The Anatomy of Cheating: A Novel

by Nesly Clerge

  “Talk about something else. Anything that has nothing to do with this place or my life before I came here.”

  CHAPTER 162

  The announcement of lights-out blared over the intercom. Luke climbed into his bunk. He’d hated for the visit to end, but James had to get to the restaurant before three o’clock, and needed time to make the two-hour drive, allowing for traffic. How long would James make the effort to see him? Maybe his visits had a shelf life, as well. He wasn’t obligated to alter his life to accommodate a friend.

  At least he knew Tim would have James looking out for him. Tim would have someone to talk with about his father, someone who knew his father well. At some point, maybe James would bring Tim to see him. If Tim wanted to do that. If Starks or some other inmate allowed him to continue to breathe that long. And if Tina allowed it. Or didn’t know about it.

  Cage snorted and snored from the overhead bunk. Luke scooted up to the window to peer out. The stars were in the sky, but he couldn’t see them. Outdoor lights obliterated them from view. He might never see stars again, or the moon, unless it was out during the day and in a position in the sky where he could see it, if he ever went into the yard. One day he’d have to be courageous enough to go outside, even if it resulted in him taking his last breath. He craved the warmth of the sun on his skin. And air that smelled of something other than real and false bravado, desperation, and sorrow.

  Cage moaned in his sleep. Although the sound was certainly different, it triggered his memory. Chelsea—moaning as his tongue traced various parts of her body. Moaning every time he slid into her, and with every measured or deep thrust. Moaning as he lathered her body in their shared showers, making sure every tender part of her received his tantalizing touch. Teasing her with his fingers and mouth. The expression on her face and how she cried out when she climaxed. He’d made certain they never went their separate ways without her having that experience more than once.

  His erection throbbed with an unrelenting ache. He didn’t dare do what would relieve it. There was no relief for his longing for her. He’d have to quell such thoughts if he was going to survive. But those thoughts kept him going, even though they tortured him.

  He slammed his fist into the wall. Love had cost him repeatedly in his life. He’d been right: Love came with too high a price to pay.

  Unless Chelsea chose to prove him wrong.

  CHAPTER 163

  Thank goodness, Chelsea thought, for Angela—a sympathetic and loyal friend, as well as a mother who understood the protective instinct. Kimberlie was welcome to stay at their house as long as necessary. There had been no argument from Angela’s husband. A compassionate father, no persuasion was required for him to agree to the arrangement, calling Kimberlie his other daughter, as both of them had, since the two girls had become nearly inseparable friends at the age of four. Neither would they accept any money to go toward the extra expense of an addition, albeit temporary, to their family.

  At least, she hoped and prayed it was temporary.

  It had been almost a month now. As wrenching as the separation was, she respected her daughter’s preference to stay away, to not spend time with her. Eventually, that would have to change. It had to.

  Considering the fact that her affair with Luke had been included in the paper and on the news, though, the coverage was finally dwindling, it was better if her daughter stayed with them. At least for now. Kimmie needed someone to vent to about this hideous mess, needed to be as removed as possible from it. Needed motherly attention, even if it was someone else’s mother providing it.

  She, however, had heard nothing from anyone other than her parents and Angela. Not so much as a scathing remark from Garrett’s family. Nothing from people Garrett had worked with at the hospital or his practice. At least she knew the families were in touch with Kimberlie. Her mother had confirmed this.

  Just after two in the afternoon, the mail slot opened. A number of envelopes hit the floor. Chelsea got up from the living room sofa—the cushion now permanently dented from the hours she spent there—and picked up the mail. She took the envelopes into the kitchen, dropped them onto the table, and fixed a cup of tea.

  Seated at the table, she blew on the steaming liquid, took a sip, and opened the first envelope.

  It was from the mortgage company. The request for payment was stamped Past Due in bright red ink. So was the utility bill. The phone bill. The cable bill. The monthly payment request for the Bentley. The credit card statement with new charges of over ten thousand dollars.

  What was going on?

  CHAPTER 164

  It took several minutes of digging for Chelsea to find Garrett’s checkbook and register. He’d been old-fashioned about two things: Handling all the financial matters in their marriage and paying by check, debit, or credit card, the latter which he paid in full each month. He’d also been meticulous about keeping paid invoices in the oak filing cabinet tucked into a corner of the room used as an office.

  She compared what was in the files to the check register and unpaid bills—nothing had been paid since two weeks before she’d kicked him out. She gathered receipts for her recent purchases and cash withdrawals, and the last three bank statements, two of which were unopened on the desk. She vaguely remembered putting them there with the other mail she’d not felt up to dealing with. Listed among the many amounts subtracted on the statements, were weekly cash withdrawals by Garrett, of fifteen hundred dollars. It took too much out of her to reconcile what was in their joint account.

  A call to the bank, and proving who she was, resulted in learning there was only a little over two thousand dollars in the account. No deposits had been made for almost two months. There should have been three or four substantial deposits from his hospital salary and a salary draw from his practice. The only person she knew well enough from the hospital was Aaron Logan. She found his cell phone number in the Rolodex on Garrett’s desk.

