14. CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 14
Gray
" I can't talk to you about Rose," Dr. Mercer told me. She was a tall African-American woman with a gentle face and a soothing demeanor. She was also firm and no-nonsense.
"I know. But I hope you can help me. Because I'm lost."
She nodded. "Okay. What do you want to talk about?"
"My wife left me," I began, and then told her everything, the words pouring out of me. I told her about how everyone around me saw my marriage as fucked up, and I was thinking what a great wife and marriage I had. How during my last call with Rose, I was an asshole; how I was struggling to process how I'd ignored my wife, who had been contemplating suicide.
"What I don't understand is why she didn't talk to me before she left," I confessed.
"Why do you think she didn't?"
I thought about it and pursed my lips. "The past couple of years, I haven't been present much . Actually, the past several years. Maybe…she felt she couldn't?"
"Has she tried to talk to you in the past about things?"
"I think so. I mean, yes, she has."
"How did that go?"
I swallowed. I knew what she was getting at. "I treated her issues like a nuisance and something she needed to solve for herself."
Dr. Mercer watched me. "How does knowing that make you feel?"
"Ashamed."
"And?"
"Afraid that I can't get her back. That I have lost her forever; that I deserve to lose her."
Dr. Mercer made some notes and then looked up at me. "You say you don't want to divorce your wife. Explain to me why that is."
"I love her."
"What does that mean?"
I blinked. "I…love her."
"Yes. But what does that mean to you? What does it mean to love your wife?"
I thought about it, and a smile formed on my face despite the hell I was in. "She makes me feel safe. I feel calm when I lie in bed, and she's there with me. I could have the worst day, but when I'm with her, it just goes away."
"She's your safe space."
"Yes," I agreed.
"So, when she brings up problems or concerns, what happens?"
"I…." I sighed as I realized what she was saying and what I had been doing. "I don't like it because it takes my safe space away. It adds conflict that I don't want. I want it to be peaceful with Rose. I have conflict all around me, and in bed, I want my wife in my arms, saying she loves me, not telling me how her life is hard."
"You keep saying bed . When I come home and lie with her. When I'm in bed. Are you talking about sex?"
I rubbed a hand on the side of my face. "Yeah, partly. Our sex life has always been fantastic. Twenty years, and we still have sex three times a week. Well, we used to. These past months it has been less, actually, non-existent."
"What happened?"
"I started sleeping more often in the guestroom. I'd work late in my study and sleep there, so I didn't wake her up."
"You've always worked a lot, so why did you start sleeping away from her now?"
I shrugged. "I didn't want to bother her."
"You said that everyone thinks you're sleeping with your assistant. Do you have feelings for her?"
"No," I protested vehemently. "None at all. You don't understand. I'd never have sex with anyone but Rose. I don't want to. She's my safe space, and she's it for me."
Dr. Mercer took some more notes.
"You say that everyone can see you've been ignoring your wife. Do you see that?"
"I do now."
"Tell me about it. How did you ignore her?"
I ran a hand through my hair. This thinking through the responses to question after question was hard work. I didn't have all the answers, and the answers I did have made me feel worse about myself as they showed me how poorly I'd been treating my wife.
It was revealing what I'd learned in the space of a few minutes with Dr. Mercer. Rose was my safe space, so she wasn't allowed to have any problems or issues. She was supposed to be a doll who was there to take care of me and make me feel better, and when that was done, I went my way, and she? Well, she thought about killing herself because I wasn't her safe space. I didn't give her room to tell me what was happening with her. I could talk to her about anything, and she'd listen. How many times did I reciprocate?
By the time Dr. Mercer and I ended out conversation, I was exhausted. And this was just a half-hour session? I wouldn't last if I had to do this for a whole hour.
"Before you leave, I want you to think about two things," Dr. Mercer said, "Think of it as homework. First, I want you to know and understand why you started to sleep away from your wife when your relationship has been a lot about the marital bed. Second, I want you to imagine how a conversation with your wife would go if she had talked to you about her suicidal ideation. A conversation you took seriously, and not the way you lambasted her on the phone when she mentioned it."
I got up from the couch, feeling like I'd been through a mulching machine. "Thank you, Dr. Mercer."
"Gray, in my professional opinion, you should continue therapy now while you're in crisis. You should see someone at least twice a week. I can give you referrals. I think you might do better with a man."
I glanced at her. "Why?"
"I haven't talked to you long, and I may be wrong. But, I believe you respect men more than you do women."
"No," I immediately said. "I'm not one of those assholes."
She smiled. "I suspect an implicit bias. We all have biases. I have a slight bias against white men, doesn't change the fact that my husband is a white man. I'll send you an email with some referrals."
