How Do I Write the Next Line?

Sometimes, I don't think we really understand what our own mind is trying to tell us.

A few weeks into September, I finally hit my breaking point. I think it was the reminder that I received in the mail for Carolyn's industry trade show. She attended two a year--in March and November--and rubbed elbows with a lot of people who owned similar businesses. They talked trends, sales techniques, and previewed products.

I went with her to a few but they were pretty boring, to be honest.

The letter in my hand, reminding her to register for the upcoming show, was enough to spur me to action. I'd been thinking about the line from The Shawshank Redemption that went, "You either get busy living or you get busy dying." I wasn't ready for the latter so that left one choice.

Carolyn had only been a few days out from her spring event at the time of the accident. Josie had canceled Carolyn's reservation for that one. This time, I emailed the organizer, explained the situation, and asked her to contact Josie. My daughter still hadn't decided if she wanted to run the shop for the long term but was enjoying herself and in terms of revenue, the place hadn't skipped a beat, so I kicked that can down the road. But if Josie was going to keep running it, she'd need to consider attending the trade shows. Carolyn had shown me the connections and some of the products she'd started carrying as a result.

Taking that concrete action, small as it was, ignited my drive to get on with my life. I knew I'd always love Carolyn more than my own beating heart but she was gone. It was time to press forward.

The kids had been probing my intentions about Carolyn's possessions, which I had not touched in the six months since her passing. I sat down and drew up some concrete plans. I wanted the kids to be able to have a few things and I wanted to keep all the things that reminded me of her. But by and large, I knew much of the stuff would go, so I outlined how to go about that.

Most of her clothes went to charitable organizations, where I hoped they would find good homes. I let the girls pick over her jewelry and told David that when he found the right girl, he could have the stone from Carolyn's engagement ring to set in one to give her. Her wedding ring went into my safe. Books were rounded up. I offered some up to our friends; the rest went to libraries. Trinkets and other things found their way out. A big garage sale rid us of more stuff. I took the chance to lighten my own load at the same time. In a way, it was sad, watching all the items we'd spent a lifetime accumulating on their way out the door. On the other hand, it made me feel like I was indeed moving on.

One thing I didn't rid myself of was our songbook. I took it down a few times and read through the lyrics, remembering the good times with Carolyn, of each time we struggled with the wording of a verse until it was perfect. I didn't know if I would ever add another verse. The thought of writing even another line without her there seemed impossible. Maybe I would try again when the idea didn't seem so hard.

Either way, I knew I wanted to keep it. The sadness was tough to weather but the memories were good, too. Each time, I'd return the book to its box with care, and replace it on the top shelf of the closet.

It was a Saturday evening in early October when I dug out her old laptop and plugged it in. Her phone had been utterly destroyed in the crash but her computer had survived. It was fairly new and I planned to offer it to Clarissa, who had been complaining about hers acting up. Before that, I wanted to make sure it was clean.

The thought brought another sad smile. Carolyn and I had sent each other some nudes over the years. Though we'd mostly used texts, we'd emailed a few times too. We never showed our faces; Carolyn was paranoid about that kind of thing leaking and would have been mortified for our children to see her flashing the camera. That didn't stop me from receiving some very close-in shots, and once, a short video of a toy in use. That day, I'd left work, met her at home, and almost wrecked her. Caught in a pleasant memory, I traced my finger across the laptop case for a moment before I fired it up.

I knew her passwords, so it was a simple matter to get into the system. I'd already purged her actual email on the server from our home computer, so I went through her files. There wasn't much significant and nothing personal--mostly work stuff, which I dumped to a thumb drive to hand over to Josie, in case there was something pertinent. She had a local folder full of funny memes, which I also saved. I hadn't even known she stockpiled such things but knowing it now made me love her even more.

I went to clear her browser history. Rather than do a full sweep, I manually opened the history to see what websites she'd been on the day she passed. I hoped it had been something amusing, so her last moments before leaving work had been enjoyable. I opened the folder ... and paused. The top line indicated an email service we didn't use.

