| |
Burlington, October 21
8:01 a.m.
Clearly, we are not good. Heidi is looking for evidence of an affair.
I figured this would happen sooner or later, even without the help of my brain fart the other night.
My type of job is dangerous to a marriage. The days and weeks away from home can lead people to infidelity. Men, women, it doesn’t matter the sex. Once they get away from their spouses, they act like animals freed from their cages. I used to see it at business trade shows. Adults fawning over each other with a disgusting spring-break attitude. It’s a sign of the sexualized, self-absorbed culture we live in.
That reality no doubt planted the seed of suspicion in Heidi a long time ago. When I accidentally called her by another woman’s name, it only made that seed grow into the ugly mistrust I’m seeing now.
On Monday night, I left my cell phone charging on the kitchen counter. The next morning, I caught Heidi snooping through it. She never noticed me there in the doorway, watching her. I assume she was checking everything for this phantom mistress: emails, call history, text messages.
I thought about confronting her, about asking her why she was intruding on my privacy. Instead, I let it pass and quietly retreated to the bedroom before she spotted me. The girls didn’t need to see us arguing.
I hoped that would’ve put an end to it. Heidi didn’t find anything on my phone, and that would erase her suspicions. Nope, nothing like that. She’s been treating me like an unwelcome guest in the two days since. She avoids me when she can, barely speaks to me when she can’t.
Her cold shoulder pisses me off and fills me with deep resentment. I provide for her and the girls. I put the food on the table. I keep us in our nice home. One slip of the tongue doesn’t justify the kind of disrespect she’s giving me.
This morning, she took it one step further. She did something that just made my blood boil.
I’m a bit of a neat freak. You could say I border on OCD; the quack shrinks out there would say I already have it, full-blown.
My things must be neat and tidy. They must look right.
I hang my shirts by color. I shelve the books in my office alphabetically by author. I line up my shoes in the closet so the toes face out. And when I pile my paperwork into my briefcase, the edges of it must be in precise alignment. Not one sheet out of order. Certainly not the mess I found.
The time is 8:01. My flight leaves at nine. I’m cutting it close. The drive to the Hamilton airport takes roughly twenty-five minutes in light traffic. At this time of morning, the 403 could be congested.
As I rush through the house with my luggage, I notice Heidi in the living room, putting coats on the girls. Their bus will arrive in a few minutes.
I call out to them, “Girls, don’t leave without giving me a hug.”
Jade calls back, “We won’t, Daddy.”
I load my bags in the car and hit the remote to open the garage door. By the time I come back inside, Jade and Jaleesa are waiting at the front door. I chuckle to myself whenever I see Jade wearing her ladybug backpack. It’s nearly as big as she is.
Heidi is not with them. I find that odd because she always sees them off.
I give each girl a big hug.
Jade asks, “When will you be home, Daddy?”
“Monday, I hope.”
“Will you bring us back a present?”
I smile. “I always do, don’t I?”
“Yeah.”
Jaleesa says, “Can you not get us the same thing this time? I like different things than Jade.”
“What if I get something for Jade that you like more than what I get you?”
Jaleesa’s nose and forehead scrunch together, as if she’s unsure of how to answer. I find myself seeing more and more of her mother emerging from her personality every day.
Heidi’s voice sounds in the room, “Your father gets you girls the same things because he doesn’t want any hurt feelings or fighting between you.”
“We don’t fight, Mommy,” Jaleesa says.
“I know. And we want to keep it that way.”
I see the school bus stop in front of the house. The crossing arm swings out from the front.
“Bye, Mommy,” the girls shout as they head out the door. “Bye, Daddy.”
Heidi calls to them, “Have a good day at school.”
“Bye, girls,” I holler after her.
Heidi moves to the front window to watch them. I watch from the doorway as they board the bus. As the side door closes and the bus moves away, I look at my watch: 8:15. I need to hustle.
When I go into the kitchen to retrieve my briefcase from the counter, I pause. One of the latches is popped.
I feel a tingle sweep up the back of my neck and across my face. I pop the other latch and lift the lid of my briefcase to look inside. My paperwork is a mess.
I grind my teeth. Heat flushes through my body.
I close up my briefcase then carry it into the living room. Heidi remains at the window, facing out.
I try to lessen the bitterness in my voice as I say, “Was there something you were looking for?”
Heidi turns, crossing her arms. I indicate my briefcase, but it doesn’t change her calm facial expression.
She says, “You know my father had a mistress for seven years before my mother found out.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have a mistress.”
Heidi ignores me. “It nearly destroyed her. She was hurt, humiliated. Fifteen years of cooking for him, doing his laundry, cleaning the house, and raising the three of us. And he had the gall to call my mother a bitch. To blame the affair on her. Saying she drove him to it.”
I say nothing. I let her get whatever this is off her chest.
“She left him, of course. Like any good woman would. She was thirty-four at the time. My age. Still young enough to find a decent job and continue raising us without him.
“You might’ve noticed he never comes around to see the girls. Never remembers their birthdays or Christmas. That’s fine by me. He did the same to us after Mom left him. He hardly bothered with my brothers or me. Never paid the alimony he was ordered to. He was a selfish man. Only ever thought of himself. I think that’s why I hate him so much.
“I don’t want the girls to feel the same way about you.”
I let out a breath. “There is no mistress, Heidi. I’m not having an affair.”
“That scratch on your face got me thinking,” she says. “It’s not the first time you came home with one. Last year. Remember? The gash by your eye.”
I stare at her. I do remember. Arrowhead Provincial Park, up in Huntsville. His name was Yi Chen, a smallish Chinese man. He put up one hell of a fight. Nearly knocked us both into the water.
Heidi adds, “You said you broke up a scuffle between some guy and his girlfriend one night at a bar.”
I nod. “I did. At Moose Delaney’s.”
Heidi narrows her eyes. I can tell she’s searching her memory for the name of the bar I told her back then. Just toss some truthful details into a lie, and you won’t need a good memory.
Moose Delaney’s was a short five-minute walk from the inn where I stayed. The waitress told me they had the best wings in town. I must admit they were pretty tasty.
Heidi says, “You’ve come home different times with bruises. On your arms. Your legs. Your back. I never thought much about them at the time.”
“Hiking injuries,” I tell her. “They’re common. Sometimes I hit tree branches. Slip on loose rocks. Trip over a tree root I didn’t see. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen.”
Heidi gives me a silent look.
“What do you think is going on?” I ask.
She smirks. “Sure it isn’t rough sex?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ. Are you serious?”
“I don’t know.”
I glance at my watch again and wince. 8:26.
“I’m going to miss my flight,” I say, walking for the front door. “I can’t listen to this right now.”
“Better go.”
“I’ll call the girls tonight. We’ll talk then, if you want.”
I back the car out of the garage and hit the remote to close the door. As I pull into the street, I look over at the house. Heidi no longer stands at the front window.
I punch the gas and speed off, strangling the steering wheel with my grip. The drive to the airport is shadowed by Heidi’s accusations.
This problem lies with her, and her alone. I don’t care what her father did in the past, if it led to this jealousy over imagined infidelities. She can’t have any confidence in herself or our marriage to act like this.
Maybe my absence will clear things up with her. It better. I will not live under tension in my own home.
And I can’t risk her finding these journals.
Ever.
