The Anatomy of Cheating: A Novel

by Nesly Clerge

  “Look, Starks, I appreciate what you’re going through. It sucks, and I really am sorry. But it’s not the same.”

  “It’s similar enough for you to pay attention. There is one significant difference. Kayla said she married me for what she could get, not for love—I’d promised to give her the world, and she meant to hold me to it. Maybe she meant that, and maybe she was lying to herself because she was afraid to trust any man, after being abandoned by her father. But I loved her, in my own way. Always did. I just didn’t realize how much until it was too late, and now it’s really too late. I abused anything she felt for me by basically abandoning her to long hours working so we could buy expensive stuff, and with all the women I slept with, and crap even she doesn’t know about, and I hope she never does. The only woman I ever really loved … I’ll never have a chance to make it up to her. It’s too late for me, but it isn’t too late for you. Chelsea loved you from the start.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “I said you and I are cut from the same cloth. That material is an egregious level of pride fueled by overfed egos. We did exceptionally well in business and convinced ourselves our wealth and status entitled us to do whatever the hell we wanted. We were wrong. One thing we didn’t consider is that there’s always an expiration date that smacks you hard.”

  Garrett shook his head. “Prison’s really changed you. This isn’t the fun, freewheeling Starks I partied with.”

  “Those behaviors have been purged out of me. But, God, what it took for that to happen. What I had to lose. And the price others had to pay, especially my children. Trust me, Garrett, you don’t want to follow in my footsteps.”

  “How am I supposed to get on with my life? Act like it never happened?”

  “See the truth about what you’ve done, who you’ve become or always allowed yourself to be. It’s the only way to avoid making the same mistakes or worse ones. Whether that’s with Chelsea or someone else.”

  “You’re saying I should take responsibility. Mend my ways.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that. I’ve tried to stop being with other women. I can’t let go of how good it feels. Monogamy is monotony has been my motto. Yours, too.”

  “Then prepare for the price you’re paying now to increase. Until there’s nothing left of you to pay with and no one left in your life who wants anything to do with you. Because they can’t trust you.”

  “You’re saying that unless I change, I’m fucked.”

  “I’m saying you have a choice. Which one are you going to make?”

  CHAPTER 116

  Garrett did a perfunctory check-up on Starks, thanked him, and left, once again escorted by a correctional officer to the reception lobby. It was a relief to get out of that oppressive atmosphere. How did Starks do it, day after day after day? The answer came to him: he doesn’t have a choice, and that’s what he was trying to drum into you.

  Snow came down in large, wet flakes that stuck, but snowplows did a good job of keeping up with it on the highways. Still, the roads were slick. He kept his speed under thirty-five.

  It hadn’t been easy hearing what Starks said. The man’s words, for the most part, ran counter to everything he’d ever believed.

  Where had those beliefs come from? Not from his father. His father had always been a family man. Sure, he’d been fairly successful, but only enough to provide a moderate, comfortable life for his wife and three children. Garrett had wanted more. Always had. It was all about the money and what and who you could buy with it.

  He’d started doing odd jobs for neighbors when he was ten. If a program was on about the rich and famous at a time when he could watch, he parked himself in front of the TV, promising himself he’d be like those men one day.

  For years, he’d checked out biographies from the library about the most successful men in history and contemporary times, absorbing the information, as though if by osmosis, he’d become like them. How many of them had wives and mistresses? Nearly all of them. A seed got planted: Wealthy, successful, prominent men were seldom fulfilled by one woman. Nor could they or should they be. They worked hard. That gave them the right to play. They had more energy and lust for life than most. It had to be expended somewhere.

  His practice of this belief started when he turned sixteen. He had money saved from six years of yard work and bagging groceries at a local store. Enough to attract girls willing to put out if they were treated to a nice dinner and a few relatively expensive trinkets, relative, that is, for someone their age. As soon as a girl got clingy, he moved on to another one. Or he’d string a few of them along at a time. Once he began to succeed as an adult, he ignored his father’s example and latched onto other examples, like Starks’s. Every cosmopolitan city was rife with guys like him.

  Then it struck him: Very few of those men he’d admired had remained married to their first wives. Many had multiple wives, and children with each one. Despite the people they’d accumulated over the years, a number of these men died alone.

  What had Chelsea wanted from him? What he’d promised in their wedding vows. Instead, he betrayed those vows. Betrayed her. Sending her into the arms of two men. He was way ahead of her, count-wise, if anyone was keeping score.

  She’d also had to face getting pregnant with one of them, and an abortion. Not easy for someone who’d wanted more than one child. Chelsea could have tried to pass the kid off as his, but didn’t. He could be raising Eisenberg’s kid, instead of his own, and never known it unless something happened to him as had happened to Starks. That would have been some kind of fucking karmic backlash, for sure—cut off her ability to have more kids, only to realize he’d done the same thing to himself. Except, she’d have a kid that was hers, and he wouldn’t.

  Chelsea might have made her decision about the abortion from fear, but more likely from integrity. He’d pushed her into that situation. And had kept pushing her, including away, despite her efforts to save their marriage.

