The First Ninety Days Ch. 10

"I wasa stranger and you took me in," Caitlyn corrected, her finger already tracing the passage.

"I was sick and you tended me?" Max said.

"Yeah," said Caitlyn. "And, I was in prison and you visited me."

"Well, there's some of 'em right there," said Lauren with a wide grin. "The least, to whom we are supposed to minister."

"So, hungry people—ain't got any shortage of those," Max said.

"Give me your tired and your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free," Jon recited out of some dim memory.

"Obviously, if you want people who are in prison, you could go to a prison," Max said. "If you want someone sick, you could go to a hospital."

"Obviously," said Lauren. "And the homeless... Well, check your local street corner. If they're out of stock, check the next one."

"Ha! There we go! We've got it sorted!" said Max.

Jon glanced at Caitlyn, and she met his eyes. Jon was pleased that she agreed with his assessment: that there was more to it than this. Max was a sophomore in college, Lauren a freshman;They're young, Caitlyn's gaze seemed to say.Give them time.

"...No, that can't be it," said Max. "There's more to it than that. There's always more to it than that."

"Yeah, it's never that simple," Lauren agreed. "It's not just always the most obvious places."

"A friend of mine..." Caitlyn began. "My friend Brandon once said that people who wear masks are also the ones most likely to be deceived by them. Those of us who... Who are hiding the truth about ourselves—or have things we don't want seen—those are the very people who are least likely to notice when someone else is acting the same way."

"That's... That's really interesting," said Lauren, sounding intrigued.

"Yeah, but, what does it have to do with this?" Max said.

"It relates because all of these... these afflictions, for lack of a better word... All of these afflictions might be right in front of us," Caitlyn said. "We don'tsee them, because they don't look all, you know, all stereotypical—because the person is hiding them. But they're there."

Jon saw where this was going. "When we hear about what Christ is saying—people who are hungry, or unclothed, or imprisoned—we all think, 'Oh, that could never happen to me. Those are things that happen to other people. Those are things that happen to othercountries.' And... I think we can rule that out. I think the point is that that's not true. These things are as real to us today as they were in Christ's time."

"It's only that they've gone underground," Caitlyn said. "But that makes it all the more important to fight them, because most people won't even notice they're there."

Lauren and Max exchanged looks, and then turned almost as one to regard the two of them.

"...What?" Caitlyn said.

Lauren shrugged. "Well... Every now and then, you guys prove you're married." She was smiling.

Jon felt a flush on his cheeks. He didn't need to look at Caitlyn to know hers were probably the same.

When the groups reconvened, the discussion went essentially the same direction it had in their circle, which Jon commented on during the drive home. "I guess we figured out where it was going."

"Yeah, that 'the least' are all around us," Caitlyn said. "That if we keep our eyes open, we'll see them. It's not a bad idea, really. It's a reminder that the people we're called to minister toaren't just, you know, 'out there.' They're here too."

"If we can find them," Jon said.

"Aren't they right under our noses?" Caitlyn said. "Isn't that what we figured out?—that they'reeverywhere, just hiding? All of us—I mean, heck, Jon,you took me in."

Jon was silent.

"I was a stranger, and you invited me in." Her hand covered his on the center console. "At Meredith's wedding, Jon. I was... I was alone, and frightened, and feeling so... Unloved. Like nobody in the world would ever want to... Like nobody in the worlddid love me. I was unknown to everyone and outside everything. I was a stranger. And you...Saw, and even though I was the least, you invited me in."

His hand turned palm-up. Their fingers intertwined.

"That's what it's about. That's what we're called to do. Surely you of all people can understand that."

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah."

"I think what itreally is," she said, "is that—is that we're supposed to look at everyone around us, and ask... You know, 'How are they hungry? How are they thirsty? How are they naked or homeless or imprisoned? And how can we help them?' You know?"

Jon knew. It was why he had majored in Psychology; why Christianity called to him; why, when he had sat down with a shivering girl named Caitlyn Delaney at a wedding and heard her story, he had begun to love her in those very moments.There is a world of suffering out there—so many hurts and pains and fears to be addressed. Everyone has their burdens. Too much for any one person to heal. But whatever comes my way, whoever happens to stray before me... That's who I'm called to treat with. I can help—and, even more than that, I must.

