Bo's Café (19 page)

“But when you admit the anger is there because
you want it to be
—when you confess that you use anger because you’re afraid of not being in control—you’re telling her you are no longer justified.
You’re winnable. She’s waited for that all these years. She’s lived with a terrorist who never plays fair. And she’s learned
how to survive, how to negotiate the temporary appearance of peace. But she hasn’t trusted the terrorist for years… . So she
hasn’t received his love for years. And so both of you have pulled apart. And that’s the name of that particular tune.”

“Geez.” I sigh deeply. “You think you can write some of that down for me?”

We’ve reached our slip. Andy navigates the boat into place. “We’re close to being able to send you home. But first, while
the door is open, I want to say something else.” He steers carefully, not looking at me while he speaks. “Are you ready?”

“Sure.”

“This may be very painful.”

“You mean unlike the rest of today?”

“Your shame drove you to control your world,” he says. “So you used your anger as the method. Bad enough. But not as bad as
this next thought. Ready?”

“No.”

“You thought you were controlling others, but it was
you
being controlled all the time. It was your own trap. You were drinking your own poison.” He glances up to see if I’m still
with him.

“See, if you just ask God to help you stop using anger to control people, you’re back at square one. Another behavior to conquer.
But hey, if you were to discover that you can’t get yourself out, no matter how hard you try, well, then you would really
need God. Now we’re talking real
repentance
. Get the picture?”

I make an involuntary grunt. “Nothing I can do, huh?”

“Nope. But listen to this: repentance isn’t doing something about your failure. Repentance is admitting you can’t do anything
about your failure. It’s not just agreeing you’ve done something wrong; it’s admitting you can’t do what needs to be done
to make it right
. God waits and yearns for that moment with everything in Him.”

“I guess He’s been waiting a long time,” I say.

“I believe so.”

Now that we’re safely in our slip, he turns off the engine and motions toward the dock.

“Well, it’s time, Steven. You no longer need me. You need to be talking to Jesus and then Lindsey.”

“So, what do I say? To Him, I mean.”

Andy turns his hands out toward me. “Sorry. No can do. That’s for you and Him. Just tell Him the truth. He’s been bringing
you to this moment for a long time. He’s really good at interpreting mumbles and sighs.”

I still feel so lost, so uncertain. “What do I say to Lindsey? She doesn’t trust me as far as she can throw me.”

“There I
can
help,” he says. “First, she shouldn’t trust you, no matter what you tell her. Not for quite a while, probably. She’ll have
to watch and see if your repentance is authentic.

“The heart can’t be talked into trust. Though she may not trust that you have yet fully changed, she can believe that you
mean the words you’re saying. She may not trust that you can make anything change yet, but she can at least believe your sincerity.
That’s a big deal. For now, it’s the only deal you have. She hasn’t believed you in a long time. If you want to get your foot
back in the front door, ask her if she’s ready to hear from you. If she says no, believe her and wait as long as she needs.
This alone will cause her to ask who you are and what you’ve done with her husband.”

Andy smiles at me, and I can’t help smiling back.

“Don’t tell her you’re sorry unless you’re willing to specifically lay out the truth of what you’ve been doing all along.
She knows you’re sorry about the behaviors, but she has waited for years to hear you tell the truth about yourself. This could
take a while. Don’t rush it.

“Then, and only then, should you ask her forgiveness. She might refuse. She probably should. She’s pretty disgusted. In this
too you must allow her readiness to determine everything. Just because you feel ready to be forgiven doesn’t mean she’s ready
to forgive. The worst thing you can do is demand something she’s not ready for. All this making sense?”

I motion to my outfit. “I’m out in public in my slippers.”

“Tell her the truth of what you’re discovering about yourself, about the secrets behind your actions. Tell her your fears.
Tell her that you’ve poured your heart out to God and that you realize you need Him desperately for anything to change. Tell
her that you can see you’ve been out of control and that you have no idea how to fix any of this. Tell her all that.”

“Andy, don’t you think it’ll just frighten her more to hear that her husband is so out of control?”

