Chapter Thirty-Five | Game Night

The illusion of romantic-love collides with mother-love and turns game night into the stage of moral reckoning

What you need to know:

Though she wants to keep these stories of Dr. Rick’s transition from healer to lover to herself—hidden under a veil of shame—Jennifer continues to tell Abrams the tale. She recounts how Dr. Rick crashed into her sacred space of motherhood and forced her to see the reality of her choices in the innocent eyes of her children.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Game Night

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Technically speaking, it wasn’t a “love affair” as much as an “affair” but I didn’t let myself think that way. The logic soup in my brain explained it like this: Mrs. Dr. Rick was out…a cheater who had broken a good man’s heart…and I was in.

Sure, Dr. Rick was “technically” still married. Sure, the timing of the relationship was a little faster than I might have wanted because I hadn’t been ready for an intimate relationship, but what could be done? When a gift showed up at your door, you didn’t question the timing. You opened it, right? A man like Dr. Rick said the word “love,” a woman with any sense in her brain accepted the gift. She considered herself blessed.

Ah, the power of rationalization. Ah, the foolish mind.

It was late August now. The kids and I played a rousing game of Hi-Ho! Cherry-O. The first player to fill the mini-barrel with plastic cherries won. Spencer was ahead by three. Big surprise, which was why Jo insisted on teaming up. The sting of defeat lessened when absorbed by two. 

We clustered in the dining room of the Feather House. The kids wore pajamas and slippers. A bowl of popcorn on the table.

Spencer shook the dice and let them fly across the table. One clunked over the edge. Clattered on the floor.

“You have to do it again,” Jo said, scrambled under the table.

Spencer shoved his chair back, dove under, too.  

Over their bickering, I detected a faint scraping sound. Then a steady tap. Something must be wrong with the dishwasher, I thought. “Be right back, guys,” I said.

Into the darkened kitchen, I realized the sound came from the back door. Passing the churning dishwasher, I went to the door and there Dr. Rick stood on the back deck tapping on the glass. His lanky frame outlined by the receding glow of the summer sunset.

We only saw one another on weekends when the kids were gone. Always here at my house because he had his two teenagers at his place.

I opened the door. Started up my flirty-sexy routine. “Couldn’t wait until Saturday…” but he snatched up an oversized knapsack from the deck and shoved in past me.

“I have an emergency,” he said. “I parked in the garage. Hope that’s okay.”

“Wait,” I said, grabbed for his arm but he pulled free.

A seizing in my chest. A panic. Steve and I had a rule. Do not drag the kids into any drive-by romances. If things got serious, we vowed to talk about it first.

I intercepted him in the back alcove of shoe racks and coat hooks, shoved past him and then barred him with my arms. “You can’t be here,” I said, voice low.

From the dining room, the kids now yelled at each other. “Wait! Wait! I can’t take my turn without Mommy!” Jo said. “She’ll be right back. She’ll be right back.” 

“Just go, Jo!” Spencer said. “Roll the dice.” 

“Mommy!”

“I need a place to stay,” Dr. Rick said, dropped his bag with a heavy thud, then shoved hands through his unruly hair. “I should meet them anyway. It’ll be okay.”

“Lower your voice,” I said. “It’s not okay.”

The overhead light snapped on and Jo hopped into the kitchen. She wore a pair of Winnie-the-Pooh slippers, pink sweatpants, a nightgown emblazoned with Tinker-Bell’s face, and a sheer robe tied around her neck like a cape. She stopped short. The Pooh Bear heads bobbed forward and back. She stared at Dr. Rick. Blue eyes wide, then darted out with a screech.  

Spencer slid into the kitchen, boney bare feet and a pair of pajamas with a Transformer emblazoned on his top, a Robo-techtronic-mega something or other. He looked at Rick, me, Rick, then zeroed in on the bag on the floor. His dark eyes were like camera apertures set on the slowest shutter speed.

They were still so little at this time: Jo five. Spencer nine. So trusting. So pure.

Jo, darted back in and drafting on Spencer’s courage, wedged behind him and peeked over his shoulder.

“Guys, this…ah…this…is a friend of mine…ah…Dr. Rick,” I said, strained. I coughed into my fist and started again. “I mean…um…Richard.” I motioned vaguely toward Dr. Rick in the alcove who looked out of place now. Too tall. Too foreign. Too far outside their world and understanding.  

