Grounded in Silence

One bad Valentine's Day deserves another.

Here is my Valentine's Day Story Contest 2024 entry. I wasn't planning on submitting one, being busy publishing my new novel, but I was watching some reaction videos on YouTube to Disturb's "The Sound of Silence" and an idea came to me.

All references to Chicago steakhouse restaurants and their proximity to fictitious or otherwise eateries are purely coincidental.

Relax; it's just a story, people.

My stomach was literally in knots as I approached the restaurant entrance. I had no idea how I'd be able to eat a thing. A gust of wind came up just as I was about to open the door and blew my umbrella out of my hand. Some of the water it had retained, because it was a damned cheap and almost useless umbrella, landed on my face, and in my hair that I'd spent hours doing for this occasion.

A greeter opened the door as I began to pull and nearly knocked me on my ass. With deft apologies, he reached for my arm and steadied me. I was sure my hairdo hadn't survived. With a sigh, I walked past him to the host desk.

Prime Angus Steakhouse was one of the top-rated restaurants in the windy city, which was our hometown. Well, maybe just my hometown, I'd have to see what kind of answers the evening provided but I hoped to say 'we' again when all was said and done. It was no Gene and Georgetti, but Josh had remembered that I'd always wanted to eat here, even after all this time.

"Mr. and Mrs. Conrad," I said to the Maître' d when he looked up. "Seven thirty."

"Ah, Alise and Joshua," he brightly replied. "Just one moment, please. We will escort you to your table shortly." The restaurant was known for taking and using first and last names in their reservation system.

It felt funny yet wonderful to hear our names mentioned aloud and in the same sentence again. My hair might have been ruined but you couldn't have ripped the smile off my face with a claw hammer.

I was informed that Josh hadn't yet arrived, but the host led me to our table anyway. Five minutes later, I was sipping on a glass of white wine. I'd wanted to surprise my husband by ordering his favorite drink, but stopped, considering it may be presumptuous. I didn't want to do or say anything tonight to derail the possibly happy reunion.

As I anxiously awaited seeing Josh for the first time in nearly a year, I thought back to better times - truly marvelous times - in our relationship. Josh and I met one week after I graduated college. My Father had helped line up a job for me with Wilkens & Bather, LLC, a major accounting firm.

Josh was a top-tier client, as a result of his parents' untimely death and a very large inheritance, not to mention the trust fund. Our firm managed the fund, and we were deep into the disbursement of his inherited assets.

At the time I had no skin in the game concerning Josh's finances. I was only an entry-level accountant. We both fell for each other at first glance, began dating, and married fifteen months later. It was actually my firm that suggested a prenuptial agreement be drafted and mutually agreed upon.

What I loved most about my husband was his charisma and energy. His personality perfectly grounded mine. We could talk about anything in those early years, before and after our wedding. The way he explained things, and the passion he exuded, made me see him as a man beyond his years.

I suddenly remembered the night when it all went away; the night Josh became grounded in silence. It happened on Valentine's Day one year previous, and it was all my doing.

Josh and I had a storybook relationship for our first three years. The love, the sex, the companionship were all present and I was content.

Content. That word would come to bite me, even haunt me. The fly in my ointment of contentment turned out to be one Brett Straton. He too was a wealthy client of my firm and by the time I met him, I was well on my way to junior partner. We all know how the story goes. Hell, even I knew the score at the time, but I went ahead and fell for it anyway.

Subtle little flirting made me flutter with anticipation. Dressing better, sexier, on days I knew he'd be at the office added more flutters. Turning him down for lunch the first time added as much excitement to the game as finally accepting his offer did. Then the little touches on the arm or the knee took the game and the risk to new levels.

I had it all under control until I didn't. Josh was as excited about our office holiday party as I was. He knew many people there, after all. By that time in our marriage, Josh had taken his hobby, tooling patents, to another level and an unexpected demonstration with a company in London came up the week before the party. For my husband, there wasn't even a second thought. He told me to have fun at the party, but not too much fun. He promised to check in on me at midnight the evening of the party to make sure I was 'okay.' I knew it was a bit more than that, but I didn't believe he had any reason to suspect me of doing anything inappropriate.