“You think that’ll be news to her?” He gently slaps my shoulder. “That doesn’t frighten her. What frightens her is that you’ve
never told her you realized it. She’s had to watch you lie to yourself for so long. This will be the first time she’s seen
you in your right mind for a very long while. For the first time, she’ll feel safety in knowing her husband is no longer the
angry emperor with no clothes on.”

“I’m, like, the worst husband in LA County.”

“No. Not the worst.” A smile turns at a corner of his mouth. “There are at least four others. Three of them are in prison.
But the other guy’s out on the street, holding a job.”

I laugh out loud.

“And after you do all that,” Andy says, “it would be great to tell her about my commitment to you. Tell her about our times
together. Tell her about Bo’s and the people you’ve met there. Tell her about your time at the Marriott. And Fenton’s. Let
her in on the whole process that has brought you to this moment.”

I look up at him. “That may be harder to explain than the first part.”

“Tell her you’re beginning to discover how much you’ve hurt her over the years because you haven’t trusted her with
you
. Tell her she is worthy of your trust and that you’re ready to learn how to trust. Invite her into the process. Tell her
you can’t do it without her anymore. She may think you’re reading lines off a cue card at first. This is not a game plan for
an evening speech, but for the rest of your life.”

Andy puts his hand on my arm.

“So, Steven, am I just putting words into your mouth, or are you ready to trust your wife with you?”

After a moment I nod. “Maybe for the first time in my life, Andy.”

“Then get out of my hair,” he yells. “I’ve got boats to log out. We’ll meet up again when you’re ready. Just write to me.
Let me know when you’re ready.”

As I walk away, I turn back to Andy. “I think I’m supposed to say thank you. But I think I’ll save it for later and see how
this all goes first, if you don’t mind.”

“Fair enough. God bless you, Steven.”

“Um, He’s one of the two I’m not sure want to hear much from me right now. I wouldn’t demand a blessing out of Him at the
moment.”

“Fair enough. Then God
endure
you. Better?” He smiles.

“Sounds about right,” I say, nodding my head good-bye.

“I’ll see you soon, Andy.”

(Friday Afternoon, May 8)

About an hour ago I left the marina and started driving. I found myself on the 101, heading north. I just had to drive to
clear my head. I reached Malibu and have now turned around toward home.

No radio, no phone. Just the silence inside my Mercedes.

My mind wanders in my self-disgust. Ten miles maybe… past Las Flores, I begin to speak.

“I guess I thought I was supposed to figure it out, just manage it, and somehow life would work. I’ve always been smarter
than everyone. So, then, how can someone with my intelligence rip apart his own marriage, be disdained at work, and feel so
miserable? Andy tells me You’ve been waiting for me to ask that.”

More miles. My mind drifts to disjointed snippets of growing up: childhood, my first girlfriend, sitting on the hood of my
Mustang, in college with Ronnie Oliveri, getting drunk on Spanada, my first job after college, my wedding day… all the way
to the tense, calculated, angry man sitting in Fenton’s. It’s like my mind is combing through old files, trying to figure
something out… .

“About a month ago I said it seems like something is whispering to me. It’s the same whisper that’s been there all my life.
I’ve hidden from it, but it’s always been there.

“It’s always been You, huh?”

More miles. Past the Will Rogers State Beach turnoff.

“I want You to hear that I now know I’ve been blaming You and just about everyone else. I use my anger as my weapon of choice—to
get my way, to control my world and leverage my positions. I’ve done it so long I don’t know another way.”

More miles.

“A big part of me doesn’t want to face any of this. I want to drive, as fast as I can, somewhere I can hide, where I don’t
have to face what I’ve done, who I’ve been.”

I speed past the turnoff for Pacific Palisades.

“No. I’m done running. It’s time to face whatever You want me to face.”

I am now entering Santa Monica. This place has my full attention. Coasting down this palm tree–lined boulevard here on the
Pacific Coast Highway, all my senses are heightened. This is the scene of my successes, where I’ve made a name for myself.
I’m always on my game here. I am known at these restaurants. I’m respected, given preference.