My brow creased. No one had been on the laptop since the day she was killed. Indeed, the date that website had been visited listed the date she died. I frowned, then clicked on the address. It popped up. Her login and password were saved.

There was only one email in the inbox, from an alphanumeric-string address I didn't recognize. I opened it. All it said was:

Can't wait to see you again, Carrie. Flight confirmed for 9 Mar. Made dinner reservations, and got our favorite room.

Love,

B.

It's odd what the mind does to you. When you're shocked, sometimes you'll focus on some detail that's really not very important.

Looking back on the moment now, I allow myself a grin that's half-amused, half-disgusted, because my first thought was, She hated being called Carrie.

But as the first pulse of shock faded, the reality of what I was seeing finally sank in and then my brain started firing again.

Nine March. That was the night before her trade show, the day she was flying to New York. She was meeting someone for dinner ...

There were no other messages in the inbox, nor the deleted messages, but the sent items folder told me everything I needed to know. I read the last two messages Carolyn had sent "B" before I had to look away. The first was a response to the message in her inbox, and read:

Sounds wonderful. I can't wait either.

Love,

C

The next one in the list had clearly been sent after her November trade show the previous fall, since it was dated shortly after she returned home. It said:

Wonderful seeing you again. I treasure our time so much!

Love you!

C

That was followed by a row of hearts. I slumped against the back of my chair.

Carolyn ... she was ...

I couldn't even finish the thought. Tears welled in my eyes but before they could fall, a wave of anger swept over me. Deception, betrayal, and rage filled me. I had to know. Fighting back my ire and fear, I took a deep breath, wiped my eyes, and fell back to their messages with renewed purpose.

From the dates of the emails, it seemed their meetings had been dating back for at least seven years, though I gathered from context it had been going on even longer, as Carolyn made reference to a "ten-year anniversary" in her email dated about a year before her death. Early in their exchanges, they had agreed that if either failed to respond, that they needed to let it go, rather than pursue contact at the risk of alerting their families--which explained why he had not contacted her after she failed to attend the show in March.

Any doubt I had about the innocence of the messages was annihilated when I opened a message she sent showing herself in lingerie I had never seen that somehow covered everything and nothing at the same time. As I might have expected, her face wasn't in it, but I knew every square inch of my wife's body and knew it was her. Her message on that one said, Something to get you in the mood.

There was nothing disparaging to me or the spouse of the mysterious B, if he had one. In fact, in one email dated four years earlier--the last time I had attended a show with her--she informed B that she would be with me on that trip and his response had not been whining or attempts to convince her to meet, but simple acknowledgment.

I wracked my mind to see if I could recall anything amiss about that trip but I couldn't remember anything. That spring trade show had been held in Los Angeles. The show itself had been boring as hell but we'd stayed an extra few days to do tourist stuff. We'd made love. We'd been in love.

At least I was, I thought. Her? I have no idea now.

There was no talk of leaving me to be with him or bragging about their clueless spouses. There were no crude references to what they did to each other; in fact, their emails seemed like very heartfelt expressions of love and adoration ... which in a way, hurt much worse.

I rubbed my chin and shook my head in disbelief. Carolyn had practically had a secret life on the road, and I'd never had a clue.

My hands shook, so I made my way to the bar and poured myself a shot of Grey Goose, just to settle my jangled nerves. The first didn't do the trick, so I had another, then another, and things got blurry after that.

I woke up with a pounding headache and feeling like someone had shaved my tongue. I had a fleeting recollection of a cartoon character who had once described a rotten sandwich's taste as, "It's like there's a party in my mouth and everyone's throwing up."

That's just about right.

I wandered back into my home office, wondering if in my drunken rage I had done something like throw her laptop in our hot tub, but it was still sitting there, a throbbing reminder of my wife's infidelity. I had, however, spilled the bottle of vodka and it had emptied into the carpet. The smell wrenched my stomach, so I left it for later.

Since it was about time to get up anyway, I made myself a pot of coffee. I nursed a cup and sat with my head in my hands, trying to make sense of what I'd found.

