Chapter 2

He's Not A Phoenix

It was chilly walking the few hundred yards from the ranch house, through the stand of trees and back home, but Christopher purposely had not worn a jacket; it was one less thing to worry about leaving behind. After turning off the alarm, he opened the veranda doors. Warmth surrounded him and the faint scent of vanilla filled the air. Home, sweet home, he thought with a heavy mind. The huge antique clock ticked away in the quiet. He checked his watch-a little after five. He had not slept in over 24 hours, and was exhausted.

Prior to a long day at work yesterday, he awoke early from one of the guilty dreams, the one where he kisses her in the office. In the dream, it is the most normal thing in the world—Elena is leaving, so he walks her to the front doors and gives her a quick kiss good-bye. The office goes silent. He looks around to see what happened. Is the receptionist staring at them? Why is John Ross giving him that look? Oh, shit! He woke with a start.

Never falling back to sleep, he started his day before dawn and was already behind his desk at 6 AM.

Last night was planned, albeit not well thought out, a few days before. Rebecca had taken their kids to visit with her friend who had moved to Palm Beach last year. The two families would go down to the Keys, travel back up to Naples, and before leaving Florida, make the obligatory stop in Orlando. Thursday was poker night at the club. John Ross always drank too much playing cards, so he always spent the night at their condo downtown. It still seemed like a bad idea, but Elena assured him it was safe. He had not said no to her in three decades, why would he start now?

They took all the precautions. Every light at her house, inside and out, was off except for one dim bulb in the light fixture on the front porch. Before leaving his house, he flipped off the breakers for both the house lights and the outdoor lighting. No point taking a chance there was a switch linked to a timer somewhere. The north side of the ranch between their homes was pitch black. Her kids were all sound asleep; each bedroom equipped with a small door alarm that chimed when the door opened. He would repeatedly check the lock on the door.

Even so, tonight was stupid, reckless, and far beyond disrespectful—three things they agreed not to be. He just missed her so much and wanted to hold her close, run his fingers through her hair, see her lips wet from his kiss. Therefore, under the cover of nightfall, he walked out of the back of his house, and took the path that led through the trees over to the ranch property. A full moon would have been nice to light his way, but a thin waning crescent was all there was. The crunching of the leaves under foot was deafening in the dead silence out on the ranch. It was interesting to him that every creature there slept almost the exact same hours. The cattle, horses, Elena's guinea keets, and the people, all were awake with the sun and asleep with the stars. Their internal clocks in sync with each other. Well, not tonight, but usually.

It was after midnight when he slipped in the back door, and found her asleep on the couch in the family room. For a long while, he happily sat on the floor beside her. He could not really see her in the darkness, but could hear the long restful breaths she took. Had he touched her, she would have awoken, so he just sat there enjoying what should have been, until she woke up on her own.

The constriction of his chest when John Ross' key turned in the lock, had to have been a slight heart attack. In moments, he was up, dressed and on the backside of the house. The nervous sweat poured off him and his pulse raced as he debated if he could still jump from the bathroom as he had as a kid. Sixteen was a long time ago. The window seemed much higher now, and he was not confident that his joints could take the impact. When he overheard Elena say, "Now go," and then the door closed, relief washed over him. The sweat dried quickly leaving his skin cold.

Leaving then would have been the logical thing to do, but there were still two hours left on their clock, and he did not have a clue when he would see her again. Putting common sense aside, he crawled back into their warm bed and waited for her.

Now that he was home and his first meeting of the day was still several hours away, sleep seemed like a good idea. He laid on the sofa there in the rec room. He would never get into the bed he shared with his wife straight from leaving her.

Do you think that makes you a prince? Does that miniscule gesture within a sea of adulterous acts ease your conscience? The questions came into his head. "No," he answered back quietly. More were going to come and race through his mind one after the other, and they were not going to stop as long as his eyes were closed; they never did.

Why are you doing this? Why are you hurting those who love you? Why don't you stop? Why do you love her so much? Why do you put your family at risk when you know what he'll do when he finds out? Why can't you say no? Why Why Why?

He had to shut that down. Four mornings in a row was enough; he could not go through it again. Please, not this morning, he pleaded. All he wanted was to lie there and think about her. Aside from the part where John Ross showed up, they had just shared a wonderful night.

He and Elena had reached the point where just being together was enough. They did not even have to make love—although tonight they had. The feel of her body snuggled up next to him, his arms protectively wrapped around her, talking about everything and nothing for hours; just being an old married couple. He loved it. Except, they were not an old married couple. They were a middle-aged adulterous couple.

