Ghost on the Wind

After dinner I asked Karen to sit with me in the living room and I told her everything that was on my mind. Well, I told her most of it. I kept a few secrets. "Sweetheart, I'm very troubled. I don't think you've been completely honest with me about this writer's workshop. I overheard you talking about it with your writer's group back in March, but you never told me about it until you already had plans to go. I even heard you talking about how all great writers have affairs and I confess I didn't think that was very funny. You've been talking with Frank about your trip, but when I ask about it you lie to me and tell me it's someone else. You know how I feel about that snake! Then when you told me you were accepted, you seemed to very deliberately push me away and discourage me from joining you. I don't need to be there, but I wanted to join you in this big adventure. Then rather than consider bringing me along, you make a commitment for me to be somewhere else so that I have no choice. You never discussed that idea with me. You just obligated me. It seems like you are trying to guarantee that you won't have me getting in the way while you're in Illinois. I don't think you've been entirely truthful with me and I'm starting to doubt you've been entirely faithful."

"AB, I have never treated you like that, and I would never cheat on you! What is wrong with you? You're my husband and I just want you to enjoy yourself. It hurts me that you would think that about me."

"I can't help how I feel or what makes me feel that way. You know I love you. I have loved you since we met, but I could never get over betrayal. Is that what you have planned, Karen? Is this writer's workshop your vacation from your marriage?"

That was it! There was no more discussion and no more loving talk. She erupted in screams and for the rest of the night she was either yelling or giving me the silent treatment. For the next week it was all the silent treatment. She was taking the offensive by freezing me out, punishing me until I backed down. It didn't work. In fact, it convinced me that I was right. However, I wasn't gaining any ground this way, so eventually I let her think that she had won. If she was going to cheat, there was nothing I could do to stop her. In fact, that damn phone call I overheard made it sound like she already had. Eventually, I thanked her for the Canada trip, but my mood turned dark and it never brightened again until it was over. Once she had her way, she quickly changed gears and played the loving wife to reinforce my desired behavior. It was like a switch was thrown and that only made me more suspicious. I know manipulation when I'm on the receiving end of it.

What do you do when you know your wife is keeping secrets and playing you for a fool? What do you do when you lose trust in the woman who has held all your trust for half your life? What you do is you hire a private investigator and that's exactly what I did.

The Illinois Writer's Workshop was nearly 500 miles away and I didn't know a soul out there. So, I asked a coworker who he used when he caught his wife cheating. I took his recommendation and that person recommended someone in Illinois, so I reached out and contacted them. The great thing about the writer's workshop was that it was held on a state university campus. The P.I.'s operatives couldn't get into the program, although they could walk past the rooms as much as they needed, but the participants would be eating in the cafeterias on campus, going to the local bars, and staying in a big dormitory with other students, so no one would notice the odd student hanging out. Some of those "students" would be working for me and they would be carrying some high-tech devices.

The school year was drawing to a close. Our girls both decided to stay at their universities for the summer so they could work in the research labs with faculty in their major. That meant we remained empty nesters and I pulled out all the stops. I asked her to dinner, I cooked at home, and I even took her to some shows. She enjoyed it all and I began to think I was winning. But whenever I told her that I loved her, I got this dismissive "I know" vibe off her. The pieces started falling into place. She hadn't stopped loving me. She just took me for granted. I was known. I was safe. I was her guarantee. She felt certain she could go away, have a thrill, take a vacation from her marriage, and I'd be here when she wanted me. My plans began to fall into place as a result of that.

The day she left I decided I couldn't leave anything unsaid. We stood by the door as her airport shuttle drove up. I held her in my arms, told her that I loved her, and said "Please, don't do anything that will destroy us."

She gave me that pissed look and said, "I am tired of you not trusting me. When I get back, we are going to have a long talk about this!" Then she gave me a quick peck on the cheek, picked up her bags, turned and walked to the shuttle. She drove away without so much as a glance back at me. At that point I felt certain my marriage was over. Twenty-five years and two grown daughters and my marriage ends with more of a whimper than a bang.

