A Year and a Day

A Year and a Day

*****

Mark Lewis

There's an old Chinese proverb that translates approximately to something like, "May you live in interesting times." If you didn't know any better, you might think it sounds kind of uplifting, but in actuality it's just a polite way of saying "Fuck you."

Well, let me tell you - I was living in those "interesting times".

It started last summer when my wife of 7 years, Andrea, was preparing to leave for a sales conference in Chicago. Before we had married, Andrea had been a sales consultant for a decent sized regional building supply company. When we got pregnant on our honeymoon with our first child Susie, she had gone on maternity leave. Then shortly after, she extended her leave to deliver little Mark Jr. to our family. It had been a wild, but wonderful 7 years - first time parents, raising our family together. Sleepless nights, tantrums, potty training - but also laughter, first words, first steps and lots of cuddles. I thought we were happy.

"Mark honey, can you put my hair dryer in my suitcase! I'm running late!"

I yelled out "Sure thing babe" and hustled up the stairs to our master bedroom.

Andrea was back at work now, had been for a bit over a year. I wasn't happy about it at first - I felt like the kids probably needed her around and it's not like we were hurting for money. But Andrea was insistent, and she promised me that she'd only be working part time with plenty left over for me and the kids. I was dubious, however I had to admit - so far, it seemed to be working. The kids were happy, I was happy, and she was happy.

Well, like I said - I REALLY thought we were all happy.

The hair dryer was still plugged in to the wall socket in the master bathroom. I grabbed it, wrapped the cord around it and then went over to Andrea's suitcase. It was a huge and expensive piece of luggage that we bought when Andrea first started to have to go on business trips. It was laying open on our king-sized bed.

Now, I know what you're thinking - I snooped and found some sexy lingerie, or a box of condoms, or a gallon of Astroglide anal lube or something that would scream at me in giant glowing neon green letters, "THIS WOMAN IS A CHEATIN' ON YOU SON" - but nope, nothing like that. Andrea was smart. Did I mention that yet? She's really smart. It's probably why she fucked up so badly. She probably thought she could get away with anything.

No, what happened is that I went to insert the hair dryer into the mesh compartment inside the suitcase and my hand got caught on a tiny strip of paper. It was a slightly weathered and faded receipt. Nothing incriminating, in fact, it looked like a receipt for a Pepsi. No big deal.

Except it was in Spanish and had an address in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico.

Here's probably where I need to take a minute and talk about myself. I'm Mark Lewis, 41 years old and I work in insurance. Yeah, I know, but before you pigeonhole me along with those sad sacks that deny your grandmothers claims or spend all day building actuary tables, let me tell you

exactly

what I do - I'm a field analyst. My company handles workers compensation claims for the big insurers as an outsourcer. Essentially, I'm the guy that tails your Uncle to his Zumba or skydiving classes and files the report that says his issues with his bad back might be a little overstated. There's more to it than that - a bit of forensic accounting, a bit of social engineering, a lot of sitting on my ass and writing reports and the occasional trip down to the district court to testify. I don't know if that makes it sound more or less exciting than it really is, but if you think of me as a low-rent private investigator, without a license, that mostly sits in a car and takes pictures, you'd probably be right.

So, as we've already sort of established - I don't really have any crazy skills. I'm not a crack shot with a pistol, or a former SAS operative and I don't know how to hack or do probably any of a dozen things you're thinking of right now... HOWEVER, there are two things I am really quite experienced with - people lying through their teeth to me and keeping a poker face while they do it. I mean, c'mon, who the hell is going to tell me the truth when their disability payments are on the line? And you should hear some of the bullshit stories people try to spin me when I catch them in the act of playing an hour-long soccer game when they're not supposed to be able to walk. It'd make a politician blush.

Anyway, back to the receipt. I stared at it for a second, put it in my pocket and then walked downstairs. By the time I had caught up to Andrea in the kitchen, I already knew something was terribly wrong. You see - we had bought this luggage brand new when Andrea had gone on her first out of town trip just a month after she started her job. I knew, or at least, I knew from what Andrea had told me, that none of her trips were to Mexico and more specifically I knew from the date on the receipt that she was supposed to be in update New York at the time, not sipping a cold Pepsi on the beach in one of Mexico's more famous tourist destinations.

