The Wednesday Group Read Online Free PDF Page B

seems suitable, she turns to Hannah and introduces herself. Hannah does the same and is stumped as to what to say next. Does one ask, What did your husband do to mess up your life? She settles on, “Did you run into a lot of traffic?”
    â€œIt wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Gail replies, “although there isn’t an easy way to get here from Cambridge.”
    Something about the way she says Cambridge reminds Hannah of people who need to drop in that they went to an Ivy League school. Gail pours herself some water and takes a sip with steady hands.
    Two other women walk in. They are both tall. The older one, fortyish, has thick auburn curls thrown into an updo. She sits on the loveseat, clinging to the side, making sure there is enough room for someone to join her.
    The other woman also sits on the loveseat. She is younger and striking, with brown hair, nearly black, that comes to her slender waist.
    Hannah wonders why men would cheat on such beautiful women. Then she reminds herself that cheating is the wrong word, that she is supposed to think illness. Disease with a capital D. Yet cheating is what sticks.
    Kathryn walks to the door and closes it most of the way. “We are waiting for one more member, but I think since it’s seven, we should begin.”
    The woman with the auburn curls smiles. Gail takes a sip of water. Hannah’s palms sweat. A panic attack is not far away. She grasps the wooden seat of the chair.
    Kathryn passes out confidentiality forms, and Hannah signs hers without reading it.
    â€œI’d like to look mine over,” Gail says.
    â€œOf course,” Kathryn replies. “Perhaps we can begin by introducing ourselves and telling the group a little bit about what brings you here.”
    Everyone nods. No one looks comfortable.
    â€œI will try to stay on the sidelines as much as possible,” Kathryn explains. “If I think the group is getting off track, or if I sense someone isn’t getting to share when she wants to, I will intervene.” The words are well placed, formal.
    The room is silent. Hannah wants to talk, if only to fill the emptiness. She lets go of the chair, ready to raise her hand.
    â€œI’ll begin,” Gail says. “My name is Gail, and I’m here because I wanted a private group in which I could find support. As far as I know, there are no others in the area that address the issues that partners of sex addicts face.” She looks around to make sure she has everyone’s attention.
    Hannah is impressed by how easily she can say “partners of sex addicts.”
    â€œI have a very high-profile job,” Gail continues. “I can’t risk the chance of the papers getting ahold of my story.”
    Hannah imagines Adam being arrested in some seedy bathroom. If that ever happened, and it wound up in the news or on some Web site, she would change her identity and flee to Argentina. With the children.
    â€œThere is often a lot of shame and humiliation around sex addiction,” Kathryn says.
    â€œYes, well…” Gail says, sounding a touch irked that Kathryn cut her off. “Jonah is my second husband and my soul mate. From the moment we met, we both knew that we were meant to be together. We discuss everything, from what we perceive God to be to the latest state referendums.”
    Her words flow smoothly, unrushed. At this point, Hannah would be stammering.
    â€œOne afternoon at work, my assistant asked to see me. She was clearly distraught as she held a piece of paper. It was a letter from a graduate student of Jonah’s. He teaches philosophy at Harvard. His concentrations are normative ethics and personal identity.” She pauses, chin forward, head high.
    Odd areas of study for a sex addict, Hannah thinks.
    â€œIn this letter, the student claimed my husband was actually in love with her, but he was too frightened to tell me. I brought the letter home and showed it to him.