He Said He Was My Friend

David had been holding his tongue for months and that night his thoughts started leaking out. "How is Ariel's mother doing these days?"

"About the same as always. She seems cheerful enough when I speak with her, but Ariel tells me she's been depressed ever since her husband died."

"Doesn't she have a son? I met him. His name is George, isn't it?"

"Yeah. He's a good guy. I don't see him as much as I'd like, but I think you'd like him. He's a standup guy, direct, no games, good sense of humor. He married a local girl up there and lives about an hour from Marie."

"Marie is Ariel's mother, right?"

"Yeah."

"You two get along?"

"God, yes! She's like a second mother to me. Her husband died about a year after Ariel and I got married, but the two of them welcomed me into the family like I'd always belonged with them. You know, I can't remember a single time the television was on when I was visiting. George Sr., Ariel's father, had his favorite chair situated perfectly for watching the TV, but he never once watched it when I was there. We'd sit around and talk, tell jokes, and just enjoy one another and that TV stayed off the whole time."

"Now that's good people!"

I nodded and smiled. "I miss him. The first six months after he died were hard for Ariel. She wasn't herself. Then her spirit lifted. She started dressing better and telling stories about some of the people at work. I guess that's about the same time she started going out some Fridays after work with the women from her office."

David just sat there quietly, staring across the lawn behind the apartment. "Do you see Marie much these days?"

Do I see Marie much? That question triggered something that had been bothering me for a while now. "Actually, with the exception of Christmas, I haven't seen her for almost a year. Ariel goes up once a month and I speak with her on the phone occasionally, but she hasn't been the same. She seems to be on edge around me for some reason. Last Christmas we drove up for a few days and she seemed glad to see me, but every time I was alone with her, she would find something to do. When I offered to wash the dishes with her, she thanked me, handed me the towel, and walked away. I tried to help her prepare dinner, but she didn't want any help. To tell you the truth, I started thinking she was mad at me, but then she'd give me this big smile from across the room when the three of us were together and everything seemed alright. I thought about asking her, but I'm afraid I'll just hurt her feelings."

"Maybe she's not mad at you at all. Maybe she feels guilty."

"What does she have to feel guilty about? She's a lovely woman who wouldn't hurt a fly."

"I don't know. Maybe her loyalties are divided? Maybe she feels she's not being the mother-in-law to you that she needs to be?"

As I tried to process that comment, the phone rang. It was Ariel. "Henry, what have you two been up to today?"

It was your basic check-in call. I told her about our day out and she told me about her day in with her mother. It lasted for maybe five minutes and ended with "I love you." It wasn't the sort of thing people write movies about, but it was what married people do.

"Ariel says hello."

"Hello, Ariel!" David was calling out to the ether since I'd already hung up. "What's Ariel's cell phone number?"

I recited it from memory. "Why do you ask?"

"I got this neat ap for my phone. I can give it any cell phone number and it tells me where the phone is."

"Why the hell would you have something like that?"

"Some of the guys at work were filing false reports, saying they visited vendors when they didn't, and that sort of thing. I thought rather than call every vendor and challenge every report, which would make the company look like some kind of amateur hour, I started pinging their phones. We figured out where the problems were and fixed it with as little muss and fuss as possible. That way, we didn't need to repair our relationship with the vendors."

"Cool. You management types have such weighty problems." That was about the most disrespect either of us ever showed each other.

"Didn't you tell me your mother-in-law lived in Vermont?"

"Yeah. She's just outside Burlington. Why?"

"According to this, Ariel's phone is in Maine. It's in Portland to be exact."

"That's got to be wrong. They're something like two hundred miles apart."

"Your cell phone is xxx-xxx-xxxx?"

"Yeah?"

"According to this, you're sitting right in front of me."

"Let me see that!" I checked the screen and there I was. Well, David exaggerated. It told me I was somewhere within about a few hundred yards of my house. Then I entered my wife's cell phone number and it said she was in Maine. I checked my brother, my sister, my parents, and my boss. Each was where they were supposed to be. I check Ariel's cell number again and it still said Maine. I checked the contact list on my own phone, and my memory of her cell phone number wasn't wrong. "What the hell is going on?"

