Authors: Mina Bennett
"It's not your fault."
***
"Honey." My mom was standing over me as I sat slumped on the living room sofa, thinking about everything and nothing. "I was thinking about calling Pastor Dave. Explaining that's happened, you know. As much as you're comfortable with him knowing."
"No," I said, the firmness of my own voice surprising me. "Don't. I want to do it."
My mom looked at me like I'd just landed from another planet.
"Please, mom," I said, very calmly, taking the phone out of her hand. She didn't say a word, her jaw slack as she watched me walk up the stairs and shut myself in my room.
I pulled the church directory off of my shelf, found Pastor Dave's number, and dialed.
"Hi!" It was one of his little daughters. I smiled.
"Is your dad home?"
"Yeah! Just a minute!" She moved the phone away from her mouth, but not far enough that her shriek didn't nearly pierce my eardrums. "DAD! SOMEONE'S ON THE PHONE!"
"Hello?" Pastor Dave sounded sort of calm and happy, like he was having a nice day at home with his family. I felt a little bad, but at the same time, I really didn't.
"Hi, Dave." He'd always encouraged us to talk to him like he was a friend. "It's Marissa, how are you?"
"Marissa." The surprised tone in his voice was exactly what I'd expected. "It's nice to hear from you. What's going on? Nothing bad, I hope."
"Well." To my embarrassment, I could feel my throat starting to swell, but I took a deep breath and ignored it. "I wish it was better, but I have to tell you something about Mark."
"Oh no, what's wrong? Is he sick? I always tell him, he pushes himself too hard."
Oh, God. How could I do this?
"No, that's not...that's not it." I took a deep breath. "I don't really know where to start."
I heard a noise that sounded like him sitting up, suddenly, leaning forward. "Marissa," he said, his tone changing a little. "Is this a conversation you'd rather have face-to-face?"
"No, no." I took a shaky breath. "Please. I'd rather just...get it out now."
"All right," he said. "Take your time."
When I finally spoke again, my voice sounded very distant in my own ears. "Mark's not...he's...he has a girlfriend at school. He's...cheating on me."
Pastor Dave didn't say anything for a moment. "Marissa," he started, "I'm so very sorry. How did you..."
"That's not all." I cut him off. "Please let me...just let me talk, if I don't say it now, I don't think I ever will."
"Of course. Please. Go on."
"He...took advantage of me." I was gripping the church directory in one hand, so hard that my knuckles turned white. "Before we were married, he made me undress and he took pictures and then he used them to threaten me, when I wouldn't do what he wanted." It all came out in a rush, and now that I'd said it, finally, after so long, I felt like bursting out laughing or crying or...I didn't know what.
"Marissa." I could almost hear Pastor Dave's frown. "These are very serious allegations."
"You can talk to his parents, if you want," I said. "He's done it before. His mother called my house yesterday."
"Oh no, no, no. Of course I believe you. It's just...this is all very sudden."
"I wanted to tell you myself," I said. "I thought it was important."
"Well, I appreciate that very much. I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you." He let out a long breath. "What he did to you - that was very wrong, I hope you know that."
"I do," I said. "Obviously, I have to pursue a divorce. I don't think he'll fight it."
"Of course," said Pastor Dave. "It's always a tragedy - but under the circumstances..." He drifted off, clearly starting to get lost in thought. "I'm sorry, Marissa. I'd like to be able to counsel you through this, but I'm still trying to come to terms with it myself."
"I understand," I said. "I'll give you some time to think it over, all right?"
"Thank you," he said. "But please, don't hesitate to call if there's anything at all you need from me."
"Of course. Thank you."
After we hung up, I laid out flat on the bed, feeling my chest rising and falling with each breath. That was the only reason I knew I was still alive. That this wasn't some version of hell, where I was being punished for sins I didn't even know I'd committed.
I don't know how long I stayed there before the phone rang again. I answered it quickly.
