Waters Fall (27 page)

“What does ‘
kinda’ mean? You keep using that word.” Vicky asked.

“
Huh. I do, don’t I? It usually drives me crazy when Jake uses it; like he can’t decide one way or the other about things.” She snorted. “Which makes it apropos for me to use it in this case. ‘Kinda’ means that I have my own little place where I sleep most nights, but I’m still home after school and in the evenings with the kids. Then after they’re in bed, I go to the cottage. It’s just for now, until we figure out what we’re going to do.” It sounded pitiful to Nora’s ears.

“But you’re not seeing Tristan? Even at your little place?”
Although Vicky mimicked Nora’s words, it didn’t sound like she was being unkind.

“No. I told you he doesn’t know where I live. It’s not
a little love shack, Vicky. Just a one room cottage on the edge of town where I can be alone. Alone being the key word.”

“Are you sleeping with Jake?”

“Not regularly.”

“So…
kinda?”

“
No. Yes. I guess.” She shrugged noncommittally.

“Ah.”

Nora frowned at Vicky’s response. “What does that mean?

“Why are you sleeping with Jake and not with Tristan? According to you, you love them both, right?”

“What kind of question is that? Jake is my husband and Tristan isn’t.” Nora resisted the desire to cross her arms. “Look, I’m not interested in playing psychological games here, okay? I left Tristan because it became very clear to me that it was what I was supposed to do, like it or not. I’m hoping there’s enough good in my marriage to make it worth saving. Jake is willing to work on things with me, and I’m willing to work on things with him. That’s all we have right now. Can you help me without trying to trip me up, or should I go somewhere else?”

Vicky sat quietly for several moments, long enough to make Nora even angrier.
“Fine. What would you like me to say? Yes, I suppose I love them both. I sleep with Jake because he’s my husband, and I owe it to him. I don’t sleep with Tristan because if I do, he’ll think that there’s hope for our future together and there isn’t.”

“Why do you owe Jake sex?” Vicky kept verbally punching her.

“I don’t know. I just do. I feel badly for how I’ve hurt him. I feel guilty about Tristan. I know I can make Jake happy with sex, at least temporarily. It makes him feel good. You know, manly.”

Vicky leaned forward, the sadness in her eyes growing more intense.
“Nora, those are horrible reasons for having sex with someone, even with your husband. In fact, I think if Jake knew you were sleeping with him because you feel like you owe it to him, or out of guilt, or because you felt sorry for him, he’d be pretty upset, don’t you agree?”

“Well, believe it or not, sometimes I actually
want
to have sex with my husband. It’s not all obligatory.” Now she was feeling defensive.

Vicky smiled.
“Good. I’m glad to hear that. Now,” she said, eying Nora to make sure she was listening. “I’m going to ask you to stop. Stop having sex with Jake until you’re able to do so for the right reasons. Biblically, your body belongs to him and vice versa, and so the two of you need to be in agreement on this. Which means you’ll have to talk to him about it. Do you think you can do that?” She waited for Nora to respond.

“Why? I’m not arguing. I’m just wondering why.”

“Do you really want your marriage to be restored?”

Nora nodded slowly, already sensing where this was leading after what Jake had shared with her about his sessions with the pastor.
“I think so.”

“Good,” Vicky repeated. “Then we’re going to learn to prioritize.
Nora, you and your husband rate sex too highly in your relationship. Don’t get me wrong. It’s an incredible thing when it’s right. God knew what He was doing when He put all those nerve endings in the right places and connected them to our emotions. But the world has taken lust and disguised it as love. They’ve taken sex and disguised it as intimacy. They’ve taken commitment and disguised it as a prison. They’ve twisted everything until it’s all inside out, and then we wonder why everyone is so confused about relationships.

“The thing is, Nora, a marriage in God’s eyes is the act of two becoming one in every way. Yes, sex is one of those ways, but it should be a reflection of the bigger picture. In Mark chapter ten, Jesus tells us that two become one flesh.
No longer two, but one. And He goes on to say that whatever God has joined together, we’re not to tear apart. Think about the choice of words Jesus used. Tear apart. Not a neat incision. Not a clean, surgical procedure. A brutal, ripping and tearing act; like what animals do to their prey.

“It’s not just graphic and cool imagery, you know. When you shared yourself with Tristan, you tore apart the flesh that God joined together. But even more importantly, I want you to understand this. It’s not like you cut off your arm and gave it to Tristan. A body can go on living without an arm or two. No, you tore out the heart of your marriage and handed it over to him as though it was yours to give. But what happens to flesh when the heart is removed?”

