For all of you who advised me to finish the entire story before posting, I see the wisdom in that, and will take your advice next time. If you're still reading, thank you for your patience.
If you've forgotten what was happening, Dan Tucker was on the point of reconciling with his wife after a couple of uncomfortable weeks living in a hotel room. Fresh from a night of reclaiming his wife, and a happy breakfast with his family, he goes to work, where the woman who had handled his request for a faculty apartment (which he'd applied for intending to move out of the house he shared with his wife) made a surprising comment.
This is the final chapter, as far as I'm concerned. Thanks for reading.
*****
I was in the Anthropology Department office, looking with curious surprise at Bonnie, the administrative assistant, who had just said something to startle me out of the relative calm of my morning.
"What do you mean, 'her little game'?" I asked.
She had been looking directly at me, but looked down at that. "Maybe I was speaking out of turn. My mistake."
"No," I told her, "you think you know something, and I think I need to know what it is. Just tell me the truth, and I won't be angry."
She sighed. "All right, but you remember you said that. So, about a year ago, my sister had a little boy. Her in-laws had come to town for the delivery, and checked in to the Hampton Inn. My sister's husband asked me to go over and get them and show them the way to the hospital, so they could see her and the baby. I got over there, it was some time mid-afternoon, and she and some guy I don't know got on the elevator to go up with me to their floor. I know her because she's been here a few times to see you, and, of course, I've seen her picture on the desk in your office. I guess she didn't recognize me; after all, I'm just the secretary. It was definitely her. Anyway, her and this guy didn't say much, but they were standing pretty close together, and they got off on the same floor as me, but went the other way down the hall. I watched them go into a room together; they weren't interested in anything else but each other. I'm sorry."
"Shit," I said. What else was there to say? A year ago this was happening? "Was he tall? Dark hair?"
"Not as tall as you, and his hair was lighter, sort of reddish. He wore glasses."
So, not Rob Stevens. Think, dammit. "Was she carrying anything? Was he? A briefcase, maybe, or a portfolio?"
She shut her eyes, I suppose to see the scene again in her mind. "A handbag, maybe? Nothing larger, I'm pretty sure. It was a year ago, after all."
"Yes," I said. "Could it have been a business meeting?"
She looked down again. "They were touching. Not . . . grabbing, or kissing, but, you know."
Shit again-yes, I do know. "Thank you for telling me, Bonnie. I'm not angry with you. But, as I guess you can tell, I didn't know."
"I'm sorry for not telling you," she said. "I didn't know what to say- 'Hey, Dr. Tucker, I saw your wife go into a hotel room with another guy' -so I just kept it to myself."
"It's okay," I reassured her. "I understand. I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything to anyone else-about what you saw, or about the apartment."
"No! I would never," she said. She gave me a look of such pity and concern that I thought, for the second time in three days, that I was going to throw up.
There didn't see to be anything more to say, so I just walked away. A few minutes later, I realized I was in my office, with no recollection of how I got there.
As I sat down, I realized that, in a way, this had made everything much simpler. There was no way I could continue to live with Ellen. We were getting a divorce. I was going to be single again, and my children would have to learn how to live their lives going back and forth between parents. Christmas Eve with Dad; Christmas Day with Mom. What a fucking awful, ugly shame.
And as my mind began to work again, it reached for the possibility of escape. What if Bonnie had been mistaken? What if it wasn't Ellen she'd seen? Or what if there was some innocent explanation that hadn't occurred to her, and she had jumped to an unwarranted conclusion? But that didn't last for long. Occam's Razor: if more than one conclusion can be reached, the one requiring the fewest assumptions is likelier to be true. To reject Bonnie's conclusion, I had to assume either that she had mistaken another woman for my wife (in a situation where she had no reason to expect to see my wife), or that she had misread the scene that had played out in front of her (when the circumstance and the behavior she had described pointed overwhelmingly to the conclusion she had drawn). Add to that the fact that it was not "unthinkable," as it would have been a year ago, if Bonnie had told me then. Now it was only too thinkable, and utterly believable.
I had to talk to someone; I called Dr. Andersen, and left a message, asking whether she could see me today, Friday afternoon. If not, maybe Monday. Monday! How was I going to get through the weekend? How was I going to face Ellen? Too many questions, not enough answers.
Since I couldn't work, I decided to go for a walk. It was a clear, chilly day in early March: not great for standing around outside, but I was sufficiently comfortable in my down jacket. I made a couple of circuits of the campus, in about an hour, as I considered what to do.
Dr. Andersen called as I was about to go around again. She could see me for a few minutes at the end of her day today; 5:30pm, and I'd better not be late. She also had a slot on Monday that I could have. I called and left a message that I'd see her at 5:30, sharp.
That was good, in a way, since it meant that I'd have a reason to clear out of the house after seeing the girls, before Ellen got home. With that much settled, I was able to get some light work done: paper grading and lecture planning, mostly. I skipped lunch, and went to check out the apartment, and drop off the signed paperwork, with a deposit.
It was serviceable: sparsely furnished-lots of bookshelves, a table and a couple of chairs, a chest of drawers, and a bed frame (but no mattress or box springs); clean, but well worn; not a place to have a life in, but somewhere to pause and gather strength before launching oneself headlong into the housing market. Maybe Sophie and Alyssa would enjoy helping me decorate.
When I saw the girls after school, they were still optimistic about my coming home, after seeing me that morning, and I couldn't bear to spoil their happiness, so I dissembled my heartbreak with "let's wait and sees," and "I'm still not ready to discuss it, yets." They didn't seem to notice, or mind when I told them that I had a meeting and had to miss dinner with them. I didn't say I wouldn't be back that evening, but I didn't say I would, either.
I told Dr. Andersen that I had evidence of another affair, and that I was determined to divorce Ellen. What I wanted to figure out was how to talk to her about it.
"You will tell her you have decided to divorce, she will ask what has changed your mind, and you will tell her what you learned," she said.
"I don't want to fight with her," I said. "I don't want to listen while she deflects, and explains, and justifies."
She gave me a look I couldn't read. "Maybe this time she won't."
"Are you kidding?" I said. "Since I confronted her the last time, she's been single-minded in trying to get me not to divorce her. Why would she suddenly give up?"
"You were clear with her, I think you said last time, regarding what would happen if she lied to you again?"
