Rhythm (21 page)

When you consult the thesaurus for the
synonyms of my name, Rhythm, you’ll see various words that pertain
with music: beat, cadence, tempo . . . but what strikes me most is
this: time. My mother named me Rhythm because she considers me
precious, like how precious time is, and I forget that. I forget to
live my name and give the most precious people in my lives the most
precious thing I can ever give them, my time. Ergo, I suffer the
consequence. What’s consuming me is the realization that when I am
in my deathbed, it’s not my boss, nor my readers, nor my friends
will be there. It will be my family.

Now, I understand. But I’m not going to let
them know that because I may understand it—but I cannot accept it.
Never will. Okay, someday, maybe. But that’s a far-fetched
occurrence when I view the future as of this moment.

“Excuse me, but Mrs. Peterson needs to rest,”
the nurse tells Lola courteously.

“Of course,” Lola answers then turns to me.
“Rhy, I don’t know if you will ever forgive me, but please know how
sorry I am. I never want to be a home-wrecker. I know my actions
speak the exact opposite of that, but . . . I don’t know what else
to say. I am deeply sorry, Rhy.”

I don’t answer. I don’t nod. I don’t even
look at her.

When she closes the door, I break down.

Now, you feel better knowing all these? Huh,
Rhythm? You’re sick.

That I am.

Realizing that I contributed so much with my
suffering doesn’t make me feel better. In fact, I want to go back
into shock. I want to forget. I want to go numb. I wish I could
un
-
know everything. I wish I could erase every image that is
inculcated in my head—knowing the truth. I want every pain to go
away.

Oh, please, make it all go away.

Rhythm

“It’s nice of you to visit, Olivia.” I hug
her, then I guide her to sit in the living room.

“The pleasure’s mine. Anyway, how are you,
Rhythm?”

I know why she’s here: to convince me to talk
with Grant.

I was in hospital for 15 days. I was in shock
after the talk with Lola. And the day I woke up? That’s the last
time I saw Grant, and it’s been three months.

I somehow arrange the schedule when he will
see the twins. He agreed with the set up, even though it’s not
basically supported by a court order or something. Today’s one of
his days, a Saturday.

“Great. You?”

“Rhythm, I’ll be upfront with you. I’m not
really here just to ask the mundane question
how are you
because we can all see that you are far from doing good. You look
terrible. Sorry . . . not sorry. You need someone who’ll be honest
with you, and I think I’m the one ready for that task. I know that
what you’re going through is not a walk in the park. Heck, it’s not
even a walk in the mall, and you know what? What I’ve gone through
with your papa? That’s incomparable with your situation. I’m not
belittling what happened to me but jeez . . . husband and best
friend? And from what I know, they knew better than to betray you.
You’ve been shutting people out of your life and they were the only
blessed people whom you trusted with all of you—your time, your
heart, your mind, your everything. But they did the unthinkable.
Now—pardon me—they’re going to have a child, a consequence of their
action, but remember that every child is a blessing—whether
conceived out of sin or love. So please, whatever your decision may
be, please do not put the blame on their child. As for Lola, may
you find it in your heart to forgive her. I don’t mean that you
forget what she did or that you go back to being best friends
again. No. Forgiving someone does not only mean freeing that person
from the bondage, which is the cause of what they did, but you’re
freeing yourself as well. Forgiving means you free yourself from
all the pains that they have caused you, from all the fears that
you have been afflicted with because of what you’ve experienced,
from all the worries that keep nagging in your head night and day.
Forgiving means that you acknowledge that what they have done is
wrong but will not hold it against them anymore. This also goes for
Grant. He’s your husband, Rhythm. Not just a friend. You’ve made a
covenant five years ago, not just with him, but with God as well.
Let me quote Matthew 19:6 where Jesus said, “What God has joined
together, let man not separate.” If you proceed with the divorce,
you’re not only breaking what you’ve promised with your husband.
You’re breaking your promise with Him—that’s the bigger issue here.
So may I suggest that you talk with your husband, work things out,
attend counseling together. Do everything in your power to redeem
your marriage. Start with the easiest route: your children. Make
them enough reason to work on your marriage. Rhythm, I know what
I’m saying. You know that. But my bottom line is, nothing is
impossible with God. Restoration of broken relationships? He can do
it. Heal emotional wounds? He can do it. Only by His grace that you
can do it, Rhythm, so put your trust in Him—neither to Lola nor
Grant. Not even to yourself. Not to anyone but Him.”