"Marissa?" It was Pastor Dave, his voice tinged with urgency. "Marissa, I'm sorry to bother you like this, but it's very important. Do you have any idea where Mark might have gone?"
"Gone?" I repeated.
"He packed up and left campus. I just called the school, he told them he was going on a mission trip. But he never told me about any such thing. And when I call his number, it says it's been disconnected."
A cold feeling was crawling through my veins.
"Did you want me to check the house? I still have a key."
"So long as you don't think he changed the locks - absolutely. Please. If you don't mind."
"I'll call you as soon as I know something."
I sat up, grabbing the keys from my beside table. George lifted his head, purring at me curiously. I scratched him behind the ears, reflexively, before running down the stairs, out the front door, and jumping on my rusted bike. I was already halfway down the block when my mom called out to me through the window.
"Where are you going?"
"I have to check something," I shouted. "I'll be right back."
The thing about Mark's house, I realized now - it was never really
our
house - was that it hadn't ever seemed lived-in. I could easily excuse it when he was newly settled, but the place always looked like a furniture showroom, or one of those model homes in the rich neighborhood. Until now, it had never seemed odd to me. But it suddenly seemed like the lifestyle of a man who expected to pick up and leave everything behind, at a moment's notice.
As soon as he was found out.
As I pedaled down the street, I could hear a bustle of activity coming from further down, near Mark's place. My heart thudded. I realized I had absolutely no plan for what I'd do if I actually ran into him there. How stupid could I possibly get? What if he was waiting there for me?
I stopped my bike a few houses down, and tried to process what I was seeing.
It was a big truck, a moving van maybe, but on the side it said DOMINIC'S FURNITURE. The front door was hanging open, and they were carrying out the large sofa from the living room - the one where Mark had served me my first glass of wine.
I walked up slowly, feeling like I was in a dream. Or, more accurately, a nightmare.
"Excuse me," I said, and one of them turned around.
"You one of the residents?" he said, around a mouthful of chew.
"Yes," I said. "Well. I used to be. I'm just...I'm just curious as to what's going on here."
"What's going on here, little lady, is the guy who rented this furniture hasn't made a payment in ninety days. He left his front door unlocked, which was awfully nice of him, so we're exercising our rights to repossess these items. I can show you the paperwork if you want."
I shook my head. "No thank you," I said.
He hefted the rest of the sofa into the truck, then let out a massive sigh. "Listen," he said. "I'm sorry about whatever this is. I guess you didn't even know this stuff was rented, huh?"
"No," I said. "But I guess I'm not surprised."
The repo man was looking at me with more raw, honest sympathy than I'd seen from anyone in the past few days. I could feel the tears gathering, but I held them back.
"I seen a lot of shit in this job," he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "But I don't mind sayin', your face is breaking my heart. This guy did more to you than just lyin' about furniture, I'd bet on that."
I nodded, making a
no thanks
gesture when he pushed the cigarettes in my direction. "Yeah," I said.
"Well." He looked over his shoulder, at his partner impatiently tapping his foot on the loading dock. "I got a schedule to keep, so we need to finish up here and hit the road. You hang in there, all right? I promise things are gonna get better for you. I know how it is. I got daughters. The way they bounce back from this kinda shit - nothing like me, when I was their age. I can tell you're tough like them. You're gonna be all right."
I just stood there as the chilly wind picked up, straddling my bike, while they packed up the rest of the furniture and drove away. When they were gone, I walked through the open door and surveyed the empty house.
Everything was gone. The rugs, the end tables, the coat rack. Some of the accent pieces and wall art, too. But he must have bought a few of the vases and fruit bowls, because they were all sitting, pathetically, on the bare floors.
The dishwasher was still there, but how long would it be before the appliance store came knocking?
I sat down on the staircase and pulled out my phone to call Pastor Dave.
"Dave, it's Marissa. I'm at the house."
"And?"
"He's not here," I said. "Neither is anything else."
