Faithful (7 page)

“I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you've got to say to my sister can be said in my presence. There've been way too many stories over the years about men killing their wives over an affair. Everybody
thought
they knew the guy and found out after the fact that he was crazy.”

Scott put his hand to his forehead and ran it back across his head. He looked exhausted. “Trish, I can't right now. Really. I need to talk to my wife. Now. Alone.”

Cyd grabbed her purse from the countertop. “Actually, Trish, I need you to run me home so I can change for the rehearsal. And can you bring Mackenzie and Mark to church? Then I won't have to come back out this way to pick them up.”

Trish pursed her lips, her eyes boring a hole into Scott.

“Go ahead, Trish.” Dana's voice was a whisper. “I'm all right.”

“Don't tell me you're all right,” Trish said, still focused on Scott. “I know how it feels when your husband—”

“Trish!” Dana covered her face with her hands.

“Okay, fine,” Trish said, rising. “But I've got my mobile. If he even looks at you funny, don't hesitate to call me.”

Cyd started toward the front entry, with a slow-moving Trish behind her. When they stepped outside, both women took a deep breath and stared back at the door.

Cyd repeated her prayer from earlier that morning.
Lord, help her
.

D
ANA HADN'T MOVED
from her initial position. She had yet to see Scott's face, and as the sound of his shoes clicked closer toward her, she felt her arms begin to tremble. She held herself, and as hard as she tried to prevent them, tears slid down her face.

She didn't mind crying in front of Scott when the reason for her sadness lay elsewhere, when he could hold her and comfort her and tell her everything would be all right. But she didn't want him to see her cry now. With the betrayal he had switched sides. He was no longer her comfort and protection, the soother of what hurt. He was responsible for the hurt—and his leaving with Heather spoke more to her heart than the actual affair. If he could do that, if he could treat her so coldly, she didn't want him to see her sobbing, pitiful and broken. She couldn't lay bare her heart like that. She couldn't trust what he would do with it.

Scott put an arm to her shoulder, and Dana flinched, shrugged it off.

“Baby, I . . .” He stopped and sighed, walked a few feet away.

He stayed there so long Dana almost turned to see what he was doing, but she couldn't look at him. Not yet. From the corner of her eye, she saw him undo two top buttons before he returned, pulled out the seat next to her, and sat with his legs spread apart, forearms on his thighs.

Dana smelled the faint scent of his cologne, and her heart pounded. It was her favorite. She had tested it at the mall and taken a chance he'd like it. On Christmas morning he opened it and dabbed it on right then. It had become his favorite as well.

Wonder if it's Heather's favorite too
.

Dana closed her eyes and turned her head farther away from Scott, reliving the afternoon. She couldn't get Heather's face—and body— out of her mind. The woman was beautiful, shapely. Scott obviously thought so. Dana had never felt fatter or uglier. Why hadn't she kept her longer hair? Why hadn't she kept coloring it? Did he prefer blonde? And was it really so hard to establish a workout regimen? How many times had Cyd and Phyllis encouraged her to do so?

All day Dana had had these thoughts and tried to push them out. She knew she shouldn't blame herself for Scott's affair, and she didn't, but what if she had done some things differently? If only she hadn't
seen
the other woman. Cyd was right. The images were seared on her brain. They were relentless.

Scott blew out a gust of a sigh and sat back in his chair, touching Dana's arm to turn her toward him. When she flinched again, he lifted his hand. “Okay. Okay. Um, I'll just talk, and if you want to face that way . . . okay.” Another gust of wind. “Dana, I'm sorry. If you only knew how badly . . .”

Dana saw a hand rise to his face and rolled her eyes.
Aww. Tears, Scott? You're upset?

“Sweetheart, I want you to know it had nothing to do with you. It just . . . happened. I didn't go looking for anything. She and I were friends, that was it. She would ask for advice”—Scott grunted at the irony—“about men. And that's all it was, and then she started doing little things like asking about my day, and—”

Dana whirled her head toward him. “Are you saying I never asked you about your day?”