She paused, and Nora answered compliantly. “It dies?”

“It dies,” Vicky repeated, nodding vehemently. “Nora, there is no hope for your marriage right now.
None. Until you get your heart in the right place, your marriage is doomed. It doesn’t matter how much you and Jake
want
to work on things. It doesn’t matter how willing you are to try to save your marriage. What matters is where the heart of your marriage is, and that starts with getting your own heart in the right place first.

“You and I are going to try to unravel things a bit, and see if we can’t put things in their proper places. Maybe, and this is what I’m banking on, in the process of working on
you, we’ll uncover some treasures in your marriage that you’ve lost sight of over the years.” Vicky leaned over and took both of Nora’s hands, squeezing them hard. “You’ve taken the first step toward restoration in choosing to end your affair, and I can see that it wasn’t easy. But you and your heart can’t hang out in this in-between place. You must keep taking steps in the right direction. Coming here today is good. It’s another step. You should be proud of yourself.”

Nora took a deep breath and forced her shoulders to relax.
“Why don’t I feel better then? If this is the right thing, why do I still feel so torn up about it? I actually feel guilty for not feeling guilty.”

“One step at a time, Nora.
Let’s not wait around for your feelings to line up with your actions. That would be hanging out in the in-between place, and we’re not going to do that, remember?”

Nora nodded.

“Okay. Here’s your next action step. I want you to make a list.”

Nora rolled her eyes.
“Here we go again. What is it with you and lists, hm?” She smiled to soften her words, but she wasn’t anticipating Vicky’s request.

“Lists help us with perspective. We are reasoning creatures by nature, but we are also easily deceived and distracted. Lists are a simple way to organize our thoughts and keep us focused on the tasks at hand. They aren’t the end all solution for everyone, I readily admit, but I have yet to meet anyone who can’t benefit from making a list or two, now and then. If nothing else, it’s a good place to start.” She folded her hands in her lap and leaned back in her chair. “Are you ready for your assignment?”

32

T
hey’d been arguing a lot these days. In the long-
suffering tone of a martyr, Jake explained to her how Pastor Rob had instructed him not to ask questions about Tristan. So he didn’t. Instead he casually let slip the things that he
would
ask if he was
allowed
to ask, and then left awkward silences in hopes that she would fill them with the information he wanted. Disgusted by his manipulative attempts to garner information, and the accompanying guilt trips he tried to dump on her, she goaded him with juicy hints, but no real details. He called her names, she called him names. It was destructive and unproductive and exhausting.

The outcome of the battle to save their marriage looked bleak, indeed.

This morning, though, they maintained a truce of sorts, carefully treating each other with something like respect. By the time she left for work, Felix had eaten his bowl of cereal and was sprawled on the floor watching cartoons. Leslie was in the shower, catering to her teenaged awareness of personal hygiene. The day was off to a good start.

By the time she arrived at her office, things were unraveling quickly. Her phone was ringing as she walked in
the door, and she hurried to answer it.

“I have been trying to reach you for an hour, Nora, and I’m appalled that you have taken so long to answer the phone. I have rearranged my day in order to deal with this unacceptable situation, and I do not appreciate being made to wait.”

“Excuse me,” Nora responded guardedly. “Who is this?”

“Sandra Madison,” the clipped voice replied. “Where have you been all morning?”

“My office hours vary greatly, Sandra, because of the nature of the work I do. It’s unfortunate that you felt you had to wait for me, however, I don’t officially open until ten.”  She glanced at the clock on the wall across the room. “It is only 9:15 now.”

“I’m well aware of what time it is. I’m the one who’s been waiting, remember?” Sandra Madison was not happy. “So does this mean that you’ll be unable to help me for another forty-five minutes?” Her sarcasm oozed through the phone, and Nora had to resist the urge to hang up on the woman.

“What’s the problem, Sandra? Perhaps we can resolve this without any more misunderstandings.”

“How quickly can you be here? I have a catastrophe on my hands, and I want it fixed immediately.”

“What is the problem?” Nora asked a second time, her face flushed with temper at the way she was being spoken to.

“It isn’t a problem, Nora. A problem can be resolved. It is a catastrophe, and you will not be able to address it over the phone with me. I am not one of those silly little trophy wives who can be so easily put off or appeased by empty promises. I insist, no, I
demand
that you come and see for yourself. When can I expect you?”

