A light tapping on his office door interrupted John’s mental reverie and announced Austin’s presence. “Did you get the numbers from Italy?”
“No.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Ah, yes,” John replied, barely looking up. “I just have a monster headache. We’re in pretty good shape here. I think we might as well knock off for tonight. Why don’t you all head home?”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes,” John said, looking up and offering a weak smile. His eye caught the small pile of paperwork he promised Gale he’d sign and leave for her in the morning. “I’m going to jot down a few notes and then head back to the apartment myself.”
“Okay. See you in the morning, then.”
“Right.” John waited for Austin to leave before pulling the stack of blueprints, contracts, and correspondence that required his signature. He had quickly worked through most of the pile when an idea struck him. He opened a drawer and pulled out several sheets of his personal stationery. He wrote his pain, earnestly purging both his love and contrition as he poured his feelings onto each page.
Forty minutes later, John placed the signed documents and reports into his out box for Gale to mail in the morning, packed up his briefcase, and wearily headed for the parking garage. A love note had gotten him into this mess. Hopefully the same would help get him out.
John woke up early Wednesday morning with the same excruciating headache he’d gone to bed with. Though he’d done so hundreds of times in past years, waking up alone in bed this morning frightened him. It sent an ominous chill through his body, a haunting suggestion of his possible future—a future he had no desire to live.
He got up and swallowed several more painkillers before getting dressed. Minutes after eight he called the office, leaving a message on his secretary’s voice mail that he was leaving for Connecticut and would be unavailable all day. He dialed home to let Sharon know that he was on his way but hung up after once again getting the answering machine. He considered calling back, but decided to wait until he was on the road, just in case she’d gotten as little sleep as he had.
He pulled his Lexus out of the parking garage and onto the street, grateful for the long ride ahead of him. He hoped that the hour or so on the road would help clear his head and give him time to find the words needed to explain this very complicated and delicate situation to his wife.
As John maneuvered his way onto the West Side Highway, he continued to analyze the decisions and events that had led up to this day. Though he had mentioned Melanie’s name to Sharon in connection with work, in all honesty he enjoyed his secret infatuation. She was a special part of his life that he had little desire to share. Still, pushing that selfish pleasure aside, if John had thought Sharon would understand, he might have told her about Melanie. But how could he explain to his wife, a woman whom he truly loved and respected, that he also loved and respected Melanie—but in an entirely different way? That while he didn’t want to build his life around Melanie Hitts, he certainly wanted her to be part of it. Would Sharon have been able to hear those words without feeling threatened? Hell, no, which is exactly why his friendship had remained a secret.
John massaged his left temple, trying to rub away the pain while he cursed the unfairness of it all. Sharon and Gwen Robinson were the very best of friends. They shared their most intimate thoughts and details about their individual lives, talked at all hours of the day and night, vacationed together, and would cross the country at a moment’s notice to come to each other’s emotional rescue. But here John felt the same about a woman and somehow it was an unacceptable relationship because he was male, straight, and married.
But if this was about Sharon and a friendship with another man, would you so readily believe in its innocence? John thought as he passed an off-duty ambulance and then merged into the far lane. He took a moment to ponder the question further before coming to the honest conclusion that prior to meeting Melanie Hitts the answer would have been a resounding no. He’d be just as hurt, angry, and suspicious as his wife was at this very moment.
As he inched up toward the exit ramp, his thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the ring of his cell phone. He picked up his Nokia from the passenger seat and said hello.
“John, it’s Melanie. I got your message. How are you doing?”
“Don’t ask.”
“You sound funny. Are you okay?”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night and I have this horrible headache I can’t seem to shake.”
“John, I’m so sorry if I did anything to hurt you or your marriage.”
“Melanie, this is my fault. You told me to get rid of your letters and I didn’t. Now I just have to deal with the fallout. I’m sorry to drag you into this.”
“I…I don’t know…what to say,” Melanie stuttered. After all of their heartfelt conversation these past months she didn’t know what to tell John. In less than twenty-four hours everything about their relationship had changed. Yesterday, their friendship felt good and nurturing and positive. But now, with Sharon knowing and suspecting who knows what, Melanie actually felt an uncomfortable and unfair sense of dishonesty about their association.
“You don’t have to say anything. And I don’t want you to feel guilty about anything. I’d hate that, Jax. I don’t know what’s going to happen to any of us now, but I’d like to think we could still find a way to be friends.”
“Me too, but we have to be real about this. Other people just can’t put their arms around a relationship like ours,” Mel said, trying to imagine Will’s reaction.
“I know.”
Melanie considered for a brief moment telling him about her engagement, but quickly decided that now was not the time to break the news. “John, whatever happens, promise you won’t forget me.” Mel could feel the tears pooling behind her eyes. This felt so much like goodbye. And even if it wasn’t, she knew that things between them would never be the same.
