A Life Well-Hidden

by Emily Nealis

  The camera frame moved behind Haley and rotated to reveal a large, silver camper trailer parked below the back deck. Adam’s laughter permeated the audio as Haley paced around the camper, examining it from every angle. She turned to Adam and pranced excitedly with exclamations of joy. She ran toward him, out of frame, and threw her arms around him with an “I love you.”

  “I love you too, baby,” he replied, “Happy Anniversary.”

  “Yeah, listen to this sap,” Danny laughed, reading the caption accompanying the video. I felt the urge to punch Danny in the face so he would stop talking.

  “Twelve years ago, we started our lives together, so young and full of dreams. We’ve been through so many ups and downs together, but I wouldn’t want any other life than the one I share with you,” Danny rolled his eyes, “He’s such a cheeseball, good Lord.”

  I thought I was going to throw up. I had no idea it was Adam and Haley’s anniversary. I had no idea that was the project around the farm that Adam was referring to. He completely omitted any of that information. No wonder he didn’t go into more detail. Instead, I found out about it from some guy that got sent to the meeting Adam was supposed to attend. Adam was home with Haley on their anniversary, giving her a goddamn RV, promising her the future, and I was sitting in a conference room with his proxy.

  The writing was on the wall, and it described exactly where I stood in Adam’s life. I felt my heart pounding in my chest and my stomach drop. I had the wherewithal to stay cool and calmly scoot back to my place at the table, throwing a generic look on my face to feign the appearance of being impressed. I didn’t hear anything else that was said. Aaron began to crack jokes and, thankfully, Scott and Kelly reappeared in the room only seconds after the video ended. My muscles began to twitch with anxiety and my skin became cold and clammy. That conference room was the last place I wanted to be. I wanted to run out of the room, but if I escaped to the restroom next door, I knew I wouldn’t be able to return. I resolved to stay put and hope that it didn’t last very long or, at the very least, no one would speak to me.

  I completely shut down, pretending to focus on my notes and listen for keywords to make sure no one was addressing me. It occurred to me I probably didn’t even need to be at this meeting. Why did I even bother showing up? Because I plan my life—that’s why. I’m a competent, professional individual that makes plans and follows through. I’m a professional woman who plans and, for some reason, I chose to spend a significant amount of my time with someone who has no concern for my plans and my life. If I hadn’t been at that stupid meeting, I wouldn’t have met Danny, and I wouldn’t have had to watch that stupid video of Adam giving Haley an extravagant anniversary present that contradicted any sort of indication that he didn’t want to be married to her anymore. While Adam was planning a future with me, he was also purchasing his wife the camper of her dreams to travel the country with their family.

  My productive day wouldn’t have been completely ruined if I’d just skipped the meeting that was thrown together at the last minute. But instead, I sat there for 45 minutes waiting for said meeting to end. With each minute that crept by, I breathed deeply, hoping I wouldn’t snap and completely fall apart.

  As soon as the meeting concluded, I rushed back to my office, grabbed my bag, and all but ran back down the hallway. I bypassed the elevator and burst through the door to the stairwell, hoping to avoid any other human contact on my way out. As soon as I shut my car door and started the ignition, I couldn’t hold my muscles still any longer. My face contorted into a tight, twisted, fleshy mass of agony. I must have looked completely crazy, speeding down the freeway, holding back tears as best I could in order not to look crazy when I inevitably reached a traffic light. It didn’t work. There was no music coming from the stereo, only a series of idiotic whimpers that intensified with every mile.

  Fortunately, there was not much traffic, but this was the first time I lamented how far I lived from work, even if it only was 15 minutes. When I reached my house, I didn’t even park in the garage. I didn’t have the time to wait for the garage door to go up, I just needed to get inside and lock the door. I parked in the driveway and staggered out of my vehicle, partially hunched over, dragging my purse along with me. I clumsily unlocked the front door and made my way upstairs to my bedroom. As soon as I stepped through the doorway, I dropped my purse on the floor and fell onto my knees right next to it, collapsing into a heap on the carpet.

  I kneeled there on my floor, rocking back and forth and wailing uncontrollably for a solid hour. I have never felt that hurt or hopeless. I’ve never cried that hard in my life.

  Ever.

  My stomach was churning, my hands were cold, and it felt like my heart was wrenched and oozing through my ribcage. I cried for someone I was convinced I’d lost forever. I was facing the fact that Adam and I would never be together. My chest felt tight and I knew this was exactly what it felt like for a heart to break. It was cracking and hemorrhaging in my chest and I could feel every second of it. For one hour, I sobbed and wailed at the horrifying, ugly injustice of it all. How could Adam do this to me—string me along, proposition some grand plan to create a life with me, and then, whether he meant to or not, throw his artificially perfect sham of a marriage in my face? What kind of garbage was that?

  Finally, I collapsed back against the wall because my legs fell asleep. My sobs weakened to a steady cry, which turned into a squeaky conversation with God. For the next hour, I pleaded with him to help me, give me strength, and show me the way, whatever that meant—to give me a sign. That eventually turned into me questioning whether this was my punishment and asking forgiveness for my past transgressions. Was this what I deserved for breaking up with a man I was engaged to? But wouldn’t the alternative have been worse? Was there something else I was being punished for? I didn’t know, I just kept asking God to relieve me of this excruciating pain.

