The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [51]
“I never will again, believe me.”
Dr. Martelli listens thoughtfully in his oxblood red leather chair as she describes her shock upon learning of the affair. Or the relationship, as Ken keeps calling it. In this, their second session, Dr. Martelli seems determined to let them set their own pace tonight. If Ken wants to dissect his prickly relationship with his brother as he did in their last meeting, well, that's just fine. One thing is certain, Nora has no intention of delving into her own angst-ridden adolescence. Whenever she tries to steer the discussion back to their marriage, Ken will veer off course, and once again she'll be wondering why she's even here. She doesn't know which surprises her more, his utter self-involvement or her blindness to it. Bad enough she has so little patience with this whole process and less hope that it can help, but now her focus and confidence have been completely undermined by Eddie Hawkins. She can't think straight. More than a distraction, he's a growing threat. Every time he comes Hilda says she's not in her office. Last week he told Hilda that he and Nora have been working on a very important deal and now time is running out. Each visit leaves Nora even more confused about his motives. And now frightened. Tuesday he angrily accused Hilda of lying, asked her what she was so afraid of Best not to think about him. Not here, anyway. But it's like trying to close a door on smoke; some always seeps in.
“I always trusted Ken. I did,” she is telling the pleasant-faced therapist. He has a kind smile, a melancholy weariness she finds touching. She feels sorry for him, almost apologetic for going on like this about herself How does he stand it? she wonders. Imagine sitting here eight, ten hours a day enduring this spew of human weakness. For that's what it is, what it comes down to in the end, doesn't it? Frailty. Weakness, all this complaining, on and on, this airing out of dirty linen. Strong people don't ask for help; they solve their own problems, she was raised that way. Amazing, how much Ken seems to enjoy this. So typical, always involving others, asking for help his sincerest expression of friendship. He is happiest in a crowd, friends, total strangers, it doesn't matter. He enjoys the mix, the scrum of bringing new people together. Being a good friend matters every bit as much as being admired by his friends. And yet there have been more than a few times through the years when a seemingly innocuous comment or joke has ended a friendship. And once breached, for Ken, there's no return.
When they were first married, his unflagging enthusiasm seemed shallow and immature. There always had to be someone else tagging along, no matter where they went or what they did. Even on their rare dinners out alone Ken would manage, one way or another, to chat up someone at length, the busboy the couple at the next table. It used to hurt her feelings, but over time she came to understand his incessant approval seeking as part of his charm. His very boyish charm. Hard to be upset with someone who truly cares and, in return, wants only the same.
“I don't know, maybe I didn't want to know. I keep asking myself that now. I wonder. Maybe I was afraid. You know, if I put two and two together enough times, then maybe I'd have to do something.” She takes a deep breath and grinds her heel into the rug with an inner groan. What the hell is she talking about? Just talking, that's all. Stating the obvious. Why? To do her part. To make it more than just Ken's endless entanglement of guilt and regret. He doesn't seem to know what he's trying to say. He's just admitted he's not even sure what he wants anymore. With that, she interrupts to clarify her intentions here: to heal and put their life back together. He glances at Dr. Martelli. One thing seems obvious: Ken's desire for therapy has far more to do with himself than with her. “Well, anyway,” she says with a searching sigh. “I guess this is what we have to do, isn't it? Work this all out so we can move