Sorry for the delay. I went down a long blind alley, and had to back up and go in a different direction.
Thanks for all the constructive criticism, and to those of you who wrote to encourage me. I appreciate it. If you didn't like it the last time, you probably won't like this any more, so you should probably save yourself the time and aggravation.
A final note about the storm I seem to have caused by having my protagonist say some unkind things about the President: first of all, the remarks were included as being illustrative of who the character is; it is the kind of thing that I imagine he would think and say; second, he is not me (I not a professor of anthropology, or anything else); third, and this is only an observation, but if you can't stand to hear a fictional character criticize someone you admire, then I think you may be taking these stories a little too seriously.
*****
I usually enjoy staying in hotel rooms. After all, the fact that I'm staying in a hotel usually means that my life has taken an interesting turn out of the ordinary: either I'm on vacation, or I'm at a conference, and for the few days, while I'm living out of this room, things will be different, and possibly exciting.
The next couple of weeks were bound to be different for me, all right, but not in a way I could get excited about. As the heavy door softly clicked shut behind me, and I looked around, I was overwhelmed with a sense of anonymity, and isolation. I was no one; I was cut off from everything that made me myself; and this room, which had housed hundreds, maybe even thousands of other people like me, was proof of the illusion of my sense of a unique self. How many others had, just like me, flung their bags on the bed? How many had pissed in the same toilet, breathing the same faint smell of disinfectant? How many had listlessly picked up the tv remote and aimed it, hopelessly, trying to distract themselves from the terrible fact of what awaited them the next morning?
For a moment I wavered: I could go home, Ellen would welcome me back into the house, and into our bed, and all would be as it was. I could be there at breakfast, with the girls, and we could all pretend that tonight was just a bad dream.
But no! The dream was the hope that we could all pretend. The reality was that Ellen had been fucking another man, for at least a month and a half, lying to me about it the whole time, and destroying everything we had worked-or so I thought-to build together.
The fact was that I had been lazy; I had been careless; I had been complacent. While I focused on my children and my career, I had put my relationship with my wife on autopilot. I'm not superhuman, so I have to assume that my limits don't include focusing on three things at once. Should I have chosen wife and children, and let career go on autopilot? It's hard to know, now. But the fact is that my wife and children enjoy-without having to think about it, or ever worry-the results of my having put energy into my career that I took from my marriage.
I know, if I had to choose only one thing, it would be my children. A week ago, if you had asked me that, I would have had a harder time answering. I mean, I love my girls, with a love that surpasses anything I could ever imagined. But a week ago I would have told you that finding Ellen-meeting her, wooing her, winning her, and becoming one with her-was a transformative experience, and the accomplishment that I was most proud of: it made me a better man. Now, I think I just wanted to think that about myself. But at least I got the girls out of it.
The truth, apparently, was the wooing Ellen didn't take anything special, and winning her wasn't that much of a challenge.
I turned the tv off; there was nothing on, anyway. Fortunately I was pretty tired, and I fell asleep quickly in the artificial darkness and silence of the room.
In between teaching and office hours on Monday, I managed to call all three of the therapists on Ellen's list. Any of them would probably have been fine, but my conversation with Nicole Drake (one of the Psy.D.s) led me to prefer her. She homed in on the trust issue right away, but assured me that we'd also deal with the problems in the marriage that had led Ellen to cheat. After checking with Ellen to make sure she could schedule it, I made an appointment for us both to meet with her on Wednesday afternoon.
I inquired about faculty housing on campus, and found that there was a unit available in a building at the edge of campus, and that I'd need my dean's approval to apply; we had a pretty good relationship, but that meant someone else at work (plus his secretary, who would handle the application) who would know my marriage was in trouble. I figured it wouldn't be long before I'd be grist for the campus rumor mill. What the hell; I wrote an email to start the process. The unit was a one-bedroom, with a small kitchen and living area, and, since it was subsidized by the university, it was cheaper than the local market rate, and significantly less than the hotel. If I divorced Ellen, I'd need to find a place with rooms for Alyssa and Sophie, but that was far enough down the road that I figured it could wait until later.
I also called my racquetball buddy, Dave, to see if he wanted to play. "Loser buys lunch," I said, expecting it would be me. As much as it might have eased the conversation to have it in a bar, over several beers, I didn't feel I could spare an evening away from my kids, at this point. But I did want to hear his version of what might be in store for me, so I was looking forward to getting together. As it happened, he could do both a couple of games and lunch tomorrow.
It felt good to be doing something to deal with the situation. Not that I had any experience with it, apart from what Ellen had done, but being cheated on seemed very much a matter of having something done to you by someone else, and that's rarely a good feeling. Added to that, the primary responsibility for "fixing" the problem lay with her, but I knew I couldn't just wait around for that to happen.
The girls were glad to see me; subdued, and a little clingy, but they seemed generally all right. I tried to reassure them that her mother and I would do our best to see that there were as few changes to their lives as possible, given the circumstances, and that we would make no major decisions without consulting them (if we felt their input was justified) or, at least, notifying them in advance.
I also reassured Alyssa that I didn't blame her for not telling me she'd known about her mother's affair. "By the time you found out, I already knew," I said, "so it didn't matter. And I know that you wouldn't take sides. Which means, of course, that you can't take sides now, against your Mom."
"I know, Dad," she replied. "I'm working on forgiving her. But I can't believe that she would do that! I thought I knew my own mother, and then she goes and does something that is completely . . . completely out of character. Which is the real person? The Mom I thought I knew, or the Mom I never knew could even exist?"
"The Mom who loves you is the real person. She's only human, and she made a mistake, but she's sorry, and she says she'll never do it again. Don't you owe her the chance to make it up to you?" I asked.
"Is that how you feel?" she responded.
"Yes," I said, "but, in my case, there are some complicating factors-which I'm not going to discuss with you, at least, not right now. But I'm going to try to keep an open mind, and I'm going to look for a way that we can get past this and stay together, as a family." I didn't think it wise to add that I had little faith of that happening.
The girls helped me make dinner, and Ellen was home not long before we finished. We mostly avoided the elephant in the room, although I did tell them that we'd made an appointment with a marriage counselor."
"What will you do?" asked Sophie.