  Through all my self-pity and hopelessness, I began to realize that I was not the true victim in this situation. To my surprise, as I sobbed and leaked from every orifice in my face, my hatred for Haley began to dissipate. Instead, I began to feel sorry for her. I felt ashamed of myself for being such a fool, but I felt sorry Haley was married to a man like Adam. Adam claims he and Haley “don’t have any problems.” He claims he loves his wife—but he’s not in love with her—but he still “likes spending time with her”.

  Adam and Haley don’t have any problems, but he cheats on her and created a separate relationship—planned a different life—with someone else. He even told that someone else—me—that he loves me. But, alas, Adam and Haley don’t have any problems. Adam thinks his children will grow up with a healthy perception of marriage just because he and Haley still live under the same roof. They very well could; Adam is a wonderful liar, and he will do anything to make sure that everyone sees him as a man of honor. But I couldn’t help but wonder—even if Adam did keep his word and we ultimately ended up together, when would the day come when we “don’t have any problems?”

  Maybe Adam was serious at some point, I’ll probably never know. I never dealt in head games, even during the days of shallow high school romances. I said what I meant and expected the same in return, which, up until this point, worked exceptionally well. How could Adam speak so terribly about his marriage, but then speak so highly of Haley in the same breath? How could he put me on a pedestal and, in the next breath, pledge his commitment to Haley in front of the entire world? Only a monster could do that.

  After I managed to stand up, walk into the bathroom, wash my face, rinse my contacts, and put my makeup back on, I glanced at the clock and realized I completely forgot about the plans I made for that night. It was five ‘til six and I told Anna I would go with her to a bar on the south side of town for dinner and to watch her play on one of the sand volleyball teams. I was considering bailing on her, too consumed in my own swamp of despair, but decided if there was a time I needed to get out and be social, it was now.

  Whil
e changing clothes, my phone rang. It was Anna. I answered it, trying in vain to sound normal after a couple hours of sobbing.

  “Are you OK?” The rush of static in the background suggested she was in her car, “You sound like death.”

  “No,” I exhaled, “I’ve been crying on my floor, having a complete nervous breakdown for the last two hours.”

  “What? Why? Never mind, I’m on my way to get you. I’ll be there in five.”

  Over Buffalo chicken sandwiches and burgers, I told Anna the short saga of the last eight months, beginning with where it started—the wedding.

  “Holy. Shit.” She said after I finished telling her about Danny’s cell phone video, her mouth full of French fries. I leaned back in the cheap patio chair, holding my pint of beer on my stomach, soaking in the evening sun. A bearded guy dressed in flannel and Doc Martens flew by the table, grabbing my empty plate as he went. It might have felt like my life was ending, but I would never forgo food in a crisis.

  “That’s messed up.” Anna gulped down the rest of her beer.

  “I know, what kind of idiot gets involved with a married guy and then cries about him celebrating his anniversary with his wife?” I was at full self-loathing capacity, “I should have known to run in the other direction the night he drove me home from Carolyn’s wedding.”

  Anna raised her eyebrow.

  “Yeah, but nothing happened that night. He was the one who sought you out and contacted you.” She waved her finger in an arc through the air, “And then kept contacting you,” She rose from her chair, following the other players on her team who were beginning to take their places on the volleyball court, “And then told you he wanted to leave his wife and be with you. So, yeah, you probably should have just walked away in the beginning, but,” She shrugged, “It takes two.”

  Anna had a point. In the beginning, I could have stopped this entire mess in its tracks, but it quickly became more complicated each time I spoke to Adam. I once heard someone say that everyone blames the other woman, but it’s not so simple once someone starts carving up your heart. I used to think it was just an excuse for poor behavior, but at that moment, I finally understood that statement. I sat back in my chair, mulling this over in my mind, my feet propped up on the concrete divider between the tables and the sand volleyball court. I gazed around the patio, glad that I decided to get out of the house rather than remaining a depressed hermit. How did I become such a sad and angry person in such a short span of time? This was not who I was eight months ago.

  While I was staring off into space, contemplating my existence, I spotted rapid movement in my periphery. In the distance, I saw a man standing with a group of people. He was waving his arm at me from across the patio near the entrance to the bar. I recognized him, but I couldn’t initially distinguish from where. He had short, black hair and was wearing sunglasses and a t-shirt with Summit Racing stamped on the chest. The longer I looked at him, the more I recognized him. Finally, I made the connection—it was Sam North from work. I must have really been in a bad way if I couldn’t even recognize one of my coworkers I’d known for two years. I raised my arm and waved back. Sam broke away from the group he was with and began walking across the patio toward me.

  “Fancy seeing you here, Sanderson.” Sam approached my chair, a glass of beer in hand. I didn’t make any attempt to move, my feet still propped up on the concrete divider. I tilted my head, looking up at him from my chair.

  “It’s been a rough afternoon.” I replied, my voice barely deviating from monotone. Sam kicked the leg of Anna’s chair, scooting it away from the table, and sat down. He pulled his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose and set them on the table.

