by Jason Starr
All the whispering stopped, but the crying and sniffling continued as the funeral began. It was clear that the funeral director, an older bearded man who could have competed in an Abe Lincoln look-alike contest, had never met Tom and was speaking from information he’d been given. He did a good job of making it seem like he actually knew Tom and comforting the family, even if the whole eulogy had a depressingly detached vibe. The immediate family, especially the kids, were visibly upset, crying loudly throughout. Simon was teary eyed too. The poor kids had lost their father, and Simon couldn’t help imagining his own funeral someday with Jeremy sitting there crying. He couldn’t wait to go home and give Jeremy a big tight hug.
Then Simon noticed a woman seated toward the back of the chapel who seemed particularly upset, sobbing and even wailing once or twice. She was attractive, in her midforties, with short blond hair, and it struck Simon as odd that she was acting as emotionally as the family. Then it all clicked: maybe six months ago, in the men’s room at S&O, Simon washing his hands, overhearing Tom telling Greg in accounting about a woman he’d been “fooling around with lately.” Simon assumed the distraught woman in the back had been Tom’s lover.
The funeral director invited Tom’s wife up to the podium, but she was too distraught to speak. When his daughter spoke and said, “My daddy didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this,” practically everyone in the audience was crying.
Finally the funeral director invited everyone to come to the cemetery for the burial. Simon planned to slip away, but in case anyone asked he had a built-in excuse—he had to get back to the city to take over child care duties.
As everyone was exiting the chapel, Mark said to Simon, “Brutal, huh?”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “Very.”
Mark looked around, then whispered,“I hear his wife has been taking it really hard. She even had to be hospitalized. Has a congenital heart murmur, or some kind of heart condition, and they were worried she might have a heart attack or something. At least she made it here, but man.”
Simon shook his head sympathetically.
Mark continued, whispering, “It’s one thing to lose someone you love, but all the mystery has to make it worse. I mean, they haven’t even found the wolf yet.”
“Wolf?” Simon asked.
“You didn’t hear?” Mark said. “Yeah, now they’re saying a wolf did it. There’s a preserve or something nearby, and the cops or wildlife commission or whatever have been searching, but apparently they haven’t found anything yet.... Oh, and they found a carcass of a deer. They think the wolf killed the deer too. Are you okay, man?”
Simon was going for an appropriately baffled, sympathetic reaction, but apparently he wasn’t pulling it off. He said, “Fine, yeah. It’s just all so . . . shocking.”
“Yeah, I know it is, isn’t it?” Mark said. “Every time I think about it, I’m like, the guy was killed by a wolf in his own backyard? I’m like, you’ve gotta be kidding me. You sure you’re okay?” Mark said. “You seem, I don’t know, kind of, like, pale?”
“I’m probably just thirsty, I haven’t had lunch and I was up early.” Simon realized he was babbling. “Excuse me a sec.”
He slipped away and went to the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water, trying to settle down. Coming here had been a horrible idea; what had he been thinking? If he really wanted to forget about what had happened to him that night, he had to put it all behind him, instead of continuing to confront it.
After a few minutes he felt a little better. He just wanted to get home—eat some steak, go for a long run, play with his son, make love to his wife. Life was good now, and he wanted to appreciate every second of it.
When he left the bathroom Tom’s wife was right there, a few feet away, being consoled by a couple. She looked distraught and weak, with noticeable dark circles under her eyes. Simon felt he should say something, so he said, “Excuse me. JoAnne?”
Tom’s wife looked at him as if he were a stranger.
“Simon Burns . . . from S&O. I worked . . . well, used to work with your husband.”
She continued to appear baffled, then said, “Oh, thank you, and thank you so much for coming.”
Simon suspected she still didn’t know who he was—they’d met only a few times and she probably didn’t recognize him out of context. He said, “I just want you to know how sorry I am. Your husband was a great, great man.”
Okay, so he was exaggerating . . . a lot . . . but the whole point of being here was to comfort the family, wasn’t it? And it was obvious that JoAnne appreciated his thoughts. She hugged him tightly, as if she didn’t want to let go, and said, “Thank you . . . thank you so much.”
As he was hugging her, he made eye contact for the first time with the guy who’d been giving her his condolences before he came over. The guy was middle-aged and overweight, and he had an air of arrogance that rich, entitled people have. He was looking at Simon inquisitively.
“How do I know you?” the guy asked.
Simon and JoAnne ended their long embrace, and another couple came over to offer condolences to her.
Simon had never seen the guy before in his life. He said, “I’m a colleague of Tom’s.”
“You live in the area?” the guy asked.
“No,” Simon said.
“Oh, I thought I might know you from the country club or something. You look really familiar, I don’t know why.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Alan. Alan Freedman.”
Simon shook his hand. “Simon Burns.”
The guy was still staring at him, and it was starting to make Simon uncomfortable.
“Simon Burns,” Alan said, squinting. “Nope, that doesn’t ring a bell. But you really do look familiar. I know I’ve seen you somewhere.”
“I guess it’s just one of those things,” Simon said. “Well, it was nice to meet you.”
