The Anatomy of Cheating: A Novel

by Nesly Clerge

  “What about your house?”

  “No life insurance. No money in the account and none coming in. I’ve lost everything.”

  “God. I had no idea he wouldn’t … I never meant for this to happen. For you to be in this situation. This is my fault. But please understand, Chelsea. I did what I did because I love you and was afraid for you. I was wrong, but that’s why—”

  “Never contact me again.”

  Chelsea turned her phone off. And wished she could do the same with her thoughts. She finished the walk-through, closed and locked the front door, and dropped her key through the mail slot as the bank had instructed. Only they knew why that last insult was required. She was certain the locks would be changed by the end of the day.

  En route to her parents’ house, she made a U-turn. Dr. Moore’s warning about avoiding Penelope had to be ignored. It would be the last time she ever drove on that street, but she needed to do it. What she didn’t know was why. It wasn’t that she wanted to say anything to Penelope. Words were wasted on a woman like her.

  Chelsea turned onto the street and slowed her car. There was a For Rent sign in the front yard and an overflowing trash receptacle at the curb. Penelope’s next door neighbor was outside. She double parked and got out.

  “Mr. Green, you may not remember me.”

  “I may be old, but I’m not addled.”

  “Of course not.” She nodded toward Penelope’s house. “She’s moving?”

  “Moved. A week ago. Packed a U-haul and took off. Said she got a job offer in New York City. Must have had to start right away. She packed all night. Kept me awake. If I hadn’t gotten up to see what the racket was about, she probably wouldn’t have even told me she was going. Left most of her furniture. More like getting the heck outta Dodge, if you ask me. Didn’t leave a forwarding address, if you’re looking for one.”

  “That’s not a problem.” Chelsea shook his hand. “I need to get going. Thanks for the information.”

  She got into her car and started toward the home where she’d grown up. As to why Penelope chose New York City, if that was the truth, her guess was that there were lots of wealthy married or divorced men for Penelope to suck dry—literally and financially. The last thing she could imagine her former friend doing was getting an actual job again. And unless Penelope intended to continue her torment from a distance, perhaps the campaign against her was finally over.

  Not that there was anything left that could be taken from her.

  CHAPTER 168

  Her parents meant well. Chelsea understood that. They knew how difficult it would be for her to have to live with them, as well as how tension-filled it would be for Kimberlie’s first weekend visit at their house, since losing her own. Rather than deal with the anticipated silence between mother and daughter, and as a way to show her that not everyone was ready to reject her, they decided a rooftop party at their ranch house was just the thing.

  She’d tried to dissuade them then gave in when they said it would take the pressure off Kimberlie. Besides, they’d said, the weather would be pleasant enough, especially with the number of chimeneas they’d have going.

  Guests comprised of the Johnsons’ closest friends greeted her then fell into awkward silence. Chelsea directed them to the bar and buffet, each of them relieved not to have to search for something to say beyond Hello, nice to see you again. But they fawned over Kimberlie, for which she was grateful; watched her daughter move from being uncomfortable with the attention to warming to it. Absent, of course, was Garrett’s family.

  Chelsea took a bottle of beer with her to a far corner, away from the throng around the bar and food. She observed the guests, and tried to decide which was worse—being alone with no one around or alone when surrounded by others.

  Garrett had always enjoyed the rooftop parties. Often, he’d tend bar for a while because, as he’d said, it was a great way to talk to everyone. It was an opportunity to brag about his success and promote his practice. In the early days of their marriage, she’d enjoyed it as well. She’d been so proud of him—her handsome, suave husband who promised to be a shining star in his field. It was the one promise he’d kept.

  Then Garrett had begun to ignore her. Evidence he was cheating surfaced, but she chose not to say anything then. Instead, she had that disastrous affair with Eric. And later, the affair with Paulo, which she’d never told anyone about, including Penelope. Then Luke. How had she dared to judge Garrett?