Brett kept my glass full that evening, but being honest with myself, I had already given it a thirty percent possibility that under the right set of circumstances, I'd do something with Brett. Maybe we'd only end up making out, but I knew deep down I never ruled out sex completely.

In a dark conference room, with the door closed and shades drawn, I had my first bout of infidelity. The sex was magnificent. Really good, mind-blowing sex. If it hadn't been I would have never gone back to the well. I wondered why none of the other staff had missed us when we returned to the party almost an hour later.

I didn't begin to feel guilty until I got in my car to rush home, making it in the house only four minutes before Josh was to call.

"Miss," I was shaken back to the present. "Are you still expecting your guest?"

I frowned and looked at my phone. Josh was twenty minutes late, even with a grace period. I made an excuse to the server and decided on an appetizer for the two of us, to stave off any possible embarrassment. I began to wonder where he was. The other fleeting thought that came, I pushed to the back of my mind immediately.

With a visible chill, my mind went back to those fateful few weeks after the party. Josh called right at midnight as promised. I pulled it together and pulled it off, and by the time we said our 'good nights' I was sure he had no clue what I'd done.

Laying in bed that night I considered my predicament. There had been no Martian ray gun. No ditzy loss of brain function. I knew what had happened and why - well, mostly why. As I thought about the wonderful sex I'd just had, and what led to it, my mind started to rationalize. It was a certainty that I had to give Brett another whirl or two, maybe three. That would be it though. I convinced myself that it was something just for me, separate from what Josh and I had. I beat the idea like a rug, much like most cheaters or porn addicts do, when in a committed relationship. I also knew that Brett didn't mean anything to me, at least not anything like my husband did.

The next time Brett and I got together was after one of our lunches. Besides another round of fabulous sex, I was given a gift, in the form of a burner phone.

Brett knew Josh, or at least, knew of him. They had met at two different company functions where both associates and clients attended. Both knew of the other's money. Looking back, Brett may have been a bit jealous that Josh's net worth was significantly more than his own, but he never let on in so many words. We were together three times from the Christmas party to early February, and never once did Josh's name come up, before or during our pillow talk. I'd promised myself just three times, so I should have ended it. Doing so would have changed everything.

The fly in the ointment became a full-fledged invasion two days before Valentine's. Brett texted me on the burner phone, something he'd never done before. Usually, he called during hours he knew I'd be at work. He wanted to spend a few hours with me. On Valentine's Day. I immediately told him NO. He pressed on, semi-begging. He asked me to find out what my plans were with Josh and what time. He assured me we'd work within those parameters, and I'd be home in plenty of time.

I threw up roadblocks. I made excuses, even for the obvious. I played right into his hands. I also knew I'd relent even before I said so out loud. Everything inside me screamed not to do it, but I ignored my inner voice and threw common sense to the wind.

There was no sex that afternoon. I made an excuse about working a few hours extra, promising Josh it wouldn't interfere with our special night. Brett and I met at a swank restaurant on the south side, far away from my home. My only gift that night was a very expensive necklace, which only meant one thing, and it shook me back from my fairytale. Brett was falling for me and I couldn't have that. I refused his gift which he didn't handle well. We argued until we noticed the looks of staff and patrons alike. Then he made an impassioned plea, while I gave a laundry list of reasons why we'd never be a couple.

In doing so, we were at the restaurant twenty minutes later than we should have been. When I realized this, I panicked and ordered Brett to take me back to the office to get my car. I would now be forty-five minutes later than I'd promised Josh.

I might have pulled it off, and ended it amicably that night, no one but Brett and I any the wiser. If not for that flat tire, we'd have never been found out. Well, that and that damned phone tracking app. To this day, I have no idea how or what caused the flat tire. It was raining, and Brett was trying desperately to change it himself, concerned about my being late and the possible ramifications. At least his heart was in the right place but he'd never fully grasped that life skill.