He squeezed her hand. "We can do it," he said. "Together, we can do it."

They smiled at each other in the shifting light.

"And... Thereis someone right under our nose," she said. "Someone who needs help.

"Okay," he said, smiling. "Who?"

"Harold."

"What?!"

"You heard me," said Caitlyn. "Jon, look at him. He's friendless and alone. Did you see the way he latched onto you?" In the darkness of the car her eyes still seemed to catch the light. "He has no one to listen to him, no one to befriend him. He's like I was. Doesn't that... Doesn't that make you feel anything?"

He's not nearly as attractive as you are. "He's not nearly as well-mannered as you are. Caitlyn, I... Jesus."

"You're not supposed to just say that, Jon."

"Look, Caitlyn, you know why he doesn't have friends? You know why everybody ignores him? It's because he's desperate. He's desperate and he's lonely. And people cansmell that. They don't wanna touch him with a ten-foot pole! Because if they do, they know he's gonna glom onto them. He will latch on and hewon't let go. Is that what you want, Caitlyn? Do you want to be hisonly friend?—the person who's in charge ofall his happiness?"

"First off, Jon, who says I'm in charge of all his happiness? If a time comes when he wants too much from us, then I'll tell him we're busy and that we don't—"

"Ha. You? Caitlyn, when have youever been able to turn people down? You drove four hundred miles to play for free at the wedding of someone you don't evenlike just because someone asked you."

"That's besides the point. And second, no, Idon't wanna be his only friend: I want to do what Christ calls us to, which is help him reach the point where we'renot his only friends, because he can go out and make more."

"Christ calls us to put ourselves in a lousy position?"

"Christ calls us to do good works!"

"Christ calls us to dostupid works, more like." He knew the instant he said it that he should've kept his mouth shut, but by then it was too late. Besides, he couldn't help what he thought was true. "Caitlyn, trying to help Harold Cheng is a mistake. He'll hurt our feelings, he'll use us, he'll be a constant annoyance, and once he feels better he'll go off and leave us with nothing."

"Turn the other cheek."

"...Can be suicidal."

"Jon, it's not going to lose us that much."

"It's not the loss, it's the principle of the thing. What good does it do to cripple ourselves, to drag ourselves down with this?"

"We're fulfilling the word of God! We're showing our faith!"

Jon had no answer to that. Or at least, none he could say out loud.

Caitlyn heard it anyway. "And you don't think that's worth doing. Do you."

"Caitlyn," he started.

"You don't think it's important to act as a Christian in this case."

He wanted to answer, but their turn came up, and for a few moments he was busy parking the car and dogging it down; and by the time he was done, she was already gone up the stairs. Hedid think it was important to act as a Christian—yes, maybe even in this case. But he didn't think turning the other cheek meant deliberately shooting yourself in the foot... Did it?

When he got into the apartment she was digging blankets out of the closet.

"I'll sleep on the couch," she said. "It's my fault. I'm the one having the disagreement. You shouldn't have to get exiled for that."

"Wait, the... You... What?"

"We had a fight, didn't we?" She didn't turn to face him. "Our very first fight."

It was. Even though they'd dated for eighteen months, they'd never raised their voices like this. Jon felt a draining sensation in his guts. "This wasn't a..."

"We found something we couldn't agree on," said Caitlyn in a businesslike voice. "Something we just have to agree to disagree about. Doesn't that sound like a fight to you?"

Jon felt the world in a dizzying swing under him. He latched on to the first coherent thought to bob his way. "I didn't ask you to sleep on the couch."

She gave him a bleak look. "I did."

Jon stared at her for a few more seconds, and then, ever obedient to her wishes, crossed to the bedroom and closed the door. Finally it occurred to him thatshe didn't want to be nearhim tonight.

Automatically he checked his e-mail and put some sleeping clothes on—it was the first time he was wearing them in months, since there was normally a beautiful woman in bed with him, one who loved him just as much as he loved her. It wasn't evenhis bed; it was Caitlyn's. She had slept in it for years before now. Who was he to be occupying it while she tossed and turned on the canvas couch? He didn't belong here. Not without her.