She delivers her speech without any pause or
fuss. I make no attempt either to stop her midsentence because I
tell you, I don’t just hear her, I listen. And I understand.

You know that thing when the Holy Spirit
dwells within you? It’s like your eyesight has been restored after
being blind since birth. You can see clearly. 20-20 vision?
Check.

Don’t get me wrong; I haven’t forgiven them,
yet. I just see now that there’s a possibility of forgiving them.
Before? Zero possibility. I mean, negative. But Olivia is used by
God to communicate with me His message: “Hey, I can make you
forgive them. Mind if you partner with me?”

It’s stupid of me to think that I can handle
it alone. Well, hello to myself. I am not God, and He reminded me
of that particular truth because sometimes—fine, most of the time—I
forget that I am human, that Grant is human, that we are not God,
and that we are bound to make mistakes and mess things up.

God shakes me to wake me up from my dream
that Grant is perfect. He needs me to get ahold of the truth that
only He can make everything possible. That only He is perfect. That
only He can take away my worries. That only He can give me the
grace to forgive the people who caused me so much pain. That only
He is God—neither Grant nor I.

“Thank you so much, Olivia. I needed that.” I
hug her once again as I cry with hopefulness enveloping my
heart.

“Yeah. Though God convicted me as to why it
took me so long to tell you those, but I know that He’s in control
because I don’t think there’s more perfect timing than now. Grant’s
on his way to bring back the twins, right?”

I nod.

“What’re you waiting for? Go fix yourself.
You can invite him to dinner or something. I’ll stay with the
twins.” She winks.

I shake my head and blink my eyes rapidly.
“You’ve planned this.”

She shrugs.

“Okay, fine. I owe you, anyway.”

She laughs. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“But really, thank you so much. You are such
a good and brave woman. Papa is blessed to have you.”

“You’re welcome, Rhythm. Now off you go.
He’ll be here in a while.”

I smile and go prepare for . . . whatever you
call it.

Jeez, I’m nervous.

Grant

I hope all is well with the plan Olivia and I
made a week before. I asked her a huge favor to talk with Rhy,
maybe convince her to speak with me. Within Rhy’s family, Olivia’s
in the best position to do that.

My phone rings.

Olivia.

Please, let it be good news.

I answer on the fourth ring. “What’d she
say?”

“Come and get your wife back.”

“Does that mean . . .”

“No, she hasn’t forgiven you yet, but at
least she’s willing to give you another chance.”

Whoa. I flop back in my chair. “That’s . . .
great, Olivia. Thank you so much.”
Woohoo!
“I will finally
see her again. That alone is enough.”

She giggles. “Don’t waste this chance, Grant.
You’ve messed up, fine. But she’s broken, and we don’t know how
much more she can take. She’s as fragile as a broken glass glued to
be whole again.”

“I know, Olivia. Believe me, I know.” I close
my eyes and sigh.

“Now, keep your spirits up and do some killer
moves. Court her again if needed. Make her feel that you really
regret what you did. Do everything to get her back—whole of her.
Capisce?”

“Aye, aye, madam!”

“Okay, she’s getting ready. You better be on
your way here.”

“I am.”

And I am so freaking excited.

Rhythm

Olivia gets the twins once Grant arrives.

“Come here, you two. We’re going to watch a
movie. What do you want?” Olivia easily diverts their
attention.

She smiles and winks at us as they go to the
twins’ room.

“Hi,” Grant initiates after having a second
or two of awkwardness.

“Hi,” I reply.

“So . . .”

“Want to go somewhere? I hear there’s a great
sushi place nearby.”

Nice one, Rhythm. That sushi place has
been there even
before
you moved here in
Pennsylvania.

“Uh . . . sure.”

