The Anatomy of Cheating: A Novel

by Nesly Clerge

  “I’m still your mother. I’m obligated to get you to behave properly.”

  “You mean, ‘Do as I say, not as I do?’”

  “I deserve that.”

  “Again—damn right.”

  “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll live with what I’ve done, and without your father’s forgiveness, much less without yours.”

  Chelsea faced the opposite direction. She slid from the bed to the floor and buried her face in her hands. There was no way to stop the sobs that came so hard they left her breathless. She stayed there, unable to move, until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

  Kimberlie dropped down beside her. Chelsea looked into her daughter’s eyes then tentatively opened her arms. They clung to each other in their shared misery.

  CHAPTER 140

  At seven the next morning, Chelsea, still in her robe, started a pot of coffee, made toast, scrambled eggs, fried bacon, juiced oranges—anything to stay busy. Anything to do something that might make a difference. Or remind her that her purpose in life hadn’t ceased altogether.

  At 8:32, her parents finally opened their bedroom door. One of them knocked on Kimberlie’s door, which opened soon after. The three of them came down the stairs together, dressed appropriately for the day’s solemn events, one of them with eyes more swollen and red than the other two.

  Her parents consumed coffee, Kimberlie toyed with a small glass of juice. Conversation was all but non-existent. Because three of them were going to greet visitors who wished to pay their respects. Three of them would share memories that made them laugh or weep, and say final goodbyes to loved ones, while the one who wasn’t invited stayed away.

  Chelsea kissed her parents and Kimberlie as they left at nine that morning to attend the services. They’d be gone all day, first to the church service and burial, and then to the Hall house afterwards, likely for hours into the night.

  She stood in the doorway. Watched her father’s car turn onto the street and disappear from sight. Went back to the kitchen, where she tossed the uneaten food into the garbage. Meandered from the front of the house to the back, up the stairs, into each room and out again, back down the stairs.

  She couldn’t stay home.

  Alone.

  Not again.

  CHAPTER 141

  “I don’t have an appointment, but I have to see Dr. Moore. It’s urgent.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hall. She’s booked solid today.”

  “Please. I’ll beg if I have to.”

  “Have a seat. As soon as I can interrupt her, I’ll see if anything can be done.”

  Fifteen minutes to ten, a silver-haired man entered the lobby, checked in with the receptionist and took a seat. He gave Chelsea a brief glance then put his attention on a magazine taken from the stack on the small round table in the middle of the room.

  At five minutes to ten, Dr. Moore’s patient came through the door and left. The receptionist used the phone to speak in low tones to Dr. Moore, hung up the phone, told the man he could go in then turned to Chelsea. “Dr. Moore will see you during her lunch break. Come back a few minutes before noon.”

  “I’d rather stay here.”

  “That’s three hours.”

  “Please.”

  The receptionist stared at her a moment then said, “Would you like something to drink?”

  Chelsea declined. She rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes.

  Several minutes later, the receptionist came through the door with a mug in her hand. “Chamomile tea. Drink it, Mrs. Hall. You look like you need it.”

  Chelsea took the mug and thanked her. The tea was cold and untouched when Dr. Moore called her in.

  CHAPTER 142

  “Now you know everything. Every sordid, grotesque detail,” Chelsea said. “I’m sorry I lied to you before. I can’t afford to do that again. Not to you. Not to myself.”

  Dr. Moore studied Chelsea for a moment. “It took a great deal of courage to tell me all you did.”

  “That wasn’t courage. It was desperation. I may have felt insecure before, but now …” She laughed without amusement. “Funny. I feel so removed from those earlier feelings. I thought they were so serious. So life-shattering.”

  “You’re saying your perspective has shifted?”

  “Shifted? It’s been annihilated. Like my life. My husband is dead. His brother is dead. My daughter is trying, but what’s been done will stick with her for who knows how long. Or how it will affect her and our relationship for the rest of her life. My parents are ashamed, though they try to hide it. My in-laws want nothing to do with me. My best friend, or so I thought, betrayed me and triggered these events. When details trickle or flood out—and they will, the list of people who detest me will expand exponentially. My life is over. I abandoned my right to it.”

  “What are you saying, Chelsea?”

  “Nothing. I’m rambling. Forget it.”

  Dr. Moore shook her head. “When a patient makes such a statement, the last thing I’m supposed to do or will do is forget it. If you’re thinking of doing anything to harm yourself, I—”

  “I’m just talking off the top of my head.”

  “I have to be certain.”

  Chelsea walked to the window. “I’ve become certain of a number of things over the last couple of days. Certain Garrett and Richard would still be alive, except for me. Certain that I was so angry with Garrett I forgot how much I loved him. Certain that he meant it when he said I should die so he could be free of me. Certain that life sometimes has a particularly cruel sense of humor or justice. Rather, injustice.”

  “So often, people don’t realize what being unfaithful can lead to. They don’t grasp how weighted the burden of deception and lies can become.”

  “You tried to tell me, but—”

  “But everything else you were feeling got in the way. Prevented my words from reaching you.”