“He, um, just stopped over,” I continued. “You know, to, ah…say hello?”

Spencer stepped forward, hand extended. Jo yelped and shot behind me.

“Nice to meet you,” Spencer said, shaking Rick’s hand like he was a used car salesman in his forties. So like Steve. So confident in the world. “Rick, is it?”

Dr. Rick looked at me, brows raised with surprise or amusement. “Richard, but Rick is fine, too.”

Holding to my hips, Jo peered at Rick from this new vantage. Her expression reserved.

“Do you know how to play Hi-Ho! Cherry-O, Richard?” Spencer asked.

“No. I don’t, Spencer,” Dr. Rick said, clapped his hands together, “but I’d love to learn.”

“Mom? Is it okay?” Spencer asked.

Jo shook her head. No. No. No. I was with her but heard myself say, “One game.”

As with everything associated with Dr. Rick. One game became two, then three.

Jo, on my lap, wouldn’t play but instead stared while Spencer and Dr. Rick took over. Between rounds, they talked about movies and Legos. Dr. Rick smiled over at Jo now and again. She ignored him (smart girl) and finally, bored, gathered up some pens, paper, and drew a world of gophers that tunneled underground.

“I need to make a call,” I finally said, eased her off my lap.

Jo dropped her marker and wrapped her arms around my neck, a monkey to a tree. I managed to stand and hoisted her with me into the kitchen, then lowered her to the counter next to the refrigerator.

“Snack?” I asked. “Apple?”

She nodded on this.

I sliced a Pink Lady into wedges, fanned them over a favorite princess plate. The dishwasher sizzled through the dry cycle.

Leaning my hip into the edge of the counter next to her, I kissed her forehead, then opened my phone.

Spencer and Dr. Rick chatted about Star Wars. The best of friends.

Steve was in Las Vegas. Another auction. Once he picked up the phone, I explained the situation in a hushed voice and paced the length of the kitchen. At the back alcove, I kicked Dr. Rick’s bag against the back door. I wanted him out of my house. Now!

“You’re seeing someone who doesn’t have his own place?” Steve finally asked, voice sleepy.

“Ahhh,” I said, crossed back to Jo who nibbled an edge of an apple slice like a squirrel. “His house is getting…fumigated for…ah,” my mind went blank as I worked through the possibilities. Carpenter ants? Lice?

“Termites?” Steve asked.

“Right. That’s it!”

“Do we have termites in Oregon?” he asked.

“We must,” I said. “Do you want to talk to your Daddy?” I mouthed to Jo.

Jo shook her head fast and stared up at me those saucer eyes that saw everything. Me…a liar. Me…her mother.

“Are you serious with this guy?” Steve asked.

I turned from her, a crumpling feeling in my stomach. “Oh. Um. Well…I’m not sure. Maybe?”

“Really? When did this happen?”

“I can’t talk about it right now,” I said. “But I will explain later.

Quiet on the line.

“Well, whatever you think is best,” Steve finally said, a tone in his voice like…acceptance. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

All our years of fighting over every little thing and this he agrees to? Please don’t say that, I wanted to say. Tell me he has to go. Tell me that we have a deal.

“I guess I’ll see you guys Saturday,” Steve said.

“Yeah. All right. Have a good week.”

“You too, Jen,” he said and hung up.

I closed the phone and stood in the shadows of my kitchen with Jo. I was that kind of woman now. Wrong in every way. It wasn’t the first time. Of course I’d made other bad decisions in the past but this was one of the worst of my life. My good, kind, loving, trusting kids. The truest loves of my life. And I was tossing them away for what?

In the dining room Spencer peppered Dr. Rick with questions about his work, family, kids. Dr. Rick expertly answered each one. “I’m a doctor. I have family back east. I have two sons who are mostly grown up…”

Coming Next:

Chapter Thirty-Six ~ Heart

Through the smoke of healing herbs and the quiet wisdom of a man who sees beyond surface wounds, Jennifer discovers that recovery isn't linear but layered. As she recounts her story of betrayal in the present, Abrams works in the past - where trauma first crossed her heart's protective wires - while simultaneously building her future, one careful needle at a time.