  She focused her gaze on Kimberlie, who laughed at something someone said, laughed for the first time in more than two months. As though evidence that the bond between mother and daughter can exist even when damaged, Kimberlie looked at her then away. The laughter and any hint of a smile disappeared.

  The first paragraph of Dr. Moore’s chapter on the perils of infidelity came to mind:

  It may be only two people in bed, but everyone they know gets trapped in that web. All are ensnared in some measure. The closer the others are to the web’s center, the more certain they are to be consumed by the outcome.

  She’d never finished that chapter, or the book. She didn’t need to. She was living it.

  However, that was only one option.

  CHAPTER 169

  Throughout the weekend, conversations between Chelsea and Kimberlie were all but non-existent. With the exception of the party, Kimberlie ate her meals either in the den, where she watched television, or in the bedroom she used.

  Their rooms were next to each other, the walls thin enough for Chelsea to hear her daughter sobbing through most of the two nights spent at her grandparents’ house.

  Three somber adults sat around the table for breakfast Sunday morning. Janice soon abandoned her attempts to start or keep casual dialogue going.

  “I’ll take care of the dishes,” Chelsea said. “You and Dad get ready. I know Kimmie’s eager to get back to Susan’s.”

  Janice nodded. “We’ll take her back then go to church and the grocery store. We’ll be about three hours or so. You’ll be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine, Mom. Take longer, if you like. You and Dad need some time away from here.”

  “I wish you’d change your mind and come with us.”

  “Kimmie wouldn’t appreciate sharing such a small space with me, even for the time it takes to get to Susan’s house.”

  “You could follow in your car.”

  Chelsea shook her head. “I intend to rest.”

  “No denying you need it.”

  “More than you know.”

  Twenty minutes later, Chelsea hugged and kissed her parents. Yearned to do the same to Kimmie, who waited in the car with her face averted. She stood in the doorway until her father’s car was no longer visible.

  Dr. Moore had said she needed to be strong for Kimmie. Sometimes strength had to be demonstrated differently. Her presence—her very existence—only served to torture her daughter, who had a right to feel better, unencumbered by a mother she was too ashamed to know.

  She’d betrayed Kimmie as much as she had Garrett. Had she divorced Garrett and then gotten involved with Luke, it would have been different. Still painful, but everyone would be alive. Hindsight wasn’t worth a damn.

  Chelsea wandered from room to room, ran her hand over, around, and across favorite items. Lingered in front of family photos accumulated over the years.

  In Kimmie’s room, she picked up the pillow from the unmade bed and pressed it to her face, inhaling the scent of her child. She cradled the pillow in her arms, rocking from side to side, as she’d done so many years ago when Kimmie needed to be soothed. The pillow was replaced, the bed made.

  She went into her bedroom and felt around at the bottom of her purse. Garrett’s keys were still there. His car key, the original key to their house, and a third key, which had to be to his practice. She dropped the keys back into her purse and slung her purse strap over her shoulder.

  The engine turned over easily in her Toyota. She put the car in Drive and headed for Garre
tt’s practice.

  As expected, the parking lot was empty. No lights were on inside. She drove around to the back, where staff parked, and let herself inside the building. It had been years since she’d been there, but recalled the layout, which hadn’t changed.

  Someone else’s framed family photos rested on Garrett’s desk, but his certificates remained in their frames on the wall. She opened the middle desk drawer and searched for the key she needed. It was there, shoved all the way to the back.

  The door to the small room down the hall was locked. The building key, when tried, worked. Equipment and supplies were stored on slotted shelves positioned on the left side of the room. A metal cabinet that contained medications stood against the wall to the right. She unlocked the metal cabinet and searched the shelves until she found a large bottle marked Narco. How many of the class-four narcotic pills would it take to suppress her respiratory system, to turn out the light inside her that had diminished to less than a glimmer?