  “You were like a gnat I needed to swat away, and did.”

  “There are some consequences of our actions we could never anticipate. As for others,” Dr. Moore shrugged, “we’re aware of what they may potentially be. But we can be stubborn when we feel we’re in the right, or at least, when we feel wronged. We ignore the inevitable. That’s one reason I wrote The Anatomy of Cheating. Did you ever finish reading it?”

  “I was too busy ruining everyone’s life, including mine.”

  “I hope you will. After my own trials and years of professional experience, where I’ve seen the damages infidelity can cause, my hope was to reach people and inspire them to think before acting. There are some terrible stories in there, including about how children are affected. The worst case was when one of my clients refused to hear anything I said. She murdered her husband’s lover. Granted, some of us may toy briefly with the idea of killing our spouse or his or her lover in reaction to our pain, but as a rule, we keep it solely in the realm of imagination.”

  Chelsea turned and leaned against the wall. “I didn’t kill Penelope, but I’m responsible for—”

  “You’re not responsible for these deaths. You were at fault in some of the circumstances that triggered them, but not for them.”

  “I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to believe that.”

  “It will be easier with time, as long as you don’t tell yourself the wrong things day after day.”

  “How do I forget the last conversation I had with Garrett? How do I forget how much he detested me?”

  “He was hurt. You understand how that feels as much as I do. Sometimes we say things when we’re in pain that we’d never otherwise say. What also is hurting you now is that you never had a chance to make it right.”

  “Or to say goodbye. Isn’t that what the wake and services are about—a chance to face the fact of a loss? I didn’t have that chance. Not that I deserved it.”

  “Those rituals are for that purpose, but they’re also a way
to start the grieving process. You’ve already stepped onto that path. Now you just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

  “Easy to say, but I’m terrified of where it might lead.”

  “Where it leads is up to you.” Dr. Moore put her pen and tablet down. “I’m sorry, but we’re out of time.”

  “Thanks for fitting me in.”

  “I’d like to see you three times a week for the next few months. Longer, if needed.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Chelsea, you came to see me today for a reason. What was it?”

  “I felt like I was going to disintegrate. I felt alone—quarantined, is more like it—and that you might be the only person left who wouldn’t judge me.”

  “Then, work with me. Let me help you.”

  Chelsea scooped her purse from the floor. “I’ll set the appointments on my way out.” She turned at the door. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you before it was too late.”

  “That’s a boat most of us have shared at one time or another. Try to get some rest this weekend. Promise me you’ll make a genuine effort not to tell yourself the worst things you can think of. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  Chelsea nodded and closed the door behind her. It wasn’t that she felt better for having talked with Dr. Moore—she wasn’t entitled to feel better. It was more about making a full, unfiltered admission of her sins to someone.

  That effort went only so far. Everything felt far, and moving farther away with every heartbeat.

  CHAPTER 143

  Luke positioned the bulky Sunday newspaper under his arm and took it, a mug of coffee, and his phone to the basement. Garrett Hall had been in the ground for nine days. Surely Chelsea would soon realize being alone wasn’t in her best interest.

  Who was he kidding? When she’d said it was over, she’d meant it. He understood she felt guilt-ridden, but he wasn’t prepared to give up. He couldn’t. Not after everything that had transpired.

  He’d just started to scan the best-selling books list when someone knocked hard on the front door. He listened to Brandi’s footsteps cross the room above him, heard the door open, heard muted voices, heard the front door close. Heard Brandi yell for him to get upstairs. Now.

  He put the newspaper down, slipped his phone into his shirt pocket, and started up the stairs. Nearly to the top he said, “What is it? Who was at the door?” Brandi didn’t answer. His annoyance grew. What was she going to chew him out about now?

  Luke entered the room and stopped. “What’s going on? Is it Tim? Has something happened to my son?”

  Two policemen walked toward him. “Luke Thompson?”

  “Is it my son?”

  One of the officers pulled rubber gloves from his pocket and started to put them on. “Face the wall. Place your hands on the wall, above your head.”

  “What’s this about? Get your hands off of me.”

  The officer doing the pat-down removed Luke’s phone, wallet, and keys, dropping each into an evidence bag.

  “Brandi? What’s going on? Did you—” He turned his head to look at her. Brandi’s terrified expression made it clear this wasn’t her doing.

  “Luke Thompson, you’re under arrest for the murder of Garrett Hall.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “You have the right to remain silent.”

  “Get these cuffs off of me.”

  “Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law.”

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  “You have the right to an attorney before and during questioning.”

  “There’s nothing to question me about.”

  “If you cannot afford an attorney—”

  “I’m warning you.”

  “… one will be appointed for you at public expense, before any questioning, if you wish.”

  “Brandi, do something, for God’s sake.”

  “Mr. Thompson, knowing and understanding your rights as I have explained them to you, are you willing to answer questions without an attorney present?”

  “I have nothing to say, other than I’m being set up. Someone’s going to pay for this.”

  “All right, Mr. Thompson, let’s go.”

