For one week now, my husband had been the perfect husband. Yet, for the first time in our marriage, I had suspected him of cheating on multiple occasions, with multiple women. Even last night, I wondered about that move he made. Maybe, just maybe, Greg did have an affair and then realized what he was giving up. Perhaps he had realized the error of his ways and was trying to make amends for his indiscretion. If he wanted to get things back on track, maybe I should let him. It was certainly better than a divorce, resulting in splitting Ava between the two of us. It was better than marriage counseling too. Wasn’t the main goal to keep my marriage? Yes, it was.
I smiled at my handsome husband. “I’m glad to hear it. We’ve been missing you.”
◆◆◆
After our little family went to church and dined out for lunch, both with my mother, the afternoon hours were spent painting Ava’s wall. First one coat, then once it dried, the second coat. It looked good. It really did.
“Can we go shopping now? I want a new bedspread and new pillows and new curtains,” Ava whined.
Greg smiled at Ava and wiped a yellow paint smudge from her nose. “You did good helping us,” he praised. “I think a reward is in order.”
“You’re spoiling your daughter,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, I want to.” He pulled me up next to him. “I want to spoil my wife, too.”
After returning home with several sacks, we stripped Ava’s bed, added the new linens and pillows and switched out the curtains.
“Where does this go?” Ava said as we rearranged some of the items in her room. “It needs to be in the perfect spot. A place of prominence.” We were both watching as she carried her interesting rock from one spot to the other. Greg elbowed me and I stifled a laugh. We were both fighting hard to keep composure as our daughter first placed it on her desk, then her nightstand, and finally on her dresser directly across from her bed. “There, now it’s the first thing I’ll see in the morning, and the last thing each night.”
We all stood back to take in the results. “Well, Ava, what do you think?” Greg asked watching his daughter’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree.
“I love it. I feel so grown up.” Of course, she still had her toys and stuffed animals in the room. But she had parted with all the frilly pink and Greg had removed the canopy from the bed, making it a simple four poster instead. It was a step toward my baby girl growing up, which broke my heart.
While I cooked dinner, my childish husband and grown-up daughter played a game of chase. Greg had just come running down the stairs and into the kitchen and tried to hide behind me.
Ava ran after him, poking her head into view and then Greg took out after her with a goofy grin on his face. “I’m going to get you.”
Ava squealed and picked up her pace.
While my heart exploded with warmth, I chuckled at my offspring’s over-excitement.
Once dinner was over, we played Old Maid, another of Ava’s favorites. After tucking Ava in bed together and telling her goodnight, we went straight to the bedroom. We ended up in the romantic throes of yet another night of passion. When I dozed off to sleep, I realized everything was perfect. I don’t know why I ever fretted in the first place.
CHAPTER NINE
(Monday - One Day Before)
That morning when Ava came down for breakfast, Greg pulled a faced and Ava made a face. Laughter followed and then he pulled Ava to him and placed a light butterfly kiss on her forehead. My daughter giggled and smacked a kiss on her daddy’s cheek. I chuckled at my two children.
“I love you Daddy. Thank you for doing my room.” She tossed her gaze to me. “Thank you too, Momma.”
“You’re welcome,” we told her at the same time.
While Ava was brushing her teeth, and before Greg left for work, he pulled me aside and whispered, “I know your mom kept Ava quite a bit last week, but do you think we could prevail upon her again tonight? I’d very much like to take you out to a nice dinner.” My heart exploded ... until. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s serious. I’ve put it off for a long time. But keeping it buried is killing me.”
My heart had dropped into my stomach. I could already imagine what his secret was. I didn’t want to hear it. Not if we were fine now. But apparently Greg needed to purge. “Okay, I’ll call and find out.” My face was tightened with worry, wondering if I had everything wrong and he was going to tell me it was over. That last week was like a goodbye for him. What if he asked for a divorce?
“Well, call and let me know. But Emily, I have a particularly important meeting this morning, so please don’t phone me until after one.”
