The Wednesday Group (11 page)

He grunts and shakes his head. “You're not rational.”

“I come home. You're watching porn on the computer, which means you must be horny. You tell me you want me, and here I am, ready and willing. How is that not rational?”

“I can't do it on command.”

“Then I'll help you.” Her fingers tremble as she begins to undo her blouse. Her hands feel as if they're in oven mitts. She'll be here until midnight if she keeps trying this way. She rips open her blouse, hears the buttons pop off. One of them pings as it hits the bookshelf.

“Stop,” he tells her.

“I'm not stopping.” She takes off her camisole and unhooks her bra.

He stands and walks to the door.

She gets up, glances at the strewn clothes on the carpet, then approaches him. She pushes him against the wall. “So tell me, aren't my breasts good enough for you? Or am I just too old?”

He looks away. “Liz, stop. I can't do this. Get dressed.”

“So I'm right, you don't want me. You can't even stand to look at me.” She grabs his chin, turns his face.

He tries to nudge her away. “You need to get control of yourself.”

“No, you need to show me you want me.”

“Don't do this.” His words are tight, his eyes small and mean.

She looks down at herself, at her breasts that sag, and suddenly it's not him she hates anymore. It's herself.

She runs out of the room and locks herself in the master bathroom. She finds her medicine in the cabinet and takes two.

“Are you okay?” Greg calls through the door.

She turns on the faucet to the bath to drown out his voice, then begins to yank open the drawers. There isn't anything in particular she's looking for. Pill bottles, nail clippers, bobby pins, barrettes, and razors go flying. She picks up a lipstick from the floor and writes on the mirror.

You ugly, crazy bitch.

She empties a few more drawers. An old, unused pregnancy test and another pill bottle clatter on the tile floor. She picks up the bottle—Klonopin prescribed a few years ago by a fertility doctor who said there was nothing wrong with either of them, that she just needed to relax. He also told them that Greg should save up, not have too many orgasms before she ovulated. What if they couldn't have a baby because he was masturbating all the time?

The pills expired ages ago. Still, she opens the bottle, tosses three little green tablets into her mouth, and swallows. She pulls a towel from the rack and sinks her head into it.

She cries. The bathwater runs. Greg knocks.

Eventually either the crying or the Klonopin exhausts her. She curls on the floor, closes her eyes, and imagines being with the group, telling the women what a crazy person she became. Soon she is fantasizing about going on a retreat with them. Maybe to Mexico. They will drink margaritas on the beach and laugh at their ridiculous lives.

Somewhere far away she hears the banging on the door.
Go away
, she thinks, as she imagines the sun warming her skin. She pulls her knees in closer, then takes her cell phone from her pocket and texts the school, telling them she's too sick to return today. Finally she begins to drift, feeling pleased that she didn't make that call to Kathryn.

 

SESSION THREE

This Wednesday Adam clearly knows he's not expected until seven. Gabby is due any minute, and as Hannah gets ready she tells herself this will really be the last Wednesday that she deserts the children. Yes, she likes everyone, and of course she'll keep in touch with Bridget, but she's been dealing with this much longer than the others, so her needs are naturally different.

She is pleased to walk into Kathryn's office and see that Bridget is there before her. Her face has more color, and her eyes sparkle again. They chat about morning sickness, traffic, and the weather.

Flavia and Gail come in at the same time, and Kathryn starts at seven, even though Lizzy is absent.

The women glance around, making sure not to jump in if there is someone who might need to go first.

Flavia finally begins. “This week is the week Dema must go to the court. He begs that I go with him. I cannot say no, but I am very nervous. I feel it in the stomach.”

“Can you talk about why you feel nervous?” Kathryn asks.

She purses her full lips, then lets out a long breath. “I am afraid he will have to go to jail. That is my worse fear. I am also afraid of the newspaper. I think they want to make Dema to be bad, partly because he is different. Then they can say it is not their own kind that does these types of things, but the dark foreigner.”

“Does he have a good lawyer?” Gail asks.

“The one they give to us.”