Andrea heard me approaching and turned around, a wry smile on her face. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and her thin glasses perched perilously on the end of her nose.

"Here honey" she said, thrusting a piece of ruled paper at me.

"This is the schedule for the kids this week. My mom has offered to shuttle them around to a few things, but you'll still need to cover Thursday and Friday. Are you sure you can do the drop off every morning at her place?"

I smiled at her. She was such an involved mother; it was one of the things about her that had caused my love for her to deepen over the last few years. I really needed that poker face now.

"No problem, babe!" I effused, "Don't worry about anything. I'll hold down the fort while you're gone, just make sure to come home safe and sound."

I stretched out my arms to her and she fell into me, her head tilting up to place a long kiss on my lips.

"You are such a great father; I am so lucky to have you" she smiled at me.

I smiled back, but I was looking over her shoulder. I noticed her purse open on the benchtop.

"I'll grab your suitcase for you, why don't you hit up the toilet before the ride to the airport."

Another interesting thing about Andrea - she has a compulsive need to use the restroom before she leaves the house. Two kids and a slightly weakened pelvic floor left her with a tiny problem. She often wore liners in her panties because of it and my suggestion had the desired effect of sending her scurrying to the toilet.

Without missing a beat, I moved over to the bench and opened up her purse. Two books (romance novels), sunglasses, chewing gum, keys (what for?), phone - no time for that, pocketbook (cash, license). Again, no rubbers - like I said, Andrea wasn't that dumb. Nothing that should have been incriminating. Well, at least if I hadn't seen that receipt.

A passport. I didn't even know that she had one.

I opened it and flipped the pages. Two stamps - Mexico and Queensland Australia.

"Fuck!?" I said, a bit louder than I intended. I heard a flush and shoved everything back in the bag.

Australia? What the fuck? How the hell did I not know that my wife flew to the other side of the planet on a "work trip"? Seriously, was I actually this unobservant? Was there anything that could have given her away? How did she have the god damn balls to do something like that?

I was floored, but the sound of Andrea washing up caused my feet to move in a hurry. I bounded up the stairs, shut and zipped her suitcase and started carrying it down the stairs.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I muttered under my breath.

Andrea was waiting for me at the front door. Poker face time.

"Are you okay honey? You look a little flushed" she reached out to put her hand on my forehead in a show of concern.

I was amazed at the cojones on this girl. Poker face Mark. Poker face.

"Yeah, I'm fine Andy" I set the suitcase down by the door. Her Uber should be here soon to pick her up.

"So..." I continued, "Where are you staying in Chicago again?"

I actually hadn't asked her before. I realized I hadn't asked her a lot of questions that I probably should have been asking. Anyway, I'll give her credit, she didn't miss a beat.

"I'm staying at the downtown Marriott and sharing a room with Maggs. The room is under her name."

Maggs was Margaret Fields. Andrea and Maggs had gone to university together, graduated together and eventually found jobs working at the same company together. We hadn't seen much of her once Andrea fell pregnant with Susie, but now that they were both working at Redfield Building Supplies again, she had become an increasingly annoying presence in our life. To put it bluntly - I couldn't stand the woman. She was loud, crude and a bit of a slut. The fact that she had gotten married a couple years back had barely changed her temperament. I might be a low rent investigator, but it was plain as day what kind of person Margaret Fields was.

Andrea's phone went off, a text message by the sound of the beep. She looked down at it and said, "My ride is here babe! Don't forget to pick up the kids from mom's house before 6! Love you!!"

She gave me another deep kiss and then I helped her drag her suitcase to the waiting car. I was suspicious of the uber driver at this point, was he some kind of secret lover? However, the paperwork on his windshield and rumbled appearance made him look entirely legit. I gave Andrea another hug and then before she was barely out of sight, I was running back to the house to jump online.