Sitting up on the couch, he stared in the direction of the clock and listened to the minutes tick by. How did Christopher and Elena-first loves, best friends, and soul mates-end up here? he wondered. Thinking back, he recalls the afternoon they spent in that Fort Worth hotel room. That was the day it became evident what they were doing, and where it was leading. It was about 6 years ago, but he remembers it like it was yesterday. He felt confused and angry with her, and their situation. Yet he could not leave until he knew what was waiting for them on the other side of the door, assuming it was going to be either two messy divorces or one big break-up. Who would have thought there could even be a third choice? Not him.

She told him she was still in love with him, she wished she had married him, she had to have him-everything he wanted to hear, and it overshadowed what he did not want to hear. Those last moments together, he felt so much love from her and for her, that what they were doing could not possibly be wrong. The second the door closed behind him, he hated himself because he knew it was.

"I should have married you, Christopher. I should have trusted you; had faith in the amazing amount of confidence you showed that day. For several years, I thought I had made the right decision, and by the time I realized I hadn't, John Ross and I had three kids. I didn't want to give my children a repeat of their father's childhood. Now, I can't leave him. I won't leave him. He's good to me, and he loves me," Elena explained to him.

"And you?" he asked.

"I love him, too."

"Then what are we doing here, Elena?" he snapped at her, getting irritated.

"He's a hard man to love. These days I have to overlook a lot to keep loving him," she honestly told him.

"You shouldn't have to."

"I do have to."

The contradicting statements were annoying him. "We can't keep doing this. Every time we're together, we say 'no more,' and then months later there is always more. We have to either end this," he motioned between the two of them, "or end that," motioning toward the door. "Which is it going to be?"

Calmly and assertively, she answered. "I'm not leaving him."

He sighed. Ultimatums never did work with her. "I gotta go."

"Christopher, don't."

"Why not?" His voice started to grow loud, and she sensed his irritation with her turning into anger.

"If you're not going to leave, then continuing this, whatever the hell this is that we do, is pointless. What are we going to do, have an affair for the rest of our lives? That's unconscionable. What we have already done is unconscionable. You tell me you love me, and, God knows, I love you. I will leave her, but I am not walking out on my kids to continue sneaking around with you. I'm done with this, Elena. All of it." He walked to the door and undid the top lock.

If he walked out now, she knew their relationship, which had spanned her lifetime, would cease. Panic rose inside of her—it was imperative that Christopher be a part of her world. During the periods of their life when they were not lovers, they were still the best of friends. Even her husband had to learn to accept that. Every secret she ever kept, every thought she ever had, Christopher knew and he loved her anyway. John Ross loved the idea of her more than who she was. When he looked at her, he saw the image he wanted to see-the picture perfect wife and mother, ideal business partner, and a woman incapable of wrongdoing. She could have stabbed his father and he would have blamed JR for getting in the way of the knife.

Christopher sees her for who she really is. She is a woman with insecurities and faults, who is intimidated easily. A business partner who contributes a great deal, but also gets in over her head, has made bad decisions, and does not always admit she is wrong. Christopher is not afraid to tell her she is all of these, nor does he care. When he looks at her, he sees flaws and contradictions, and loves her not in spite of those, but because of them. She "overwhelms him," as he explains it. Once had, that deep of an acceptance could not be lived without.

Leaving this room now would bring that to a crashing halt. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she felt her heart beat faster and faster. She had to stop him from opening that door.

"Don't open that door!" she ordered him when she saw his hand on the knob. "Christopher, do...not…open…that…door." His hand went down to his side.

She let go of a breath she did not realize she was holding. "Won't you, please, talk to me?" she pleaded.

Without turning toward her, he told her there was nothing left to say.

Elena walked up behind him, put her arms around his waist and leaned into his back. "There is a lot left to say. Sit with me. Please?" she requested.

He never could say no to her. He turned in her embrace, but did not move to hold her. She took his hand to lead him back into the room. "Thank you."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked up at her. "Elena, I'm stuck. I don't know what else to do. As bad as I feel about this, this thing we're doing, it's nothing compared to how morally reprehensible I find leaving my kids after all I have been through because my mother left me. Never would I have believed I could do the same to my children, but I am willing to, just to be with you—to be married to you. I don't know how to prove my love to you any more than that."

She knelt on the floor beside him, giving him a perplexed look. "Christopher, you don't need to prove your love to me. I know you love me, and I know I love you. Don't ever doubt that.

