Page 27 of The Marriage Game

“Right,” he laughs humorlessly. “Because your sisters have such a great track record for not blabbing about things.”“Hey,” I protest weakly. “That’s not fair.” But of course, he’s right. Hannah and Brooke don’t typically keep information from their husbands. Not with the varying things they both went through while they were dating them.

Max sighs. “Sorry, that was harsh. But the point remains, do you have any idea what an idiot I felt like standing with them astheytoldmehowmywife feels about something? Do you have any idea what that felt like, Jill? To have two men with far less life and marriage experience than me try to tell me how to be a better husband?”

His words sweep away my apologies as irritation of my own flares inside me. “Oh, I don’t know–maybe it felt similar to having my husband decide to run for a government office without even bothering to ask my opinion first. Maybe it felt like that!”

“Jill,” Max looks momentarily chastened, but I’m not done.

“Anyway, Max, is that what you’re so upset about? That Will and Luke made you feel stupid? That they injured your precious pride? Do you not even care that I don’t want you to run for attorney general? Isn’t that the problem we should be discussing?”

Max flushes–whether with anger or shame I can’t be sure. At least until he opens his mouth and gives it away. “Yes, weshouldbe discussing that. How could you not tell me that? Youasked to be my campaign manager for goodness’ sake, Jill! Talk about mixed messages! What the heck, Jill? When were you planning on telling me? Election night? No, even better–after I got elected?”

“Oh please, I was never going to let it get that far,” I retort.

“Never going tolet itget that far?” he echoes, one eyebrow raising. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“N-nothing,” I’m back to stammering because I realize I’ve inadvertently put my foot in my mouth. “Just that I would’ve said something, you know–eventually.” I look away, unable to withstand his scrutinous gaze as the heat of another lie spreads across my face.

Max is silent. I look back at him and see a muscle in his jaw ticking. “That's why you wanted to be my campaign manager, isn’t it?” he finally says quietly. “So you could ensure I never got elected?” His gray eyes pin me in place. “Tell me I’m wrong?” he whispers hoarsely.

“Max–” I begin.

“Tell me!” he yells. Tears spring to my eyes. For all of his faults that I so often catalog, Max rarely yells.

“Fine,” I cry. “Maybe that was my original plan, but I changed my mind. I was going to talk to you on this trip about everything. I swear I was.”

Max shakes his head, stepping back from me, looking disgusted. “You were going to sabotage my campaign? Really, Jill? That’s what our marriage has come to?”

“No,” I whisper, tears running down my face now. “It was just an idea, Max. A low moment. I would never have actually done it–”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says harshly. “The fact that you wouldn’t just talk to me…that you would even think that stooping to something like that was a possibility…” he shakes his head. “I’ve gotta get out of here. I need some air.” He moves pastme so quickly I barely have time to make a grab for him. When I finally do, it’s too late, he’s already beyond my reach, at the door, opening it. I rush after him, calling his name down the hall, but he doesn’t turn.

I consider chasing after him, but my body is shaking too horribly. I slump against the doorframe, an empty, broken shell as tremor after tremor runs through me.

How did this whole thing go so horribly wrong?

“Oh my, my,” a familiar voice says from behind me. “Are you alright, dear?”

I’m so surprised to hear someone in my room that I whip around with a shriek. Dorothy and Mick are standing there, wide-eyed and concerned.

“Dorothy?” I croak, lifting a shaking hand to swipe at my tear-stained cheeks. “Mick? Why are you in my room?”

They exchange a look. Dorothy lifts a key card. “I think perhaps there’s been a mistake. You see this is our room.” Her lips bow down in an apologetic frown. “You must’ve come in by mistake. The door does seem to stick rather than shutting all of the way,” she goes on, “Mick was actually going to call down the desk about it, but then you two came bursting in and well…” she trails off uncertainly. “We’re so sorry,” she rushes on. “We were going to come forward, but it all happened so fast and you were arguing so intently and, well—”

“We thought perhaps you two were saying things that needed to be said,” Mick supplies. “Ugly as it was,” he qualifies.

“Sometimes we need to get out the ugly to experience real breakthrough,” Dorothy adds softly.

Normally I’d be angry or at the very least horribly embarrassed, but I can’t seem to find the will to be anything but terrified. It’s all well and good for her to say getting the ugly out can bring breakthrough, but the reality that I’m living in is that our marriage may not be able to withstand this much ugly.

Max left. Heleft. We’ve never had a fight so bad that one of us felt the need to leave the other. We always stay.

I lost sight of the value of that.

“Oh my.” Dorothy steps forward, holding a hand out and taking me gently by the arm. “Maybe you should sit down, dear.” She leads me back into the room and toward the bed, pushing me gently into a sitting position. I don’t have the energy to fight her. “There, there,” she soothes, rubbing gentle circles around my back. “Don’t you fret. We’re going to fix this. Nobody fights with that much passion unless they care, and so long as a couple still cares, there’s hope. Actually,” she amends, “so long as there’s Jesus, there’s hope. That means we’re in a good position,” she adds, “because there’s always Jesus. He is our constant source of hope.”

A sob ratchets out of me as hopelessness thunders down on me because Jesus hasn’t been part of our marriage equation in a long time. At least not in any deep, meaningful ways. He’s been more of an afterthought. Someone we tried to fit a little bit of into our lives, but stopped making the center of our life. And as I sit there, I realize that part of the intimacy with Max that I’ve been missing is the pursuit of Jesus that we used to share.

We used to do Bible studies together at the church. We even led one for years–before my breakdown, of course. We used to pray together before bed. Not every night, but at least once a week. Our family used to read the Bible together every Saturday morning. Now I’m lucky if I read it by myself, and usually if I do it’s because my sisters ask me what I’m reading, at which point I go home and read something in a fit of guilt.

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