  Starks was right. He’d been a damn fool. A selfish prick who didn’t deserve a second chance. More like a third, fourth, or fortieth, if he really wanted to be honest with himself.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late. If he could just talk to her, explain that he’d come to this realization. Maybe she’d hear him out.

  She had to.

  CHAPTER 117

  “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.” Garrett tread back and forth as he waited for Chelsea to answer his call, certain he’d soon hear the voice mail recording. Instead, she answered on the fourth ring. He gripped the phone as relief flooded him. “I’m sorry to call so late. I wasn’t certain you’d answer. Thank you for doing so.”

  “The only reason I did was to make it clear there’s nothing left for us to say to each other.”

  “Please don’t hang up, sweetheart.”

  “Don’t call me that. You gave up that right ages ago. I let this farce go on long enough. It’s over. Finally.”

  “No. You were right. Our marriage was worth saving. Is worth saving. Chels, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. But I’d like to try. I want to make it up to you.”

  “After what you did to me?”

  “I’ve been a selfish bastard. Everything is my fault. I realize that now. I didn’t want to admit that to myself, but reality smacked me in the face. Let’s start over, from where we are. Let’s agree to forget the past and begin fresh, as though none of it happened.”

  “Broken record, Garrett.”

  “I swear it’s different this time. Let me prove it to you. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. We’ll find a marriage counselor—a good one this time. One who won’t let me off the hook. I’ll keep every appointment. I’ll do whatever’s recommended. And I’ll resign from the hospital. My income will decrease somewhat, at least for a while, but we can make it. I’ll hire more doctors for my practice so I have more time to spend with you and Kimberlie. Like a family is supposed to do. This time I’ll treat you the way
you always deserved.”

  “How many times did you practice this speech before calling me?”

  “I’m speaking from my heart.”

  “Keep your heart. It’s been running on fumes. But, you’ve bruised mine for the last time. There’s someone in my life now who loves me the way a man is supposed to love his woman.”

  “That relationship isn’t real. What we have is.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “It’s an affair, Chels. An illusion.”

  “You’d know all about that. But I repeat: You’re wrong. What we had was the illusion. Or, rather, my delusion. Reality smacked me, too, Garrett. And the sooner I remove you from my reality, the better.”

  “You feel that way now because I’ve hurt you.”

  “Hurt me? You altered me.”

  “I want to make it right. I’m begging you to let me. Will you at least think about it? For the sake of our daughter and what we could have as a family? You didn’t give up on us before. I’m pleading with you not to give up on us now. For all our sakes, Chels. Please. At least think about it. Neither of us have the right to throw our relationship away without at least giving it serious consideration. We need to give it—us—a real chance.”

  Chelsea sighed. “I’ll think about it. But don’t expect much to come of it.”

  “That’s all I deserve.”

  “You don’t deserve even that much.”

  “Thank you, Chels.”

  “I’m hanging up now. It’s after midnight. I’m exhausted.”

  Garrett placed his phone on the nightstand and stretched out on the bed. The way their conversation ended, he could see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe it was a tiny pinprick of light now, but it could grow. It had to.

  The old him would have rushed to buy her something wildly expensive, something that would show off how successful he was, in order to win her back. Not this time. This time he’d have to give of himself. As long as he wasn’t allowed to live at the house, how was he supposed to do that?

  Answers to that question eluded him.

  CHAPTER 118

  Was this a case of too little, too late? Chelsea propped her arms under her head and stared up at the dancing tree shadows on the bedroom ceiling. Cold wind whistled across the window glass.

  The truth was that she still caught herself, at times, waiting to hear Garrett’s key in the front door lock, followed by the back door opening and closing, the sound of his body piercing the water in the pool, then minutes later, his footsteps coming up the stairs and down the hall to their bedroom. Could still easily recall the feel of the mattress shifting when he got into their bed, believing she was asleep. There were times, when half asleep, that she felt his body depress the mattress, only to turn over and see his side of the bed still made. Empty. As it had been when she’d climbed in.

  Her body grew tense, as it had all those nights. She inhaled deeply and released the breath. He’d promised there would never be nights like that again. If he was fooling himself, and her, could she go back to living like that?

  Garrett had called her relationship with Luke an illusion. Could an illusion feel so real?

  Of course it could. She’d lived it with Garrett for years.

  He’d sounded so sincere about their reconciling, about his guilt, and wanting to make amends. He’d sounded sincere before. But this time, there was something different in his voice, and in his words.

  Luke was the better man. Wasn’t he? He was kind, empathetic, compassionate, creative. With words and with lovemaking. He made her feel the way she’d always wanted to. Learning about her past hadn’t deterred him in his love for her, hadn’t angered him. Not like it had Garrett.

  But didn’t Garrett have more right to be incensed? He was her husband, the one who’d been wronged. She knew how much the truth had to have hurt him, having been on the receiving end of his consistent infidelity and deception. And, now, spouting his latest revelations about what he’d done to her, sounding genuinely, confusingly, contrite.

