"No, of course you didn't," Ben said, his voice a little hollow. "We put on a pretty good show."

There was so much more to say, of course, and now that Ben had said this much he wanted to keep talking. He wanted to unburden himself of the whole sorry story, but he knew he couldn't do that. He'd said too much already, and now Art was never going to look at Melody the same way again, no matter what happened. He might not look at Ben the same way for a while.

"We're not getting divorced," he said, in a tone that was firm but did not quite convey an absolute certainty about the fact. "But you get why I can't tell her."

  

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"Yeah," Art said, "I get why you can't tell her." If Melody and Ben were thinking about divorce, or had thought about divorce - that was dire. Art had never come close. He didn't know what to make of it, a world where married people thought about divorce.

He wanted to ask: do you still love her? But he was not sure what he could recommend Ben do if the answer was no, or if there was anything to do.

"I mean - alright, this'll sound bad. But you don't have to tell her, at least not right away, or anything."

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   Melody Crouch, Reuben Crouch

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Ben's lips tightened slightly as he considered this statement. Sometimes when he came to Art he was looking for new ideas or practical advice about things. Sometimes he was just looking to vent. Sometimes he was hoping that Art would say something he was already thinking — validate him, in a way. A lot of his conversations with Art either through letter or in person since he'd found out about his son were the last one. He felt all sorts of things and then asked Art why he ought to care about this child so that Art would write back and tell him, in not so many words, yes, it's normal to care this much; you ought to care this much. And maybe when he'd showed up today he was really looking for Art to say exactly this: you don't have to tell her.

But it was more complicated than just accepting that fact. Not telling Melody was complicated.

"I couldn't meet him until I did," he said, with a frown. "I couldn't explain where I was or what I was doing unless she knew."

The following 1 user Likes Reuben Crouch's post:1 user Likes Reuben Crouch's post
   Melody Crouch

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"Does she always... know where you are?" Arthur said, visibly perplexed; Desdemona usually had some idea of where he was, but it wasn't as if she tracked him. "I mean - does she really ask every time?" There was some sort of inherent trust in being able to go places without one's spouse knowing; he couldn't imagine having to account for his whereabouts to Dezzie all the time, although she was welcome to ask.

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Art's question confused him, and Ben furrowed his brows. Was that so strange? He had nothing to compare it to. Art was his only close friend who was married, and they didn't spend a lot of time talking about the intricacies of the Pettigrew's relationship. Mostly because Ben had never been particularly interested prior to his own marriage, and afterwards he was afraid that asking any questions would end up with Art asking questions about his relationship, and he didn't want to invite that level of scrutiny.

It wasn't as though Melody was standing in the parlor tapping her toe every time he flooed home, or anything. She didn't ask about every place he went. But Ben didn't go anywhere, these days, except to work things, to parties that she was also invited to, and occasionally to Art's house. She always knew where he was, and he thought that if suddenly there was any sort of gap, she was bound to ask. She always had a sixth sense about when something was off, it seemed; she knew where to poke to get things out of him. If he started keeping secrets from her she'd know something was up, and if he then started disappearing from the house periodically she'd get suspicious. Hell, it didn't even take that much for her to get suspicious, sometimes — she'd given him quite the death glares after talking to some women this summer, and she had been in the same room, able to see with her own eyes that nothing untoward was happening.

He didn't know how to answer Art's questions without either making Melody look terrible or making him look ridiculous for worrying about it in the first place, so he didn't. Instead, he took a drink and gave a vague shrug, looking off towards the corner of the room.

  

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Not answering was a sort of answer, and the longer they talked the more Arthur was concerned. He took a sip from his bottle and tried to imagine himself in this scenario: certainly it was a non-zero possibility that he had a pre-Dezzie illegitimate child out there. The thing was - he never would have been in this situation, because he would have told Dez, even with things between them as they were. Things were bad, but she trusted him, and he trusted her - he could not remember ever lying to her.

"Ben," Art said, "The baby aside - you should feel like you get to... do things. Be a person. You know?"

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Ben didn't know. He looked at Art a little dumbly, unsure what to say. What he should have said was, right, of course, I know that; I do things; I'm a person. But he wasn't, was he? He didn't even really exist as himself anymore, half the time. He was just Melody's husband. He'd dedicated so much time and effort to playing the role that he had no time or energy left for anything else anymore.

He took a drink and looked at the floor, shifting in his seat a little uncomfortably.

"We're okay most of the time," he said evasively, although he was starting to believe that less and less. "We're okay right now."

  

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"Just because you and her are okay doesn't really mean you are," Art said. He was more concerned than he had started the conversation being - Ben's marriage just suddenly seemed sadder than it had before, and just because Art had known they had problems did not mean he knew how big the problems were. He really could not imagine feeling like he had to come up with excuses to be out of his own house. He had never liked Melody but really would have been much more unpleasant to her if he knew.

Art took another sip of his drink.

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The following 1 user Likes Arthur Pettigrew's post:1 user Likes Arthur Pettigrew's post
   Reuben Crouch

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"I'm okay," Ben insisted, not because he believed it necessarily but because that was too big of an issue to unpack now, if he wasn't. He'd come here for a very specific sort of advice on a very narrow subject, but the conversation had spiraled into something that encompassed, somehow, not only his entire marriage but his entire self as well. And he was not prepared to deal with all of that. Nor was he sure that Art was really the ideal person to deconstruct it all with. Art was his best friend, and he knew him better than almost anyone, but he was not a professional advice columnist, or anything. He did not even have a marriage or personal history that most people would have thought was a stellar example, so he was really not the right person to be addressing all this with.

"I think I'm going to write her," he told Art, veering back to the original subject of the conversation so that they could not spend any more time delving into this. "See what she says. Maybe stall a bit until I figure out what else to do."

  

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Arthur was almost relieved when they returned to the subject of the baby, because at least it was less sad and vaguely distressing. "I think you should," he agreed; Ben would never get to meet his son if he never talked to the mother again. "She's obviously telling the truth, and she still hasn't asked for money, so. She seems solid." At the very least she was not a nightmare of a person, and presumably if she was willing to write to Ben then she was willing to keep writing to him.

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   Reuben Crouch

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"Yeah, alright," Ben agreed, nodding. It was a bit of a strange choice of words, she seems solid, but it was an appropriate one. There was a lot of uncertainty in this situation, but the correspondence he'd gotten from Elliott's mother had been consistent. She'd answered his questions, responded to his statements, and offered information when he'd asked for it. She'd kept a level tone, even when he'd initially responded coolly and stiffly. She was solid — so writing her was the right way forward. And he could deal with all the rest of it when he got there — burn that bridge when he came to it (but that wasn't the phrase, was it?)

"Thanks," he said, taking another drink and then replacing the cap on his bottle. "This was helpful."

  

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