The P.I. did his job well. He told me they made it easy. There was no effort to hide their behavior since no one knew them there. Karen must have removed her rings on the plane because when she arrived at the workshop they weren't on her finger. She told everyone she was recently divorced, and my wife and Frank immediately became inseparable. They were joined at the hip, kissing and holding hands, and huddling together like two high school students with their first crush. My P.I. managed to hide a small video camera in the hallway of the dormitory they shared. Karen and Frank were each assigned a room, but they only used the one. Well, sometimes they used hers and sometimes they used his, but always they slept together.

I knew what was going on in those shared dorm rooms, but my P.I. and his team were very thorough and left no doubt in my mind. One night, before it grew dark, my wife and Frank retired early. Two operatives looking like typical college students sat on the hallway floor with their backs to the wall and quietly slipped a miniature fisheye camera on a slender stalk under the door. They caught a twenty-minute video of Frank hittin' it like he owned it. Hell, maybe by then he did. The video was remarkably clear and when he was finished, I could tell he wasn't wearing a condom. That did it for me. I was done with this marriage. Anything else the team caught was just icing on the cake.

My P.I. continued to give me regular updates, but after that first week her fate was sealed, and my decision was made. From the first days of her workshop on I used my time to execute my plan. I would become a ghost on the wind. I would disappear or come as close to it as I could. When she returned, I would be gone and there would be no turning back, no lies, no threats, no long discussions, no explanations, no excuses, and no fixing it. There would be only divorce. My marriage was over. Love does not die quickly, but what is love without trust? There is no future with a wife who cheats.

Some people will say my solution was weak. They will say that she deserves physical punishment, total humiliation, and abject poverty. In the end, the law would prevent me from doing any of that and I had no intention of ruining the remainder of my own life by attempting that kind of revenge on my cheating wife and her lover. My revenge would be taking from her the one thing she always counted on, the one constant that was always there to hold her up, to comfort her, to support her, and to encourage her on. I was taking away me. Frank was no catch. He could never sustain her. Where is a fifty-year-old divorced mother to turn for love and emotional support? I didn't care. She would no longer be my problem.

Every few days my P.I. would send me more photographs, more videos, and more betrayal by the one who promised me to forsake all others. The reports were hard to read. The photographs and videos were harder to watch. What was most painful were some of the audio files where they talked about me. "He keeps texting me about the big fish he's catching and how great it is up there. He thanks me almost every day." She laughed as she said it. "The dufus has no idea!"

Frank laughed. "Well, best keep it that way. Treat him like a mushroom and he's out of your hair."

"He might as well have fun now. When I get home, I am going to lower the boom on that geek! How dare he keep accusing me of cheating?"

"But you are taking a little holiday from your marriage, aren't you, gorgeous? Or, is that another woman in my bed every night?"

She giggled at that. She actually giggled! The bitch! "He may be right, but that doesn't mean I intend to put up with it. I'm a writer, damn it, and he's holding me back with his circuits and computer codes, his milli-this and micro-that. What does he know of big ideas?"

At that moment I started to truly hate the bitch. Twenty-five years building a life together, raising two children, supporting one another, and then this? What happened to my wife? Where has she gone? This woman wasn't the woman I married. This was some stranger who had usurped my wife's appearance. She was some vile alien without a heart, without a soul. Where was her love, her compassion? Hell, where was her decency? Didn't she remember the years we've lived together and the life we made together? Didn't any of that matter? No, apparently none of that mattered. She wanted her fling and she was going to have it at any cost. She was living the life of a writer, after all, and she was due her greatness. There wasn't much I could do about that now, but I was determined that when it was over her fling was all that she would have.