“That could never happen.”
“Take care of yourself. Be happy.”
“You do the same.” John disconnected the call, his heart feeling as heavy and painful as his head. He decided to call home again, and dialed the number. He held the phone away from his ear, the ringing sound further irritating his headache. After four rings, Sharon picked up.
“Hi, it’s me,” John said with soft uncertainty. He could hear her breathing on the other end of the phone. “Sharon?” Immediately he heard a click, followed by the dial tone.
With the frustrating noise came a thought that sent dread rushing through his body. What if Sharon left him? He was not prepared for that possibility. Yes, he loved Melanie, but his life was with Sharon. There was never a question about that, never a choice to be made between the two. But what if Sharon made the choice for him?
Sharon, I do love you, he thought as the pounding and pain in his head became unbearable. He again put his hand to his head and closed his eyes for a millisecond. Somewhere in the distance he heard the screech of tires, the crunch of metal, and the hiss of air. And as his head bobbed against the airbag the blackness became silent.
You’ve reached the Carlson residence. Please leave your name and number and we’ll return your call promptly.
“Mr. and Mrs. Carlson, Fern Greenberg from Prudential Real Estate. It’s a little after eleven this morning. I need to speak with you at your earliest convenience. The sale on your buyer’s home has fallen through. They’ve asked for a thirty-day extension on their contract. Please give me a call and let me know if you’re agreeable to this change. Talk to you soon.”
You’ve reached the Carlson residence. Please leave your name and number and we’ll return your call promptly.
“Sharon, it’s Gwen. Give me—”
“Hi. I’m here. I thought you might be John again.”
“Screening your calls to avoid your husband?”
“Yes,” Sharon admitted.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“When did you find the letters?”
“Last night. Right before you called. I was packing and found them in the closet.”
“Why didn’t you say something then?”
“I was too devastated, but I’ve gone from depression to extreme anger overnight. I guess mood swings are to be expected when your entire life is falling apart.”
“Have you talked to him?” Gwen asked.
“I faxed him at the office, telling him I know about his affair. He called but I wouldn’t pick up the phone, so he just kept talking. Basically he told me that I didn’t see what I thought I saw. How stupid does he think I am? I know what I read. He called again this morning but I hung up on him. This is probably him now,” Sharon said, hearing the call-waiting signal.
“Do you want to get that?”
“No. He can leave a message.”
“Sharon, are you afraid to speak with John?” Gwen probed tactfully.
“No…`maybe. What if he wants to leave me?” Sharon asked with a sad whimper. Suddenly the anger that had punctuated their conversation dissipated.
“Don’t jump to conclusions. You and John simply have to talk this out. I know things must look pretty bad right now, but they will get better. You will wake up from this nightmare and you and John will get through this, I promise.”
“I wouldn’t know how to live without John.”
“I doubt it will come to that, but if it did, you’d find a way. You’re a lot stronger than you think.”
Sharon hung up with her friend and immediately released the latest assault of tears, anger, and unending questions invading her body. How could John destroy their lives like this? How could he fall in love with someone else?
“If you had to cheat, why couldn’t you just have sex with her? Why did you have to fall in love?” Sharon screamed. “What am I going to do now? I don’t know how to be divorced. I don’t want to be alone,” she cried, her shouts turning into sniffles.
“Gwen’s right. You can’t sit here and drive yourself crazy obsessing over this,” she told herself sternly. Sharon made herself a cup of tea and tried to think about something else, but the only other issue on her mind was just as depressing.
Before discovering John’s betrayal, Sharon had been consumed with Amanda’s situation. They’d visited Sharon’s gynecologist and learned that Amanda’s pregnancy was proceeding normally and she was expected to deliver in early July—two days before Independence Day and five days after Amanda’s parents were due to return from Japan. Despite Sharon’s insistence, Amanda refused to tell her mother and stepfather anything during their weekly phone call. Sharon had reluctantly remained silent, promising to help her come to some decision, but now, with her own life falling apart, it was difficult to focus on Amanda and her pregnancy.
She thought about returning the real estate agent’s call, but had no answer to give and no desire to chat about selling her house. Nothing on television interested her and every song on the radio further depressed her. As a last attempt to derail her morose thoughts, Sharon leaned over and sorted through the stack of magazines, picking up the latest copy of More.
Willing herself to concentrate on the issues at hand and not her head, she flipped through the pages until the title “Creating the Life You Want” teased her into perusing the article. Sharon read the piece and immediately decided to try the recommended exercise in the accompanying sidebar. The first task called for her to make a list of her unique talents and how she used them. Sharon sat stumped, realizing that she had no discernible talent. Not like John, who was a master architect and had serious artistic ability. Or Gwen, who used her wicked sense of humor to write greeting cards that provided levity for others.