She hadn't debated or hesitated; she hadn't questioned the prerogative. Instead she had simply exiled herself—had simply taken it upon herself to bear the sufferings of the situation. 'We had a fight; it was my fault; I should be the one to be punished.' It was one of the things that made him love her: that she would not let anyone come to pain if she could be brought there instead.

What am I doing? It should be me out there instead of her. It should be me out there with her.

He lay in the tangled sheets, soaked in the light from the streetlamps, one arm flung above his head. He could not tell when he slept or woke; one dribbled into the other and back again. Perhaps he dreamed that he was awake. He did not look at the clock; he didn't want to know. The drone of the computer was empty in his ears. He missed the breathing, the constant subconscious near-subliminal in-out that meant his light, his life, his everything, was still here for him. He caught himself turning to see the crescent-moon of her face and forced himself to stillness.

He only knew he was asleep because she woke him.

"Jon. Jon." The voice was low. "Jon, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Though it was dead-of-night o'clock, he was awake; this time, his brain was ready. "Sorry for what?"

"Sorry for..." The voice was choked, the crescent-moon streaked with tears. "I don't want to be alone anymore, Jon, I shouldn't've... I thought, if I abandoned you, if I made you feel like I felt..."

"I would never abandon you," he said. He sat up, swinging his feet out, and put his arms around her. She was cold; to his touch she seemed almost icy. How long had she stood here? "I would never... Caitlyn, if you're set on this, if this is what you think is right, I'll support you. I love you. I'm your husband. Some things... There are things that are more important than what I want."

"Oh, Jon," she said, and threw herself into his arms.

"What are you doing out there? You should be in bed. It's late. Come on..."

"I had a... I had a dream. That you were gone, that I came in here and you were gone, there was... All the clothes, all your things... And it wasn't that you'd left, it's that you'd never been to begin with... And I had to, to come in and see, and, and, and I—"

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here." It was awkward getting her into the bed, but they managed. "I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving you. Never. I love you."

"Jon," she whispered.

"Shhh, it's okay. It's okay. You're home."

In only a few moments, she was asleep again, the silver of her tears still drying on her face. And, in only a few moments more, so was he.

He was home too.

Day 40

On Friday, Jon got home early. Caitlyn was rattling around in the kitchen, washing some dishes, when he came in unexpectedly. "They let me go a little early," he explained. And, almost immediately, the shenanigans started up in earnest.

Caitlyn had had a pretty quiet day. She had gone back down to Shellview State to see if anyone had a part-time job she could get into, and left her resume at a few places; one supervisor had even interviewed her, but he was looking for behind-the-counter workers at the school's cafeteria, and Caitlyn didn't see that working out for her. The job at the library, the T.A. position under Professor Cowell in the Music Department: those were what she was hoping on. She wondered why she had bothered spending so many days trolling the Internet when going in-person had been so much more efficient: she'd gone in for barely an hour and been infinitely more successful, in that people had actually acknowledged her and some had shown definite interest in taking her on—as opposed to the Internet applications she'd tried, in which her appeals had disappeared into the Great Cyber Beyond with hardly an acknowledgement of their existence, and no one had ever answered her back. She realized now that people must be a lot more interested in you if you showed up in person.Then why do they bother with the Internet?

She had also spent a little time on the phone with Harold Cheng. The conversation had been a little strained, mostly because Jon was right: the man had no social graces to speak of whatsoever. Was 'conversation' the right word when it consisted solely of Harold rambling for thirteen minutes on the intricacies of function order and coding elegance? He probably would've gone on longer if his lunch break hadn't ended. Nonetheless, she wasn't going to admit defeat. Surrender was not in Caitlyn Stanford.