"Henry, do you ever call your mother-in-law while Ariel is up there?"

"No. Usually, Ariel calls me."

"Is there anything you forgot to tell Ariel when she called?"

I saw where this was going. "I never told her you said hello."

"I'd love to tell her hello."

I called Marie's phone and she picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"How's my favorite mother-in-law?"

I was expecting the usual immediate, upbeat response, but Marie was strangely silent for what seemed like a very long time.

"Marie, are you there?"

"Yes, of course, Henry! How are you, dear?"

"I'm fine. I was just thinking that it's been a long time since we spoke, and I wanted to ask you how you're doing?"

"Oh, I'm feeling well, dear. You know me, I've always been low maintenance. How are you? How is work? Are you getting around on that cast? When does it come off?"

She was uncharacteristically rattled. One of the things I always admired about Marie is that she really is low maintenance and virtually unflappable. We spoke for a few minutes and she seemed to pull it together, then I dropped the hammer. "Listen, Marie, I hate to bother you like this, but I was missing my wife and I wanted to tell her something important. Could you put her on the phone for me?"

The silence on the other end was deafening.

"Marie, are you still there?"

"Yes, dear. I'm sorry. Ariel stepped out to get some eggs for tomorrow's breakfast. I'm sure she'll be back soon." Her voice was quivering, and it didn't take a trained therapist to hear the tension in it. She was lying to me and Marie was not a practiced liar by any means.

"Well, please ask her to call me when she gets back. It doesn't matter what time it is. I'll be here."

"Of course, dear. I'm sure she'll call you soon."

With that, we both said goodbye and I hung up.

I turned to David. "She lied to me."

"Does she do that often?"

"She's never lied to me. I didn't think she even knew how to lie. It's not like her at all."

A few minutes later the phone rang. It was Ariel. "Hello, lover! Sorry I missed your call."

"That's okay. I was just missing you and I wanted to hear your voice."

"Ah, that's sweet. I miss you, too."

"The other reason I called you is to say that David insists he's taking us to dinner next weekend. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like we need to go someplace expensive!" I could hear her laughing. How the hell could she be laughing and passing off a lie at the same time?

"Listen, Babe, I hate to bother her again, but there was something I needed to tell your mother. Could you put her on for me?"

Silence. Then, "Oh, Henry, she's gone off to bed. Tell me what it is, and I'll pass it along to her."

"It's only been ten minutes since I called her. I'm sure she's still awake. Please, just take the phone to her and I'll make it quick."

That was when Ariel made her next big mistake. She got pissy with me! "Henry, I told you she's gone to bed and I'm not going to disturb her. Now just give me the message and I'll pass it along when she gets up."

Now it was my turn to dish out some silence. "Henry, are you still there?"

"I really don't like that tone you're taking with me and I sure as hell don't deserve it. I'll tell her the next time I see her. Good night, Ariel."

"Sweety, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

I hung up on her. It wasn't a conscious act on my part. I was genuinely angry. It seemed my fears were confirmed, and she was dishing out piss and vinegar to cover her betrayal.

"Where does your ap place her cell now?"

"Same place. It hasn't moved."

It was all clear to me now. My wife was lying to me and her mother was covering for her. I racked my brain to think of a good reason for Ariel to lie and there was only one. Marie didn't have even that.

+++ +++ +++

The next few hours were tense in my apartment. I wanted to drink, but David cut me off. He said, "You need a clear head now and beer isn't going to give you that." He started making coffee and I realized later he had a plan. With two full travel mugs he entered the living room and announced, "Saddle up, Henry! The Charger is pulling out!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Listen, Henry, right now you're mad as hell and full of doubt. Your heart refuses to believe what your head is telling it. You need to know. You need a resolution to your uncertainty. We're driving to Portland to confront her. Are you going, or are you staying?"

Looking back, I suppose I was in shock by then. I sat there feeling conflicted and confused, not saying anything, until I felt the hammer fall. A wave of anger and determination passed through me. "I'm going!" With a broken leg and crutches, I didn't move fast, but I was finally moving. The confused and broken man who just a few hours ago listened to his wife and his mother-in-law lie to him, the fearful man who worried that his wife was having an affair, became the man driving to Maine to confront his cheating wife and demand a divorce.

