the car to the door. I almost reached for Frank's hand now, but restrained myself. I didn't know what Frank's reaction would be, and I would rather leave things as they were than risk making them worse.

We were handed bulletins at the door, and then we went on inside and found seats near the back. As the congregation gathered several people greeted Frank, and he introduced me simply, explaining nothing, as "My wife, Genesis." I appreciated that – he might have been acting from motives that I would have hated, but the result was a consideration that made things easier on me.

At one point a large black man stopped to say hello. This, I learned, was Tyrone Jackman, the pastor of the church. It seemed that he was in the process of leading the church toward a plural eldership, a concept I'd heard of but knew almost nothing about. But for the moment he was "the pastor."

After Tyrone had moved on, Frank leaned over and said quietly, "We'll be meeting with him after the service to discuss counseling."

I nodded. I probably ought to have thought of that earlier, and asked, but though I was less desperate and more aware than I'd been for a long time, I was far from normal. My mind was still largely mired in an apathetic rut, and my nervousness – a nervousness that was fear – didn't help me focus.

I went through the motions of hearing the sermon, but they were only motions. I'd lost the knack of being a Christian during the long months of darkness, and not only was I out of the habit, but the apathy that still rode me made it hard to care about what Tyrone was saying. He could have been discoursing on the merits of eating flamingo feathers for all I knew, and he could have spoken in Tagalog and I'd never have noticed the difference.

After church Tyrone led us into his office, which was at the rear of the auditorium, in the right hand corner as you faced the rear. His desk was in front of the door, facing it, and to the left there was a conference table with a few chairs around it. All around the walls there were shelves filled with books – the tools of a preacher's trade. Frank's books were mostly still boxed up, for he was no longer a pastor and hadn't even preached since his resignation from Gilead Church. But I knew what books are to a preacher, and I knew that Tyrone Jackman's library was as necessary to him as Frank's had been.

The pastor sat behind his desk and gestured us to chairs in front of it. "It's good to meet you, Sister Carter," he said. "I've known that Brother Frank was married, and while he has said little about himself, I knew that his wife had to be a special woman."

It had been nearly a year since anyone had complimented me on anything. My eyes blurred as I reacted to this compliment.

"Brother Frank has told me," Tyrone went on, "that you all have been having problems in your marriage." His voice was deep and slow, with a southern accent. It sounded almost like the stereotypical black preacher's voice, though I was sure that Tyrone wasn't a stereotypical black preacher. For one thing, I'd noticed that his congregation was white and brown as well as black. But he was going on, and I had to pay attention. "He hasn't told me more than that, except that you both want counseling to try to resolve the problems."

I nodded. I waited for Frank to say something, and when he didn't I looked over at him. In all these months I'd only seen him in weakness once, that day when he'd wept on my hospital pillow. But now his head was bowed, and his lips were moving, as though he were praying. Perhaps he was. Perhaps I ought to have been praying, but I'd lost the habit during the months of my despair.

I turned back to Tyrone. "I committed adultery." I wanted to drop my eyes, to hide my face, but I gathered my courage in both hands and looked Tyrone in the eye.

"You use that phrase. You don't say that you 'cheated' or 'had an affair.'"

I nodded. "Yes. It would be easier to say it the modern way, to minimize it. But can something trivial have caused our marriage to become a cold dead thing? Could it have driven me to the point of suicide?"

"So it was adultery outright. How long did it last? I ask not to pry, but to understand what I'm dealing with."

"Three months. I ended it myself, and confessed it to my husband."

He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers across his middle and nearly closing his eyes. "You understand that I am not a marriage counselor, that I have no training in that area."

"I understand."

"I am an experienced pastor, and an experienced husband. I've counseled other couples, and as far as I can measure it, I've had good success. Most of those I've counseled have remained in their marriages, and seem to be stronger in their marriages."

"We could go to a professional marriage counselor, I know. But ... but Frank suggested you, and I like the idea of a man of God helping us."

Tyrone almost seemed to be asleep, and I wasn't sure that he was paying attention. But he must have been, for he said, "Don't mind my appearance. I think better this way."

Frank stirred next to me. "I hope you'll help us, Tyrone. It's not just Genesis' adultery. That's where it started, but it's done things to me ... I don't like what I've become, Tyrone. Genesis wouldn't have tried to kill herself if I'd been a better husband."

"Suicide is always a serious thing, even if it doesn't succeed. Adultery is a serious thing. But you both seem to want to deal with your problems." He came forward in his chair, fully alert now. "I'll want to speak with each of you separately as we begin. In private we can deal with things that, at least at first, may be difficult for you to address together." He looked at Frank. "When I meet with Genesis, I'll always have someone nearby, who can chaperone us. We will talk in privacy, but I will do everything in my power to avoid even the appearance of evil." And he turned to me. "Since it was your adultery," he said very gently, "that brought this about, I'd like to begin with you. What would be a convenient time for you?"