I could not think of a single thing in my life or marriage that I think would have pointed to Carolyn carrying on an affair, much less one that had spanned a decade. She always told me how happy she was with me and our kids. I have to believe she really had been happy. I didn't think she was a good enough actress to have faked it so hard, for so long.

So what was it, then? I sipped my drink. Was it me? Was she unsatisfied in bed?

I thought about it and while that seemed a likely cause for an affair, I doubted that was it. Carolyn had never been shy about telling me when she wanted more and I always did my best to make sure she was satisfied. She came after far too often and enthusiastically for it to be something she didn't want. Again, I doubted she'd been lying the entire length of our marriage ... unless it was simply about having variety.

Or maybe she really loved the guy.

Of all the possibilities, that felt like the least appealing--far worse than her just getting some on the side. Sex was bad enough but if she had shared tender moments with her lover, secrets and vulnerabilities, then it could not help but cheapen our years together; after all, if she took what was supposed to be between us--not just sex but trust and intimacy--and shared it with someone else, how special was what she and I had? She couldn't have valued it as much as I did. Had she entered into such a thing with cavalier disregard, swept up in her feelings? Had she fought it?

Did she love him more than me?

I sighed and closed my eyes. I would probably never get the real answers. Carolyn was dead and nobody else knew.

Except maybe this "B" guy.

My eyes narrowed and a variety of unpleasant thoughts ran through my mind.

The front door opened and I heard a voice. "Dad?"

I exhaled hard. I'd forgotten Josie was coming over today, to help sort more of Carolyn's things.

She entered the kitchen. For a moment, she looked so much like her mother at that age that I catapulted back through the years to when we were first married and her loss stung so hard my chest ached. And then I remembered the laptop and its incriminating messages. Pain vanished, replaced by building anger. My lip curled.

Josie blinked. "Dad? Are you okay?"

"Not really."

She sniffed. "Were you drinking?"

If I had stopped to think, or not been hungover, I might have said nothing. I might have debated not tainting the image my children had of their mother--at least without more consideration. Instead, I sipped my coffee and let the venom in my veins take over. "If you must know, I was cleaning out your mother's laptop and I found out she was carrying on an affair."

Josie gasped. "You did?"

"Yep. She's been fucking some guy she met at her trade shows for the last ten years and would have been doing him again in March if not for the accident." I stared at the wall. "So since she's not here for me to confront, I figured I'd drink a little."

"Oh."

Something about the tone of Josie's voice caught my attention. My hangover symptoms faded into the background of my awareness and I whipped my head toward her. "Josie?"

She wouldn't look at me.

A new clawing pain erupted deep in the pit of my stomach, coupled with dread and horror. I stood and leaned into the table. My voice fell to a whisper. "Did you know?"

"Dad--"

"Don't. Just answer the question. Did you know?"

She wrung her hands and met my eyes. "It didn't mean Mom loved you any less. She just ... loved him too."

My vision narrowed to pinpricks and the roaring in my ears drowned out conscious thought. It was good that I was already leaning on the table or I might have staggered.

She knew. Josie knew all along. Carolyn ... loved him too? What the actual fuck?

I managed to croak, "David? Clarissa?"

"I don't think they know. Mom only told me because she and--" Josie hesitated. "She didn't have anyone to talk to. She felt guilty but she really loved you both."

My thoughts were so jumbled I couldn't form a coherent response.

Josie stepped toward me, her arm outstretched. Her face was miserable; I know because I'm sure my face matched. "Dad, sit down. Let's talk."

In an instant, my anger returned, coursing through my veins with explosive force. I think I actually snarled. "Don't you fucking touch me."

I had never spoken to Josie in that tone and I could tell it hit her like a hammer. She froze and her mouth fell open.

Despite my anger, my voice stayed tight and in control. "Josephine, I don't want to hear your mother's excuses. I don't want to hear about this great love she had. I don't want to hear you justify it. She was cheating on me and you knew it. Walk out the door, right now. I don't want to see you again for a while. Maybe not ever."

"Dad--"

"No. Get out."

"But--"

Other than a rare swat on the butt when they were still in diapers, we had never struck our children. Carolyn and I had agreed on not crossing a certain line with disciplinary measures and had never displayed real violence toward the kids, of any kind.