It was dark, the best time to drive, and the miles passed with little to distract us. David drove and I stewed. Ariel was cheating on me! For a year she'd been going to Vermont to visit her mother. Had she been cheating on me the whole time? Who was this guy and how did she meet him? Did she meet him in Vermont? Did she even go to Vermont on her weekends? I tried to get a grip on my emotions and make a mental list of what I knew as opposed to what I thought. She said she was going to Vermont to visit her mother, but she was in Maine. She lied to me. Her mother lied to me. They were working together. She damn well wasn't at her mother's house no matter how hard they tried to pretend she was. All those nights out with the girls, those sharp outfits she wore to work, the gradual change in her demeanor, it all started to fall into place.

It was a quiet three-and-a-half-hour drive from Hartford to Portland, highway all the way. We left my place a little after midnight and stopped once at a twenty-four-hour convenience store to unload and reload with coffee and chips. There was no traffic to slow us down and the open road made the driving easy. As we approached Portland, I pulled up the cell phone ap on David's phone and zeroed in on Ariel's location. Portland is a very navigable town, and by 4:30 we found her car. It was sitting in the parking lot below a three-story apartment building. David nodded, said, "Right!" and pulled back onto the street.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"Do you want to ring all the doorbells looking for her, or wait for her to come out?"

"Well, I... I... I don't know! Fuck, I've never done this before!"

"And you'll never do it again. We're going to find a quick pit stop, unload and reload, get gas, and then we'll be ready to stake out her car." David was thinking ahead. I was an emotional basket case.

"Okay. I get it now."

Twenty minutes later we were back at her car pulling into a space that was out of the way but left her car clearly visible. David shut down the Charger and we began to wait. It was 5AM on a Sunday morning, the world was quiet, and my cheating wife was upstairs with some crap sack laughing at how easy it was to put one over on her husband while all I could do was sit and wait. We sat there for five long hours just waiting and watching. The sun came up, the air warmed, and we continued to sit there. It was nearly 10AM when she came walking out of the building, arm-in-arm with her weekend bedmate. I instantly recognized him. I'd met him at a few of her office social functions.

"Isn't that her?"

"Of course that's her! Pull up behind them and block them in so she can see me."

David started the Charger, pulled around the row of cars, stopped behind what I'm assuming was the crap sack's car, and turned off the Charger's engine. The crap sack looked at me with more attitude than he could defend and just as he was about to tell me to get out of his way, Ariel looked up and saw me sitting just ten feet away. Her eyes went wild, she dropped her purse, and before she could scream, she fainted dead away. Her head hit the pavement hard and I didn't move a finger to help her. I just looked at that sack of crap and said, "Help her, asshole! She's yours now. Tell her not to come home... EVER!"

I waived for David to go, he started the Charger's engine, and we pulled away into traffic. My wife, my life, was lying on the pavement behind me passed out and I'd just left her there with her fuck buddy. If he wants the pleasure, he can do the work that goes with it. She was no longer my problem. I'd cared for her when she was sick, held her when her father died, reassured her when work wasn't going well, took her dancing when she was bored and to dinner when she had the desire. I'd paid the bills, created savings, worked late, helped with the cooking, the cleaning, and the shopping, and generally done what was needed when you have a life with someone, and now none of that was my responsibility any longer. All that was his problem now.

David drove a few miles and pulled into a parking lot. "You okay?"

"Yeah. All decisions made. All doubts resolved. I know what I'm going to do now."

"Divorce?"

"Damn right. I promised for better or worse, but if I'm the only one living in the marriage, then it isn't a marriage. I won't be lied to and I won't be cuckolded."

David just nodded that he understood, fired up the Charger, and we headed south on I-95.

"Where are we going now?" Boy, that was a good question. I knew where I wanted to go, but it was asking a lot.

"How do you feel about a day of driving?"

David just smiled and said, "Vermont?"

"Yeah, Vermont."

"South on I-95, west on NH Rt.-4, then Rt.-202 to Concord, south on I-93, west on I-89, and don't stop until you hit Burlington."