  “How so? Was the meeting with Scott a disaster?”

  “No, that was fine,” It wasn’t a lie, the meeting itself was uneventful as far as the study itself, “I probably didn’t even need to be there.”

  “OK, personal or professional?” Sam paused and raised his hand, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I can at least relate if it’s about work.”

  I stared at Sam, deciding how to respond. I took a sip of my beer, and as soon as I set it back down, the entire story came pouring out.

  I didn’t mean to tell Sam North the entire story of mine and Adam Hunt’s strange relationship—the affair, so to speak. Maybe it was the relief of telling someone about Adam. Or at the very least, telling someone about the rage I’d internalized. If he didn’t want to hear it, he could have just walked away. What did I care? At least I would have gotten it out; confessed it to someone. But he didn’t walk away. He didn’t judge me. He sat there, sipping his beer, and listened to my story.

  I began the story with the night I met Adam, which led to what happened when he took me home, which led to the farm party, which led to why I met him for lunch, which led to why we saw one another every morning, which led to another detail and another detail. Each element of the story required further explanation. Until, finally, I stopped caring about what he might think about it or me in general. What did it matter if Sam knew the entire story? I was beyond caring about what he or anyone else thought. Sam didn’t know any of these people, anyway. The entire time, he sat across from me, one leg crossed over the other, one hand on his glass, taking a sip ever few minutes.

  “Shit.” He paused, his eyes full of intrigue, “That is a rough afternoon.”

  “I don’t expect anyone to feel bad for me. I accept that I brought much of this on myself.” By this point, I felt like I’d finally pulled myself together, speaking matter-of-factly rather than descending into a blubbering mess like I thought I might.

  “Well, that may be, but it takes two to tango, my friend.” My head snapped up, startled by the similarity of his response to Anna’s, “I’m not one to judge anyway, I’ve been around this particular block before.”

  “Oh?”

  “A few years ago, I dated a woman who wasn’t exactly available, either. While it was happening, I could justify it because I cared about her and I wanted to be with her. My feelings were real. But, after it was over, I felt like a goddamn idiot.”

  It wasn’t even over for me and I already felt like a goddamn idiot.

  “He sat there, looked me in the eye, and told me he wanted to be with me and he was going to leave his wife. But now it’s become one excuse after another. He says it’s because of his kids; he must make sure they’ll be OK, whatever that means. I don’t even know. He just delays it another few months, another year, maybe another few years…” I trailed off, disgusted with how ridiculous I sounded when I said it out loud.

  “There’s always a reason,” Sam looked at me as though he knew I was in denial—like I knew the truth but was unwilling to admit it, “If you’re happy—in a healthy relationship—you don’t see other people the same way. You don’t invite someone else inside and begin planning a new life with them. People who are happy with their significant other do not look at other people the same way. There’s a reason he’s doing that—he’s just not telling you what it is. I don’t know this guy at all, but it sounds like he can’t make up his mind and he wants to convince himself both sides are good so he’s not disappointed by either outcome.”

  I knew he was right.

  “I feel like a mess. I didn’t used to be this way. I don’t know how this happened.” I ran my hand over my forehead in frustration, “I know people say that all the time, and I always thought it was a stupid excuse, but this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “We all go through things that make us feel like complete monsters. We’re all trying to get what we want, but that’s not what defines you.” Sam gazed off into the distance, his eyes watching the volleyball as it flew back and forth over the net. After a minute, he turned back to me, a slight smile on his face as though something just occurred to him.

  “There’s a White Zombie song, Super-Charger Heaven that begins with the lyrics, the supernatural is something that isn’t supposed to happen, but it does happe
n. Maybe you don’t have to explain this, maybe it just happened.”

  Staring at my empty glass on the table, I felt a smile creep across my face.

  “What?” Sam narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Those lyrics,” I stifled laughter, “They’re from the 1963 version of The Haunting.” Sam sat back in his chair, clearly surprised by my quick recall of horror movie lines. He shrugged and raised his glass to me.

  “Perfect.”

  Haley

  Things have a way of leveling out in the Hunt household. Whether it be the girls misbehaving or an argument between Adam and me, you can bet that within 48 hours, life will be back to normal. Honestly, I stopped worrying that Adam and I would split up due to a fight once June was born. Adam has a sense of family pride that overshadows all else. He’s obsessed with being the best father he can be. And why wouldn’t he, with two little girls who think the world of him? Our problems didn’t matter after they were born, that is, until last year. There were times I was unsure how it would end—or whether it would end at all.

  It didn’t end then, and it didn’t end 13 days ago. I figured, as long as life was business as usual, that’s the best I could hope for. As angry as I was with Adam, I still didn’t have any proof he’d done anything wrong. All I had was a vague aroma on his upholstery, fading by the day, and my brother’s squirrelly reaction to an uncomfortable question. I was so exhausted and frustrated by the entire ordeal, I just wanted to forget it. I pushed everything out of my mind—the perfume in Adam’s truck, my confrontation with Travis at the barbecue, and the fight later that night—I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I would, eventually, but no one was going anywhere. We were still there, still together.