  “Dr. Logan, this is Chelsea Hall.”

  “My dear, I’ve been meaning to find out how you’re doing and express my sympathies, but it seemed rather awkward. I’m sure you understand. So sorry about Garrett. Such a tragic loss.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry to bother you, and I know you’re retired, but—”

  “I came out of retirement temporarily when Garrett was suspended. I’d hoped he’d be reinstated at the end of the two-month probationary period. It’s tedious finding a qualified replacement.”

  “He was suspended?”

  “Oh dear. I thought you knew.”

  “When?”

  “Several weeks before his untimely demise. I did speak with him about pulling himself together, getting off the alcohol. Such a waste of talent.”

  “Dr. Logan, the last thing I want to do is sound trite, but it seems the last several pay deposits he should have received didn’t get into the bank. It’s set up for automatic deposit, so—”

  “They wouldn’t have gone in.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Garrett was suspended without pay. This really is a kerfuffle.”

  “I see. I apologize for bothering you.”

  Chelsea ended the call. She dropped her head into her hands. Everything about her life was spinning out of control.

  CHAPTER 165

  Detective Maddox had asked about Garrett’s life insurance. She’d forgotten about it, again. That money would save her. She’d call each company owed and explain the situation. As long as the insurance company paid quickly, she and Kimberlie would be okay.

  She found the policy, exhaled in relief at the amount, and dialed the number on the cover letter. The agent listed on the letter, whose office was in Manhattan, picked up his phone after two rings. She told him about Garrett’s death, lying when she claimed it was by auto accident. Thanked him for his profuse condolences. Gave him the policy number. Waited while he looked it up.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hall, but Dr. Hall sold his policy several months ago.”

  “Sold it? W
hat does that mean?”

  “It means there’s nothing to pay out.”

  “Why would he do such a thing?”

  “According to my notes, he needed the money and that as soon as he got things settled, he’d purchase a new policy.”

  “How much did he receive?”

  “Seventy-five thousand dollars.”

  “It was for two million. Why so little?”

  “The policy was a relatively new one. The buyer paid Dr. Hall what he’d paid into it.”

  “What am I going to do?”

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Hall. If we can assist you with any other matter, please call.”

  Chelsea carefully began the tedious process of going back chronologically through the check register, line by line. Why hadn’t she asked the agent for the specific date?

  She came across a transfer of eight thousand dollars to Chloe, made in autumn of the prior year. She continued to trail her finger through the register, back to the prior January, long past the several months the agent had mentioned. The insurance deposit wasn’t listed, only prior salary and draws were. What had he done with the money?

  She called the office manager at Garrett’s practice.

  “Yes,” he said. “Seventy-five thousand went into our account fall of last year, to pay toward the salary and benefits for a new doctor, a down payment on a new piece of equipment, and marketing. Business wasn’t coming in the way we needed it to, to keep up with everything, so we had to stimulate interest from potential and existing clients.”

  “I didn’t realize you were having difficulties.”

  “I’m sorry to say it, but as bad as it was, it got worse fast as a result of Garrett’s absence. He basically stopped coming in. We would have managed better had there been preparation, but his disappearance was abrupt.”

  “But as owner, he still received his draw, right?”

  “He stopped taking it, since, as he told me, his hospital pay was enough. Then he stopped all contact with us. Told us to handle it and leave him alone. We didn’t understand what his reason was, but we had to carry on. It’s our livelihood, you know.”

  “Is there any chance you’re doing well enough now that I can get what he usually drew? Or, perhaps, an advance?”

  “The most we could spare is a couple thousand dollars, if you really need it more than we do. I could ask the doctors to hold off on depositing their checks for a few weeks, until the funds are replaced.”

  “No. Don’t worry about it. I hope business picks up soon.”

  “Improvement’s been slight, but we’re optimistic.” The manager paused then said, “Mrs. Hall, now that you’ve called, what are you going to do about the practice?”

  “I suppose that is my decision. Please keep it going, for your sakes, and mine. I’ll give more thought to this when my mind is clearer.”

  Chelsea stayed motionless at the desk long after the light outside diminished and disappeared.

  CHAPTER 166

  The first things Chelsea sold or pawned were the fur coats, followed by the most expensive pieces of jewelry Garrett had given her, with the exception of her wedding rings. Those would be saved for Kimberlie.

  It was easier than expected to let the items go—they’d been given to her out of Garrett’s guilt rather than love. It was harder to learn that the price paid for such items was so much more than what you could get for them when you were desperate for cash.

  What she received helped to pay for the more minor household expenses, as well as for her and Kimberlie’s separate sessions with Dr. Moore three times a week. She would have begged on the street for the money to pay for them. Not a lot was needed for groceries, as her appetite was all but gone. Coffee, tea, juice, and soup didn’t add up to much at the store.

  Her car was next. But that was a trade-in for a compact car from the dealership’s used collection and forgiveness of the balance owed on the Bentley.