I contemplated every imaginable form of revenge from physical violence to public humiliation. I knew that none of that would leave me satisfied so long as my life was tied to hers. There was only one choice left and I began the process of turning from man to ghost. I sat down with my boss and I told him everything. He was sympathetic. He'd been through something similar not many years before and he quickly got me a transfer to the company office in Portland, Maine. I liked the idea. I knew the people at that office. They were professional, capable, and I liked them. I liked the town and I liked the state. I called the movers and arranged to have half the furniture and all my personal belongings shipped north. I got my car serviced and ready for the drive. Then I sat down with a lawyer and started the papers. Karen had her own insurance and retirement account, so I took her name off everything of mine and listed my daughters as beneficiaries. I signed a quit claim so she could have the house, but in return there would be no alimony. She would get her car, but she had to buy her own insurance. I would save the bank accounts for the last few days and the charge cards for the end. There was no need to tip my hand.

From that point on, all I could do was reinforce my thinking. What do I mean by that? I tried calling her to ask her how the workshop was going and to tell her I loved her. I thought that hearing her lie would help remind me that what I was doing was right. She didn't fail me. She was filled with excitement, professed her love, and ran off to dinner all in less than two minutes. My P.I. told me later that Frank was sitting next to her the whole time and they were exchanging smiles, rolling their eyes, and generally disparaging me. That helped a lot. It was all a joke to her and there could be no doubt I was doing the right thing. From that point on I sent her text messages instead of phone calls. I didn't trust myself to keep my composure on the phone. I told her how the fish were biting, but in truth I sent Jake and his lovely wife on the trip. They loved it. Jake married well. I did drop by to say goodbye to them both before I left, and they promised to visit me.

As her six weeks were coming to an end, I completed the last of my tasks. A friend who is a realtor gave me a for-sale sign to put in the front yard. I couldn't actually sell the house without her permission and I'd already deeded it to her, but she didn't know that. When she got home that is the first thing she would see. I had the locks on the house changed just to make her feel she didn't live there anymore, printed some choice photographs from her trip including the most explicit stills from that video taken under Frank's door, and made a copy of the P.I.'s report. I left it all on the dining room table just to make sure she knew she was busted. The movers had already taken most of what I wanted and would hold it in storage until I was ready. I only carried two suitcases, my briefcase, laptop, and guitar. I had to have my guitar with me. I couldn't trust anyone with something so dear. Frank may be sticking his dick in my wife, but I loved my guitar!

I planned to leave the next morning while she wasn't due back until later that night. That way, I'd be gone when she arrived; but I had a last-minute change of heart the night before. I wanted the pain to start now when all she could do was wait and worry until she got home. I attached three choice photographs of her and Frank to an email with the words "I divorce you. I divorce you. I divorce you." and sent them off to my soon-to-be ex-wife. I chose one where they were all but copulating on the dance floor. It was clear she wasn't wearing her engagement and wedding rings. The second showed them walking hand-in-hand into his dorm room. I took the third from the dorm room video where her face was plainly visible. I figured she'd see them and maybe it would ruin her last romantic night with good old Franky boy as they ran around trying to find cameras that were already removed! Then I turned off my phone.

With my announcement done and my hand tipped, I carried my last suitcase to the car and carefully packed my guitar in the passenger seat. Looking at the house one last time, I picked up my cell, took a quick photograph, and I climbed behind the wheel. Now, you're probably thinking I drive one of those big F-250 diesel pickups with all the extra trim. You're thinking I started the engine and the dishes rattled in my neighbor's house. Weren't you listening? I'm an engineer. I like tech. I'd drive a Tesla if I were paid better so I drive a hybrid. I pushed the start button, the dials came alive, and I heard... NOTHING! It's a hybrid. I released the parking brake, put the engine in gear, and I backed out of my drive for the last time so silently that not a neighbor would know I was gone. I was a ghost on the wind moving silently through the world leaving betrayal behind me.

