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CHAPTER 7
“Hello,” said the slim black woman. “Welcome to the Family Service Association. I’m Danita Crewson. Do you prefer Catherine or Cathy?” She had short hair and was dressed in a beige jacket and matching skirt, and wore a couple of pieces of simple gold jewelry — the perfect image of a modern professional woman.
Still, Cathy was slightly taken aback. Danita Crewson looked to be all of twenty-four. Cathy had expected the counselor to be old and infinitely wise, not someone seventeen years her junior. “Cathy is fine. Thank you for squeezing me in on such short notice.”
“No problem, Cathy. Did you fill out the needs assessment?”
Cathy handed her the clipboard. “Yes. Money is no problem; I can pay the full fee.”
Danita smiled as if this was something she heard all too infrequently. “Wonderful.” When she smiled, no wrinkles appeared at the corners of her eyes. Cathy was envious. “Now, what seems to be the problem?”
Cathy tried to compose herself. She’d been tortured for months by what she’d done. God, she thought. How could I have been so stupid? But, somehow, it wasn’t until she actually saw Peter cry that she realized she had to do something to get help. She couldn’t bear to hurt him like that again. Cathy folded her hands on her lap and said, very slowly, “I, ah, cheated on my husband.”
“I see,” said Danita, her tone one of professional detachment, free of any judgment. “Does he know?”
“Yes. I told him.” Cathy sighed. “It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.”
“How did he take it?”
“He was devastated. I’ve never seen him so shaken.”
“Did he get angry?”
“He was furious. But he was also very sad.”
“Did he hit you?”
“What? No. No, he’s not an abusive husband — not at all.”
“Neither physically nor verbally?”
“That’s right. He’s always been very good to me.”
“But you cheated on him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Now that you’ve told your husband,” said Danita, “how do you feel?”
Cathy thought for a moment, then shrugged slightly. “Better. Worse. I don’t know.”
“Did you expect your husband to forgive you?”
“No,” said Cathy. “No, trust is very important to Peter — and to me. I … I expected our marriage to be over.”
“And is it?”
Cathy looked out the window. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want it to be?”
“No — absolutely not. But — but I want Peter to be happy. He deserves better.”
Danita nodded. “Did he tell you that?”
“No, of course not. But it’s true.”
“True that he deserves better?”
Cathy nodded.
“You seem to be a fine person. Why would you say that?”
Cathy said nothing.
Danita leaned back in her chair. “Has your marriage always been good?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Never any separations or anything like that?”
“No — well, we broke up once while we were dating.”
“Oh? Why?”
A small shrug. “I’m not sure. We’d been dating for close to a year while still in university. Then one day, I just broke up with him.”
“And you don’t know why?”
Cathy looked out the window again, as if drawing power from the sunlight. She closed her eyes. “I guess … I don’t know, guess I couldn’t believe anyone could love me so unconditionally.”
“And so you pushed him away?”
She nodded slowly. “I guess so.”
“Are you pushing him away again? Is that what your infidelity is about, Cathy?”
“Maybe,” she said slowly. “Maybe.”
Danita leaned slightly forward. “Why do you think no one could love you?” she said.
“I don’t know. I mean, I know Peter loves me. We’ve been together for a long time, and that’s been the one absolute constant in my life. I know it. But, still, even after all these years, I have trouble believing it.”
“Why?”
An infinitesimal lifting of shoulders. “Because of who I am.”
“And who are you?”
“I’m — I’m nothing. Nothing special.”
Danita steepled her fingers. “It sounds like you’re not very confident.”
Cathy considered this. “I guess I’m not.”
“But you say you went to university?”
“Oh, yes. I made the dean’s list.”
“And your job — do you do well at that?”
“I guess. I’ve been promoted several times. But it’s not a hard job.”
“Still, it sounds like you’ve done just fine over the years.”
“I suppose,” said Cathy. “But none of that matters.”
Danita raised her eyebrows. “What’s your definition of something that matters?”
“I don’t know. Something people notice.”
“Something which people notice?”
“Just people.”
“Does your husband — Peter, is it? Does Peter notice when you achieve something?”
“Oh, yes. I do ceramic art as a hobby — you should have seen him bubbling over when I had a showing at a small gallery last year. He’s always been like that, boosting me — right from the begi
“And were you proud of yourself for that?”
“I was glad university was finally over.”
“Was your family proud of you?”
“I suppose.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes. Yes, I guess she was. She came to my graduation.”
“What about your father?”
“No, he didn’t attend.”
“Was he proud of you?”
A short, sharp laugh.
“Tell me, Cathy: was your father proud of you?”
“Sure.” Something strained in her voice.
“Really?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“He never said.”
“Never?”
“My father is not a … demonstrative man.”
“And did that bother you, Cathy?”
Cathy lifted her eyebrows. “Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Yes, it bothered me a lot.” She was trying to remain calm, but emotion was creeping into her voice. “It bothered me an awful lot. No matter what I did, he never praised it. If I’d bring home a report card with five As and a B, all he’d talk about was the B. He never came to see me perform in the school band. Even to this day, he thinks my ceramics are silly. And he never…”
“Never what?”
“Nothing.”
“Please, Cathy, tell me what you’re thinking.” “He never once said he loved me. He even signed birthday cards — cards that my mother had picked out for him — ‘Dad.’ Not ‘Love, Dad’ — but just ‘Dad.’ ”
“I’m sorry,” said Danita.
“I tried to make him happy. Tried to make him proud of me. But no matter what I did, it was like I wasn’t there.”
“Have you ever discussed this with your father?”
Cathy made a noise in her throat. “I’ve never discussed anything with my father.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But he did hurt me. And now I’ve hurt Peter.”
Danita nodded. “You said that you didn’t believe anyone could love you unconditionally.”
Cathy nodded.
“Is that because you felt your father never loved you?”
“I guess.”
“But you think Peter loves you a lot?”
“If you knew him, you wouldn’t have to ask. People are always saying how much he loves me, how obvious it is.”
“Does Peter tell you he loves you?”
“Oh, yes. Not every day of course, but often.”
Danita leaned back in her chair. “Perhaps your problems with Peter are related to your problems with your father. Down deep, perhaps you felt that no man could love you because your father had eroded your self-esteem. When you found a man who did love you, you couldn’t believe it, and you tried — and are still trying — to push him away.”
Cathy was immobile.
“It’s a common enough scenario, I’m afraid. Low self-esteem has always been a big problem among women, even today.”
Still immobile, except for chewing her lower lip.
“You have to realize that you are not worthless, Cathy. You have to recognize the value in yourself, see in yourself all the wonderful qualities Peter sees in you. Peter doesn’t put you down, does he?”