in his PJ bottoms and the T-shirt he’d decorated at last Mayfest when Cathy had been helping at the tie-dye stall. After he’d tripped over the bucket of blue dye, it had taken him months to work up the nerve to ask her if she’d like to come over to study. Down the hall his sisters were sleeping, both of them in the lower bunk, arms wrapped around each other, stuffed animals guarding the head and foot of the bed. They’d hung a blanket from the upper bunk to shield them. Above their room, in his third floor office, Dan was sitting between stacks of newspapers on his desk.
He looked up as she stood in the doorway, his dark eyes searching her face. More than anything right now, he wanted sex. Let’s forget everything and just hump sex. Afterward holding her close sex. But it had been a while since they’d had any sort of sex, even if that was really her standing in the doorway now—and he thought it was not.
They’d come out to him as multiple a year ago. On a mild winter day, the streets dry, Dan had taken the morning off work to come with Sharon to her therapist’s office in the basement of a house on Hope Street. There was a separate entrance to the basement, which did its best not to look or smell like one. The walls were painted a robin’s egg blue, decorated with cheerful posters. The carpet was thick, andfull-spectrum bulbs in floor lamps with glass shades imitated daylight. The dehumidifier hummed in the background and water trickled over stones in a table fountain. The therapist sat in a leather recliner, wearing furry slippers, the only sign that this was the basement of her home. Sometimes Brigitte leaned the recliner back, her pudgy slippered feet propped on the footrest. But not that session. She sat forward, attentive, a hand on each arm of the chair.
Dan sat at one end of the couch and his wife at the other, heart beating so fast they—Sharon and all—thought they’d pass out until Callisto came forward. The therapist knew they’d switched. She glanced over as her client sat up straighter, hands stilled.
“So what’s the big secret?” Dan asked. He wore a suit as he’d be going from the session to the office.
“No secret,” Brigitte replied. “I felt that a joint session would be helpful at this stage. I can explain the situation and answer any questions you might have.”
“And the situation is?” Dan had a leg crossed over the other, one foot moving up and down. His foot moved like that when he was nervous or angry. It was the possibility that he was angry that had sent the heart knocking against the ribs.
“I’d like to ask you first about your perception. How would you describe things at home?”
“Honestly? I don’t know if therapy is helping or making things worse. We hit a bad patch after Emmie was born and four years later it hasn’t improved. If anything Sharon seems more withdrawn now than when she started.”
“That must be difficult for you.”
“She’s online talking to her chat friends all the time. If I say anything to her, I feel like I’m interrupting her real life. I just want my wife back.” He looked toward the other end of the couch. “Or maybe you’re leaving. Is that why I’m here?”
“Leaving where?” Callisto asked.
“Me.” His voice choked.
“Certainly not,” Callisto said firmly. “What gave you that idea?”
He addressed his answer to the therapist. “When I get into bed she moves over like she can’t stand me near her. I thought—I thought she hated me. I was going to fight for joint custody. I was already thinking of all that.”
Brigitte spoke gently. “This will be not nearly so bad.”
But inside Sharon was thinking,
it will, it will
, and the heart started knocking again, trying to leap from the body rather than witness her husband’s revulsion when he discovered the truth.
“One step at a time,” Brigitte said, as if she could hear those thoughts. “Dan, have you ever noticed your wife being different?”
He looked up as she stood in the doorway, his dark eyes searching her face. More than anything right now, he wanted sex. Let’s forget everything and just hump sex. Afterward holding her close sex. But it had been a while since they’d had any sort of sex, even if that was really her standing in the doorway now—and he thought it was not.
They’d come out to him as multiple a year ago. On a mild winter day, the streets dry, Dan had taken the morning off work to come with Sharon to her therapist’s office in the basement of a house on Hope Street. There was a separate entrance to the basement, which did its best not to look or smell like one. The walls were painted a robin’s egg blue, decorated with cheerful posters. The carpet was thick, andfull-spectrum bulbs in floor lamps with glass shades imitated daylight. The dehumidifier hummed in the background and water trickled over stones in a table fountain. The therapist sat in a leather recliner, wearing furry slippers, the only sign that this was the basement of her home. Sometimes Brigitte leaned the recliner back, her pudgy slippered feet propped on the footrest. But not that session. She sat forward, attentive, a hand on each arm of the chair.
Dan sat at one end of the couch and his wife at the other, heart beating so fast they—Sharon and all—thought they’d pass out until Callisto came forward. The therapist knew they’d switched. She glanced over as her client sat up straighter, hands stilled.
“So what’s the big secret?” Dan asked. He wore a suit as he’d be going from the session to the office.
“No secret,” Brigitte replied. “I felt that a joint session would be helpful at this stage. I can explain the situation and answer any questions you might have.”
“And the situation is?” Dan had a leg crossed over the other, one foot moving up and down. His foot moved like that when he was nervous or angry. It was the possibility that he was angry that had sent the heart knocking against the ribs.
“I’d like to ask you first about your perception. How would you describe things at home?”
“Honestly? I don’t know if therapy is helping or making things worse. We hit a bad patch after Emmie was born and four years later it hasn’t improved. If anything Sharon seems more withdrawn now than when she started.”
“That must be difficult for you.”
“She’s online talking to her chat friends all the time. If I say anything to her, I feel like I’m interrupting her real life. I just want my wife back.” He looked toward the other end of the couch. “Or maybe you’re leaving. Is that why I’m here?”
“Leaving where?” Callisto asked.
“Me.” His voice choked.
“Certainly not,” Callisto said firmly. “What gave you that idea?”
He addressed his answer to the therapist. “When I get into bed she moves over like she can’t stand me near her. I thought—I thought she hated me. I was going to fight for joint custody. I was already thinking of all that.”
Brigitte spoke gently. “This will be not nearly so bad.”
But inside Sharon was thinking,
it will, it will
, and the heart started knocking again, trying to leap from the body rather than witness her husband’s revulsion when he discovered the truth.
“One step at a time,” Brigitte said, as if she could hear those thoughts. “Dan, have you ever noticed your wife being different?”
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