  She opened the bottle and emptied six pills into her hand. Returned the bottle to its place on the shelf, locked the cabinet and room, replaced the key in the middle drawer of Garrett’s former desk. The pills went into an envelope found on the receptionist’s desk, the envelope went into her purse. Chelsea locked the back door and started for her parents’ house.

  It seemed only right to end her life where it had begun.

  CHAPTER 170

  Chelsea checked the time on the dashboard clock. Her objective had been accomplished with time to spare. The drive back to her parents’ house occurred by rote, her mind on other matters.

  She let herself into the house. Put her purse in her room, taking the envelope with her. Went into Kimmie’s room, took the pillow from the bed. Took a favorite photo from the hallway wall of Garrett, three-year-old Kimmie, and her—all of them laughing, with their arms around each other. Took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and went up to the roof.

  One of the lounge chairs positioned under the arms of an oak tree would be the perfect place. She put the items on the end of the cushion and sat, much as she would have had her sole objective been to relax in the shade and fresh air.

  Chelsea leaned back with the photo in her hand and studied the faces captured in one moment in time. Kimberlie’s was awash in the joy every child the age of three should feel, secure in the arms of parents who adored her. Garrett’s expression revealed his arrogance, pride, love of life, and love for his daughter, even if his feelings toward his wife had lessened. Her own eyes couldn’t hide the disillusionment she’d felt then and would for years to come, despite the smile flashed for the camera.

  She’d stolen her daughter’s joy. Had robbed her of her father. And her home. She’d stripped Kimmie of security that should have been guaranteed. Had ended a measure of her innocence.

  So many endings. All caused by her.

  Chelsea downed the first pill, and the next, continuing until the envelope was empty. No need for a note. The photo would convey her final message well enough.

  Gaze fixed on her daughter’s image, Chelsea brought the pillow to her face, bending it so the photo remained in sight. How long it would take for the pills to work was unknown. But the last thing she’d see was Kimmie’s laughing eyes.

  Her daughter’s essence would fill her last breath.

  CHAPTER 171

  Her throat felt scorched. Chelsea opened her eyes and squinted against the harsh florescent lights overhead. Something stung in her left arm. She lifted her arm, saw the IV dripping saline into her system. This wasn’t right.

  The effort to sit up exhausted her. Faced with extraordinary weakness, she abandoned the attempt.

  Someone said in soothing tones, “Let me help you.”

  Dr. Moore got up from the foam-cushioned sofa and pressed the button on the upper bed railing to raise the head. She plumped the pillow behind Chelsea. “Better?”

  Chelsea’s voice rasped when she said, “My throat’s sore.”

  Dr. Moore poured water into a plastic cup, unwrapped and inserted a straw, which she held to Chelsea’s lips. “That’s from the tube used to pump your stomach. More?”

  Chelsea winced, shook her head, and rested back on the pillow.

  Dr. Moore placed the glass on the tray table, moved the table and sat on the bed. “Why didn’t you call me? If you’d reached the point of taking your life, why didn’t you contact me so I could help you?”

  “How did I get here?”

  “Lucky for you, your mother forgot her grocery list at home and insisted she had to have it. Your father found you and called an ambulance. You nearly died.”

  A spasm of despair flickered on Chelsea’s face. She looked away. “A failure even at death.”

  “For which many are relieved.”

  “I doubt that, but I know you’re obligated to say it.” Chelsea raised the head of the bed higher, reached for the glass of water, which Dr. Moore handed to her. She took a sip, grimacing as she swallowed. “Kimberlie went back to Susan’s house this morning, so she doesn’t need to find out about this. Make sure my parents don’t say anything. Promise me you won’t tell her when you see her at her next session.”

  “Aren’t you wondering how I knew to be here?”

  “Now that you mention it.”

  “First, you need to know this isn’t Sunday. That was three days ago. I found out what you’d done when your mother called me this morning. Kimberlie was—is—distraught, as you might imagine. She refused to leave here. Refused to eat or sleep. Your mother begged me to come here and talk with her. I finally got Kimberlie to go home with your parents an hour ago by promising to sit with you until they return, in case you woke up.”