He paused for a moment. "I'm not sure what that means."
"Everything was rented. The furniture. The lamps. I mean everything. They were coming to repossess it. He left the door unlocked, like he knew they were coming."
"Marissa," said Pastor Dave, his voice suddenly sharp. "This is very important. Do you know of any way to get in touch with Mark, other than his cell phone?"
"No."
"And you have no idea where he might have gone?"
"No. I'm sorry. What's...what's wrong?"
The urgent tone in his voice had risen to panic. "There must be some way to get in touch with him. This must be some kind of mistake."
"I don't think it is." A cold wind was sweeping in, through the still-open door. A few dried leaves skittered across the threshold and danced across the floor. "Why? What else did he do?"
But Pastor Dave just hung up.
***
It was all the buzz at church the next week. I'd been planning on staying home, but at the end, I decided it was better to face up to it. Whatever "it" might be. I didn't know how people were going to react, exactly, or how much they'd know, but I almost didn't want to ever find out.
In the end, though, I didn't have much to worry about.
Dave wasn't there. He'd called in a last-minute substitute from one of our sister churches in the next town, who merely said that Pastor Dave was dealing with some "personal issues." But the prayer chain had all the dirty details. Apparently, for some months now, Mark had been "helping" with the church finances. Pastor Dave had been struggling with the money management a little since the church secretary went on maternity leave, so it was only natural for Mark to step in.
According to Dave, Mark had told him that he'd taken accounting classes. Not to worry, he knew
exactly
how to handle this.
And now that he was gone, Dave had taken a look at the books for the first time in quite a while.
I wish I could say I was surprised to hear that there was money missing.
A
lot
of money.
Nobody knew exact amounts, but everybody knew that Dave had locked himself in his study at home and wouldn't come out or speak to anyone, not even his wife. I tried to think if there was some way I could help, but I had nothing. I didn't even know if Mark Allan was his real name, and anyway he'd taken all the paperwork with him when he fled. I'd searched the empty house thoroughly after the repo men were gone, and there was nothing. The lock box where he'd kept our marriage certificate was long gone.
It was almost -
almost
- like the whole thing never happened.
After I got home, I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time, with my phone in my hand. When I'd first listened to Mark's voicemail, my instinct was to delete it, but I didn't. And I still hadn't.
Slowly, I raised the phone to my ear and played it again. His voice was slurred, but not so much that I couldn't understand every word, loud and clear.
"Listen. You listen, because this is the last you're ever going to hear from me. I can't believe you're making me do this. I can't believe you. Ruining this for me. Ruining my life. I hope you're happy. I hope Jacob makes you happy for now, because he won't for long. One day you're going to wake up next to him and realize you've got nothing left. You're going to ignore your children and get addicted to painkillers and you're going to regret what you did to me. You're going to feel so empty inside. You'll have nothing. Nothing."
Here, he paused, letting out a noise that was almost like a sob.
"He's never been with another woman, Mari. He doesn't know what he likes. He's going to fall in love with you as soon as you let him stick it in you, but then he's gonna lose interest and find someone new. That's how it works, baby. That's how it always works. You don't know, because you've lived in this town your whole life and you don't understand how the world works. You don't understand how men work. I already sowed my wild oats. You could've had me, you could've kept me, but you had to throw it all away, didn't you, sunshine?"
There were some muffled noises, and then a click.
The worst part was, I believed him. I believed him even though I knew he was lying; I believed him deep down in the part of my heart that I couldn't control, the dark corners where I hid the worst things about myself. There was no reason or logic or forgiveness down there. No mercy. Just guilt and shame.
But it was true, what I'd said to Jacob. I didn't feel guilty. I felt guilty for not feeling guilty, because I knew what we had done wasn't wrong. I knew it, as surely as I knew anything, even if it flew in the face of what I'd been taught.
Do not arouse or awaken love until it so desires.
How was I supposed to know what love desired? I only knew what
I
desired.