Simon walked away. When he got to the front of the room, he looked back and saw Alan was still watching him. Simon forced a smile and then noticed that Mark and Jennifer were distracted, in midconversation, so he slipped outside. He’d gotten a business card from the cabdriver who’d brought him here, and he was punching the numbers into his cell when he heard, “Not going to the cemetery?”
Still on edge after the weird interaction with Alan Freedman, Simon felt a jolt in his chest, and then he looked back and saw Paul Kramer. Paul was oozing cockiness and half-smiling, which seemed especially inappropriate considering the setting and circumstances. Come to think of it, he didn’t seem nearly as upset as he should’ve been during the funeral itself. Simon couldn’t help wondering if it was because with Tom out of the way, Paul suddenly had his eyes on another promotion. Simon wouldn’t put it past Paul, who had proved himself many times over to be a slimy opportunist.
“Yeah, I have to take care of my son this afternoon,” Simon said.
“Oh, okay, that makes sense,” Paul said, still half-smiling. “Just thought if you came all the way out here you’d go for the full monty, but if you have to get back to the city I’m sure the family understands. By the way, do you even know the family?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just surprised you’re here at all. I didn’t know you and Tom were close. Actually, I thought you hated him . . . I mean after what transpired and all.”
His smirk had morphed into a full smile.
“Hated him?” Simon realized he was talking too loud and said in a lower voice, “Why would I hate him?”
“Well, numero uno because he canned you.”
If they’d had this conversation last month, in the office, Simon might’ve been intimidated. After all, in office conflicts Simon hadn’t exactly been an aggressive go-getter. His lack of a cutthroat demeanor had definitely hampered his climb up the corporate ladder and had probably ultimately cost him his job. Guys like Paul, who were willing to bully and backstab their way to the top, fared much better in the business world than guys like Simon, who shied away from aggression.
&n
bsp; But now Simon noticed something strange. He wasn’t backing down from Paul at all. Instead, he was holding his ground. Beyond holding his ground. He was the aggressor, taking control.
He took a couple of steps toward Paul, his chest slightly expanded, and said, “I came because I worked with the guy for seven years, and because I wanted to pay my respects to the family.”
It was obvious that Paul sensed that this was a different Simon Burns, a Simon Burns he couldn’t push around the way he used to. The smile was gone. Did he even look a little fearful?
“Oh, okay,” Paul said. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“I’m not surprised,” Simon said, taking another step toward Paul, enjoying the way he was suddenly able to intimidate him. “It makes sense that you’re here, especially since Andy Wallace is here.”
“What . . . what do you mean?” Paul asked.
“Come on, it’s so obvious,” Simon said. “You want Tom’s job now. You couldn’t even wait for his body to get cold before you started campaigning, could you?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I bet you’ve been dropping hints to Andy every day. Maybe I should have a talk with him myself. Tell him that you told me you want Tom’s job.”
Simon started toward the chapel, but Paul cut in front of him and said, “Just chill, okay? Just chill.”
Simon glared at Paul menacingly, like a bully on a playground. Paul was clearly frightened; it almost seemed as if he were on the verge of tears. Finally Paul said, “I should go,” and headed back inside.
Simon called after him, “Oh, and by the way . . .”
Paul stopped and looked back. He was practically trembling.
“I think you’re a freakin’ loser too,” Simon said.
Paul’s stunned expression was priceless.
SIXTEEN
Alison was enjoying her day off work with Jeremy. In the morning they went to a story hour at the New York Public Library on Eighty-first and Amsterdam, and then Jeremy wanted to go play with his new friends downtown.
“Pleeeeeeaaase,” he begged, frowning adorably.
The cuteness was almost unbearable, but Alison said, “No, that’s what you and Daddy do together. We’ll do something else today.”
So they went to the playground in Central Park, near Ninety-sixth. There happened to be a kid, Miguel, he knew from a gymnastics class he’d taken last year. Miguel’s mother wasn’t there—his nanny had taken him to the playground—so Alison sat on a bench, playing Sudoku on her iPhone for a while, and then her sister called.
Alison explained that she’d taken a day off work so Simon could attend his ex-boss’s funeral, and then Lauren asked how things were going with Simon.
“I have to say,” Alison said, “amazingly well.”
She described how Simon seemed to be making “a serious effort to change,” and how it was like she had “a brand-new husband.”
When Alison was through raving, there was silence on the line. Thinking the call had been dropped, she asked, “Are you still there?”
“I’m here, I’m here,” Lauren said.
“Uh-oh, what’s wrong?” Alison said, but she knew her sister was going to get on her case about Simon again.
“You tell me,” Lauren said.
“Okay, let’s not get into that again.”
“I’m sorry, I’m just very dubious. In a marriage, when something seems too good to be true, it usually is.”
If anyone else had told her this, Alison probably would have blown off the advice. But it wasn’t like Lauren to butt into someone else’s personal business. She’d always been the logical, levelheaded one in the family. Alison was the one who tended to make emotional decisions, and if Lauren felt that something wasn’t right, Alison couldn’t ignore the possibility that she could be on to something.
“I totally get what you’re saying,” Alison said, “but the idea of him actually cheating on me seems so remote.”
