Ghost on the Wind

I left Williamsburg early and slipped quietly into Annapolis in time to get crab cakes and a local beer for lunch. That lifted my spirits. I wandered the waterfront checking out the boats, talked with the locals and the sailors passing through, and sat down to a dinner of steamed crabs and beer. Does anything say Maryland more clearly than that? I sat at a picnic table with four people I did not know, and we became fast friends because picking steamed crabs is a slow process that leaves lots of time for conversation. We told each other our life's story, and by the end they knew about my pending divorce and I knew the name of every grandchild.

At one point as we talked about life and marriage, I saw myself through their eyes. I must have seemed an odd duck, indeed. I had left my wife, left my home, and was eating my way across the states as I slowly drove north alone. I told them that her lies and betrayal had left me detached from her and our life together, and that sampling the cuisine of each state and meeting the people as I passed through was just my way of measuring the miles and moving on, transitioning, and putting the past behind me. I wasn't coming back. My life as I knew it was over and a new life was beginning. They seemed to understand, wished me well, and when we parted I thanked them for their company.

Sitting in my hotel room in downtown Annapolis, I finally picked up my cell phone and turned it on. No surprise. It was full of missed calls, emails, and text messages. Most were from Karen and a few were from friends. I read and listened to them all. It was hard, but it had to be done. At first Karen was trying to tell me it wasn't what it looked like. Sure it wasn't! Those were the messages she sent from Illinois before she got home and saw the rest of the photographs and read a copy of the P.I.'s report. My friends were telling me that Karen was now calling everyone in an effort to find me. She just wasn't looking in the right place! Jake and his wife knew, but I left the rest of them in the dark deliberately. I would tell them once I was settled. I knew already that I couldn't play the ghost forever.

The two calls that scared me were from my daughters. Karen had called them trying to find out where I was. I had very deliberately not told them that I was leaving their mother because I wanted to do it in person, but I couldn't let them worry. So, I called the girls and quietly explained to them what was going on. They were upset and couldn't believe their mom would do such a thing, so I sent them the same photographs I'd sent Karen the night I left home along with the report by the P.I. for them to read. After that, they swore not to tell their mother what I was doing.

There was one other missed call. My lawyer informed me that Karen had been served with divorce papers. She knew I was serious now! He also told me that Frank's wife had been given a full set of photographs, videos and audio recordings from his six-week workshop. Take that, Frank!

On day 3 I drove through northern Maryland and then with great anticipation I arrived in New Jersey. Yeah, right! I hit the Jersey line and didn't stop until I reached Connecticut. Once in Connecticut, I did take a few hours to drive through some of the historic towns along the coast. I wasn't looking for anything in particular, but the architecture was so distinctly different from North Carolina that I got a very strong sense I was someplace new both physically and emotionally. And don't tell the government, but I spent an hour in Groton just trying to see as many submarines as I could. Boy, they hide those black fish very well! While looking up and down the shore I was reminded that when they refuel those nuclear boats, they cut a hole in the hull to refuel the reactor and then weld the hull back together. Was that a metaphor for me? Was Karen's betrayal that tore a hole in my heart nothing more than the first step in refueling my life? Could I heal myself once my new life had begun?

I spent the night in a small motel near Mystic. After three days of driving with only my thoughts for company, I began to ponder again the genesis of my failed marriage. It didn't fail during those six weeks of betrayal in Illinois. It began to fail a year before that when the last of our daughters moved out. It continued to fail when she didn't want me to be a part of her writing life, when she stopped reading her work to me, and when she made it a point to make me feel unwelcome when her writing club met in our house. It failed mightily when she started keeping secrets and made plans for six weeks away without telling me. Was she looking for a new beginning, or did she need to feel some form of independence while still enjoying the security of a dedicated husband? Did she decide that once the girls were raised and out of the house the marriage had served its purpose and it was time to start a new life? Had I become an impediment to her, or was I just irrelevant? We had married right out of college. I suppose she went right from her father's home to mine. Was that it? Had she never stood on her own two feet? God knows her authority within our house was unquestioned. Was that my big mistake? Had I devalued myself by trying to provide her with the life she wanted, or had she reached a point where sharing a life was too restrictive for her? I had more questions than answers, but the saddest truth of all was that I doubted I would ever get an honest answer from her if I asked; and if I did ask and got the truth, what would it matter? I had so defined myself as her husband that the thought of cheating on her was unimaginable; and yet, she not only found it possible, but she also demeaned me to her lover. For a brief time, I imagined their pillow talk, but those images were too painful to contemplate, and I forced them from my mind. These were the thoughts that rattled in my brain as I drifted off to sleep and I slept poorly that night.

On day 4 I went to the museum, walked the decks of the Morgan, talked with the guides, and checked out some construction details on their fantastic collection of small boats. Well, I did tell you I was an avid sailor before family life took over, didn't I? I ended my visit in the museum store and bought several recent books to add to my collection. I would need something to occupy my time during those cold Maine winter nights.