Sitting at the long stoplight at Wilshire, I take it all in. After the morning I’ve had, it all seems surreal: hollow, thin.
Standing outside the crowded restaurants and bistros, everything seems so different now. Several years from now a whole new
stable of thirty-four-year-olds will be given these window-side tables.

I park on Palisades Beach Road at the grassy strip of City Park that overlooks the Santa Monica pier. In my paint outfit I
blend right in with the street people sharing cigarettes and scraps of lunch. Anytime now, well-dressed colleagues will start
filling the ocean-view patios across the street, brokering at white-linen-covered tables procured earlier in the day by eager
interns. I should be among them, bluffing my way through another day.

Instead I wander down to a secluded spot at a railing on a walking trail below me. I’m now facing the ocean and the landmark
Ferris wheel on the pier’s boardwalk below.

“Andy says that in all my controlling, I’m the only one who’s really been deceived. The thought sickens me. Drains me. I want
to make some sort of penance. But I guess that’s part of the problem; I can’t make up for any of it with more religious pretending.
Please just forgive me for all my lying and pretending, the hurt I’ve caused. I can’t stand how it feels like I’ve been wasting
my life—and others’.”

I stop talking as a couple strolls by on the path behind me. I turn and wait until they’ve passed.

“Andy also says I should trust You with the stuff I’ve never talked about. I don’t really know how to do that. And I guess
I always figured you were put-out, disgusted with me. You take care of the big stuff, but maybe You’re here in the small stuff
too. I want to believe that. I think that’s the only way I’ll get through this.”

I take a deep breath, preparing for the next words. Somehow, I’ve been waiting to get to the place where I could say this
my whole life.

“I’m sorry about who I’ve made You into all these years. Right now, I want You to take the real me—if You’re really willing—all
my fear and junk. I just give that to You. I don’t want it anymore.”

I want to say more, but… I think He understands what I’m trying to get out.

I don’t want to leave this spot. This is the best I’ve felt since… I can’t remember. But I have to see Lindsey. I climb slowly
back up from the railing, walk across the park and to my car. I stand and stare across the street to the now-filled restaurant
patios. Santa Monica is slowly being repainted with something real. As I walk to my car, I notice a street guy with oily,
matted hair sitting on a bench, wearing socks on his hands. I find myself saying hello to him. I put the Mercedes in gear
and slowly pull away from the curb and down the coast toward home.

Carlos said I’m a saint on my worst day. That I’m righteous right now. Me. Today, I think, is the very first time I’ve started
to try that on. What if I’m really not defined by anything else? Steven, who can behave like a jerk… is a saint. Geez!

I don’t want to manage the consequences anymore. I’ve done that all my life. Now I can’t and I won’t. Or I’ll end up managing
nothing.

As I work my way out of Santa Monica, I’m terrified of what I will face at the end of this drive home. But I can’t control
that. I can only trust Him with me.

I smile to myself, surprised that I’m actually beginning to believe what I just thought. What an incredible feeling.

Just this side of Manhattan Beach I say,
“I am asking with everything in me that You will do one thing: allow Lindsey to hear something she can start to believe. Beyond
that, I don’t even know what to ask. You take care of it.”

I feel like a man intentionally driving to his own execution. Ten thousand thoughts are now competing for my attention.

I’m not so much afraid that she’ll be angry; for the first time, it actually matters more that she might not forgive me. Or
that she’ll let me in again, but for the same old wrong reasons. In the past I didn’t care. I just wanted life back to normal.
Now I don’t know what I’ll do if she lets me in again out of resigned fear.

Just let her be there.

I turn the corner into our cul-de-sac. Lindsey’s car is in the driveway. Everything is moving in slow motion now. It seems
like everyone I see has been brought up to speed on our situation. Melanie Patton is out watering some bushes, clearly positioning
herself for my return. Her eyes follow my car with a disdainful glare that says,
“I’ve never trusted you from the day I first saw you. If I were her, I’d so dump you.”

I pull up in front of our house and turn off the engine. I sit there for a moment.