  She’d also had to face reality about keeping the house. The mortgage payments were too steep. Despite her tearful pleading, the bank refused to wait for the house to sell; foreclosure was their only offer. They gave her a month to move.

  After an excruciating, tear-filled conversation with Kimberlie, Chelsea began the arduous process of setting aside what she’d keep and what she’d sell or donate.

  Her parents ignored her refusal of their help to sort through furniture, furnishings, and personal items.

  “I should sell it all. I need the money,” Chelsea told them.

  “Nonsense,” Janice said. “You’ll get back on your feet one day, and you’ll need some of these things to get started. Better that than having to start from scratch. You have to think of the future.”

  “What future?”

  Paul put an arm around Chelsea’s shoulders. “None of that. You listen to your mother. Figure out what you’ll need at our house and decide what you’re going to keep. We’ll put the rest in storage.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “I can’t take on another bill.”

  “We’ll handle that, for as long as necessary.” He turned Chelsea to face him. “One day you’ll want to have some things from your life with Garrett. At some point in time, the memories won’t be as wrenching. You also want to keep some of it for Kimberlie’s sake.”

  “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Janice said, “How are your therapy sessions going?”

  Chelsea shrugged. “I suppose they’re helping. Dr. Moore can’t tell me how Kimmie’s are going, and Kimmie won’t.” She looked at her mother. “Does she tell you?”

  “Not yet. I hope she will. But you do feel like yours are working?”

  “Yes, but I think it helps more when I talk to Garrett.”

  Janice’s gaze met Paul’s. “What do you mean?”

  “After every session, rain or shine, I visit his grave.” She shook her head. “It’s a shame that’s it’s easier now to talk to him than when he was alive.”

  “I don’t think that’s healthy.”

  “Dr. Moore suggested it initially, for closure, and approves of my continuing to go there. Even if she didn’t, I’d still go.”

  Janice patted Chelsea’s arm. “Whatever it takes, I suppose. Well, if we want to make headway, we’d better get back to work.” She and Paul resumed wrapping and packing anything marked with a yellow sticker.

  She knew her parents meant well. But they didn’t understand. How could they? Even if they’d had their issues over the years, they had each other.

  The only thing she had to look forward to were weekends, once she moved in with her parents, that is, when Kimberlie would come to stay with them. They’d agreed to that arrangement, at least until school was out for the summer. Kimberlie still preferred to have nothing to do with her, and limited her responses to yeses and noes, as much as possible, during the infrequent times they spoke. That first weekend would be uncomfortable for all of them, and she knew her parents would feign a level of optimism that would make her want to scream.

  However Kimmie treated her, she was only getting what she deserved.

  CHAPTER 167

  Chelsea moved from room to room in the emptied house, checking closets and built-in drawers and cabinets to make sure nothing would be left behind, made sure windows and doors were locked. She was alone yet not alone: years of memories accompanied her.

  In Kimberlie’s en suite bathroom, she heard giggles of delight echo from her daughter’s first bubble bath when she was two, saw an album of images flash in her mind of the different décor changes as Kimmie grew from a toddler, when they’d moved in, to now.

  Angela and Susan had helped her daughter decide what to keep and what to discard. Kimmie had insisted Chelsea be anywhere but there while this task was accomplished. She’d relented, understanding what it took, as well as took from a person, to disassemble one’s life.

  Her final check of the master bedroom was a different matter. More tears had been shed in that one room than any other in the house. Now, all p
hysical traces of her and Garrett’s presence were gone. It reminded her of grammar school days when she’d erase what she’d written on a page, only to still see the ghost lines reminding her of what she’d decided to change. Pale reminders of what she hadn’t considered good enough.

  Chelsea ran her hand along the oak railing as she walked slowly, step by step, down the stairs; memories flooded her mind. Each cabinet and drawer in the kitchen was opened and closed yet again. She checked the lock on the French doors then stood looking out. The bank would have to arrange for someone to take down the tent over the pool as soon as weather allowed. It was a relief of sorts that the pool remained covered, as though it obscured her vision of another lifetime that was best forgotten.

  How easy it was to want the impossible.

  Her cell phone rang. These days, only her parents and Angela dialed her number. Without checking who the caller was, she answered. The operator had to ask twice if she would accept a collect call from Luke Thompson. He hadn’t believed her before that it was over. This time she’d make it plain.

  “What do you want, Luke?”

  “It’s so good to hear your voice. I’ve wanted to call but was afraid to. How are you?”

  “What do you want?”

  “A chance to explain.”

  “I don’t want to hear it. There’s nothing you can say that can make up for what you did.”

  “I’m begging you—please forgive me.” When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Are you taking care of yourself?”

  Chelsea’s laugh was false. “Seems local authors were meant to play a role in my life. You. Dr. Moore.”

  “Doctor? Are you ill?”

  “She’s a therapist. Mine and Kimberlie’s. Dr. Moore thinks she can help us. My daughter wants nothing to do with me, because of what happened to her father. Because of us. Because of me she’s lost her father and now her home.”