"You won't take me on?"
"If that's what you want, absolutely. I counsel a lot of couples individually and together, though I prefer not to. I just think you'll do better with a man. You can come to see me again. Just use the portal on my website to make an appointment."
As I reached the door, I stopped and turned around. "Thank you for saving my wife's life."
"You have a good rest of the day, Gray."
I knew she couldn't even acknowledge that Rose was a patient. But I wanted her to know that I was grateful for what she did for her. I was also grateful for what she'd just done for me.
Before I left, I spoke to her assistant, who did the bookkeeping and set up payment for Rose; apparently, that was not seen as a problem.
As I drove home, I called my head of architecture. He'd come on board four years ago and had proven himself time and again as a great architect and leader.
"How's it goin', boss?" Justin said.
"Hey, man, I'll talk more about this with you tomorrow face-to-face, but for now, I need to tell you that I am needin' to take a leave of absence."
Silence.
"Justin?"
"Is everything okay with you? Your health?"
"Yeah, no worries there."
I could hear his confusion. "You're going to take time off? You don't even take weekends off, Gray. What's goin' on?"
I sighed. Might as well tell him. "Rose left me. I need to save my marriage.
"I'm sorry, Gray. Rose is good people. How much time do you need?"
I thought about it and said, "At least six months."
If Justin was surprised, he had no idea how I felt. I had transformed Rutherford Architects from what it was under my father into the international juggernaut it had become. I did it with sweat and blood—and it appeared, at the cost of my marriage.
"You sure about this? You can work remotely or—"
"I need the time off. I'm sure."
"When do you want to do this?
"After our meeting tomorrow, where we come up with a transition plan. I'll still be available. Just a phone call and email away. But I've got to go bring my wife home, Justin. You'll be acting CEO and President."
"I won't disappoint you," he said softly, but I knew he was shocked that I was handing off the mantle of the position I'd worked so hard to elevate. But sometimes life was more important than making money; actually, it always was. I had only realized that now, after Rose left me.
"You never have disappointed me, Justin, and I don't believe you ever will."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gray. So, where is Rose?"
I told him.
"Nice. It's a beautiful place. Okay. I'll put together a list of all projects and their statuses, and we can go through them. I'll also draw up a communication plan for the employees."
"I don't want anyone to know until we're done discussing this and nailing down transition."
"Absolutely."
"Justin," I took a deep breath and continued, "did you also think I had somethin' goin' on with Aimee?"
Long silence.
"Why is everyone thinkin' that? Do I give out sexual creep vibes?" I demanded.
Justin sighed loudly. "No, man. I know you, so I never believed it. But you know Aimee talks about you like that with everyone. Not that you're…you know, doin' stuff, but that you had dinner with her and how you both were working in your hotel suite. She's sort of been indicating that you're an item. And, I already knew about Rose leaving before you called, 'cause—"
"Aimee told everyone?" I filled in.
"Yeah, and that you'd both very soon make y'all official."
"Well, she's going to be your problem acting President & CEO."
Justin chuckled. "Since I play for the other team, boss, I won't have a problem with Aimee. But I already have an EA, and I like her. We'll find something else for Aimee to do. Let me handle it with HR. Don't worry about it."
"Justin, when you saw Rose and me together, what did you think of our marriage?"
"That you were one lucky SOB to have a wife who was so in love with you."
"And how did you feel about Rose?"
"Man, Gray," he winced.
"Tell me."
"That it was sad because she always looked lonely, especially at the work parties, which was where I mostly saw her. She'd talk to people and watch you as you mingled. It was obvious that all she wanted was to be with you. I never believed any of the honey trap rumors. And she's damn beautiful."
Honey trap rumors? Yeah, so the whole fucking city knew that we married when we were young because Rose was pregnant with the twins. We weren't the first or last couple to have a shotgun wedding, but it had been a scandal when Rose May Smith became Mrs. Gray Rutherford. I still remember how lost she'd looked when I dragged her to my parent's home and left her there—eighteen, pregnant, and scared.
My father had taken one look at her and said to me , "I can see why you fucked her, Son, but I can't see why you couldn't wrap it up."
My mother had said to Rose , "You've fallen into a pot of gold, girl, but mind you, Rose May, you mess with the Rutherford family name, and I'll send you right back to the trailer park."
Rose had looked at me helplessly, hoping I'd say something, do something to defend her, but I didn't. I had my ways to get Rose back in my good graces whenever I screwed up, but I didn't have those same tactics with Abigail Rutherford. Instead, I said something noncommittal like, " Mama, let the girl settle down a little ," or some such condescending claptrap.