“Okay.” As I watched him leave through the garage, I wondered if his important meeting was with his lover to tell her he was ending his marriage today and would soon be totally devoted to her.
It took a mountain of composure to act as if nothing was wrong when I took Ava to school. On the way, I called my mom about picking up Ava.
“Well, of course I can. Is she spending the night, or is this just so you two can go out to dinner?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask. I’ll find out.”
“I guess it really doesn’t matter, one way or the other. Just let me know whenever you find out.”
“Okay, thanks Mom. I appreciate it.”
“Think nothing of it. I’m just tickled pink about you two going through another lovebird stage.”
“Yeah, me too,” I fibbed, thinking Ava would probably be spending the night because Greg planned on coming home to pack his bags. In that moment, I thought about our mortgage. I wouldn’t be able to afford this place on my own. Would Greg stay in the house and I’d be the one to pack my bags?
As I drove home, all I could think of was who was she? Who was the skank that was going to ruin my marriage? I wanted to know. Maybe I’d go rip her head off. It might make me feel better. Yes, I knew it would make me feel better.
The second I stepped into the house, I bounded up the stairs and into our bedroom. Finding myself at a pivotal point in my marital relationship, I reduced myself to someone I no longer recognized. Someone who resorted to the lowest means possible and did things I’d never considered before, or even thought was necessary for that matter. While it felt desperate and devious, if Greg was ending our marriage tonight, I wanted to discover the slut’s identity before Greg slapped me in the face with it. With a dedicated mission in mind, I wasn’t leaving a single thing unturned. If Greg was cheating on me, I wanted to know who I was up against. If there was a shred of evidence in this house, I would find it.
Going on an all-out scavenger hunt, I searched through Greg’s clothing, rifling through every shirt and trouser pocket, including the jackets from his suits. I dug in every single sock and turned his underwear drawer upside down. Next, I scrounged through his nightstand, his closet shelves and even tipped every shoe to make sure nothing was hidden in one of them. There wasn’t a box or drawer left untouched. I peered under the bed and beneath every piece of furniture. The mattress was lifted, and the dresser and armoire were both pulled out. I went through the medicine cabinet, the linen closet and our guest’ bedroom. Not finding one damn thing upstairs, I continued my methodical search downstairs, beginning in his study. It took me a while but, in the end, I had looked in every nook and cranny, under every cushion and behind every piece of furniture. I even thoroughly scrutinized the garage. In the end, there was no smell of perfume, no lipstick on the collar, and no secret love note hidden in a pocket. There wasn’t a matchbook from a hotel, an odd business card, or a randomly written number on a slice of paper. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. My only regret was, not having done this sooner. If I would’ve planned more properly, I could’ve included a search of his wallet and phone. Stupid me.
◆◆◆
Exhausted and dehydrated from my efforts, I took a break for a glass of tea. As I sat dumbfounded in one of my new chairs, I jumped from my skin when the kettle screamed with a piercing noise. Flick
ing off the burner and dropping in a tea bag, the whistle slowly faded away and died into nothingness. The silence was next interrupted by the grinding from the ice maker as I filled a glass and poured the hot tea over the crackling cubes.
Back at the table, I sipped my herbal lemon and stared into nothingness. For a few seconds, ones that seemed like long minutes, I felt defeated and asked myself if I did enough to try and make my marriage work. Did I do all I could, or could I have applied myself more? Prior to a week ago, it had never occurred to me for Greg to be unhappy in our marriage. Though I had worked exceedingly hard this last week to regain Greg’s attention, apparently it was too little, too late.