Because of that, I imagine Josie was actually terrified when I scooped my half-filled mug off the table and slammed it onto the floor. Shards of ceramic and droplets of coffee sprayed in every direction. She shrieked and recoiled from me.

"Get. Out."

Josie fled. I stayed where I was until I heard the front door slam. A moment later, I paced to the front door and glanced outside. Her car was gone.

Running home, I'm sure. I wonder if Lucas knows. If he doesn't he will. I shook my head. Now my son-in-law is going to think I'm such a bad husband my wife had to go looking elsewhere. I'm sure he won't ever look at me the same way again. Everyone will. Family, friends, ... everything's going to change. I paused. Friends. There's only one "friend" Carolyn would have trusted with this.

I entered my office and dug through my desk until I found the card. I dialed the number and waited.

After two rings, her heady voice came over the line. "Hello?"

"Did you know?"

"Ted, is that you? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Vi. Don't change the subject. Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"You know what. Carolyn and her trade shows."

There was silence.

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. In some ways, her silence hurt worse than Josie's betrayal. Josie was my daughter and Carolyn's. She had a blood tie to both of us. We'd always be her parents, and that connection was immutable and involuntary. She had to be related to us.

But Vi was my friend because she wanted to be. She could have been just Carolyn's friend. My wife and I both had plenty of friends whom the other person only tolerated. I liked Vi. We had a similar sense of humor and outlook on life. We'd always had easy conversations and I enjoyed her company. I thought she liked me too. She always acted like she did.

Where the rubber meets the road and she had to pick between us, I guess we see who she chose. I should have expected that but it still hurts. "Well, thanks for letting me know, Vi."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

I had to laugh, though due to my hangover-dried mouth, it was more of a raspy chuckle. "The oldest excuse in the book. Didn't take you long to fall back to that one."

"Ted--"

"I know you were Carolyn's friend before mine but I thought we were friends too, Vi."

"We were," she said, sounding stricken. "We are."

I wanted to lash out. I wanted to tell her that she should go choke on the biggest dick she could find. I wanted to tell her I understood why her husband left her. I wanted to yell that I hoped she died alone and unloved.

I didn't, though.

Rage is funny. Sometimes, like a fire, it burns out of fuel and the hotter it burns, the faster it burns up. As if someone had let the air out of my balloon, I suddenly didn't have any anger left. I knew I had to adjust my life. People who didn't have my back would have to be cut out. I didn't even want revenge. I just wanted to be done with all of them. And no matter what she did to hurt me, even if I couldn't trust Vi or be around her again, since I wasn't in the grip of a blind rage, I couldn't bring myself to intentionally wound a former friend. I just wasn't wired that way.

I took a deep breath. "Not anymore. You don't do friends like this."

She didn't answer. Only the sound of her soft sobs filled the line.

"Goodbye, Vi." I thought I heard her call my name as I disconnected but I wasn't sure ... and I didn't care.

I chucked my phone on my desk and meandered back to the kitchen. The vodka was gone but we had more booze. I was pretty sure I was going to need it.

#

I called off work for a few days and spent the better part of forty-eight hours alternating between drinking and sleeping it off. By the time Tuesday morning rolled around--two full days after I'd kicked Josie out--I felt like complete ass but I also felt like I had done all the damage I wanted to do. The idea of taking another drink turned my stomach and not in a physical way. I was actually a little disgusted with myself.

I've never been one to wallow. I excuse myself for the few weeks after Carolyn died. The loss of a spouse, especially at a younger age and unexpectedly, is a life-altering event ... but I recovered pretty quickly. I was someone who usually tried to put things behind me and as I gazed at my bloodshot eyes and three-day stubble in the mirror that morning, I hated what I saw.

So I cleaned up. I got rid of empty liquor bottles and some that were still half-full. I sat in the hot tub for an hour, sipping water the whole time to rehydrate myself, then took a tepid shower, and shaved. When it was done, I still hurt and was tired, but I felt light years better than I had. None of the problems had gone away, however, and I resolved to tackle them one by one.