“Okay, I’m going to ask you a question,” Lauren said, “and I want your honest answer. Don’t even think about it, just answer from your gut. Ready?”
“Ready.”
After a dramatic pause, Lauren asked, “Do you think Simon’s hiding something from you?”
“Yes,” Alison said, with no hesitation.
“ ’Nuff said,” Lauren said.
Alison let out the deep breath she’d taken. “So what am I supposed to do, confront him about it?”
“No, I wouldn’t do that,” Lauren said. “You don’t want to cause drama if you don’t have to. Maybe you could, I don’t know, find some evidence?”
“Evidence? You want me to hire a detective?”
“It doesn’t have to be that drastic, but you can do a little snooping yourself. Can you check his cell phone?”
“He always has it with him.”
“Always?”
“Usually.”
“What you have to ask yourself,” Lauren said, “is do you want to find out sooner or later? Take it from somebody who lived with a cheating husband for four years—sooner beats the hell out of later.”
Alison knew her sister was right. Something strange was definitely going on, and she knew that if she let this drag on and then found out about an affair a month from now, or a year from now, she’d kick herself for not acting sooner.
Back at the apartment, when Jeremy went down for his nap, she went online with Internet Explorer and checked the cache of sites Simon had visited lately. As she scrolled through his recent Google searches, she tried to brace herself for the worst—searches for hotels, sex toys, lingerie, or some other evidence of an affair. At the same time she knew that there was no way to actually prepare for the humiliation she’d feel if her suspicions were confirmed.
She didn’t find anything unusual, though. He’d been to eBay, The Street.com, and the New Jersey Transit website, and he’d done several searches for news stories about his ex-boss’s death. Suddenly she felt extremely guilty for checking up on him. If a marriage was about trust, then in a way she felt like she was the betrayer.
She logged off and busied herself with housework—dusting and vacuuming. She was trying to forget about the whole situation, but she kept hearing her sister’s voice: If something in your marriage seems too good to be true, it probably is. Though she still felt bad about distrusting Simon, she reminded herself that she wasn’t the one who’d brought this on. She wasn’t naturally paranoid. Until very recently, the idea of Simon cheating on her wouldn’t have even occurred to her. He was the one who’d caused all this with his weird behavior, and she had good reason to be suspicious.
Alison shut off the vacuum and went back online and did a search: “signs husband cheating.” As she scanned the results, she became even more convinced that her paranoia was justified. Many of the sites warned that one of the most telltale signs that your husband is cheating is when his behavior changes. Lately Simon’s behavior hadn’t changed—it had changed drastically. Another major sign of trouble was if he suddenly becomes overly concerned about his appearance. She remembered that night he’d gone out with his friends when this had all started, when he was stressing about what to wear, trying on multiple outfits. She’d even made that quip about him having a date. At the time, she didn’t seriously think he was going out to meet a woman, but what if he was? Maybe he’d been at some woman’s apartment, some babysitter he’d met at the playground, and she’d been stupid enough to believe that he’d gotten drunk and crashed at his friend’s brewery.
She heard a key turning in the lock, and then the front door opened. She X’d the browsing window as Simon entered.
“Hey,” he said enthusiastically.
“Hi,” she said, purposely subdued. “I didn’t expect you home so soon. I thought you were going to be home closer to dinnertime.”
“Yeah, I thought so too,” Simon said. “I went to the service, but I decided not to go out to the cemetery.”
“Really? How come?”
&nb
sp; “I paid my respects to his wife, and I thought that was enough. Besides, I missed you guys.”
She was still sitting at the computer. He hugged her from behind and kissed the back of her neck. What was up with the way he was biting her so much lately? Kissing her hello at all was unusual behavior too—well, unusual before last Saturday. She tensed while he kissed her, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Missed us?” she asked. “You were only gone a few hours.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, “but the funeral was so sad, seeing the family so upset. It made me appreciate what I have.... Mmmm, you smell so amazing. Is Jeremy napping?”
“Yeah, but he should be up in a few minutes.” Actually she expected his nap to last for at least another half hour, but she knew what he was hinting at.
Sure enough, he asked, “How about a quickie?”
She wondered, Did he really go to the funeral? Maybe he’d been screwing his girlfriend all afternoon and this was just more of his lies.
He kissed her again and she got up very suddenly, as if the chair had given her an electric shock, and said, “No, not now.”
Picking up on her abruptness, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I have to finish cleaning,” she said, and resumed vacuuming.
Simon didn’t push it.
When Jeremy woke up from his nap, Simon took him to the park to play soccer. Why did Simon want to run around the park so much lately? Who was he getting in shape for?
After soccer, Jeremy looked exhausted, as if he’d been running around nonstop, but Simon, with his unbridled energy, announced he was going out for a run in the park and to start eating without him. Alison couldn’t help imagining that he was planning to go to his lover’s place for a booty call. Maybe she lived in the neighborhood, around the corner. Maybe every time he came back sweaty from his runs, he’d really been with her. If he couldn’t get some from his wife, he went out to get it elsewhere. Suddenly it seemed so obvious that he was cheating on her; she couldn’t believe she’d been so oblivious.