Tears rolled down my cheeks, imagining a life without him. He had been the one special person I envisaged spending my lifetime with. Foolishly I had thought he was the perfect soul mate, even to the point I didn’t know where I ended, and where he began. Without question, I had unconditionally loved him. Even after years of marriage, he still caused my heart to skip beats when I saw his handsome face drawing near mine and his soft lips kissing me. It was hard to comprehend his feelings for me had died away like the church bells and the kettle’s whistle. When did our universe cease to run parallel to each other? When had he stopped being my other half? For one week now, he had placated me with words I wanted to hear. My two favorite girls, he had said, along with countless I love you’s. My heart had swallowed his bullshit, grasped at straws and held tight to the fantasy that everything was perfectly fine, even to the point I had overlooked his lies about Taylor Anderson being a man and his working when he was supposed to be playing racquetball. The betrayal was overwhelming, yet I hadn’t had the strength to face it. Even more humiliating, I didn’t want to lose my husband. I wanted his love for me to prevail and for him to realize that he hadn’t found someone he wanted more than me. Tonight, I wanted to beg Greg for another chance, convince him not to leave. Divorce couldn’t be an option. My marriage had given me a sense of purpose. If I weren’t married to Greg, my identity would be shattered.
In my moment of disparaging weakness, I felt the desperate need to hear Greg’s voice. While we had a mutual understanding with respect to casual, unnecessary work calls being prohibited, I simply couldn’t resist pulling out my phone and placing an impromptu call to him. It was before one o’clock. If he was in a meeting, I shouldn’t be calling. But part of me wanted to see if I could tell if he was with his lover. Of course, my brain wasn’t thinking because he was most certainly with Taylor Anderson, his coworker. Wasn’t she his lover? Or maybe he was with Lisa Jacobs.
After repeated rings left unanswered, my call was sent to voice mail. I was just about to leave a message when my phone chirped showing Greg was returning my call.
“Hello,” I answered, hurriedly disconnecting from voice mail and switching to the incoming call.
“Emily, is everything okay?” Greg answered in an elevated worried tone.
“Yes, everything is fine,” I answered, holding my breath and straining to hear every single sound in the background.
Naturally, and considering Ava’s meltdown yesterday, my early, unwarranted call had alarmed him to possible bad news. For a couple of seconds, I heard Greg’s muffled voice as he said something to someone else. A female voice responded. Who was he talking to? God, was it his lover? A shuffling noise followed and then the closing of a door. His throat cleared and then his voice dropped into the receiver again. “I specifically told you not to call until after one. If nothing is wrong, why are you calling?” His voice was clipped with a heavy tone of irritation. “I told you I would be in a meeting and to refrain from calling until after one,” he reiterated.
“I’m sorry. My mother wanted to know if Ava would be spending the night. And too, I wanted to see what time and where you wanted to meet tonight.” God, I sounded pathetic, desperate, clingy, and like I was checking up on my husband. Of course, I was guilty on all four of those counts. I’m sure other adjectives could be added to worsen my pitiful behavior.
“Jesus, you called me for that, and at a time I told you not to?” Now his angry tone had become excessively stern. “Look, Emily, I’m still in my meeting. When I saw your call coming in, for certain I thought something awful had happened, especially considering what happened with Ava yesterday. Immediately I made an excuse to run out and return your call. I can’t believe you called only to check on dinner tonight.” There was a fractional pause, then the sound of a harsh intake of breath. “I’ll call you later today ... when I’m out of my meeting.” Then there was a click.
◆◆◆
It was hours and hours later and Greg hadn’t called me back. The day had worn away to the point it felt as if Greg had blown me off and dinner was no longer on the agenda. Then again, did I really want to accept his invitation? As I thought about the venue, it seemed he had purposely planned on telling me of his lover in a public setting. Perhaps he thought I would react more civilly in a social environment. I wondered if, after he broke the news to me, he was even planning on returning home. Would he go straight to his lover’s house? He had the perfect plan ... hit me with the news at a time when I wouldn’t cause a scene, and then leave. I’d be faced going home alone where I could cry to my heart’s content because Ava would be with my mother. A chicken-shit breakup was what it was.