“Listen, Sandra. My day is booked, however, if I know what the problem is, perhaps I can figure out how to best shuffle appointments so that I can deal with it today.” This was not getting any easier.

“No, you listen to me. You just admitted that you have forty-five minutes until you are officially open. My assumption, then, is that you have no appointments until ten either. I see no reason why you can’t come now. No schedule changes required.” The woman’s arrogance was remarkable.

“I’m sorry, but that
won’t be possible. Please tell me what’s wrong so I can figure out how best to help you.” Sandra Madison had been nothing but trouble since the day Nora took her on. She wished now she’d paid more attention to her gut feelings about her, because after the last four weeks of dealing with her, Nora was at the end of her rope.

Sandra finally explained that the men who came to install her new draperies the day before, had left a thick layer of dust on everything, including her grand piano, and had scratched her hardwood floors in several places with their ladders.

“But Sandra, the men you used were not mine. You insisted on hiring your own installation people, because you couldn’t wait until today when my crew was available to come. I can’t do anything about their quality of work because I did not hire them, you did. You need to contact their management immediately and get this resolved with them.”

“No, this is not my dilemma to solve, it is yours. If you were sufficiently staffed, I would not have had to hire someone else to come in and complete your work for you. And you should have been here anyway. I told you what time they were coming to install these drapes, and I expected you here to oversee the work. You never showed and now look at the catastrophe we have on our hands. I suggest that
you
call their management and arrange for them to come out and take a look at the abuse my home has taken from these imbeciles.”

“Okay.” Nora took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, holding the phone away from her mouth. “Here’s what I can do, Sandra. I was planning on taking a short lunch break around one on my way back to the office from the west end of town. I can stop by your place briefly then, and see what needs to be done, and how much I can do about it. I cannot call those men before I see it. Will that work for you?” She hated feeling like she was catering to the woman, but the conversation was going nowhere, and she really didn’t feel
like talking to her any longer. It was a horrible way to begin a day.

By noon, things had not improved. Two of the three clients she
’d met with in the morning were reconsidering their projects, although both assured her it had nothing to do with her. One was dealing with a child’s emergency medical needs, and the other had been invited to join a group of friends on a safari in August. She thought a safari might be a better use for the money she had planned to spend on redecorating her master suite this summer. “My bedroom will always be here, you know, but a safari with the girls? Well, that might only come once in a lifetime!” How could Nora argue with that reasoning? She rather wished she could go, too; just disappear for six weeks into the wilds of Africa. Maybe a hungry lion would eat her and she’d never have to return.

“Okay, Miss
Crabbypants. Snap out of it. Being eaten by a lion can NOT be a fun way to go.” Nora tried to pep talk her way out of her doldrums, but she was having a hard time mustering her nice girl attitude as she pulled into Sandra Madison’s perfectly manicured horseshoe driveway. She turned off the engine and sat in the stillness of her car for a few minutes while she uttered a prayer.

“God, if
You’re still hanging out with me, this is going to be tough, I already know. In fact, I’m actually thinking the whole lion thing might be a good alternative after all. Would You mind just making her keep her claws sheathed until I’m outta here? And it probably wouldn’t hurt to have You help me keep mine sheathed, too. I’d really appreciate that.”

Nora rang the doorbell. She could hear the deep tones like distant church bells gonging. It was such a tranquil sound, that when the front door flew open, Nora jumped.

“You’re here. Come in.” Sandra didn’t greet her, nor did she wait for any niceties in return. Assuming Nora would follow, she marched through the polished granite foyer, her expensive workout shoes squeaking militantly with each step.

Nora tagged along, feeling like prey being ushered into the lion
’s den, then she pulled up short behind her client as they entered the formal living room. Her breath caught with pleasure. Although she’d decorated the room piece by piece, she had yet to see the finished product because of her busy schedule. She would have come with her installation crew had Sandra given her an extra three days. Regardless, the window treatments pulled everything together, as though dressing the whole room in royal attire.

It was magnificent. The furniture, a deeply stained mahogany, polished to an almost lacquer finish, the upholstery in bronzes and
golds, shot through with brilliant red threads, were glorious complements to the black grand piano, the focal point of the room. Oriental rugs strategically placed, ancient Chinese urns, some exquisite replicas, some authentic, tastefully positioned around the room, it all declared opulence and class. The windows were dressed with hand-painted shades, intricate brushwork depicting cherry blossoms and lotus flowers falling dreamily into the room as though a soft breeze carried them in from outdoors, and red shantung silk panels framed each of the six windows, puddling in excess on the dark wood floor. But Nora’s eyes were drawn, as intended, to the huge and ornate mantle that dominated one whole wall. Mounted above it was one of Tristan’s most intense paintings, in reds and blacks, wild plums and brilliant greens. It was a mesmerizing whorl of color, not oriental in any context, but the passion and mystery in its swirling depths echoed the intrigue of the ancient culture she’d worked so hard to capture here, while sweeping the whole room into the 21
st
century.

