A Life Well-Hidden

by Emily Nealis

  What if I was misremembering? Was I forgetting something? It happened sometimes; Adam had a much better memory than I did anyway. There’s an explanation for everything. But the voice in the back of my head began whispering, you might not want to know the explanation. I wasn’t crazy, but could I be mistaken? It happened once before, and after that I promised myself I wouldn’t go there again. That kind of suspicion is what almost ended my marriage all those years ago, when we both said such terrible things to each other. But I was wrong, and I wasn’t going to risk my marriage with Adam again just because women liked being around him. I told myself that meant nothing, that he would never do anything disingenuous, or that he would ever break our vows.

  But, still, the juxtaposition of this unknown element in an ordinary place gnawed at me throughout the rest of the morning. Our life continued to buzz around me; the girls running back and forth down the hall getting ready to leave for the barbecue at their grandparents’ house, and Adam coming in from working outside, walking back to the bedroom to take a shower. I stood in the kitchen in somewhat of a daze, unable to shake the strange occurrence inside Adam’s truck. I began rinsing the dishes on the counter and loading them into the dishwasher. Robotically, I rinsed, bent down, loaded a glass, rinsed, bent down, loaded a plate. Over and over, pouring over the past few weeks, trying to think of when anyone else might have been inside the truck. But, more so, I wanted to remember where I recognized the fragrance.

  Adam called down the hallways to the girls, who were cackling to one another in June’s bedroom, telling them to get their bags, put their shoes on, and head outside. I picked up the last glass and ran it under the faucet, swirling water around in it to rinse the unidentified red juice residue from the bottom. My concentration was interrupted by my phone vibrating on the countertop. I glanced at the screen of my phone, illuminated by a new message from Carolyn.

  Do you still want pictures of the girls from the wedding? They’re on my phone, so remind me and you can look at them tonight.

  The glass slipped out of my hand and clattered to the bottom of the soapy sink. Suddenly, I remembered exactly where I’d smelled that perfume before.

  6

  August 24 – FIGHTING WORDS

  Diana

  I like to plan. I always need to have a plan. I’m a planner. But while in a state of exhilaration, I forgot myself. I was so wrapped up in the idea of a life with Adam Hunt that I did not consider how we might arrive at this life. Adam spoke regularly about what we would do and what this life would be like, but the story always began at the same place—once we were together. I should have noticed this earlier, but how do you critically examine the words of someone you’re so excited about and so in love with that nothing else seems to matter?

  As I said—I forgot myself.

  Perhaps it was sheer denial, but we never seemed to discuss how this would occur; only that it would. The more we spoke about this anticipated day in the future, when we would be together, I gradually began to analyze our conversations in ways I never had before. After a few weeks went by, and the initial excitement settled, I caught myself wondering if there was any plan at all. The fact that Adam only spoke in terms of “when” caused me to question his intentions. Each time I questioned him more deliberately, he seemed to have the same response, that it would happen as soon as he could figure out how to make a smooth transition with his relationship with his daughters intact.

  Contrary to popular belief, I did care about the well-being of Adam’s children. However, Adam’s lack of detail in his responses only caused me to view our relationship with increasing skepticism. In the meantime, he acted as though we were a normal couple, who were anything but normal. I was reminded of this each time he had to leave me to go back home. We couldn’t talk on the phone at any given time. We could rarely go out and do anything together like a normal couple. Meanwhile, I observed my friends meeting people, dating, and developing relationships with people whose identities did not require confidentiality.

  At first, I didn’t mind the idea of waiting for Adam. Every day, he referenced the future in which we would be together. And I, the sensible and understanding person, supported the time it would take to make that happen. I said I was prepared to wait for him, although I didn’t know what that meant at the time. A year doesn’t sound that long when you’re young. In your mid-twenties, a lot can happen over the course of one year. But what happens when that initial year turns into potentially 2, 3, 4, or 5?

  The resentment did not appear overnight. It intensified gradually with each passing day, picking up speed with each moment that reminded me Adam was a secret part of my life. I didn’t speak to anyone about the heavy secret I carried or about the one person who consumed the greatest amount of my time, all the while remaining veiled in anonymity. He was a ghost of someone whose absence I mourned every day.

  Eventually, each time we discussed being together, the timing gradually extended. Some new consideration appeared, ones which had always existed, but reality suddenly brought it to his attention. It was clear he hadn’t put much thought into his statement the night at my house when he told me what he wanted. I only had myself as a point of reference; if I was ready to leave a relationship—for whatever reason—I was absolutely sure and I had already devised an action plan.

  My cynicism was at its highest one Sunday morning after Adam called me from his truck. He was in the middle of telling me he probably wouldn’t be able to talk much that afternoon and evening, as they were all going to a barbecue at Haley’s parents’ house with Travis and Carolyn. I didn’t say anything at first, an exhaustion creeping over me, trailed by apathy. What could I say, anyway?