Driving away from the house that had been our home for so many years, the house where we raised our daughters, was at once the most painful, most uncertain, and most liberating experience of my life. For all practical purposes, my wife had died. I didn't know when and I didn't know why, but she was dead to me just as sure as I'd pulled the trigger myself. The woman that remained, the woman who looked like my wife, was no one that I knew or ever wanted to know again. I was starting over with an unknown future before me. I had the strongest sense of loss and at the same time it was strangely freeing. The burden of lies, betrayal, and belittlement was lifted from my shoulders, if only temporarily. The only price I paid was that half my life was now lost to me.

It was late, but I was wired, so I drove a quiet hundred miles up the highway with only my thoughts for company until I found a hotel for the night. That put me just over the Virginia border. I decided that after dropping the bomb on Karen I had no need to witness the results in real time, so I left my phone off. I'd know later if my message meant anything at all to her. Either way, I was leaving my old life behind and her response was not worth worrying over. I took a room, carried a small bag and my guitar from the car, and fell asleep remarkably fast. I slept better that night than I'd slept in months. When I got up, I took a long shower and went in search of a good, local-made breakfast. I wasn't looking for any chains. I wanted a real mom and pop breakfast joint. I wanted something real. I found it and got what was likely to be my last serving of grits for a very long time to come.

Those grits set me to thinking and I began to redefine my drive to Maine. This was the first day of my rebirth and I had a long drive ahead of me. I could rush up to Maine, running away from all my troubles, but I had two weeks before I was due at work. Why rush? I needed time to settle my mind, come to terms with her betrayal, and put the past behind me. I decided to go slow, enjoy the countryside as I drove north, and explore each state and its people as I passed through. It would be my week of transition from my old to my new life. I was going to indulge my taste buds along with my other senses to cleanse myself from all that was ugly and wrong with my life before and prepare myself for a new beginning.

Virginia was day 1 of my new life and that meant I went in search of Smithfield ham. I turned east and headed toward Williamsburg. With some judicious choices that took me along the back roads of southern Virginia, I managed to pass right through Smithfield where I found a lunch that was steeped in regional tradition and history and then took the car ferry across the James. The James is still and quiet that time of the year without a breath of wind or a ripple on the surface. Standing by the ferry's rail, looking across the river, I started quietly singing Edge of the Earth: "Beneath the moon of early morning runs a road beside the James. Something calls me to be moving though I can't recall its name. I wandered off the beaten pathway when first I wondered from my home. Never any way but my way to every place I'd go alone. I pass your window. I cast no shadow. I speak but I can't be heard. My words fall silent over the edge of the earth..." The stillness felt like death and I began to think that being a ghost was not the solution I needed. It was a bad omen for my future and for a time the loss of my old life engulfed me.

I spent the remainder of the day walking through Williamsburg with the crowds that fill the town in summer, and I checked out some remarkable artisans and craftsmen doing their thing. I even caught an impromptu student performance on the brick square at the top of Duke of Gloucester Street. Being once again surrounded by people and activity was cleansing and lifted my spirits. I felt relaxed for the first time since leaving home. The town was full of hotels and with a little effort I managed to find a room despite not having a reservation. It wasn't until after I grabbed a light dinner and was settled in for the night that my thoughts finally turned back to my failed marriage. She was getting home about then. I wondered what she would think when she saw the for-sale sign on the front lawn and her keys wouldn't unlock the door?

The next day I turned north and drove the back roads toward Annapolis, the capital of Maryland, past small towns and old plantations along Virginia's ancestral rivers like the York, Rappahannock, and Potomac that feed the Chesapeake Bay. This is the land of the Revolution and Civil War. Bobby Lee's pappy Lighthorse Harry Lee had a place alongside the road. As I drove along the back roads by farms growing corn and cantaloupe, my mind wandered back to my home in Raleigh, to my life left behind, and I wondered why it had come to this? However, the point of this drive was to take my mind off those thoughts at least to some degree, so I tried to focus on the drive and the countryside. The road and my thoughts seemed to merge. There was one ribbon of asphalt ahead of me taking me to my future. I would follow that winding ribbon as it led me away from betrayal and toward a new life of my own.