Ghost on the Wind, part 2
It may not seem like it initially, but this is a love story.
Some time ago I wrote a story called Ghost on the Wind about a man who suspected that his wife of twenty-five years was cheating, got the evidence that she was, and simply disappeared from her life.
He moved six hundred miles away and started his life anew with no discussion, no lies, and no redemption.
The story was all about the discovery of her treachery and his transition to a new beginning.
To fully understand this story, you might want to read that story first.
I began to wonder what that new life might be like and how he could find his way to being whole again.
This is that story.
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My name is Andrew Baker, but everyone calls me "AB". Please don't call me Andy. I had one elderly aunt who always called me Andy and she would pinch my cheek when she did it. That went on until she died, and I was in college by then. I hate being called Andy. I was married to a woman named Karen until the day came when I wasn't. I've already told you how that happened. This is the story of how I made a new life for myself and eventually found love again.
My wife was cheating on me with a nothing-of-a-man, a man who was married in his own right with two kids, and yet he cheated on his own wife as he bedded mine. She had tried to hide her affair, but she couldn't hide her growing disrespect for me. My wife was a frustrated writer and once our two girls were off to college her attention slowly shifted from our marriage to her writing and then to this other adventure. I spent twenty-five years dedicating myself to her, our girls, and our life together, but once the girls were away it seems I grew largely irrelevant to her. I think she came to view me as an impediment to her writing success as if I were to blame for the fact that no publisher was interested in her work. I suppose every failed artist needs someone to blame so long as the fault is not with them, but I think the truth has more to do with the fact that I was successful and happy in my career and she never was. I don't know when the affair actually started, but I do know that for six weeks she shared a bed with Frank. I know that nothing I tried could dissuade her from her betrayal, and that once done I could never put it behind me.
So, I ghosted my marriage. While she was away enjoying the fantasy of being a great, if budding, writer, and sharing her bed with Frank, I arranged to have my possessions packed and shipped ahead to my new destination. I got a transfer from my company's office in Raleigh, North Carolina to their office in Portland, Maine and spent a week driving the highways and back roads on the way to my new life. I sampled the regional cuisine, spoke with the people, and soaked in the sites along the way. I thought that with enough time and distraction I could wash her memory from my mind. I was wrong. I also spent two days with my lovely and amazing daughters, who were in college at Brown and Boston University, as I tried to explain to them what had happened and why I could never remain with their mother. They understood and supported me. I finally found my way to Portland where I met the other engineers and technicians in my new office and rented a two-bedroom walk up apartment close to work.
Well, that should bring you up to speed on my life at that point in time. Eventually, it got better.
It didn't take me long to realize that I was going to enjoy living in Portland. It was mid-August by the time I got settled, so it was still summer. There were some sailors in my office and they quickly introduced me to other sailors, so before long I was plugged into the sailing scene. Any skipper is usually looking for able crew and I quickly got my sea legs back. Sailing is like riding a bike: when you've been off it for a long time you may be a bit ragged at first, but it all comes back quickly. By September I was a regular member of the crew on a J-24 racing in Casco Bay and we did fairly well until the autumn season closed and the boat was put away for the season.
I admit that I threw myself into my work, and I know the admonition about "All work and no play...", but that's the life of a single man over fifty who lives alone. I'm not a big drinker, so I find the bars to be a bit tedious if I'm out alone. One or two nights each week I'd meet up with someone from work or from the sailing community and we'd grab dinner and a beer or two. Other nights I cooked for myself and those nights I would work at home as much for something to do as anything else. I know it sounds boring, but I had a lot to think about as my lawyer worked on my divorce and a man can think too much when it comes to things like that. It was better that I had something to occupy my mind.
My wife, Karen, called way more often than I wanted considering that what I wanted was zero calls. Every call only served to reopen a wound that was slowly healing. She tried everything I expected and a few things I never imagined. She made promises, but what are promises when vows are broken? She made threats, but she no longer had any leverage over me. She missed and loved me and in some twisted way I actually thought she did, but not enough to be faithful. She begged, but every time she did, I remembered those images of her in bed with Frank and my sympathies for her evaporated. She even threatened to come up to Portland and win me back, but I convinced her that she would not be warmly received. I didn't want to threaten her, or treat her with hatred for what she'd done, but I would if that was required. Love is slow to die even when trust is destroyed, but I could never return to her now.
The summer passed and I'd always heard about fall in New England, but until you live through one you think it's just pretty leaves. It's pick-your-own apples, outdoor concerts, and county fairs, and I had a growing legion of friends to share it with. I became addicted to fresh squeezed apple cider, pleasantly warm sunny days with cool nights, and that palpable sense that something big was just around the corner. Winter in Maine is definitely something big! I tried to prepare for it with warm clothes and heavy boots, but I had a lot to learn.