When, forty minutes later, I stared out the foggy windshield and saw my husband's hurt face through the pouring rain, I felt like my life had ended, and not figuratively.

What felt like a very long time, but was probably only thirty seconds, Brett saw him just standing there too. He quickly came to the front of the vehicle, I supposed but never knew for sure, to try and provide some sort of excuse. Whatever kind of rationalization he tried to make fell on deaf ears.

Josh never took his eyes off mine until Brett had finished, and then my husband sucker-punched him in the face, knocking Brett to the cold pavement.

That finally got me out of my seat, and out of the vehicle. Josh had already shown me his back as I begged him to stop, even as I squatted to attend to my paramour. Brett shot up off the sopping wet street, his five-thousand-dollar suit completely ruined.

Seeing he was alright, I started running after my husband, until I felt a strong grip on my arm holding me in place.

"Let him go," Brett said sternly but softly. "He's going to need a minute - or a day - and he isn't in the mood to talk to you just now. I can tell you if I were him, I'd want to be alone." The look he gave told me he was 'him' after the way I'd treated his gift and his feelings for me.

"I need to go to him!" I wailed. "Let go of me!"

Brett saw the situation for what it was. He was the only one of the three of us not swimming in the clouds. He released my arm and shook his head.

"Go on, then," he warned. "But it won't do you any good. Grab your things from the car and call an Uber. I'm going to the emergency room to see if my jaw is broken or dislocated."

I saw the maître' d heading toward my table as I stopped daydreaming about Valentine's past. Damn, these people were impatient.

"Madam," he began, "may I inquire of your guest? May I assist in checking on him to make sure everything is alright?"

Boy, I thought, What gives? But then I realized that they'd probably been watching and wondering why I wasn't frantically calling or texting my husband.

"No," I replied flatly. "He's on the way. I've just heard from him."

I picked up my empty glass and softly twirled it in my hand. "I'd certainly like a refill, please."

The server, who'd been directly behind him took off like a shot.

My mind returned to the past. The Uber ride took almost an hour all told. The house was dark and it felt cold as I entered. Josh wasn't home. That wasn't entirely surprising. Brett had been right about him needing time. Oddly, I found I needed the time as well, to formulate some of the answers to questions my husband would surely have.

The part I never fathomed, not even once, was that Josh wouldn't come home. The last time I saw him, he was pulling out of our subdivision of little sparsely spread out MacMansions. I was coming home so I had no opportunity to turn around and try to pursue him. What I found was all his things gone. He must have had movers there while I was at work. At first, I sobbed, but then I became angry. How could he just leave me? Not even talk to me about it.

I texted him an emotional and self-righteous rant. He never replied. After two days, I decided to try and find him, and maybe get out in front of things with my parents, my own, and his sister.

My sister, Sheila, was heartbroken when she answered the call. "How could you, you bitch," she cried into the phone. "I loved that man. He was the best thing that ever happened to you, and this is how you repay him. What is wrong with you?" Josh had been the earlier messenger.

Beth, Josh's sister, was far worse. "What could you possibly want from me, slut?" were the first words out of her mouth. No 'hello' or anything else.

"I want to know where he is," I held my ground boldly. "I need to apologize and set things right."

"Good luck with that, you idiot," she replied pityingly. "I loved you like a sister. Why? Explain it to me. I thought you were the best thing in his life. Never mind. I don't know where he is. He's only texted me about what happened, not even the details, and said he'll be in touch, but he needs some time to rethink his life."

When I called back three weeks later, Beth told me she knew where he was, but would never tell me. She said her best advice for me was to leave it lie and remain hopeful, or file for divorce.

After talking to my parents, and enduring their disappointment, I found myself contemplating alone. Was I really that bad of a person? Well of course I knew the answer to that, although it took a few months of therapy to confirm it. During that time, I pledged to myself to wait him out. I wouldn't file for divorce. I'd remain celibate too.