My first check was with the airlines. I confirmed that there was indeed a flight to Chicago leaving at the time Andrea had told me. The flight number checked out. I also took a look at the international flights leaving around the same time, but that didn't seem to do me any good. After all, she could have a connecting flight to somewhere else easily enough.

After that, I checked her social media - Facebook, Instagram. Her email. Everything that I had access to or knew her passwords to. Nothing had changed. No smoking guns. No conversations, nothing suspicious. I even went through all of her follows and followers to see if there was anyone I didn't know. Except for some of her coworkers on her LinkedIn profile, there was no one I didn't know. I calmed down for a bit and started to think.

Realistically I knew the only reason that made sense for Andrea to lie to me so boldly about her travel was if she was carrying on an affair. It sounded crazy, but what else could it be? Drug running? That was even more outrageous. What was she doing? Was she meeting someone at these places? Was she traveling there with them? Who could it possibly be? An ex-boyfriend? A co-worker? Is she on one of those sugar baby websites? Are rich older men flying her away for a week at a time in return for some conjugal rights that should only belong to me?

I was starting to calm down, the initial rush of adrenaline having subsided and leaving me to deal with a nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't have any leads. My best bets - her laptop and her phone were with her and wouldn't be returning until she did. I knew nothing except that my wife had lied to me, more than once, about her work travel, but it was enough for me to suspect the worst. The biggest problem I faced was that my natural cynicism, cultivated by a job where people pretty much lie their asses off to you day in and day out, wouldn't even let me pretend that there could be a less painful explanation for what was going on.

Nope. I was going to have to suck it up and carry on. First, picking up the kids. Then trying to pump Andrea's mom for information. I grabbed my car keys and drove over to her parents' house.

Now, I've always liked Andrea's parents. They were simple, more homespun, and more plainspoken than most people today. Her father was a genial retired electrician and her mother was a doting housewife and church lady. I didn't really think that either of them would be helping Andrea conceal an affair or helping her plan a clandestine exit from our marriage, but my anxiety and suspicion were reaching a boiling point. It was all I could manage to put a fake smile on my face when I picked up the kids. I tried to subtly test Andrea's mom, Clarice, about the trip, but she seemed to not know much more than I did about it. She did mention to me that she didn't think it was right for a young mother to spend so much time away from her kids on work. I sheepishly agreed with her.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this."

She nodded and patted me on the cheek.

"You're a good husband Mark, try talking to her when she gets back."

Damn. Innocent comment, or subtle warning? Yeah, I was going crazy. Clarice and her husband Herb wouldn't, couldn't even, be involved with something like this. They didn't seem capable of it on a fundamental level. But then again, I didn't think Andrea was capable of it either.

Shows what I know, huh?

I took a call from Andrea that night. She was well, resting in her hotel room in Chicago and would be spending the next day with Maggs out on lake Michigan. Evidently a friend of a friend had a boat. I told her I missed her, and I loved her. I let her talk to the kids. I tried to discern any kind of lie in her voice. It was maddening.

The kids and I had a very subdued weekend. I went through the motions with them - movie night, a trip to the park, a visit to the local kids play center. McDonalds for dinner. Waffles for breakfast. Everything a kid would love. Maybe I was spoiling them because I felt guilty about what I was certain was the eventual destruction of their family life. Unlike Andrea, I grew up in a broken home and I knew all of the shit that came with it. The thought made me both sad and resentful.

During the week that Andrea was gone I did what I could to try and poke holes through her alibi. I called the hotel and got connected to their room. Andrea wasn't there, but she called me back from her cell a few minutes later. It was suspicious, but not a smoking gun. I invited Frank, Maggie's husband over for dinner and talked to him obliquely about the trip. Whatever Maggs had told him matched up with what Andrea had told me. I tried to probe him about previous trips, but to be fair, I hadn't been paying attention that much to the details of Andrea's work trips before I received my shock that Friday afternoon, so my questioning became loose pretty quickly. Well, let me tell you, I was paying attention now. I even tried to track down the event that Andrea was supposed to be at, but I had failed to enquire about any of the particulars, so I had nowhere to start looking.

