Longest dinner in history! I never take a moment with my grandpa for granted. He's 98 now and I am so grateful for everyday I still have him in my life, but that night my heart forgot to appreciate my time with him. My heart was much too busy thinking about Richard's time with her.
This would be the night that Richard decided to come clean. Come clean...Odd phrase for revealing something so dirty, so shameful. Richard "deciding" might not really be accurate, either. He didn't have much choice. I'd found the truth myself. He couldn't very well lie his way out of the digital damnation. He was ready to confess a multitude of sins, but was I ready to hear them?
Grandpa went home. (yea...he still drives! LOVE that man!) The kids both retreated to their rooms for texting, Facebooking and other teen social activities. Richard and I headed outside, into the dark. I went out armed with a fresh pack of Virginia Slims and the rest of the bottle of a lovely Napa Valley white I'd been sucking down for the past two hours. I was feeling no pain, not even in the emotional sense. God bless pharmaceuticals. We sat in the stools by the barbecue next to the pool. I had no idea how to start this conversation. I left that up to him. After all, it was his story to tell.
He wasted no time. It seemed to me he needed to expel all the lies, like the dishonesty had nearly poisoned him. He needed his soul pumped clean, just like you might pump the sewage out of a cess-pool after years and years of unattended use. He gushed foul truths about himself, recent truths and some long past.
Yes, he had loved Jaymie. He couldn't explain it. He never stopped loving me. He told me repeatedly that he always wanted to come home. Yes, he had stayed with Jaymie the first night I sent him out of the house. Jaymie was there when he spoke with me on the phone, but he asked her to wait in the hall for privacy. WHAT?? To this day, I don't buy that one. Mostly because in her email to him that chronicles the entire night (see Post Rough Night) not once does it say she left the room. On and on, he continued to try and cleanse his soul. I learned about a night he spent with a stripper 5 years ago, a mutual friend that he slept with multiple times 15 years ago and a woman he met at work that needed attention of a very personal nature. He was compelled to help her in her time of crisis, 20 years ago.
In my drug induced zombie like state, I managed to absorb what he was telling me but I could not even begin to process it. I probably wouldn't have been able to process it even if I was stone cold sober. Hours ago, when I read the emails, my brain said, Good Night! I'm over it for now! Closed for any further input this evening.
If what they say about confession is true, that its good for the soul, Richard was ready for the Rapture. Soul all freshly scrubbed, spic and span! If he was hoping for me to contribute more to our conversation, he was extremely disappointed. The only emotion I remember is empty. I know, that's not technically an emotion but, that's all I felt, a big, black hole inside. Void of any feelings. I think I even thanked him for finally loving me enough to speak the truth. The Xanax and wine had worked like a charm. It served two purposes, I didn't flip out or lose it. I didn't collapse or go ballistic and Richard was able to survive the night, but not in our bedroom, of course.