“No, I'm not saying that. But, I mean, you would ask, but most of the time you weren't really listening.”

The softness of his tone, the deep brown of his pupils wouldn't let Dana take her eyes off of him.

“You know? If I said I had an all right day, you didn't ask any follow-up questions, you just moved on. And I understand that. You've got a lot on your plate, the kids need attention. But I guess . . .” Scott dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed for the twentieth time. “I guess when she would say, ‘What happened at the meeting?' or ‘How did that make you feel?' it just . . . I don't know.”

“So you're blaming me, because I wasn't attentive?”

“No. Never.” He stood and walked partway around the table. “I think I'm trying to understand what happened myself, what took me to that place.”

“So where
did
all this take place, all this ‘friendly' conversation? To have started off so innocently, I never heard you mention her.”

He lifted his hands. “That's 'cause it was no big deal. Remember the time I sang that duet? That was with Heather—”

Dana's stomach cramped, hearing him say her name. She hadn't remembered that duet. And as she thought about it, that was
months
ago.

“—and we practiced it a few times at church without the choir. That's how we got to talking, and it would be dark when we finished, so I'd walk her to her car. That was it. She'd call me from time to time on the cell for advice, like I said. It only moved to, you know . . . that was a recent thing.”

Dana ran her eyes along each slat of the mini blinds. She wanted to know exactly when and how it moved from the phone to the bedroom, and yet she didn't want to know. No matter what he said, it wouldn't make sense.

She thought back to the Scott she'd first met at church. It was his first Sunday there, and Dana was serving in the hospitality room after the service. The church was small enough still that the pastor himself met interested visitors and answered their questions. Dana had noticed Scott before he came into the room, the moment he entered the building actually, handsome as he was. They struck up an easy conversation, and she learned he'd just moved to town. They found one another every Sunday after that and dated for a year, deciding early on to honor God in their relationship, waiting until marriage to be sexually intimate. How could she reconcile that Scott with this one?

Several minutes passed as they sat silent. Dana guessed he was giving her the next word, but she hadn't much else to say. She already had enough to wade through. Well. She cocked her head a bit, still facing the blinds. “Why did you leave with her, and where did you go?”

“Sweetheart, I didn't know
what
to do. I was shocked, ashamed. I was
caught
. I wasn't thinking straight. I knew I couldn't tell her to leave because she didn't have a way home—”

How thoughtful of you
.

“—and to be honest, I couldn't face you right then . . .”

She turned now, glaring at him. “And where did you hide your car?”

He mumbled, “A few houses down.”

Dana was mad she'd missed it, entering the back way. “So you went to her place and took a shower.”

He affirmed almost imperceptibly.

She stared back at the blinds. “And you left your wife here for hours . . .
drowning
”—she gulped to keep control, but the sobs came strong—“while you played house with
her
.”

“No,” Scott said, pulling her to him.

Dana stood, and the chair scraped the floor. “Get off of me!”

Scott looked up at her. “Sweetheart, that's not what happened. I left her apartment as soon as I got dressed. I've been driving around, sitting in my car, walking around Forest Park, thinking about how badly I messed up, how we're going to move on from here . . .”

Crying still, she crossed her arms. “I don't know whether we
can
move on from here.” She swiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

Scott peered down at the table. “I wondered too.”

Dana's insides took a dive. “Wondered what?”

“Whether we can move on from here.”

She closed her eyes, his words nearly knocking her flat. The trembling began anew. Wasn't this her decision? Didn't she hold the cards? Her entire world had been rocked off its foundation, but up until this very second, there was a comfort—slim but real—that the power lay in her hands as to whether they would rebuild. Her family didn't
have
to fall apart, the kids didn't
have
to lose one parent in the home, she didn't
have
to lose the one man who'd been a walking illustration of God's abundant love toward her . . . till now. This one transgression didn't
have
to cancel out fifteen years of blessing, did it? She didn't have the answer, but she'd assumed she'd be the one to give it. What was Scott saying?