What did I eat in Connecticut? I don't know if I believe it, but Connecticut claims to be the birthplace of the hamburger. Who was I to argue? So, I grabbed a pretty good burger and called it a night. I left my phone turned off because I was in no mood to hear from my cheating wife and I was on schedule to meet my daughters. As I sat in my room, I did have an odd moment of clarity when I realized that it's a good thing I don't get divorced more often. I could put on some serious weight doing this! Despite that, the drive was giving me what I needed: I had quiet time when I wanted to contemplate my life, and I had distractions to explore and plans to make when I did not. By taking my time driving north I was making time to put the past in the past and prepare to start life anew.

When I rose on day 5, I knew it would be the hardest day yet. I finished my breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast with some good black coffee, and then I was headed for Brown and a horribly painful talk with my oldest daughter, Claire. It didn't take long to get there, and I met her at her dorm in late morning. We agreed to postpone our talk until later so she could pretend to be happy for just an hour or two. She showed me the campus and then took me to the cafeteria where she introduced me to all her friends. They were exactly the sort of young men and women I had hoped she'd find. They were pleasant, attentive, and they seemed to be mutually supportive. On our way out I took her roommate aside and told her that Claire was going to have a rough day. I asked her to look after my daughter. She said, "Yes, Mr. Baker, she told us last night. We're all here for her." Yes! My daughter chose her friends well.

We sat in Claire's dorm room and we talked for hours. I showed her photographs and played audio recordings for her of the type that I never thought I'd ever share with a child of mine. She was alternating between sadness and rage. "I can't believe she'd do that! Is she even the same woman who raised us? What kind of filthy tramp has she become?"

I had to stop her at that one, even if I agreed. "Claire, no matter what she's done; she is still your mother. Plus, it's me she's betrayed, not you."

"Sorry to disagree with you, dad, but she tore apart my only family. She very definitely did this to me."

I couldn't argue with that.

We talked through the afternoon and I briefed her on all my plans. I told her to gather her friends and we headed out to the best dinner in town, or the best that I could afford, and everyone seemed to enjoy a break from the dining hall menu. I told them stories about my dining hall experiences when I was in college and I think they went back to their dorms with a renewed appreciation for their current situation. I took a room in town and the next morning I had breakfast with my daughter, hugged her until we both cried, and then I headed north to Boston to do it all over again.

Claire must have called Denise because she took the news a good deal better than her older sister. There was just as much disappointment and anger, but much less surprise. She asked to see the proof and I showed her. As luck would have it, her mother called while we were talking and I gave her the universal sign for "No, I'm not here!" I shook my head and waved my hands like a mad man and drew my finger across my throat like a knife. She nodded. Denise was always the less dramatic member of the family. Then she did what I thought I would never witness. She said, "Dad did call last night. Is it true you've become a cum slut that cheats on her husband and lies about it?" I was speechless. I wanted to reprimand her for talking to her mother that way, but at the same time I had to agree with what she said. "You heard me, mother! You spent six weeks being some creep's fuck buddy while your husband sat home alone. Was it worth it, mother? Was it worth losing your marriage over?" Holy shit! This daughter of mine has a mouth on her! Remind me never to piss her off! There wasn't much discussion after that. Denise told me her mother was mostly crying and trying to make excuses when she could, but my daughter was buying none of it.

Later, I took her and her friends to a Thai restaurant not far from campus called The Elephant Walk. Like her sister, Denise had chosen her friends well and dinner was very pleasant. As we walked back to campus, one of her friends said, "Mr. Baker, Denise told us what you're going through. She was very sad last night, but we were there for her. I hope you come back sometime and let us take you to the cafeteria." That made the rest of the friends laugh. "I mean, well, actually, maybe we can find someplace better than that." That got the giggles started and we laughed the whole way back to her dorm. I found a room for the night, took my daughter to breakfast in the morning, and day 7 found me continuing my drive north.

I left Boston and was just two hours south of Portland. My mind was now less on my soon-to-be ex-wife and more on my daughters. They were growing into strong, principled young women and I was so very proud of them. I knew now that they would get through the coming divorce better than I had feared. What made this day hard was that I was leaving these two wonderful jewels behind me now with no promise of when I would see them again. It turned out I needn't have worried.

I wasn't ready to face the reality of starting my new life yet, so when I reached Portsmouth, New Hampshire I turned west and headed for the White Mountains and the Presidential Range. I drove into the Whites and took the cog railway to the summit of Mount Washington. As I stood there looking across the void to the lesser peaks of the Whites and scanning the green pine forests below, feeling the cold chill of arctic winds that are so incongruous during the first days of August, I finally felt reborn. I was standing alone, but at last I was standing. I had passed through the birth canal of the Mid-Atlantic States as I transitioned from my old life of pain and regret to start my new life and all the possibilities it held. I now stood on high ground ready to begin life anew. Everything I could want lay before me.

