the story that needed to be told, part 3

image from tradeindia.com

It was April of 2008, a few weeks into the separation from my husband. I was completely distraught, inching my way through the days hour by hour, and when things felt especially dark--even minute by minute. I put all my trust in God. Yet there is still a certain kind of pride or humanity that wants to be active in some way, to DO something other than wait in faith, to try and find some way to "fix" things. 'Bargaining' I think is the term for it in the grief process.



I reflected on my life and what I might have done to make God angry enough to "put me through this". I really believed I was being punished for some reason. One of the few things I could think of was the Scott incident 15 years earlier. I considered the downhill slide of my own husband--how he had found emotional confidants in younger women at work. I could only see it as some grand karma coming back to bite me. Something that wanted me to feel the pain I must have caused for Scott's wife, Deanna, fifteen years previous.



I had thought of her many times during the course of my marriage. Especially during the birth of my children as I'd have my husband by my side, holding my hand. I thought about what I had denied her with my youthful, selfish ignorance.



I used the internet to find Scott's address--he was still in the area. During one of those more dark days, I wrote a letter to him, but primarily to Deanna, asking for forgiveness for what I had done all those years before. I truly wanted the forgiveness too, and hoped that such a gesture might somehow help to repair whatever damage I'd done and turn God's anger from me.



Two weeks after sending the letter, I was sitting by the window working on my computer. I noticed a white Porsche Carerra drive by. It was a nice car and caught my eye. It drove by again about 15 seconds later. And again about 15 seconds after that. I stood up and went to get something out of my bedroom when I heard my 10 year old calling "Hey Mom! There's a Porsche at our house and a guy coming up to the door!"

I came out, expecting someone with a question about directions, or maybe even about the house just down the road for sale. It took a few seconds for me to register the face of the man standing on my front step, and when I did---that same sick-to-my-stomach feeling I had felt so long ago returned to me. Scott had come back.

He asked if he could please talk to me for a little while. I very hesitantly let him in. He wore a silk shirt with a loud print stretched across his ample stomach. He smelled badly of cigarette smoke. His hair was the same, but his once clear blue eyes looked cloudy. We sat in my family room--on opposite sides of the couch--and talked. He admitted to getting my letter but not recalling who I was. His main objective in coming was to put a face to the name...and, in seeing me, he remembered.



He'd made a lot of money during the real estate boom....Left our church.....Was on his third marriage. I listened quietly to his brief descriptions of the circumstances surrounding each of these situations. When he was done talking, he stood, shook my hand, and wished me the best. As he was leaving, he turned to ask, "We didn't do anything though, did we? I mean I don't remember doing stuff with you". I knew what he meant. I shook my head no. With a smirk on his face, he looked me up and down and told me that I looked better than he remembered.

I couldn't get him out of my house fast enough.


Just hours after that visit, an email arrived in my junk box. Scott had set up an account using the name "Don Johnson" and said I should send all correspondence with him to that address so his wife wouldn't find out. He let me know that he was interested in getting to know me again.



I deleted it.



But one more Scott encounter lie ahead--this one with his wife.







(final part of this story tomorrow)