  She rolled onto her side, facing where Garrett had always slept, and placed her hand on his pillow. Garrett was the father of her daughter. Her daughter needed stability in her life. And they both needed to be better examples for Kimberlie.

  Garrett’s desire to repair their relationship meant he was willing to forgive her past indiscretions, and this recent one. He’d said so. Maybe he had changed, or was at least willing to do his best.

  Perhaps he’d realized what he was about to lose. Maybe it mattered now. More than the ego that let him believe he could screw around and get away with it. Screw with people’s lives without consequence.

  Garrett had abused her love and her faith. He’d stolen her ability to have more children. And hadn’t told her. Let her blame herself and feel the shame of it all this time.

  But he was her husband.

  But she loved Luke and didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t deserve it.

  But Garrett was her husband.

  CHAPTER 119

  Garrett’s phone pinged. He moaned, pulled the comforter up to his chin and opened his eyes into slits. Soft sunlight glowed from the top edge of the heavy drapes in the otherwise darkened room. The digital clock on the TV showed it was six fifty-three. By the third ping, he recalled his conversation with Chelsea. It had to be her. She’d taken the night to contemplate his offer and was willing to take him back. Was willing to make it work. But why send a text message rather than call? Unless it was bad news.

  His pulse raced as he grabbed the phone and checked the screen. It was bad news, but a different kind. Dr. Jacobs. What the hell did Penelope want? The woman had to be dealt with once and for all. He read her text message: I e-mailed a few photos to you. You’ll want to see them.

  The last thing he wanted to see was more naked pictures of Penelope. He opened his e-mail and started to delete them, unopened, then decided to see how far she was willing to debase herself. He’d look, laugh, and then he’d tell her to get lost. He opened the first photo, and the next, and the next.

  What the hell was going on?

  CHAPTER 120

  The hotel phone rested between Garrett’s ear and shoulder as he studied the images on his cell phone of Chelsea and Richard—Richard hugging her to him, Richard kissing her cheek, Richard holding the door that opened into a hotel lobby. “All right, Penelope. You have my attention. What’s this supposed to be about?”

  “A picture’s worth a thousand words. Isn’t it obvious?”

  “You woke me up. I’m still groggy. Why don’t you explain it to me.”

  “A few years ago, you and Chelsea had a huge argument. She had Kimberlie go to Susan’s house then stayed away for a couple of days and nights.”

  “I remember. So what? It happens to the best couples.”

  “What isn’t supposed to happen is for a man’s wife to screw his brother.”

  “I’m hanging up.”

  “Photos don’t lie.”

  “I don’t believe it. Not for a moment.”

  “Who could blame you? But the evidence is right there.”

  “I don’t know what that was about, but you’re wrong.”

  “I never considered you a fool, Garrett. Until now. When are you going to get it into your head what kind of woman you’re married to?”

  Garrett sighed. “I don’t understand why you even have these photos?”

  “Chelsea ran to me after the argument, complaining about you yet again. Big yawn. I went into the kitchen, and heard her call Richard, heard her ask him to meet her at their usual place. She’d never revealed anything about her involvement with him before, or ever—she’s so secretive. Anyway, I followed her. When I saw where their usual place was, I took those photos. Figured I might need proof one day. Today’s the day.”

  The words “usual place” stuck in Garrett’s mind. The same words Thompson had used. Still, he couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to. “What kind of a friend are you?”

&
nbsp; “I stopped being her friend a long time ago, especially after you and I started enjoying each other. I tolerated her. So I could make sure she didn’t find out about us, and so I could be near you. I put up with her whining about you, whining amid her expensive house, cars, furs, jewelry, and trips. She never appreciated you. Not like I do. I knew she had you hoodwinked. And that it was only a matter of time before she couldn’t hide who she really is. It’s time to get her out of your life, Garrett. It’s time you have a woman who loves you, who understands you and what you need.”

  “And you’re ready to jump into that role?”

  “I’ve been ready for years.”

  “The thing you need to understand, Penelope, is that to me, you’re nothing more than a sex toy.”

  “You’re only saying that because you’re upset. We’re alike. We belong together, particularly in bed. Or anywhere you want to—”

  “I said it because it’s a fact. And I’m nothing like you. I’m not a whore.”

  “Takes one to know one. Face facts, darling. Your wife and your brother have been at it for years. These past few months she’s been doing him, Luke, and you. I never realized how industrious the little woman could be. I suppose you’re sloppy thirds these days.”

  Garrett slammed the receiver down. He studied the images. Zoomed in on the expressions on the faces. Penelope had been right about Luke. Right about Eric and the abortion. But this?

  He’d been worse than a fool.

  He found the number he wanted. “Anna, where’s my brother?”

  “Hi, Garrett. It’s good to hear from you. I’m sorry about your troubles with Chelsea. Why don’t you come over for dinner one night soon? We’ll eat, we’ll talk, and we’ll pray.”

  “Where’s Richard?”

  “He went to your parents’ house to help them with—”