“And when do you go in?”

“Tomorrow I go.”

“In Cambridge?” Gail asks.

“Yes.”

“Is this his first arrest?” Gail's questions are proficient, mechanical.

“It is.”

“Does he go to therapy to get help for this?”

“Yes.”

“Then you must tell the lawyer to make it very clear he is getting help.” Gail points a finger, making sure Flavia understands the importance of what is being said. Hannah guesses she is some sort of lawyer.

“Thank you.” Flavia bows her head. “It is also hard because I believe what Dema did was not good, but when you know the person who does this type of thing and you understand that they cannot help it, it makes it all confusing.”

“It's a horrible position to be in,” Gail says. “But I will say this: if it happens again, no judge is going to be lenient.” Her long nails click.

Hannah is sorry she won't be back next week to find out what happened. She is about to wish Flavia good luck when Lizzy walks in with her head lowered. She sits on the couch, hunched, clinging to her corner. She doesn't glance up or smile or apologize for being late. Her skin is sallow. She has aged ten years since last week.

Flavia picks up the tissue box, makes a move to hand it to Lizzy, then withdraws. They all know what's happened. Not the details, but the sum of it, the discovering of more lies.

“Lizzy.” Kathryn leans toward her. “Are you all right?”

Lizzy's fingers grip her sweater. “Just a little tired.”

That's not the truth, of course, although Hannah wishes it were. The room is quiet, reverent.

“Sometimes,” Hannah says, her voice just above a whisper, “it helps to talk.”

“Thanks,” Lizzy mumbles. Silence again. “I … maybe … I feel like such a fool.” She rubs her palm on the seat of the couch. “I really believed him this time.”

“They know what to do to make us trust them,” Hannah says.

“It hurts.” Lizzy's voice cracks as she reaches for a tissue. “I go between hating him for doing it and hating myself for being stupid enough to believe him.”

Gail shakes her head slowly. “Not one of us is stupid.”

The small oval clock on the desk ticks. Bridget glances around nervously. Flavia touches Lizzy's arm. Hannah watches.

“What happened?” Kathryn asks gently.

“I came back home in the middle of the day. I needed some medication for a migraine. He was home, watching … I thought he'd be at work.” Her breath catches.

“Sex addiction can be a harder habit to break than cocaine,” Kathryn says.

Flavia hands Lizzy another tissue. She places one on top of the other, then folds them into squares.

Kathryn waits a few moments. “Are you going to be all right?” she asks.

Silence shrouds the room.

Slowly, carefully, Kathryn begins. “If anyone is open to it, I have an exercise some of you may like to try.”

There are a few nods.

“The first part requires that you rate your marriage on a scale of one to ten, ten being the highest.” She folds her hands. “If you feel comfortable telling the group…”

“A fucking zero,” Bridget jumps in, awkwardly loud, in an attempt to break the mood.

“I'd like you to think about what would make it a one,” Kathryn says.

“Nothing.”

“I know it's hard, but can you think of anything that might bring it up from a zero?”

“If he took a lie detector test and passed.”

“Good,” Kathryn says. “Is that something Michael would be willing to do?”

Bridget's eyes widen. “Really? They give those? I was joking.”

“It's often a recommended treatment for sex addicts. I can give you the number of someone.”

Bridget looks away, uncomfortable. Hannah understands. The idea of sitting in some room with your husband as they paste wires to him and ask embarrassing questions is not something she'd ever want to do either.

“I'd rate my marriage at an eight,” Gail says.

“And what would make it a nine?” Kathryn asks, as Bridget stares at Gail in disbelief.

“Jonah and I have spent the last year going through so much therapy. We haven't been on a real vacation together in two years. I think we should plan a trip to Europe.”

“Excellent,” Kathryn says.

“An eight?” Bridget asks. “For real?”

“It's taken a lot of work to get there,” Gail tells her.

Bridget looks unconvinced. Flavia nods as if she's listening, but she keeps turning to check on Lizzy, who seems detached, as if she's alone in the middle of a frozen cornfield.

