“By faithfulness,” Tean said, “you mean living a lie.Marrying a woman.Having children.Never being honest about themselves.”
“That’s not what we believe at all,” Mckell said gently.“The church has changed a lot since you left, I guess.We recognize that Heavenly Father loves all of us.And yes, he gives some people different trials.Everyone is tested in different ways.We’re not asking anyone to lie about who they are; we want to accept and love everyone, and we want them to bring their challenges, to ask for support, to let us help them.That’s what therapy is, right?Learning how to accept the things in your life you can’t change?Learning how to live with them, how to live full, happy lives in spite of the challenges God has put in your path?”
“Being gay isn’t a challenge,” Tean said, but it veered toward a shout.
“You’re done,” Jem said in a low voice.
Tean shook off his touch.
“Go talk to them,” Jem said, taking Tean’s arm again.He squeezed until Tean glanced at him—anger made his eyes almost unrecognizable.“Get the basics: name, age, place of birth.Find out where they were last night.And that’s it.No arguments.No debates.”
Tean sat so stiffly in his chair that for a moment, Jem was sure he was going to refuse.But then he slid down from his seat and crossed the room.
“I’m sorry this is so hard for him,” Mckell said.“I didn’t mean to upset him.”
Jem made a sharp gesture with one hand.He tried to keep it out of his voice when he said, “So, that’s it?Everybody’s here for help with same-sex attraction?”
“Well, not Nora.And not me.We’re here to support our husbands.”
For a moment, Jem considered her.Then he said, “You don’t want to get divorced?”
“Oh my gosh, no.I love Dean.”
“And Dean loves dick.”
That splotchy color showed under her tan again, and her voice had lost some of its sweetness when she said, “We made a sacred covenant in the temple to support each other, no matter what happened.This is his trial.Of course I want to help him, the same way he’d help me if I got sick.”
Jem almost said,But he’s not sick.He caught himself, but he could hear it now—the unrelenting flow of words, the slick reasoning, the way there was always an answer.Jesus Christ, he thought.No wonder Tean was about to explode.
“Can you tell me about the retreat?”he asked instead.“What’s the schedule like?”
“Well, we have our morning devotional.Then President Fitzpatrick and the men have meetings—some of them are one-on-one, and some of them are together as a group.”
“What are the guys doing when they’re not together?During the one-on-ones, for example?”
“Well, the other guys stay together.They’ve got talks to read.Or scriptures.They also have some time for prayer and pondering.”
Jem figured he’d last for about two minutes of prayer and pondering before he went back to doodlingThe Big Red Spankor whatever he was going to call his masterpiece.
“They break for lunch,” Mckell continued, “and President Fitzpatrick always encourages the wives to join them.It helps remind the men of the most sacred relationships in their lives, and of course, it’s important for them to spend time with their families.”
“Right,” Jem said.Which was about all he could manage besides a barfing noise.But then a question came to him.“Brigitte always goes to lunch?”
“Oh yes.President and Sister Fitzpatrick are adorable together.They’re totally couple goals, you know?”
“What about after lunch?”
“The men have more meetings.Then there’s dinner—”
“Together again?”
Mckell nodded.“And then there’s free time in the evening.President Fitzpatrick encourages us to spend it with our families.”
“Uh huh.And what about the single guys?”
“Well, they’re supposed to be journaling, or they study their scriptures, or they go for a walk.”She glanced at the window, where flurries batted at the glass.“Not this weekend, obviously.”
“You’ve been on these retreats before?”Jem asked.