I have no talent, she admitted to herself as she pushed aside the magazine, and I have accomplished nothing. I have nothing to show for taking up space on this earth. No career. No children. And now, no husband. No wonder John has a mistress. He’s fed up being tied to a useless bore.
Sharon once again broke down crying, her attempt at diversion a horrible bust. When the phone rang again, she immediately picked up, tired of trying to avoid her husband. If he was planning to leave her, she needed to know.
“Mrs. John Carlson. This is the emergency room at St. Paul’s Hospital. Your husband has been in a serious automobile accident.”
“Is he…” Sharon could not push the dreadful words from her mouth.
“He is unconscious and his status is critical. It would be a good idea for you to get here as soon as possible.”
Sharon sat by John’s bed in the critical care unit, her heart breaking with each noisy breath he took. Hooked up to a ventilator and heart monitor, a feeding tube down his nose, and a myriad of IV tubes attached to his arm, he resembled some kind of crazy science experiment. Certainly not the vigorous and vital man he was before suffering a stroke and lapsing into a coma one week ago.
Every day she thanked God that an off-duty ambulance had been on the road when the accident occurred. Because they got him to the hospital so quickly, the blood loss to John’s brain had been contained and hopefully his life spared. But even if he did live, at this point it was too early too tell how much, if any, damage had been done.
The sun was setting on this nightmare of a day, but the toxic combination of emotions produced by the last week continued to rise through her body. At this moment, it was damning guilt and paralyzing numbness that clung to Sharon, threatening to choke the sanity from her. The doctor explained that John’s hemorrhagic stroke, due to a ruptured brain aneurysm, had caused him to black out at the wheel, but Sharon couldn’t help feeling responsible. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to his recent headaches and forced him to slow down and see the doctor? Or if she hadn’t sent that fax or had talked to him when he called, maybe John’s stress level and blood pressure wouldn’t have risen to the level of rupture and caused him to lose control of the car.
And if he hadn’t been cheating on you, you wouldn’t have done either, an angry thought intruded. Shut up, she argued back. Instead of worrying about the possible death of your husband, you’re focused on the death of your marriage.
The truth of her current emotional state emerged with such force that Sharon felt light-headed. She’d buried the anger and hurt that had preceded John’s accident under strain, sleep deprivation, and worry. But sitting here, quietly standing guard over his seemingly lifeless body, Sharon was shocked by the harsh reality of her feelings. There was a part of her that had been sentenced to death by John’s infidelity and was now being slowly executed by her residual feelings of betrayal and abandonment.
In the days since John’s accident she questioned every offer of condolence by business associates, colleagues, and employees, wondering how many people in his life knew the truth. How many of their sympathetic looks were because she was the idiot wife who didn’t know her husband had a mistress and not simply because he was in the hospital fighting for his life?
There was a huge part of Sharon that wanted to come face-to-face with John’s mistress. Sharon needed to look into the eyes of the person who had snared her husband’s love and attention so she could understand why she wasn’t good enough. But did she really want to know? Would learning her identity cause Sharon to go crazy comparing herself to this woman? Maybe it would, but having no comparison was worse.
“Damn it, John. You cheated on me for God only knows how long and now you’re cheating me again with this accident. Wake up and talk to me. I deserve to know the entire story. I deserve to know who this woman is and what your plans are. You owe me that much,” she said as she angrily punched his inert shoulder and broke into tears.
Ashamed by her uncustomary behavior, Sharon left the
room and slipped into a nearby stairwell. She sat and cried for several minutes, lamenting every aspect of her life right now. The ring of her cell phone interrupted her weeping. Not wanting to answer but afraid it might be John’s doctor, she pressed SEND.
“Mrs. Carlson. Fern Greenberg again. I’m sorry to call after business hours, but hadn’t heard from you regarding the house.”
“Hi, Fern. I’m sorry I haven’t returned your call. My husband was in a car accident and is in the hospital. Our lives are pretty much on hold right now. So please apologize to the Martins, but under the circumstances I can’t make any decisions. I’ll have to get back to you later on this.”
Sharon pushed the disconnect button but couldn’t keep the fear from penetrating her body. These were the kind of decisions John always made. He was the one who took care of the bills, the insurance, the investments, the taxes…`the list went on and on. Now what was she going to do? If it came down to her living alone—whether through divorce or death—how was she ever going to survive?
Chapter 24
“What are you doing in here?” Candace called out, bursting into her girlfriend’s bedroom. Melanie was sitting quietly in the corner chair with her eyes closed, breathing deeply. “Girl, I’ve been hangin’ out in your living room for twenty minutes. Are we going to the movies or not?”
“Yes,” Mel said, opening her eyes.
“What’s with you lately? Every time I call you or come by, you’re lighting candles and meditating like a fiend. You’re like a junkie waiting for her next fix when it comes to that mumbo-jumbo stuff. And knowing you the way I do, you only kick your mantra into overdrive when you’re upset or worried about something.”
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