She moved beneath him, hinting at the bathroom, but he wouldn’t let her go.
“All I want is a family to provide for. A Lord to worship. And a wife who … Marion, I swear. If you’ll forgive me, simple gifts will be enough.”
“Shh.”
“You always know the right thing to do. How you knew we should—this is the last thing I would have imagined happening, but you were right. You’re always right. You were right about—”
“Shh. Just let me pee.”
Careful not to stub a toe, she felt her way to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet. There was a magician’s trick to be performed, a snap of the fingers that would make Russ’s remorse disappear. His confessions had been piteously sincere, like a little boy’s, and it was time to make her own confession. The sparrow had told her it was time.
And yet: what if she didn’t? What exactly would be gained by dragging him through Bradley Grant, through Santa, through the abortion, through Rancho Los Amigos? She could clear her conscience by groveling in the dirt, but was it really a kindness to her husband? Now that Perry’s calamity had brought Russ back to her, might it not be better to simply love him and serve him? He was like a boy, and a boy needed structure in his life, and wasn’t remorse a kind of structure? She would never be simple, but she could give him the gift of thinking he’d wronged her more than she’d wronged him. Might this not be kinder than dumping her complexities on him?
It could have been Satan asking, but she didn’t think it was, because the temptation didn’t feel evil. It felt more like punishment. To not confess her sins to Russ—to renounce her chance to be chastised, maybe pitied, maybe even forgiven—would be to carry the burden for the remainder of her life. The unending burden of being alone with what she knew.
I need help here. Any kind of sign would be welcome.
She waited, shivering, on the toilet seat. If God was listening, He gave no indication of it, and while she waited something shifted in her. Although she could always ask Him again later, she’d made her decision.
Russ had peeled back the bedspread and pulled a sheet over himself. She joined him beneath it. “I have something to say to you, and I want you to listen.”
He put a hand on her breast. She gently removed it.
“So you know,” she said, “my father was manic-depressive—”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, you knew he was a suicide. But I never told you about my own troubles. I never told you how disturbed I was when I was Perry’s age. I was afraid of scaring you away, and I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Russ, honey, I couldn’t bear it. I loved you so much, I couldn’t bear it.”
“I knew you were a little crazy.”
“But it was more than a little. You had a right to know before you married me. I knew what the danger was, and I didn’t tell you. So I don’t want to hear about this being your fault.”
“It is my fault. I was the—”
“Shh. Just listen. You’re mixing up two different things. You feel bad about your … indiscretion. And even that, you shouldn’t feel bad about. I gave you my permission.”
“That doesn’t mean I had to use it.”
“You were hurt. I hurt you because you’d hurt me—these things happen in a marriage. My point is that you had bad luck. You’re embarrassed by what happened in Kitsillie, you feel guilty about it, and I understand that. But it’s enough. You don’t have to feel guilty about Perry, too. His troubles all come from me.”
“I knew very well what God wanted me to do.”
“Sweetie, I didn’t listen to Him, either. From now on, we’ll have to try to do better. That’s why I want us to pray together every day. I want us to change. I want us to be closer. I want us to experience the joy of God together.”
He shuddered.
“A terrible thing happened, but there can still be joy. I was looking at the birds outside—can’t we still take joy in Creation? Can’t we take joy in each other?”
He gave a cry of pain.
“Shh, shh.”
“I don’t deserve you!”
“Shh. I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I don’t deserve joy!”
“No one does. It’s a gift from God.”
And Becky had been so happy. Finally a spring-semester senior, walking among underclassmen but feeling a new commonality with the Class of ’72, she’d made a point, every day, of being friendly to at least one classmate she’d never spoken to before, a boy taking metal shop, a girl from the Baptist church where she and Tanner had worshiped. It was a kind of daily Christian service, and then, on the weekend, if she and Tanner had time, they stopped by a party approved by Jeannie Cross and stayed for half an hour, not drinking, just putting a seal on the proceedings, before slipping away to a realm beyond high-school reckoning.