Introduction

Gail. Hannah. Bridget. Lizzy. Flavia. Each of them has a shameful secret, and each is about to find out that she is not alone… Gail, a prominent Boston judge, keeps receiving letters from her husband's latest girlfriend, while her husband, a theology professor, claims he's nine-months sober from sex with grad students. Hannah, a homemaker, catches her husband having sex with a male prostitute in a public restroom. Bridget, a psychiatric nurse at a state hospital, is sure she has a loving, doting spouse, until she learns that he is addicted to chat rooms and match-making websites. Lizzy, a high school teacher, is married to a porn addict, who is withdrawn and uninterested in sex with her. Flavia was working at the Boston Public library when someone brought her an article that stated her husband had been arrested for groping a teenage girl on the subway. He must face court, and Flavia must decide if she wants to stay with him. Finally, Kathryn, the young psychologist running the group, has as much at stake as all of the others.

As the women share never-before-uttered secrets and bond over painful truths, they work on coming to terms with their husbands' addictions and developing healthy boundaries for themselves. Meanwhile, their outside lives become more and more intertwined, until, finally, a series of events forces each woman to face her own denial, betrayal and uncertain future head-on.

From author Sylvia True comes The Wednesday Group, a captivating, moving novel about friendship, marriage, and the bonds that connect us all.

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Excerpt

Lizzy

The wind howls, then quiets to a gray whisper. Lizzy pauses in front
of the bedroom door holding a bottle of wine and two goblets. Her
casual nightshirt shows off her long legs. If this marriage is going to
survive, they need to reconnect.
She opens the door and stands at the foot of the bed. At fifty-two,
Greg could still pass for thirty-five. He has a full head of dirty blond
hair, a boyish grin, and healthy skin—no age spots, no circles under his
brown eyes.
“Thought you might want some wine,” she says.
“What kind?” He sits up a little.
“Chardonnay.”
“I guess.”
She senses his hesitation and begins to pour.
“That’s enough.” He holds out his hand.
There’s still plenty of time. He’s always been a slow starter, although
she’d thought that would change after he confessed.
“What are you watching?” She slides under the covers, not too close,
but close enough so that he can easily touch her.
“Antiques Roadshow.” A woven tapestry, an elaborate depiction of an
old church, is displayed.
“How much do you think that’s worth?” she asks.
“Don’t know.” Greg yawns loudly, a signal that he is not in the mood.
The small rejections build on one another. But she’s not about to give
up. After a few more sips of wine, she inches closer.
“Want to just talk awhile?” she asks.
“Sure.”
Finally, he turns off the TV. She reaches for the cord on the closed
shade behind her. A little moonlight would be nice.
“Leave it,” he tells her.
She does, although she’d like to look into his eyes, to see if he really
does want her.
He finishes his wine. “Maybe I’ll have some more.”
Her vision has adjusted enough to see the bottle. She refills both of
their glasses, and they drink in silence. If she’s too assertive, he’s only
going to feel pressured and withdraw. Eventually, he places his glass on
the floor, then turns to her and runs his fingers, stiff and tentative, along
her neck.
He holds her face, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips. Her shoulders
relax as he grows more forceful and moves a hand down her nightshirt.
“That feels nice,” she tells him.
“Why don’t you take it off ?”
She pulls the shirt over her head, glad to be rid of it.
He cups her breast, and she gently slips her hand below his waist.
He sheds his flannel pajama top. They hold each other. She’s missed his
skin touching hers, but after a few seconds, she senses his loss of urgency.
She kisses his neck and begins to slide down. His thighs tense and he
stops her.
“I’m sorry.” He sighs.
“It’s all right,” she says, and moves back up.
He grimaces and squirms as he shifts her head from his shoulder. “A
cramp in my arm,” he tells her, then sits and gropes for his pajama shirt.
After he puts it back on, he lies on his side of the bed.
Her chest aches. “Do the guys in your group talk about how they
deal with sex . . . after? I was thinking if it’s an addiction, like alcohol,
people have to talk about how they’re going to deal with it when they’re
sober. You know?”
He responds by tapping the mattress with his hand.
She waits, trying to be patient. He clears his throat, as if that will
help to dislodge the words that seem stuck.
“I thought,” she begins, “when you stopped watching, you’d want me
again.”
“It’s not that.” His voice is tight.
She wishes she could do the wise thing, say good night and bring this
up another day when he’s not so defensive and vulnerable, and she’s not
on that boundary where rejection begins to harden.
“Then what?” she asks.
“It’s . . .” He’s stuck again.
“Do you want me?”
“Lizzy.” He slaps the mattress. “I’ve told you I do.”
There, it’s out. What she was begging for— yet it’s not enough. “It
doesn’t feel like it when it’s so hard for you to say it.” She sits up and gathers
her long, curly hair. She’d worn it down for him. “You told me when
you stopped watching, things would change. And they haven’t.” The words
are hot; anger slips out.
“Christ, Lizzy, we go over the same shit. Things have changed. I’m
going to my groups and seeing a therapist. It’s not going to happen
overnight.”
She isn’t looking at his face, but she imagines he is sneering. “So how
long will it be?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“What can you answer?” Her voice is louder than she intended.
“This is going nowhere.” He sits up.
She can tell he’s getting ready to leave, to sleep in the guest room.
“I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just hard sometimes knowing you’d rather
be looking at young women on the computer than making love to me.”
He flips back the covers. “Why don’t you tell me what exactly it is
you want me to say?”
“That you love me. That you want me and not them. That you think
I’m pretty.” She detests that she’s sinking this low.
“I do tell you those things.”
“Only when you want me to shut up.”
He swings his legs off the bed. “I can’t do this anymore to night. I
have to get up early.”
She wants to extend an olive branch, to tell him she’s willing to work
through this, that she loves him. But she doesn’t.
He walks to the door.
“Just tell me you aren’t watching porn,” she says.
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry I’m not changing fast enough for you.”
The door slams behind him.
Every cell in her body feels as if it’s about to burst. She wants to follow
him, to keep fighting until they reach some sort of resolution. But
of course she knows they won’t.
She curls under the eiderdown. The room smells like stale wine. The
beginnings of a migraine nag at her temple. He’ll be asleep in ten minutes,
relieved to be away from her. She listens to the wind growl, hating
him, hating herself more.
... view entire excerpt...

Discussion Questions

1. How would you define addiction? Do you think sex addiction is really an addiction?

2. What are the similarities and dissimilarities to other addictions?

3. Were you drawn into the book right away, or did it take a while? Was the premise disturbing or intriguing? Did you feel uncomfortable looking into these women’s
personal lives?

4. Did you like or admire one character in particular? Was there a character you didn’t like? Did you feel empathy for the women?

5. Hannah has stayed with her husband a long time. How do you feel about this? Do you think she has made the right choice?

6. How do you feel about group therapy? Is it something that you think might be helpful? Do you think individual therapy would serve these women better?

7.What do you think will happen to these women in the future? Do you envision any of them sticking out their marriages?

8. Do you know any people or families that struggle with addiction and addiction related issues? Can you see any similarities to their situations in this book?

9.If you could talk to the author, what would you like to ask?

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