  Chelsea squeezed her eyes closed and ignored the tears. “I keep hurting my daughter.”

  “Then you need to stop it.”

  “That’s what I was trying to do.”

  “The mistake people make, unless they’re terminal, is to believe they want to end their life, when what they actually want to end is emotional pain. You owe it to Kimberlie to do better than this. You owe it to Garrett to live for the sake of your daughter. Not to mention your parents, who are also beside themselves. You can’t continue to be this selfish.”

  Chelsea pulled a tissue from the box on the tray table and pressed it to her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Causing everyone who loves you to be shattered by your choice of action is nothing but selfish. Your pain may have been over had you’d succeeded in ending your life, but theirs would never have left them. Your daughter is overwhelmed with guilt, as are your parents.”

  “I need to see her.”

  “She’s coming back in about an hour or so. Said she’d only go to your parents’ house to shower and eat, but not to stay there overnight.”

  “I want to see her, but I’m afraid.”

  “So is she. Afraid you won’t forgive her. But, before she does return, there’s something I need to give to you.” Dr. Moore retrieved an envelope from her purse.

  “If that’s your bill, I don’t have any money on me.”

  “Humor. I’ll take that as a good sign. However, it’s a letter from Luke Thompson. He learned about me from you, apparently, and was sure you’d tear his letter up without reading it. So, he sent it to me.”

  “He’s right. I’m not interested. I told him never to contact me. I didn’t think I needed to be more specific.”

  “He begs your forgiveness. I believe he’s sincere. I think you’d benefit by reading it.”

  “I don’t care, and I don’t want to hear anymore about it.”

  “Maybe not now. But at some point, you’ll need to forgive him so you don’t carry this burden forever, even if you never tell him. You also need to forgive yourself, so you can put what’s happened behind you and move on.”

  “Easy to say.”

  “Anything negative from our past will always be too heavy to carry with us into our future. Our hurts accumulate, and the burde
n becomes intolerable. We trap ourselves into believing we’re obligated to carry them. We’re not. What we must do is—”

  The door flung open. Kimberlie hurried in and stopped, her gaze fixed on Chelsea. Dr. Moore slipped the envelope into her purse.

  Chelsea swallowed hard. “Kimmie. I’m so sorry.”

  Kimberlie, sobbing, ran to the bed and flung her arms around Chelsea’s neck. “Mommy.”

  CHAPTER 172

  After a few more tearful episodes and apologies and catching up as Kimberlie snuggled next to Chelsea in the bed, her daughter had finally agreed to go to her grandparents’ house and get some sleep. Janice and Paul’s relief regarding their daughter and grand daughter was evident, as was their exhaustion. Chelsea slept, but not well.

  She took the last bite of oatmeal she could tolerate—the only thing on her breakfast tray that didn’t irritate her throat. Someone knocked on her door. She called out “Come in” as loudly as she was able. Unsure that whoever was there had heard her, she started to say it again when Theresa Hall entered the room, followed by Thomas.

  “May we come in?”

  “Of course. Please.” Chelsea pulled the bed covers a few inches higher.

  Thomas cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. There’s talk of releasing me tomorrow.”

  “Excellent.” Thomas took a seat on the sofa, folded his arms and nodded at his wife.

  Theresa stayed near the end of the bed, wringing the straps of her purse. “Funny how asking a person for forgiveness can sound so trite at times, but I hope you’ll consider it. Please forgive me, Chelsea.”

  Chelsea moved the tray table to the side. “I know something about that. Won’t you sit? You look uncomfortable.”

  Theresa placed her purse on the foot of the bed. “I am uncomfortable. Because of how I treated you. After reflecting on my behavior at the funeral home, and the many weeks that followed, I’m appalled. I never imagined I’d ever treat anyone in that manner, especially not … Can you even still think of me as family after what I’ve done?”