“What . . .” She cleared her throat, unsure of what to ask. “Why were you asking yourself that question?” She watched the back of Scott's head hang lower and waited . . . until she couldn't stand it. “Scott, answer!”

He stood and faced her, stroked her cheek with a finger, and because of the rapid beating of her heart and the tension that hung in the moment, she let him.

“It's complicated. I have these feelings—
No
.” He locked his arms around her, tucking her head in his chest. “Don't move. Please,” he whispered. “Hear me out. I've hurt you so much that the only way I can begin turning this thing around is to be honest.”

Dana could only think that her world hadn't been rocked from its foundations; it had been ripped from its base and hurled into outer darkness, spinning, spinning . . . If Scott hadn't held her, her legs would have given way.

“I can't explain it. I'm not saying I love her . . . but it wasn't simply physical either. I care about her and—”

Dana tried to tear herself away again. She couldn't bear it. Was he just afraid to tell her he loved Heather? Was he about to say he needed to move out to sort his feelings for the two women? Was that why he wondered whether they could move on?

Scott tightened his grip around her waist. “Let me finish, Dana.” He tipped her head up with a finger and slowly wiped her tears with it. His own tears eased down his face. “I know these feelings I have for her aren't right. None of it is right, and I know you won't believe me, but I'm glad I was caught.” He sighed and flicked a tear from his cheek. “When you're in a place like that, you can only stay in it if you distance yourself from God. I hadn't felt that far from God in my whole life, and I've asked Him at least a hundred times today to forgive me.”

His cheek brushed hers as he lowered his head. “Dana, I said I didn't know if we could move on from here because I know it'll be hard. I need to get rid of the feelings I have for this woman, but how do I do that overnight? I need to earn my wife's trust back—how do I do that? There's so much that needs to be made right, and none of it will be easy.”

He took both of her hands, and their eyes—red with tears—met one another. “But all things are possible with God, and if you're willing, we can lean on Him and make it happen. I love you, Dana. I want my marriage.”

She couldn't deny the relief that swept over her. He didn't need to make up his mind. He'd already chosen—and he'd chosen his marriage. But relief didn't bring healing to her heart. She let go of his hands and walked a few feet away.

Dana wanted the marriage, too, the marriage they'd had before the affair, the untainted one in which his love was one hundred percent undivided. What kind of marriage would it be now, with him trying to get over feelings for someone else and her trying to get over what he'd done? Theirs had always been a fairy-tale story. Their courtship, their love and respect for one another even in disagreement, the way they held hands still while walking in the mall.

It could never be the same. She would never view Scott the same. How could she ever trust him again?

Six

C
YD RACED DOWN
I-270 East with the moon roof open and every window down in her Volvo, the breeze whipping cool and strong. She thought maybe it would help. Maybe she would get lost in the rush of the wind and the stars of the night and forget the nightmare of today, for a little while. But the scene played again and again in her head, and with each remembrance her heart ached for Dana.

Her iPhone played its tune, startling her out of her thoughts. She grabbed it from the center console, hoping it was Dana so she could find out how she was doing.

“Everybody's lined up and about to walk in,” Stephanie said. “I can't believe you're not here yet.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I'm getting ready to exit now.” Cyd talked loudly over the wind and noise of the highway. “You got my message, right?”

“Yeah, but I still don't understand what's going on. Were you with Dana? Why isn't she here either?”

“Are Mackenzie and Mark there?”

“They got here fifteen minutes ago, but Trish brought them. Aren't Dana and Scott coming to the rehearsal dinner?”

“No. Wish I could explain, Steph, but I can't. Anyway, sounds like I haven't missed too much. Good thing I'm in the back of the line.”