All the while and with every call, Karen was keeping a secret from me. When Frank's wife kicked him out of their house, he moved in with Karen. This little nugget of deception was shared with me by my loving daughters who I had convinced to keep in contact with their mother. She wasn't much of a wife, but she had been a good mother to the girls and even at their age a girl sometimes needs her mother.
The girls learned about Frank from their grandmother. For that first week I was gone, Karen had called just about everyone we knew in an effort to find me. The only people she didn't call were my parents, her parents, and our siblings. I suppose that would have raised too many questions. Word soon got out, probably from our mutual friends, that I was gone, and her mother came to comfort her daughter. You can imagine her surprise to find a strange man living with her daughter in what had shortly before been my home. As usual, my wife's explanation was less than truthful and after 5 decades of knowing her daughter, my mother-in-law found Karen's lies to be transparent. Karen's mother told my daughters with some alarm and my daughters patiently, if tactfully, recounted the story of my betrayal. Their grandmother reportedly referred to her daughter using a word that I had never heard her use before and that her husband would have busted me in the mouth for had I ever used it to refer to his daughter. Funny how quickly life can change.
October was passing and Halloween was fast approaching. My girls were visiting me at least one weekend every month, but Halloween isn't a school holiday and they were stuck at school. Still, I know they went to class in their costumes and they sent me selfies for my amusement, but I wish I'd been there to see them. There were young families around me and answering the door that night to greet all those young ghouls and pretty ballerinas lifted my spirits to their highest point since I left Raleigh.
Karen's calls grew less frequent, but their tone never changed. She was fighting the divorce. My lawyer finally threatened to release the most damaging and embarrassing evidence my P.I. had gathered and with that Karen folded. She stopped fighting the divorce and began negotiating to get as much of our assets as she could. In time, she had no more cards to play, but it would still take months to get to that point.
No matter how painful the betrayal, after twenty-five years of marriage you greet the knowledge that it is about to be well and truly over with some genuine regret and a terrible sense of loss. It didn't make me change my mind, but like a death in the family I mourned.
My life went on and got steadily better. Thanksgiving was approaching and my daughters decided to spend it with me. As with every trip, they brought some friends. On this trip it was mainly friends who could not get home for the holiday, and since both daughters were there at the same time, we had a full house. Those who didn't sleep in the spare bedroom brought sleeping bags and stretched out on the floor. It was a coed group, so I just went to bed in my own room and said a silent prayer while reminding myself that they had every day on campus to do what I hoped they wouldn't be doing in my apartment.
I tried to cook a traditional Thanksgiving meal, but the women wouldn't let me. "Dad, we've got this. Go enjoy the game." Two smiling young women who were not my daughters took me by the shoulders, spun me around, and escorted me out. With that, I was dismissed and left the cooking in their able hands. Every so often I'd peek into the kitchen and what I saw can only be described as orchestrated chaos. It was a joyful sight. Dinner was both delicious and delightful and I soon realized that my only job was to ask questions that spurred everyone to tell me stories about school and their lives and homes. The conversation at the table was lively. I heard about boyfriends who had been disappointments and girlfriends who had not. Some of the conversation took place in code, but I wasn't so old that I couldn't understand.
After dinner I tried to organize a long walk in the cold November air, but only the women joined me. The game on TV held far too much attraction for the young men and I must confess the young women held far more interest for me. I enjoyed their company and with the young men back at the apartment the girls told me a few more details about their boyfriends, both past and present. That was when Jenny dropped a dime on my daughter. "How are you and Ben getting along?"
"Who's Ben?" I asked in that almost singing fashion a parent probes a daughter's secrets.
You know that look young women give when they're busted, but still confident and having fun? That was the look every one of them was showing except for my daughter who was clearly doing a calculation in her head. She was still thinking she could bluff her way out. "Oh, he's just a boy at school."
"Just a boy? Are you getting along with all the boys?"
"I try... I mean, not like that... I mean... Dad!"
"Yes?" Boy, was she busted!
"Okay, Ben is just someone I met in my digital circuits class last semester. He's a serious student and I think you'd like him."
"Claire says he's a good dancer, too, Mr. Baker." That made them break out in giggles.
"Okay, so this Ben is a serious student, a good dancer, and you think I'd like him. So why haven't I met him?" I was starting to think it was six against one and for once I was with the six.
"It's too soon, dad. Besides, he had to go home to be with his family."