I know that the pause is not because he’s
unsure of what to respond, but because he wants to point out how
dumb I am.

We drive silently then eat . . . silently.
We’re being awkward as if it’s our first date. Sheesh.

“Rhy—” he says at the same time I say
“Gra—”

Then we make it more awkward by saying, “You
go first,” simultaneously.

And as if there’s not enough awkwardness in
the air, we speak again in unison saying, “Okay,” then we both
laugh.

I decide to point my index finger to him,
signaling that he go first.

He smiles.

Oh, man. How I missed that smile. Spell
swoon. Okay, enough. Focus, Rhythm.

“Rhy, I know these words are overused
already, but let me tell you again. I’m very, very, very sorry.
This may be the last time I’ll tell that to you, though. I don’t
want to lose its meaning, and I prefer to show you, not just tell
you how sorry I am. I want my wife back. I want you in my life
back, Rip. Please, please, allow me to be in your life once again.
Allow me to build whatever is broken. Trust. Love. Everything.
Allow me to be your husband. Allow me to be the father of our kids.
Allow me to work with you in restoring our family. Most especially,
allow God to be in our midst. Please, Rip.”

I am crying, again, as I say, “You’re
ridiculous, Grant. Of course, you are still my husband and the
father of our kids.” I laugh. “Seriously, though. What you and Lola
did to me is more painful than childbirth. Way, way, way more
painful. Yes, I haven’t felt that much pain like other moms out
there, but I can imagine what it felt. It broke me—physically,
mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. The days I’ve been in the
hospital? I’m almost positive I’m going to go crazy. The depression
and stress were overwhelming that I am at the point of choosing
path A or B, A being the path of holding on and B of giving up. If
Olivia didn’t slap me—yes, she slapped me hard that day I woke up—I
don’t think I will be here having this heart to heart talk with
you. So you see, I was on the verge of leaving you . . . for real.
It was that hard for me, Grant. Maybe because I’ve never pegged you
to be that kind of man who’ll cheat. You were always faithful, but
then Lola happened and everything in me went crashing down.” I
pause for air. “Question. Have you ever loved her? Lola?”

He shakes his head. “No, Rhy. Never.”

“So, it was just physical?”

He nods, probably ashamed of his answer.

“And she knows it?”

“Yes,” he answers succinctly.

“Do you know she’s a virgin? I mean, before
you.”

He looks at me in shock, and he goes
pale.

“I guess that means no.”

His posture becomes stiff, his muscles
rigid.

“Knowing that, I feel hurt for Lola. She may
have dated various men before, but we have the same goal which is
to save our purity for our husband-to-be.” I let him grasp the
significance of what I just told him. “You’ve ruined that for her,
Grant—but she let you, so you both are responsible for it. Speaking
of being responsible, did no one think of using a protection?”

He hesitates before answering. “The first
time, I didn’t use any, but I asked her after if she’s on the pill.
She said yes. She has been on the pill the whole time. When we
learned about her . . . pregnancy, she asked her doctor why it
happened, how it was possible. Apparently, she took antibiotics
because she was sick and that caused the pills to have lesser
effect.”

“Thus, the baby.”

He lifts a shoulder in answer.

“How’re they? She’s what? Seven months
pregnant?”

“Eight. They’re fine. I’m not joining in any
of her check-ups. She just updates me,” he says defensively.

“I see. Then what’s your plan? About the
baby.”

“I’ll support her in any way I can.”

“Her?”

“The baby . . . she’s a girl.”

“Oh.”

“Rhy, can we not talk about them? I know it’s
still painful for you, but if you want to know anything, I’ll tell
you.”

I shrug because I don’t know what else to
talk about. Ah, I know. “I’ve made up my mind, Grant. I’ll give you
another chance, but help me, will you? I honestly don’t know how or
when to forgive you. All I know is that by God’s grace, that time
will come.”

“Yes, of course, Rip. I’ll help you. We’re a
team and we’re in this together,” he says displaying a frenetic
enthusiasm. “Thank you, Rhy, for giving me this.”

“May God be in the midst of our marriage, our
family. I know that I can do this—we can do this through Him who
strengthens us.”