Nora felt her eyes tear up, but forced her emotions under control. She would not cry in front of this woman, lest she create any more reason for Sandra to doubt her capabilities. The room was everything and more than she had hoped it would be, and she wasn
’t going to be bullied into admitting otherwise.

“Sandra, this room is spectacular.”

“A spectacular mess, yes.” Sandra crossed to the piano and stuck out a French-manicured finger. “Look at this!” She swiped it across the padded bench-seat, leaving a faint line behind. “Cleaning this instrument requires a professional, someone who knows how to care for it and who will not scratch it or mar it in any way. Those men didn’t even bother to cover it when they started drilling and screwing the drapery hardware on the wall. I just had this thing cleaned, and now the man is going to have to turn around and come right back to do it all again. It’s simply unacceptable.”

It was all Nora could do to keep from giggling at how ridiculous the whole situation was. The room truly was breathtaking, a jaw-dropper, and Sandra couldn
’t see it. She was so consumed with what was wrong with it that she couldn’t relish in its beauty.

She led Nora over to one of the windows and moved aside the puddle of red silk beneath it.
“Look at this! Look what they did with their ladders. And they didn’t even bother telling me. I had to find it myself.” She pointed the same long finger at the floor. Nora looked, then looked again, then turned questioning eyes to her client.

“Can’t you see that? Are you blind?” Sandra crouched down so she could run her finger along the wood floor. “Look at this long scratch!”

Nora leaned closer, finally realizing what the woman was pointing at, then stepped back again. She moved the curtain a little further out of the way and smiled politely. “Sandra, I know you’re concerned about this room, and the great expense and effort that you’ve put into making it beautiful. Your taste is exceptional and I’m so glad you love this wonderful era, because I’ve always wanted to decorate a room like this. I’m sorry about the dust, and I would like to offer you a complimentary cleaning. You arrange it with your piano man, and I will take the cost of his services off my bill. Drilling into these plaster walls always stirs up a little dust, and it could very well have happened with my installers, too. Will that work for you?”

Sandra stood, her hands on her hips, and pursed her lips tightly for a moment.
“All right. Hopefully Brandon can come sooner than later. If he can’t come sooner I may have to look for someone else, and there’s no guarantee that I’ll be charged the same price that Brandon charges.”

“That’s all right. It needs to be done, correct?” When Sandra nodded, Nora continued. “Then you get someone over here to do it and just send me a copy of the bill.”

“What about the scratches?” Sandra asked, still trying to maintain some of her indignation. She’d obviously prepared for a fight and wasn’t so sure how to proceed from this point.

Nora kept the gracious smile pasted on her face as she tried to explain.
“Sandra, I don’t think the installers made that scratch. Look from over here, from this angle with the light shining on it.” She reached for Sandra’s hand but the other woman flinched. Nora ignored it and grabbed her hand anyway, pulling her gently around to stand beside her. “Do you see how there isn’t a scratch in the top coat, the sealer? Do you see how the groove is actually sealed beneath the finish? I can absolutely understand why you might think it’s a new scratch, especially if you’ve just noticed it for the first time, but from here it looks like just part of the wood grain. Oh Sandra,” she gushed, as though the woman had not just made a complete fool of herself. “This is some of the most beautiful flooring I’ve ever seen, and part of its beauty is its unique grain pattern. It really takes a sharp eye to find something like this, you know, and I’m so glad you chose this one. You obviously are one of those people who appreciate the value of beauty.” She cocked her head, secretly wondering if she’d gone too far with that last comment, then opted to jump in with both feet anyway. “I’m even wondering if we should redesign these drapes
not
to puddle so that more of this flooring will stay exposed.”

Sandra was quiet for a long time. They both stood staring at the spot on the floor until Nora couldn
’t take it any longer. She turned to look at the other woman, prepared to suggest that they bring in the flooring guy and have the section replaced, when she saw Sandra’s expression. There was no anger, no embarrassment, no ridicule or superiority in her eyes. Instead, Nora thought she read a depth of defeat that worried her. She reached out to touch Sandra’s arm.