Finally I walked back to the car. Night had fallen. I drove slowly back to the house, back to Irina and my two beautiful children, wondering whether we'd ever be a family again. Whether there was any way forward from this point.
When I got home the lights were out in the twins' rooms; only the master bedroom was illuminated. But as I reached the front steps the downstairs lights came on and Irina flung open the door.
"Tom--thank God!" She rushed down the steps and threw herself at me, holding me tight. I gently disengaged myself, peeling her arms from around me, and stepped back.
"Don't do that, Irina," I said very quietly, and at once she began to cry again, softly, her eyes fixed on me.
I walked back into the house, leaving her behind me crying on the steps, her shoulders heaving. I went straight upstairs, grabbed a few things from the bedroom and headed for the downstairs guest room. I locked the door behind me and listlessly got ready for bed.
I had no real hope of being able to sleep, but I knew I didn't want to be around Irina. She knocked gently on the door, asking for me in a tear-filled voice, but I didn't answer; finally she went away, and to my surprise I quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.
****************
As our second year in California began, Irina and I were happier than ever. She seemed to have grown more comfortable with everything: our wealth, our new home, and above all her own extraordinary beauty. I was so proud to watch the way she interacted with rich bankers or movie stars, as well as the less-famous but still wealthy parents of Lily and Earl's friends from nursery school.
Having Elaine, our near-perfect nanny, living in our guest house meant that Irina and I had all the freedom we wanted to take spontaneous trips to San Francisco or New York or even Paris for the weekend. Imagine--being rich enough to take a weekend trip to Paris!
We didn't behave like that often, of course. TLI, the company Rick Torgerson and I were developing, required a great deal of my time. I was in Madison at least three days a month, and at other times making quick flying visits to venture capitalists to raise money or to software firms in Silicon Valley, looking for the best talent.
The work was going well, and I found it so rewarding to be busily employed again--not to mention that Rick was the perfect partner, as he had been when we first worked together.
I flew back from a two-day trip on a Sunday afternoon in late October, and our driver Jayson picked me up at LAX around 5 pm. Usually chatty, he was surprisingly somber and quiet. He asked all the right questions about how my trip had been and so on, but he didn't have any of his usual gossipy stories to tell.
"Anything going on, Jayson? You seem a bit distracted today."
There was a silence. Then, sounding uncomfortable, he said, "I, uh--Tom, I don't really want to say too much. But Irina, uh, well, she's kind of upset. You'll see when I get you home."
I was instantly concerned. "Upset? What about? Is she sick? Are the twins okay?"
"No, no, everybody's fine--it's nothing like that. Look, I really don't want to get in the middle of anything. We'll be at the house in five minutes, okay?"
And I couldn't get another word out of him, try as I might.
When I ran into the house, I found Elaine supervising Lily and Earl, who were happily playing on the swings in the yard. We had a noisy, boisterous reunion, and it was more than fifteen minutes before I could get away to find Irina. Elaine gave me a serious look, but I had no idea what it meant.
I hurried up to the bedroom to find my wife lying on the bed in her bathrobe. She turned to me, her face full of grief, and I could see she'd been crying.
"Honey, what is it? What's wrong?" I ran to her, taking her in my arms, but she pushed me away.
"No! Don't touch me, Tom! You'll never want to touch me again, when I..."
She burst into loud sobbing, unable to finish her sentence.
I went to the other side of the bed, kneeling and taking her hands as she wept. She tried to pull away but I wouldn't let go.
"Irina. Honey. Talk to me--whatever it is, we can deal with it. As long as you and the twins are all right--"
"But I'm not all right!" she cried, interrupting me. "I'll never be all right again!"
She took a long, slow, shuddering breath.
"Tom--I ... he fucked me. Jamie. Last night--I had sex with Jamie."
****************
After she told me; after I fell back into a chair, stunned; after I ran out of the house and drove to the hill overlooking the Pacific; after I came back, hours later, and went to bed in the guest room; after all of that came the next day. Monday. The day I had to get up and face what was to be.
I awoke at 7:30 and headed straight for a long hot shower in the guest bathroom--with the door locked. When I emerged Irina was standing in the hallway waiting for me.
She looked terrible, as though she'd spent a sleepless night. Hair mussed, eyes puffy, her face ravaged from crying. That beautiful, perfect face.
"Tom?" she said quietly. Tentatively, as though she wasn't she sure she had the right to speak to me.
"We'll talk later," I said. I didn't even want to look at her. "I know we need to talk, but I'm not ready yet."
"But I--"
"I promise I won't do anything crazy, Irina. I won't kill anyone or file for divorce or run away to Argentina. But you need to leave me alone for a while first."
And without waiting for a reply I turned away to get dressed.
After a quiet breakfast by myself, during which I read the paper without really seeing a word, I sat in my office and called Jayson to come over. Time to start finding out what the fuck had happened.
When he came in, looking troubled, I locked the door and had him sit across from my desk. He'd probably never seen me looking so serious either.
"Jayson, Irina told me about it. Just the bare bones. Please fill me in on what you know."