  “OK.” I finally said, my tone of voice becoming increasingly flat and distant.

  “Do you want me to stop talking about her?” Adam asked, referring to his wife. Maybe, over the past few months, he had noticed a change in me. Maybe he noticed that, whenever he began talking about Haley, no matter how insignificant, I lost interest and subconsciously disengaged from the conversation until he changed the subject. Because who was I to complain about him talking about his wife—the woman he’d been married to for twelve years and went home to every night.

  “You can talk about whatever you want. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to say about it.” I didn’t tell him that whenever he spoke about her, those words went in one ear and out the other. Maybe I should have told him this.

  In the beginning, I didn’t mind that Adam told me about his marriage. We were just two people discussing our lives with one another. But once everything changed, and our relationship changed in the most fundamental of ways, any divulgence of that part of his life felt crass and rude. It caused me to question why he was telling me any of it. I no longer wanted to know about his personal problems, or that they had to pick up black mulch for the front of the house, because I was completely biased at that point. Often, I just sat and waited for Adam to finish speaking. Of course, I wanted him to leave his wife—who wouldn’t at that point? Of course, in the eyes of anyone else, it made me a complete monster.

  Each time Adam uttered Haley’s name, it came with the stark realization that he still had a life with someone else. He had not ended that part of his life and, therefore, could not start a new one. I was left in stasis—stuck in time between my life before Adam and the idea of a life with him, unable to move forward. His entire life was a reminder that my life was now truncated by reality. I was a secret chapter of his life. I was a frog soaking in a hot tub, just waiting to realize I was in the chef’s saucepan. I couldn’t remain in denial, and I could not ignore it any longer.

  In the beginning, I was so drunk on Adam Hunt, I didn’t stop to think about the financial implications of being in a marriage with him. I was completely ignorant of family law, but it eventually occurred to me that child support, even with shared custody, for two children, plus whatever he might be ordered to pay to a wife with no additional source of income would all but obliterate
an $80,000 salary. It might have been shallow and selfish, but I couldn’t help but consider my own salary and how different life would be if I stayed on my own or even ended up with someone who made the same or more than I did. Money isn’t everything, but no one can deny that it’s important.

  Adam attempted to reassure me with statements that only fueled my growing rage for the situation in which I’d found myself. I was unsure whether he realized the irony of how his declaration of love for me created a void inside me that grew with each day. Telling me he wanted to be with me did nothing to change the fact that I was devoid of a life plan, which contradicted every fiber of my being.

  “I feel like I’m cheating on you when I’m with my wife.” He told me during that phone call.

  “Hmm.” I had no other response except, “Yeah, me too.” I should have realized the bizarre nature of that statement, but I kept circling back to his promise, now becoming increasingly vague, that we would one day be together. I could have produced a laundry list of positive qualities about Adam that bound me to him and kept me coming back to him; small things, like the way he pronounced my name with a thick drawl, to more significant things like the way we could talk for hours about any topic, and the way we could do anything but talk for hours.

  Even after the infuriating days when I’d convinced myself he was trying to let me down easy, that he said things to prepare me for the inevitable collapse of our relationship, he would return the next day with reassurances that he wanted to be with me, that he was doing everything possible to make sure we would be together. Adam would tilt his head and smile the same way he did the first time he told me he loved me. Each time, I believed him, because honestly, when someone you love is promising you the world, why wouldn’t you?

  But each time Adam had to leave me, I felt nothing but resentment and disdain. I wouldn’t have given it a second thought if each time he said he needed to spend time with his daughters. It would have been easy for him to justify his absence then. But that would have been a lie, wouldn’t it? In true irony, the straight-forward, blunt honesty that first attracted me to him gradually became the thorn in my side, the nagging skepticism at the back of my mind. It caused me to question whether he considered our relationship with more ambivalence than I thought.

  Instead, Adam began turning it around. Each time the subject came up, he emphasized his fear of losing his kids, as though he was trying to remind himself of it. But then I wondered why he was doing any of this—had it not occurred to him in the beginning? It became as though I was to blame for him speaking to me, wanting to see me, and eventually asking me to create a life with him when it became convenient for him.

  Even when Adam spoke of our hypothetical life together, I wondered about his current life with Haley. Clearly, it wasn’t a nightmare. I couldn’t bear witness to any part of their life together, but I found myself wondering what their marriage was really like. They lived on an 18-acre property together with two children, and I imagine they did things that normal families did. Adam and Haley spent weekends working around their farm and sitting on their deck overlooking the horse fields. They kept a large garden, they had dinner together as a family, they took their daughters on fun outings, and visited their family who lived in the same town as me. I assumed that Adam still told Haley he loved her every night, likely the same things he told me every day. I assumed that he still had sex with her, which disgusted me more and more each day. I assumed that Adam’s life with Haley had not changed significantly, maybe because I had no idea what their life together entailed. However, as more time passed, I began to speculate about Adam and Haley’s life; analyzing the tones in Adam’s voice and dissecting the references to the other side.

