MY ONE-ARM SAVIOR

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I folded my slim calves under my bum and gasped as each hurtful word proceeded forth through Aunt Irene’s feeble voice. She never said detestable things to people and she was the favorite of my mother’s six sisters.

My lips trembled without control. “Are you sure, Aunt Irene?”

“Have I e’er lahd to ya child?”

“What do I do?”

She folded her 90-year-old claws in her woolen quilt. “Pray. That’s what ya mah taut ya. Pray. Hard.”

My husband of twenty-eight years caught fondling a twenty-something-year-old blond in Aunt Irene’s garage couldn’t be tales by moonlight. She knew what she saw.

Greg had been coming by the house to do small repairs for almost fifteen years. My mom had lived with her only surviving sister since dad died and we’d done everything to pay back my aunt’s hospitality because Mom needed the company. After Mah’s death, Greg continued to help as community service, was what he called it.

“I am going to confront him.” I stood. “Thanks for telling me—”

A wrinkled but strong hand shot out from under the quilt and pulled me back into my seat. “You will do no such thehn!”

Driving home tears blurred my eyes. Marriage to Greg had been great. Everyone saw us as the perfect couple. Though since our two daughters left home, things had been a bit strained but our pastor told us it was to be expected. It was time to develop new cultures, create new interests. We were hands-on working-parents type and it had been fun doing things together all those years. But in the last five years, everything seemed to have wound down.

Even at fifty-eight, Greg was in top form, and worked hard at the information technology company he built from scratch. He’d made a lot of millions in the last twenty years and still made. We lived well. I was happy.

Till—to be sincere, five years ago.

I parked my 2015 BMW X5 in the garage and sat in for five minutes to have my fill of tears. A small voice consoled me from within – maybe Aunt Irene saw wrong. Her eyes were old, I told myself. But she had never said such a thing and in the morning before Greg left home, we’d had another fight caused by a silly argument.

It was late, and he still wasn’t back. Well, Aunt Irene called me a few minutes after he left her house. That would have been three hours ago. He was supposed to be home but his car wasn’t.

Satisfied with a lie my aunt was mistaken, I walked into our beautiful townhouse in Mount Pleasant. The house held too many memories of love, peace and joy, though the 4-bed, 4-bath home was now too large for Greg and I.

My phone rang, and I picked it without thought.

“Frances!” Lolly, Greg’s secretary of ten years sounded frantic.

I frowned. “Lolly?”

“Greg has been in an auto accident.” Lolly burst into tears. “He’s been taken to the emergency room. You need to come over—I have to…”

I didn’t wait to get any more information. I broke the speed limit and ran through the doors of ER. A doctor’s assistant attended to me a few minutes later.

Greg was in surgery.

The next few hours seemed like eternity. Lolly joined me with her husband, Phil, and we held hands to pray for my husband.

As we waited the hours out, I demanded to know the details. Lolly had it. Every single dirty tale.

Were her words worse than Aunt Irene’s? I couldn’t decide.

“He took her to New York City.” Lolly sighed. “To buy her an engagement ring.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “You knew about—an affair?”

Lolly bit her lips. “It wasn’t my place, Frances.”

“We are friends!” I cried. But I needed to hear this in full. I swallowed. “So? What happened? Was she in the accident as well?”

“No.” Lolly reached out to me. I shrank back. “I’m so sorry, Fran—”

“Just tell me what happened!”

“He crashed just right after he dropped her at her home in Patterson. Trying to avoid a drunk. She saw it all and called 911.” Lolly looked away. “And called me too.”

I looked around the waiting area. No twenty-something-year-old was in sight. I could commit murder at the moment.

Several hours later, Greg was taken out of the OR. His left arm had been taken out from the shoulder socket. The limb had been damaged beyond repair.

Whatever consequences of infidelity seemed to visit our family sooner than later. I couldn’t confront Greg in the next few months. We had to work together to get him well again. I was always by his side. I read the Bible to him, and prayed with him.

The girls came for more regular visits, and Mary, our first had her fiancée along a good number of times.

Those early months were dark and depressing. Greg had always been a fashion-forward man, and he had more than enough to indulge his tastes. Despite a well-crafted prosthetic arm designed by Nascott, Greg preferred to hang his left shirt, and made jokes about being one-armed.

What came of this horrible tragedy? I got my husband back. We bonded like never before. Projects we’d pushed aside returned to focus. We played a lot of the games we previously enjoyed and had friends and family over.

Every important date became a carnival. Life was fickle. It could be gone in the twinkle of an eye. Our relationship with God became stronger. Joy filled our home.

On Greg’s fifty-ninth birthday seven months later, Lolly walked over to me with a glass of wine. We had a poolside party, and barbecue.

“You wonder what happened to the girl with the ring?” Lolly winked. How couldn’t I have forgiven her, anyway?

I scoffed. “I never got to find out.”

“She fizzled away.” Lolly clicked my glass and walked off with a giggle.

 

 

Author bio:

Sinmisola Ogúnyinka is a pastor’s wife, mother, writer and movie producer. She has a university degree in Economics, and is a Craftsman of Christian Writers’ Guild. She lives with her family in Pretoria, South Africa.

Blog: www.sinmisolao.wordpress.com

Twitter: @sinmisolaog