I was scared of having a wife. I was very scared of having the wrong wife. Before we even announced our engagement a part of me wondered if it would be such a bad thing if Rose miscarried. Accidents happened all the time, didn’t they? I hated that I'd ever thought that because I loved my children. Jude and Willow had made me a better person and enriched my life in ways I'd never been able to fathom as a twenty-one-year-old frightened kid.
But Rose had been even younger and out of her element. I had support: my parents, friends, brother. She had no one. Just her friend Malou, who my mother told her she couldn't see in public or even invite to her own wedding.
Malou was African American and would stick out like a sore thumb, my mother told Rose, and there would be too many questions about her and Rose's background if she came to the wedding.
Rose had begged me to convince my mother. She didn't want to get married without the one person in the world who was her family. I told her to take it up with Mama. Malou didn't come to the wedding. Malou seldom visited, and even though I'd met her, I didn't know her. She didn't stay at our house the few times she came to Atlanta but at a hotel. Usually, Rose went to see her first in Savannah and then on Angel Island, alone.
Rose had had one person in the world who was hers and my family and I had wanted her to break that tie. It spoke of Rose's resilience that she kept her friendship alive no thanks to any of us.
"Gray, for what it's worth, I think you'll save your marriage," Justin assured me. "You just have to look at your wife and you together to know she loves you."
Yeah, I knew she loved me. I'd always known that. It was why I treated her the way I did, wasn't it? It was why I took her for granted, thinking, where would she go? Hadn't I thrown that stupid prenuptial agreement at her time and again in the early years when we had a fight?
"If you hate it so much, Rose May, leave. Just remember, you get nothing if you walk out on me, not even our kids."
I used to call her Rose May when I was angry with her as a way to remind her of where she came from. I hadn't done that in years. Why was that? I knew without exerting too much mental strength. It was because she didn't argue with me anymore. If I said something, she either gently tried to change my mind or just went along with it. We didn't fight. At all . It was something my friends envied about my marriage.
"My wife's on a fucking rampage. I'm tired of the constant nagging," Tim Snyder said while some of us met for drinks as he threw dollars on the table. "I got to go, or she'll have my balls."
I looked at my watch. "So soon?"
"Not all of us are married to Saint Rose," he remarked.
I looked at the others in confusion. "What's that about?"
Alex Matthews chuckled. "You have the nicest wife. I mean, do you guys ever fight?"
"Nice or doormat?" Chuck Grainger, who was a little drunk, said.
"Rose is not a doormat," I protested, even though he wasn't the first person to say that. Bonnie and Holden said it often enough.
"Maybe doormat is the wrong word," Chuck slurred. "But man, I wish my wife didn't want to bust my chops all day, every fucking day. That's all."
"It's because she doesn't come from our circles," I explained.
"Right. Or maybe it's because of your prenup," Chuck mused.
I hated that everyone knew about it, but that was something Bonnie had made sure of. I didn't like to talk about it and didn't.
"Or maybe I just make my wife happy," I snapped.
Alex snorted.
"What?"
"Gray, I think you're happy in your marriage. I'm not sure about Rose. You just have to look at her."
"What nonsense. I know my wife and my marriage," I gritted out and changed the topic.
Christ! Every time I went down memory lane, I felt worse because I came face-to-face with my callousness and blind disregard for Rose and her feelings.
Had I ever made her happy?
I remembered one night a few years ago, before the kids left for university, we'd made love.
I was still breathing hard, her taste still luxurious in my mouth, my dick wet from her when she'd stretched languorously and asked, "Gray, do I make you happy?"
I cupped her pussy, pushing my cum back inside her, which made her moan and made my dick twitch like I hadn't come just a few minutes ago. "Your pussy makes me so fucking happy, babe."
"How about the rest of me?" she asked.
Had I just remembered how vulnerable she'd been when she asked that question? Why hadn't I noticed her need to be seen then? Instead, I touched each part of her body and told her why and how her tits, her ass, her waist, and her skin made me hot and horny.
She smiled shyly. "I meant, besides my body."
"Your smile makes me happy. Your cooking makes me happy. The way your body moves against mine makes me happy." I kissed her and, like always, couldn't get enough of her. Soon, we were making love again.
How often had that happened? She'd asked me to see her, and I'd seen her body, only what she did for me . But what damned me the most was the question I never thought to ask her in return: Rose, do I make you happy?
It was time for me not just to ask but guarantee her answer would be yes. I picked up my phone and made the call to the one person I knew who could help me. I just hoped she would forgive me for what I'd done to her friend—so I could win my wife back.