"How the fuck do you know that?"

"I looked it up while we were staking out her car."

"I didn't see that."

"You were asleep."

"Shit, seriously?"

"Relax. You were exhausted. Stress will do that."

"Sorry, man."

"Nothing to be sorry about. You're wrestling with every emotion in the book and I'm just a guy out for a drive."

I knew better than that. This man, my brother, was a man of empathy. He cared about me and about every decent human being he ever met. As we drove south on I-95 and then headed west on NH Rt.-4, I worked to put the pieces together. I replayed ever discussion, every action, looking for something that was out of character. There were little things, but people are complicated, and I wrote them off at the time as the normal evolution of a marriage. I figured it was nothing more than a trusted wife struggling to deal with the pressures of a career and building a life for us both. Life and marriage aren't a perpetual honeymoon, but there were signs and I missed them. Somehow, David didn't. Replaying our discussions and his comments over the past year, I realized he had put the pieces together.

"You knew! How did you know?"

"I didn't know. I just started wondering."

"What clued you in?"

"I don't know. It was the little things. It wasn't the late nights at the office, or the Friday nights out with the girls, or the trips north to visit her mother, but all of it together and then the way she seemed to stop making those little gestures started me wondering."

"What little gestures?"

"The way she used to touch you on your hand or your arm whenever you were near, the little kisses, the smiles and the need to hold your attention when others around you were talking. All those little things seemed to dry up just a year and a half after the wedding. Dude, I was jealous of you in a big way! I kept wondering, 'Why can't I find a girl like Ariel?' I used to love being around the two of you and telling myself, 'Someday, this is what it'll be like.' Then it wasn't."

"How did you see it when I didn't?"

"Oh, you saw it. We talked about it often enough. You just didn't want to believe. You were a man who loved is wife and the thought that she wasn't invested in the marriage the same way you were wasn't something you were willing to consider."

"I was a blind fool."

"You were a man in love. Some women look for love all their lives and never find it, while Ariel had it and threw it away. Believe me, as much as you hurt now, she's going to regret her actions more than you can imagine. You were a good husband, Henry! I know it sounds trite, but you came home every night, you didn't blow your paycheck at the bar, and you didn't cheat. You took care of your wife, saved for the future, listened to her thoughts, and held her when she cried. That may not sound like much, but in the long run it's everything."

"So where did I go wrong?"

"You didn't. She did. Why? I don't know. Maybe it was her father's death. Maybe the need to grow up and handle all the responsibilities of marriage and a career were too much for her. Maybe it was the thought of starting a family someday that scared her. Maybe she just met up with a smooth-talking predator who got in her head and twisted her thinking into knots. You may never know. Hell, she may not even know."

We drove on in silence for a long time after that. It's four and a half hours from Portland to Burlington and on any other day I would have enjoyed the view. On that day it was just miles and hours passing by as I prepared to confront the woman who was as much a mother to me as the woman who gave me life. I would ask her why she had betrayed me so badly? What did I do to deserve her lies and deception? She owed me that much. As we drove, it finally occurred to me that this woman had the answers to many of my questions, but would she tell me?

+++ +++ +++

Forty-five minutes south of Portland we were approaching the New Hampshire border. "I should have kicked his ass!"

David's eyes never left the road. He just started to laugh. "Sure. I can see that. You throw open the car door, reach around behind you and push the seatback down, wiggle backwards until you can swing your bum leg out of the car, then wiggle forward until you're positioned, lean out the door, put both arms on the door frame, lift yourself out of the car, reach back to get your crutches, hobble over to the crap sack, get in his face and say, 'I'm going to kick your ass!'"

Okay, he had a point. "I still should have kicked his ass."

"You will, later, after your leg is healed and you have your strength back. We'll drive back up and find him. Maybe we'll bring a couple of friends. There's no point in being gentlemen about it. He was no gentleman when he screwed your wife behind your back. We'll just find him, beat the crap out of him, and drive home."

"Roger that!"

We continued riding quietly, me with my thoughts and David focusing on the road. As we approached the Connecticut River that marked the boundary between New Hampshire and Vermont David said, "You hungry?"