  Each officer gripped one of his arms and started for the door. He avoided looking at Brandi as they passed her.

  “Luke, what have you done?”

  What could he tell her?

  CHAPTER 144

  Handcuffed to the metal table in the interrogation room, Luke waited for whatever would come next. Police had taken his front and profile photo shots first, and then his fingerprints electronically, before securing him to the table.

  He glanced up, again, at the video camera mounted to the ceiling in one corner of the small space, wondering if he was being watched. How long he’d been in there was unknown. It could have been a few hours or many. It felt like forever, an eternal nightmare he’d fallen into.

  He faced the door when it opened and glared at the blond-haired man with the jacket missing from his suit, his shirtsleeves rolled up. The man didn’t look at him, but instead, read something in the folder he carried.

  The man plunked the folder onto the table and sat across from Luke. “Mr. Thompson, I’m Detective Maddox.” He gave a too-often practiced few lines about the interview being video recorded.

  “This is a farce,” Luke said. “Someone’s set me up.”

  “You understood your rights as they were read to you?”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “Do you understand your rights?”

  “Yes.”

  Maddox leaned back in his chair. “No priors. Not even a parking or speeding ticket.” Luke shrugged. “Says here you’re an author.”

  “Right.”

  “How’s that going?”

  “I’m off to a slow start, but I’m determined to do well.”

  Maddox flipped to a printed page in the folder and ran a finger down a column of numbers. “Better than well, I’d say.”

  Luke leaned forward, straining to see what Maddox was looking at. “What’s that?”

  “Records of your sales for the last six months. You’re right about a slow start, but then they took off like an F-16. Funny thing about that. Your wife had no idea you were doing so well.”

  “You talked to her?”

  “Why didn’t she know, Mr. Thompson?”

  Luke looked away. “I wanted to surprise her.”

  “You did that. Yessir, she was truly surprised. Shocked, I’d say.” He fixed his gaze on Luke. “How well do you know Garrett Hall?”

  “I don’t. Didn’t.”

  “You’re saying you never met him?”

  “That’s correct. Now, give me back my things and let me go.”

  “You said ‘didn’t.’ So, you are aware he died recently.”

  Luke shrugged. “I read the paper.”

  “Based on the circumstances of Dr. Hall’s death, we determined it was suicide.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Fortunately—for us, that is—one of our officers who was at the scene has some automotive knowledge.” Maddox leaned back and linked his hands behind his head. “Now, me? I wouldn’t know brake fluid from antifreeze.” He stared hard at Luke. “But he does. Forensics found a clean thin slice in the brake line. Said it would have taken hours to cause the brakes to not function. Just a steady drip, drip, drip. Until they failed.”

  “As you said, I’m an author. I don’t know anything about cars except where to put the gas in.”

  “I always understood that authors do research for their books?”

  “I don’t write those kinds of books.”

  Maddox smiled and rested his elbows on the table. “That’s true. I checked your work. You write about matters of the heart, including betrayal. Guess that’s a popular topic, as well as a practice. You’re packing in the good reviews. Building quite a fan base, from what I could tell. Especially for A Dark Walk. Intriguing ti
tle.”

  Luke shifted in his chair. “I’ve been fortunate.”

  “Maybe your fans will keep the faith.

  “Now, Mr. Thompson, why don’t you tell me when you and Mrs. Hall decided to take your own dark walk together?”

  CHAPTER 145

  Luke linked his fingers and stared unseeing at them. His world had, in only a few seconds, narrowed to a pinpoint of light. Dizziness overtook him, he strained to get air into his lungs. “I need some water.”

  Maddox went to the door and called out the order. Moments later, a uniformed officer twisted the cap off of a plastic bottle and put it in front of Luke, who gulped half of the contents. He wiped his moist forehead on his shirtsleeve.

  “Mr. Thompson, I know the affair between you and Mrs. Hall didn’t start out that way.”

  “It was that damn Penelope Sanders who talked, wasn’t it? Of course it was. She’s had a hand in all of this.”

  Maddox added the name to his notes. “We’ll be sure to talk to her.”

  “You mean—?”

  “Never heard of her, but thanks for the tip. You see, Mr. Thompson, we’re pretty thorough when we investigate a crime. For instance, I’ve seen Mrs. Hall’s review of your book and the exchanges you had on Goodreads, which is where your relationship kicked into gear.”

  “You’re lying. Trying to trick me. You need my password.”

  “Your wife provided it. I’ve spent the last hour or so with your phone, reading the text messages you and Mrs. Hall exchanged. Seems you became quite intimate.”

  “It was just texting. It was stupid, but that’s all there was to it.”

  “This is a relatively small town, Thompson. It took a little legwork, but you and Mrs. Hall were identified as being together at,” he read from a page, “a coffee shop, a seedy lounge, an even seedier motel, and a few other places. Turns out there’s only one silver Bentley like hers in the area. Plus, a redhead always stands out.”

  “You did all that since I’ve been here?”

  Maddox shook his head. “We’ve had a busy week tracking down all we did. Would’ve been easier if we’d had your phone from the start.”