My stomach had been butterflying all day. In an attempt at calming myself, I had taken some chamomile tea onto the back patio. Seated in a lounge chair, I watched light fluffy clouds drift across the pale blue sky. Then my attention was captured by a bluebird flitting from one bush to the other. Gazing at the lush St. Augustine grass and brilliant white begonias, I reflected on how hard Greg and I had worked on this yard to provide our little family with a nice place to have a barbecue and spend a relaxing evening. With Greg having started his job at the first of the year, we hadn’t grilled out since late last September. At the time, it never occurred to me that it was the last.
The music tone from my phone told me Greg was calling. “Hello,” I answered.
“Emily, I’m sorry about being so gruff earlier today. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. It simply scared me. That’s all.” He waited a beat. “I have six o’clock reservations at Saint-Emilion.”
It took me a moment to find my voice. “Okay, shall I have Ava stay the night with my mother?” Met with an extended silence, I thought the call had been dropped. “Greg?”
“Yes, I think it will be best if she stays the night. I’ll see you there.”
In other words, it would be best if I had time to collect my emotions before my daughter saw me having a breakdown.
◆◆◆
Dressed in one of the expensive designer dresses and shouldering the over-priced handbag, I entered the small French restaurant. The maître d’ led me to a white, linen-covered table overlooking a quaint garden. A soft French melody played in the background and a lit candle danced on the tabletop, making the ambiance refined and sophisticated. Looking around the small room, there were several elegantly dressed patrons, everyone speaking in subdued, reserved voices. My arrival was before Greg’s and I wondered if he had the nerve to face me, or if he would stand me up.
My answer came only a few moments later when I saw him entering the restaurant. Out of courtesy, I waved to him from across the room. When he saw me, he flashed his megawatt smile and glided toward me as if there was no glooming topic awaiting the evening’s discussion.
Mesmerized by his handsome good looks, it was a while before I was able to tear my gaze away. He walked with confidence to the table, smiled down at me and then took a moment to remove his suit jacket and place it on the chair, carefully adjusting it and smoothing out any possible folds.
“Emily,” he greeted, tipping forward to kiss me as if he still loved me. Our lips brushed lightly against each other and then he seated himself opposite me.
“This place is lovely,” I commented, if for nothing more than to break the ice.
“Yes, I’ve heard t
he food is delicious,” he responded, adjusting his chair. The waiter presented two menus and filled goblets with sparkling water. Greg unrolled his cloth napkin and spread it over his lap. Then he busied himself by neatly aligning his cutlery next to his plate. Taking a sip from the glass of wine I had ordered, his gaze returned to mine. “And I wanted to spoil my lovely wife.”
Instinctively, a grateful smile flashed across my face. Then I remembered why we were here. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” I asked. The way I saw it, there wasn’t any need for spending two or three hundred dollars on a meal, only to throw it up later.
“Let’s eat first,” he suggested, pulling his menu to his face.
Reluctantly, I followed suit and perused the selections. When I chose only a salad, Greg said, “No way. Don’t think of the prices. I’ll tell you what, let me order for you.”
When the waiter came, he directed his focus to the menu and called out, “We’ll each have an order of the escargot.” This had always been a favorite appetizer with us. “The lovely lady will be having the salade grecque and I’ll have a house salad with house dressing on the side.”
The salad he ordered for me was all I was planning on eating. It consisted of watermelon and cucumbers, Greek feta, avocado, sliced shallots, mint leaves, lemon juice and oregano dressing. When it was served, it was as tasty as I had imagined, despite impending doom in the forecast.
As an entrée, Greg selected the entrecôte café de Paris, which was a fancy name for a rib eye and fries. For me, he chose the vendredi & samedi, meaning lamb chops, which was one of my all-time favorite dishes. He knew me so well.
Small talk had accompanied our meal and I was under the impression Greg was trying to work up his nerve to get to the crux of the conversation. We had talked about Ava’s room remodel, my car needed an oil change, and he wondered if rain was in the forecast for the weekend. We discussed anything and everything, except the main thing.
The Hotel Page 11