  After all this, for some reason I still loved Adam. In fact, I still loved him, but I was beginning to hate Haley.

  The next morning, on Monday, I met Adam for coffee like I did every other day for the past four months. However, this morning was different. When I climbed into the cab of Adam’s truck, he looked exhausted. He leaned back against the headrest, yawning every couple of minutes. He also wasn’t saying much, which was completely out of character for Adam, who was usually lively in the mornings. When I asked him why he looked so terrible, he said he hadn’t slept much the previous night.

  “Did you get home late?” I asked, referring to the barbecue on Saturday. He shook his head, tilting the coffee mug back and taking a few sips.

  “It was a rough night.” Adam looked at me, attempting a half smile. He reached over and took my hand, intertwining his fingers in mine.

  “What happened?” By this time, I was more curious than anything. I felt that I knew Adam very well at this point, and he did not spook easily. But at that moment, he looked drained. He sat next to me, holding my hand on top of the center console, sipping coffee at a steady pace. Eventually, he told me what happened.

  “The girls ended up staying the night with Haley’s parents, so I thought it was going to be a relaxing night. We ended up getting into a fight on the way home. I don’t even remember what it was about. I was so angry, I just wanted to get out of there, but she just wouldn’t let up. Even when I tried to leave the room to get away and cool off, she followed me. I went downstairs and she just stayed right behind me, keeping at it.

  I finally had enough, and I just lost it. I didn’t say anything to her, I just turned around, picked her up, tossed her over my shoulder, and carried her back upstairs. I carried her out to the front porch, put her down, went back inside, and locked the door. I locked up the entire house—every door to the outside. Then, I got in my truck, locked her SUV, and pulled it right up to the driver’s side door so she couldn’t use the key pad to get in. I locked my truck, took all the keys and went down to the shed to work out there and clear my head. I left her up there outside the house for a good three hours before coming back. I ended up sleeping on the couch, which is why I feel like shit this morning.”

  I sat next to Adam in silence, still holding his hand across the console. I had nothing to say. Or, rather, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t believe for a second that Adam forgot why they began fighting. It was more likely that he just didn’t want to tell me what it was. And if he didn’t want to tell me what it was about, I knew it was probably about me. Other than sounding tired, Adam appeared relatively unconcerned. I, on the other hand, still didn’t know how to respond to Adam’s confession that he’d carried his wife out of their house like a sack of potatoes and locked her outside for three hours.

  Was this normal? Had I completely misread the nature of Adam and Haley’s marriage? I realize that every relationship has its problems, and every relationship goes through trials and tribulations. However, I was expecting an argument, maybe with yelling and slamming of doors, not Adam physically throwing his wife out of their house and preventing any egress from the property. Still diluted by his charm, his promises, and his sweet words, I responded with minimal concern, still processing the story he’d just told me. I should have pressed him about the cause of the fight—what was so terrible that warranted locking Haley out of her own house? But for some reason, I didn’t. Maybe it was because he showed a small part of himself to me that he hadn’t meant to.

  The truth was, I was spooked.

  After we parted ways, I began to wonder why Adam even told me about the fight. We told each other practically everything else, maybe he perceived this as just another stressful moment to vent about. I couldn’t help but feel there was something very wrong with the entire situation. Ironic, considering I was already in such a wrong situation, but convinced myself that there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Although something tugged at the back of my mind, I ignored the signs of doubt, burying them beneath my unrelenting belief that Adam was the one I wanted to be with.

  But some things can’t be shaken so easily.

  By the time I settled in for the night, I was still thinking about Adam’s story. I meant to fall asleep reading, like every other night. Instead, I
stared at my ceiling, listening to the insects and nocturnal creatures sing a gospel too thick and rich for any other place on earth. I came back to Kentucky for a fresh start, but it was becoming apparent that I’d stepped into a new brand of horrors and nonsense; an absolute freak show hidden beneath the thin veneer of suburbia.

  I laid against my pillows in a trance, playing the last 12 hours over in my head, listening to that sweet music seeping through my window screen from the farm fields across Man ‘O’ War. One would think I’d be thrilled to hear of marital discord between Adam and Haley, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel any happiness or relief. This had nothing to do with a crisis of conscience, but rather the same nagging feeling in the back of my mind about Adam. Part of me felt like their fight was ominous foreshadowing of what life with Adam Hunt would be like if he were to indeed leave his wife.