“What about you?” Kathryn asks Hannah.

She's been paying attention to Lizzy as well. “A two.” It's the first number that comes to her.

“And what would make it a three?”

Hannah doesn't want to play this game. But she doesn't want to be rude either. “I think it's just going to take a lot of time.” It's a vague nonanswer.

“Time is a very important component,” Kathryn says. “Recovery can be a long process.”

“It's a lifetime commitment,” Gail adds.

“Lizzy, is there anything you can think of that might help your relationship?” Kathryn asks.

“Maybe being twenty years younger.”

“How would that help?” Kathryn asks.

“I could compete with what he likes to look at.”

“Don't,” Bridget says. “Don't compare yourself. Porn isn't real. Those girls are skanks. You wouldn't want to look like them.”

“She's right,” Hannah says. “Porn isn't real. It's a way to escape, to avoid dealing with an intimate relationship.”

“That's what makes me so sad.” Lizzy's deep brown eyes shimmer with tears. “That he doesn't want to have an intimate relationship with me.”

“It's because he can't,” Hannah says. “He probably has no idea how to do it.”

“So does that mean our whole marriage has been a lie? If he's not capable now, he wasn't five years ago, or fifteen years ago. I thought we had something.”

“It's not that black and white,” Hannah says. “There were probably times he wasn't consumed with his addiction and you did connect.”

She shrugs. “I don't know. I wanted to have children, and we couldn't. For years I've told myself that that was okay, that I've been fortunate to have a job I love and to be in a fulfilling marriage. And now I find out it's all a bunch of shit.”

“Not all of it,” Gail says sympathetically. “Even if it seems that way now.”

“It's lonely.” Lizzy's voice is barely audible.

Flavia hands over another tissue.

“When they're living in their addiction, you are alone. At least in your marriage,” Hannah says. “I know it's not much, but you have us.”

“Sometimes, don't you guys think we should just go out and sleep with anyone we want? Screw the rules.” Bridget's knees bounce.

“I think that would only exacerbate our situations,” Gail says. “Then we'd have our own secrets and guilt to deal with.”

“I wasn't saying we should keep it a secret.” Bridget grins.

“Revenge is never productive.” Gail wags a finger.

“They broke their vows,” Bridget says. “And when they do that, I say all bets are off.”

“We all change throughout our lives.” Gail looks directly at Bridget. “Should we always be reevaluating?”

“Yeah, maybe we should.”

“What about if your spouse gets Alzheimer's?” Gail asks.

“That would be a different group,” Bridget retorts.

Flavia toys with a few strands of hair as if she's looking for split ends. “Dema is a different man from that I thought I married, so I do not know what to do.” Her face turns pink. “I thought to feel better, I should have sex with another man.”

“Self-esteem is very important,” Kathryn says. “It can get shattered and damaged in your situations. Are there other things you can think of that might help?”

Flavia pulls a makeup pouch out of her bag. “Sometimes I paint my lips and cheeks. Then I walk down the street with my big heels, my head high, and feel like I am worth the million bucks.”

Hannah glances at Lizzy again. She's still withdrawn. “I think Flavia has a good point. It doesn't have to be makeup, but doing something to pamper yourself. Buying some clothes, or getting a manicure.”

Flavia holds up her lipstick and nudges Lizzy's elbow. She perks up a little.

“Here.” Flavia hands over the makeup.

Lizzy takes it, opens it, and smiles. “It's a pretty color.”

“Try it,” Flavia encourages, and takes out a mirror.

“No thanks.” Lizzy gives it back. “But I think I will go out and get some new makeup this weekend.”

“It's interesting how we use makeup as kind of a mask to hide behind,” Gail proselytizes. “Almost like a Band-Aid, as if we're trying to hide the wound.”

“I disagree,” Hannah says. “Band-Aids get a bad rap. I get that they don't fix anything, but they do the job they're meant to do. They help the healing process, and if that sometimes means lipstick or high heels or a new dress, then I say go for it. Let's dress up next week. Wear whatever makes us feel good.”