By mid-week I knew that I needed to get some answers from Andrea's employer, but I didn't know how to do it without tipping off Andrea that I was on to her lies. I was sucking vapours and the lack of progress was killing me. You see, so long as I was "working the case", the creeping anxiety that had been stalking me since Andrea left was easily kept at bay, but the moment I had no lead to follow, it was back with a vengeance and churning my guts.

I was getting desperate, and the fault lines in my façade were starting to show. I was snippy with the kids, I glowered at my colleagues. I slammed doors in frustration, and I was tempted to fly off the handle and rage at Andrea on our nightly phone calls. I knew I was losing it and I needed to get some help. So, I did the one thing I swore I would never do in my life.

I called my older brother.

You have to understand that the situation between my older brother Jake and I was complicated to say the least. The two of us never saw eye to eye on a lot of issues. I was Left (maybe more so when I was younger), he was Right (maybe less so now that he's older), I believed that recycling was saving the planet, he believed it was a scam to waste taxpayer dollars for the sole purpose of making it look like someone was doing something. I liked cats, he liked dogs. My wife was a slightly bookish feminist with a college degree, his wife was a plastic trophy bimbo with improbably huge breast implants. You get the idea.

He picked up on the third ring.

"Hey Mark, who died?"

Ok. I couldn't blame him on that one. After all, the last time I called him directly was four years ago when Dad passed away.

I sucked some air through my teeth and said, "My marriage."

There was a pregnant pause at the other end of the line. He was probably trying to determine if I was being serious or not.

"Shit. What's going on?"

I could almost hear the change in his physical demeanour. Like I said, my brother and I didn't see eye to eye on almost anything and he probably considered me a pantywaist sissy liberal faggot, but I was still his little brother. I knew that I might regret asking him for help, hell, I could probably count on it, but I also knew that he was the one person I had absolutely faith in to have my back. I used to include Andrea in that assessment, but I wasn't sure I could anymore.

Jake was the kind of brother that would beat the hell out of you to get the remote for the television, but also the kind of brother that would murder someone that looked at you funny. If I had to sum up his side of our relationship it would be something like, "I can beat the snot out of this little shit for anything I want, but don't you dare touch a hair on his head or I'll destroy you." It was comforting, in its own twisted way.

I told him everything.

"You understand Mark, you can't go off half-cocked on this otherwise she'll just go even deeper underground with her bullshit. I hate to say it, but Andrea is pretty smart for a woman."

I snorted at that. It reminded me of who I was dealing with. I'm pretty sure he just said it annoy me.

"Anyway, you said she's staying at the Marriott until Sunday morning, then flying back to you?"

I told him as much and added that I've been talking to her on the phone every night.

"Face time or just voice?" he asked.

I wanted to smack myself in the head. "Voice only actually..."

"Have you even

tried

getting her on a video call? I bet she's the one that calls you every night."

It was true. I always waited for her phone call, right before the kid's bedtime. If we talked during the day, it was always text messages. She could literally be doing anything, anywhere and it wouldn't be too hard to hide that way. I felt like a schmuck. I should have been smarter than that. In my defense, I had completely trusted my wife.

"Look, let's just cut through the bullshit and find out what she's doing" he muttered into the phone. I heard something rustling on the other side of the line and then him calling out in a faintly distant voice, "Mandy, pack your bags, we're doing the weekend in Chicago!"

"What? Are you serious?!" I blurted out.

"Like a heart attack little bro. You have little kids and can't leave without tipping off Andrea. Ours are teenagers and we can leave them with Mandy's parents. We know where she's supposed to be and who she's supposed to be with. Andrea probably hasn't seen Mandy or me more than a half dozen times, which reminds me, you'll have to text me a recent picture of her."

He paused for a moment, contemplating something.

"You remember Grandpa John, right?"

Our grandfather on our father's side, John Lewis, 1

st

Sgt. USMC.

"Yeah?" I didn't know where he was going with this.

"He told me a story once about how he got one of his purple hearts. It was in Korea; he was hitching rides up and down the marching column on the back of passing jeeps. Hopped off one and stepped right on a landmine. Blew his scrawny ass straight up in the air."