That lasted until mid-April. Brett had been guarded and kept his distance. I took it as him maybe being concerned for my marriage and looking out for himself as well. The day I enquired about him with the lead on my team, I was informed he'd missed a meeting the previous week, due to hospitalization. I became very concerned and found out what hospital he was in and went to see him.

He'd been mugged, he told me. I didn't think he believed that, and I surely didn't but I wasn't about to push back. His final words cut me deep.

"Alise?" he said in a forced whisper due to his neck injuries. "I'd prefer never to see you again."

Dinner was a bust, just like my Valentine's evening. Damn him to hell! I thought, Why? Why message me to meet him here if only to humiliate me?

I could see the table captain speaking with the server, probably on how to delicately handle me. It had been almost an hour since I'd been seated. I turned toward the window, working on a way I could get out of there with at least a shred of my dignity intact.

The downpour had increased from an hour ago. Through the deluge, something caught my eye at the well-lit café across the street. A striking blonde with almost white hair sat staring into the eyes of her lover as she held his hand across the table.

Shifting my gaze to the gentleman, my heart almost stopped. It was my husband, Josh! But maybe not. That man had a fully and well-manicured beard. The rain was pelting the glass. I studied him, hoping against hope that I was wrong.

They laughed and made goo-goo eyes at each other and were surely a couple. They broke the stare and let go of their grasp on each other's hands. The man turned toward the window and he looked - he looked directly at ME! I was positive.

Leaping from my seat, I was operating on pure emotion and adrenaline. Purse, coat: check. Wallet out as I rapidly moved across the dining room: check. I handed my credit card to the maître' d and told him to charge me for a lobster tail as I walked out, promising to return to sign my receipt.

Of course, by the time I got into the café, they were gone. I was sure by then it had been his plan all along. They must have been ready to go, just waiting for me to make my move. To mock me. I'd never felt more hopeless or humiliated in my life.

When I exited the café, the server met me in the rain with my card, receipt, and phone which I'd left at the table. Yet another look of pity, that rolled off me easier than the rain after all these months, and an insincere 'good luck'.

I stepped back inside the vestibule of the steakhouse and called for an Uber. It was now just after eight-thirty. On the way home I asked the driver to stop at a liquor store and gave him a twenty-dollar tip to go in and get me my fix for the night. Money was still the least of my problems.

I was able to hold it. All the way to my front door, I held it and then the dam burst when I stepped inside. I'd had such high hopes for the evening. Hopes of reconciliation and love and so many other fantasies I'd concocted in my dreams. Instead, I was alone, wet, and freezing.

He wasn't coming back. I'd never get the chance to explain or apologize for my misdeeds. Worse than all that, he'd found someone else. The realization of how stupid that sounded in my own head brought on a new round of tears. I walked into the kitchen and pulled the wine opener from the drawer but in an instant, I put it back and reached into the bag for the bottle of vodka instead. The wine could wait.

Living alone and celibate for a year had been my own choice. I'd come to grips with, even embraced the loneliness. It was me and, as I'd nicknamed it, my self-deprecating vibrator, against the world. My parents, my sister, my co-workers, and even some friends I stayed in touch with from college had tried to encourage me to get on with my life. Only my therapist stood apart from the crowd. She told me in no uncertain terms that being alone, coming to an understanding of why I'd torpedoed my marriage, wasn't even close to the worst thing that could happen. Far better, she'd told me, than to enter into another failed relationship.

That night felt entirely different as I poured my third straight Vodka into the glass. I was truly alone. Worse even than that fateful night I'd returned to our home to find Josh gone. Well, that was that. Time to put on my big girl panties and get on with life.

The doorbell ringing made me jump. What more could the night bring? What more could I endure? There was a delivery man there. He even wore a uniform of some kind. I signed and he handed me a box with plain brown wrapping and a bunch of black roses. My heart sank again.

I took both items to the kitchen table and examined them closely. The first thing I noticed was the roses. They weren't black, as in death. They were literally dead. Dried, rotten red roses, probably the bouquet that Josh held in his left hand as he stood there a year ago, staring defeated and destroyed at me sitting in that passenger seat.