"The reason I won't leave has nothing to do with how much you love me or I love you, or even how much I love him. It has everything to do with how much I love Suzannah, Johnny and Seth."

Elena went on to explain why her three kids trumped everyone else. "When I had my babies, I took on the responsibility of caring for them, giving them a good home and two good parents. If I leave, that will fall apart, because John Ross will fall apart. I will not allow my children to have a drunk for a father, or put them in the position to have to take care of him, or make them watch while he drinks himself to death.

"He's not like you, Christopher. He's fragile. If he ever breaks, he will shatter. Had it been John Ross who went through the emotional turmoil you did years ago, he wouldn't be here today."

Christopher looked away, as being reminded of his years in the dark abyss made him uncomfortable.

Rubbing his arm softly, she apologized. "I'm sorry, Honey. I know you don't like to talk about it, but it's to make the point that had he ever experienced half the trauma you did, he would have, in the words of that old Allison Krause song, 'put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger.' John Ross never would have come out of it at all, let alone like you did-stronger and more secure than ever. He's not a phoenix.

"Through no fault of your own, your world was burned down around you by those you loved and trusted. Yet, you found strength from within, and were able to bring yourself up out of the ashes. Not many people can do that. Most would wallow in the soot of their own self-pity, becoming bitter, cruel, or even evil. John Ross is one of those people, and I cannot let the father of my children become such a man. I cannot let him turn into JR."

Moving back on the bed, he leaned his head on the headboard, staring out at nothing. Elena sat down next to him and put her hand on his thigh before she continued.

"He wasn't always like this. His dad's death really did him in. I don't know why. You'd think after the old bastard died that John Ross would finally be able to live his life and stop needing to prove himself to daddy. Somehow, it was the opposite. Now he has more than ever to prove to someone who can never acknowledge it.

"JR was quite the man about town when he ran Ewing Oil, but his legendary status did John Ross no favors. No matter what he does, he never feels it lives up to what people expect from him.

"On his deathbed, JR finally told John Ross all the things he had always wanted to hear, which was wonderful and gave him peace, but it was short lived. He started drinking a lot more after that. Although he's usually an easy going drunk, he has his moments. I don't know where they come from or how to predict them, but he gets erratic and mean.

"At work, he's fine, but it's no secret that he doesn't always return after lunch. At home, we made rules that we both abide by: very little alcohol is brought into the house, no more than 2 drinks in the evening, and neither of us can come home after having one too many. It's not ideal, but I hope it prevents our kids from remembering him the way he remembers Sue Ellen—staggering around or passed out.

"Can you understand why I can't leave? Do you see why I have to stay?" she implored, desperately needing to know he understood.

Although he felt there were other ways to handle the situation, Christopher understood how she drew such a conclusion. Elena wanted her kids to have a father. A man to adore them as her father had her for those short nine years. A heroic figure in their life to love and believe in. Sacrifices had to be made for that to happen, and she was willing to be the one to make them. It made perfect sense to him.

Christopher wanted his kids to have a mother. A woman who loved them more than life itself, who would nurture and adore them. An affectionate and honorable caregiver, to whom they could go for understanding and unconditional acceptance. A mother who would never leave.

The secrets kept, the lies and fabrications told were necessary to provide such. He sacrificed honesty to his children for them to have the mother they deserved. It made perfect sense back when the decision was made to do so, and it still did.

But he should not have to sacrifice her. He would give up anything, and risk everything to again have Elena as his…and his alone. Their arrangement brought him as close to that outcome as possible. A few times a year behind a locked door, she was all his. Those were always the most treasured hours of his day, and were always followed by the most agonizing. It was a high price to pay…and worth every drop of self-loathing it cost.

As time went on, they settled into their roles in the relationship, set up rules, broke it off, started back up, and learned to compartmentalize "them" inside of the other life they led. Tolerating long gaps between clandestine meetings, and accepting their second-rate status, was difficult. In the beginning, encounters were often wrought with an exchange of strong words, followed by tears, and ended with declarations of love and commitment. Jealousy and possessiveness could not be expressed outside the room, and wasted precious moments when expressed inside the room. Eventually, it was repressed. Walking out the door never became easy, but was necessary. They each had a life to live and responsibilities to fulfill, including those of being a spouse. Such a role entitled John Ross and Rebecca to be loved, and loved they were…as much as was possible from one giving only a part of them self.

Copyright 2012 tbimh

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