Relations between her and Jon had been very friendly since their spat. She was going out of her way not to antagonize him, and she had a sense that he was too. There was a lot of laughter between them, and some more conversation than they had shared previously, but never about anything important. Everything was happier, but also hollower. And they had not been conjugal since her birthday dinner, which she was somewhat embarrassed to admit she missed. Jon seemed to have no interest in her, which seemed astounding. She knew that, probably, he was holding himself back, giving her space; he knew she wasn't always, wasn't perfectly, comfortable with what they did together, even though they'd been married for over a month. And yet something kept her from reaching out instead. Part of it was shame—no matter how loose Jon kept her, there was a part of her that believed no proper woman would ever try to initiate sex. And part of it was fear: what if he actuallyhad lost interest? What if it was all a facade? What if he had learned something so catastrophic that he could no longer bear to... Well, clearly, it was easier to just not broach the subject.

So when he came in the threshold and said, "They let me go a little early," she smiled at him and said, "Well, more time for us to be together," in the hopes that he would take the hint. She didn't want to be estranged from him like this.

"It's Friday," he said. "What do you want to do?"

"I was thinking... I was thinking we might just have a quiet night together," she said. She looked up at him, stroked the line of his jaw with a finger. "Just the two of us."

"Oh really," he said, smiling.

"It's been... It's been a stressful week," she said.

"That it has."

"And it's been a long time since we've been... Together." She felt her cheeks heating, but didn't back down.

"That it has," he said.

"If... If you wanna, you know, go do something else... I mean, the Cranes are back in town, we could always look them up. Or we could invite some of your friends from Octapella over."

"What doyou want?" he asked.

"I want to spend time with my husband," she said.

So that was what they did.

They cooked dinner together—the first time they'd done so all week. They talked, they laughed; but it was less fake, less empty. Jon told her about the stupid things the patients at the dental clinic had done; she told him about the stupid things she'd seen while walking around campus. She felt in some strange way like she hadn't seen him in ages, even though she'd gone to sleep next to him not eighteen hours ago.

She needed to broach it somehow, so she said it as they worked: "Oh, and, I got Harold Cheng's number from Pastor Larson."

"Oh?" said Jon. He didn't look at her. "Did you call him?"

"...Yeah," she said.

"What did he say?"

"Well... He gave me a lecture on how to program a database management system," she said.

She saw a quirk of a smile, quickly hidden. "Did youask him for a lecture?"

"No," she said. "...Well, yes. In that, you know, I talked to him at all."

She knew that, if he wanted to say,I told you so, now would be the time; and she resolved that, if he did, she would bear it in silence. But instead he shook his head and grinned. "Well, next time,you can borehim with a lecture on harp architecture, and that way you'll get even."

She turned to him. "Does it bother you? Does it bother you that..." She couldn't articulate what it was. Really, she wasn't sure herself.

"Well," he said. "I worry about you. I mean, seriously, hon—you don't know how to say no to people. This... Harold's co-dependent, in a way, in that, once he's got a friend, he won't let go. I worry that you'll get so locked up in it that you won't have time for yourself."

Or for my husband, she finished in her head. "Maybe so, but remember, Jon, that's what I haveyou for."

He gave her a cautious look.

"You're... Well, maybe 'selfish' isn't the right word. But you have such a sense of... Boundary. You know what lines people are allowed to cross, and what lines they aren't. And you don't let anybody trample on you. And I know that... If I let you... You'll do the same for me."

"Yeah, but, will you let me?" he said. He reached out to touch her shoulder.

In answer, she moved into his arms, drew him down to her, and kissed him.

His arm circled her waist; the other her shoulders. She felt the way his body arched over hers, melding to her; she felt the buttons on his shirt pressing against her skin, the warmth of his body against her breasts. His tongue caressed hers; she drew a hand through his hair. She could already feel a touch of wetness between her legs, a touch of stiffness against her belly.

"Oh God," he breathed. "It's been too long."

"Well, maybe ifyou..." The rest of the protest was lost as his mouth found her ear. His tongue traced the skin of her head, the folds and crevices there; then his teeth, nipping gently. While dating him, she had never understood why her ear was such an erogenous zone for her: it didn't seem to elicit any such response from him; instead, he liked it when she sucked on his fingers, though. Then they were married, and she found out that, without realizing it, she had loved his ministrations on her ears in anticipation of what he would do with his tongue down below.