In the morning I got a plate of pancakes with real maple syrup. I was in maple syrup country now and I would be for years to come! I was rested and ready, so I got back in my car and I drove to Portland. I got there mid-afternoon, so I decided to check in with my new boss to let them know I'd arrived. I already knew about half the office staff and I was warmly received. It felt good. They were the first happy, uncomplicated faces I'd seen in a week. My new boss is named Henry and he brought the office together to meet me. I got a quick tour of the shop, but not until everyone made a collective decision of where we would all go for dinner. I figured it would be a restaurant downtown, but we wound up at Henry's house grilling steaks with all the fixings. I know, I should have had lobster in Maine, but I had all the time in the world for that. This was about reintegrating into society. Over some remarkably good steaks and some truly excellent local beer they asked me for my story. What was a southern boy doing uprooting everything and moving to Maine at this point in his life? So, I told them. I left out the gory details, but I gave them enough to know. I ended with a small request, "I might be a little short-tempered in the coming weeks. It's not my basic nature, but I have a lot to work through. I just hope if I behave badly, you'll call me on it and tell me to knock it off. I need a little push back from time to time." I didn't expect it, but every woman there hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek, and every man put his arm around my shoulder. "We're here for you, AB." That was all they said and all they ever needed to say.

That night, after I settled into my hotel room, I turned on my cell once again. The girls had each texted me their support. They must have given their friends my number because I had at least 8 or 10 additional text messages from the young men and women who appreciated dinner and wanted me to know they would be there for my daughters. I love those kids!

Several friends continued to reach out, so I decided to contact them all and tell them what was going on so they would stop worrying. I didn't tell them where I was. That would come later. I only told them why I had left. They didn't want to believe, so I sent them the same three photographs I'd sent Karen and told them that I had much worse if they were unconvinced. I thought about it, but honestly, I couldn't see a single reason to protect her from her own decisions. I'd tried and I'd failed, so let the chips fall. In time, I got messages of love and support from them all and I promised to stay in touch. It was rapidly becoming clear to me that my plans to become a ghost were just a fantasy. There were too many people who cared about me, and that's a good thing.

I read the remainder of the text messages from Karen and I listened to the missed calls. She finally came clean and confessed, but her confession was tinged with odd flares of anger. She was blaming me, one way or another, for what she did and for what I did and for everything that had happened. Well fuck that shit! I texted her and said I would call her the next day at noon. Sooner or later it had to be done. Let's just say it was an unsatisfying conversation. She alternated between blame, guilt, and denial. She was sorry. Frank's personality overpowered her. I was suffocating her. It was my fault because I worked too much. It didn't happen -- they were just fooling around, but nothing serious. I almost broke out in laughter when she told me she was only trying to find her muse. She even accused me of turning our daughters against her as if her own actions had not done that without my help. When she was finally quiet I laid it out for her simply and clearly: she conspired with Frank to cheat on me, she resisted my attempts to keep us together, she carried out the betrayal, and now she was paying the price. I no longer cared why. When I hung up, she was still crying and pleading her case. I was done with her. There was no going back. I knew too much.

I found a simple, but comfortable, two-bedroom walk-up apartment in an old building within walking distance of the office. I figured I could use the exercise and thought it would be temporary, but my thinking soon changed. I could live simply in town, avoid all the extra work normally associated with a house, and I could get a little cottage on the coast for the weekends. Then I thought, why a cottage? I could get a boat, keep it in the harbor, and that would be my cottage by the shore. It was early fall by the time I figured all that out.

I expected to have a lonely life, but it hasn't really turned out that way. I see my daughters more now than I did when I was living in Raleigh. They come up at least one weekend every month and always bring a few friends with them. For thirty-six hours my apartment becomes a hive of activity and somehow, I always manage to take them all out for dinner at some point. By the time they leave I desperately need the peace and quiet, although I miss them as soon as they walk out the door. I've also been surprised that several of my friends have come up to visit and the others all promise to come when the weather is better. I do live alone, but I am not lonely. I have a growing number of new friends both from work and my adventures. The sailing community here is vibrant and welcoming to all and I've met some interesting women in my wanderings, but I'll do this right and behave myself until the marriage is officially and legally ended.

I still hear from Karen although the divorce will be final soon. She has never really repented and prefers to tell me that I made too much of it. All she ever says is, "Everyone does it. It doesn't mean anything." Yes, it does. The sex means plenty and the lies and manipulation mean even more. I contemplated explaining it to her, but people change, and I could no longer see the point.

The truth is I haven't managed to completely detach my life from hers. With two daughters and a lot of mutual friends, I know that will never happen. Still, with six hundred miles between us I no longer live with the day-to-day rejection and betrayal. She was the most important thing in my life until I was no longer hers. Now, I have my own life and a future that is mine to make.

Several good things came of all this. For starters, I genuinely like it up here. I'm in the middle of my first Maine winter, which is a bit of a shock, but if they can do it so can I. It gets dark early up here, but in some ways that just makes the gatherings indoors warmer and brighter. I've started looking for a boat and I've found a yard with moorings not far from town, so I think spring might find me splicing line and applying varnish. The restaurants are good, the micros are great, and the people are genuine. There's music of all kinds, dances if you are willing to learn to contra dance, and surprises that I'm still discovering. I think life will be good for me after all. Is my heart refueled? Not yet, but time heals, and I know there is a better life ahead.

Oh, and Frank's wife seems to be as much a dinosaur stuck in the past as I am. She kicked his worthless ass out of the house and divorced him. Worse than that, both Karen and Frank remain unpublished.

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