That Damned Green Dot

"I'm ba-ack!"

I was in our bedroom just finishing packing my carry-on bag, when I heard my wife Valerie returning from the grocery store. She had the usual cheerful inflection she had when she was happy with her findings at the store.

A cheerful mood which I was just about to squash. And it would be ugly. Valerie is generally cheerful, yes, but her mood can change between two extremes in a fraction of a second.

After making sure I was not forgetting anything, I casually went down the stairs, with my bag on my shoulder. Valerie was rummaging in the kitchen trying to find room to store the truckload of stuff she had brought back.

"You bought way too much stuff, Honey, considering you're gonna be alone for the whole week," I said, with the flat tone of someone stating the obvious. She dropped a plastic bag full of apples and looked at me with a question mark stamped on her lovely face.

"What!? What did you just say?"

"That I'll be away for the week. I have a flight to catch in a few hours," was my exaggeratedly neutral response.

"Wait a sec... is this a joke? You never talked to me about going on a business trip this week? Where are you going? And what about your back?"

"Oh, my back is much better. And I never said it was a business trip. I'm not traveling for my job. I'm taking a week off. I'm going to Cancun."

"WHAT?? What's that crap?!" she almost yelled. "You're going to Cancun alone, on your own, without even telling me?"

"Well, I'm telling you now."

"Isn't that a trip you should take with your wife? Namely, me! Why didn't you tell me ahead?" She was clearly furious.

"What would it have changed? You keep repeating that you can't take any vacation before June 1st. We're still almost three months away from that and I'm going to Mexico now because I've had enough of freezing my butts here. Not my problem that you've already busted your vacation bank for this year. "

"I haven't busted my vacation bank, Chuck. I told you I can't take any time off until I'm done with this project I'm working on," she replied, trying hard to regain some sort of composure. I just shrugged.

"Why don't you ask for a travel credit and wait until we can go together. I'll be delighted to go to Mexico with my husband. You will certainly have a better time going there with me than going there alone," she pleaded.

"Oh, I never said I was going alone! I'm going there with a friend," I replied, still with that casual conversational tone, which was apparently starting to get on her nerves.

"And who are you going to Cancun with? Do I know him?"

"Nope. You don't know her," I replied.

"Wait, wait, wait... Are you telling me that you are going to spend a week in Cancun with another woman? AND YOU REALLY THINK I WILL ACCEPT THAT?"

"Why not? It's just a week. And you can't come anyway. Remember, your project?"

"Oh, no Mister, that's not wh..."

She was interrupted by the honk of my cab that had just arrived.

"Got to go!" I said. I took my main luggage that I had left in the front door closet, blew an air kiss to a stunned Valerie and got out of the house. Julie was already in the car. She got out, officially to help me with my luggage, but it was more to smile at Valerie and piss her off. I put my luggage in the trunk and Julie and I sat on the back seat. An infuriated Valerie was on the porch, looking daggers at us.

"See you in a week, Hon!" I said, with a sneer.

We just had time to wave a snide goodbye before the driver took off.

***

Now, you must all think I am a jerk, right? Well, maybe I am. But before you find me guilty of all charges, let me please explain how I ended up being so much of an asshole with my loving wife.

My name is Charles Coughlin, but everybody calls me Chuck. I married Valerie Ableson when we were both 26. Val was a marketing expert, working for a rising star marketing and communication firm in the Greater Toronto Area. She had been working for them for 3 years and was already on a fast-track to the top.

My job was a little less glamorous. I was the co-owner of an occupational HSE (Health Safety and Environment) consulting company that I had founded with two friends the year before I met Val. When I say my job is not glamorous, it is simply because talking about health and safety in the workplace is a sure way of being branded as a drag. But as I often repeat, getting to the end of the day with your limbs intact can be a nice addition to your paycheck, no?

Val and I have always loved not doing things like other people. Hence our two yellow cars, our iguana pet, and our wedding day on a glacial mid-January Sunday. This year was our fifth anniversary. I had planned a nice surprise getaway weekend at the renowned Château Montebello. I knew it was a place that Val had always wanted to try. I wanted to wait until a week before that weekend and ask Val to take the following Friday off, since this was the day of our anniversary. It would be a short flight from Toronto to Ottawa, then a one-hour drive to the resort, and we would be celebrating our anniversary at their upscale restaurant.

Unfortunately, things did not happen the way I had envisioned.

Two days before the day I had planned to ask her to take her Friday off, Val announced to me that she had to go on a business trip to Atlanta the following week.

"Are you going to be back before Friday?" I asked

"No. We're leaving on Tuesday and returning Tuesday or Wednesday of the following week."

"Hon, next Friday is our wedding anniversary! Do you absolutely have to go next week? Can't it wait a few days? We haven't taken a single day of vacation together for over a year and a half!"

I knew Val was working hard to make a name for herself both in her company and in the trade in general, and I respected that and supported her. I was kind of doing the same thing with my company. We were both putting in the necessary hours to make this happen. It was not uncommon for either of us to be traveling for our jobs, but the timing for her trip was crappy, to say the least.

"Chuck, there is nothing I can do about the date. The client insists that we meet with their Atlanta team Wednesday to Friday, and we will take advantage of being in that area to drive to Charlotte over the weekend and meet with A2B2C corporation, to try to resuscitate a project that has been on hold for almost a year, before the budget is cut. So it's very important that we go there."

"Ok, who is 'we'?" I asked.

"Greg will be there, along with Claire and Vivianne."

I looked at her for a few seconds, before deciding that the whole story made some sense.

"I had planned something for our anniversary, you know..."

"I'm so sorry, Chuck. Can we reschedule? Maybe in a few weeks, when I am a bit less swamped at work? I promise I will make up for this." She sounded sincere.

I hurried to the phone and canceled everything. Since it was a full week before, I was able to get a full refund for everything, including the airplane tickets.

I did my best the rest of the evening not to show how unhappy I was, and I think it worked, because Val was back to her usual cheerfulness in no time.

The rest of the week and the weekend were uneventful. We did what everybody does on weekends, namely take care of house chores and run errands. Dinner at her parents' on Sunday evening was also as usual, with her mother getting moodier and moodier after each glass of wine, and her father insisting that things were so much better in the good old times.

On our way back home, she made some light conversation.

"How does your week look like, Hon?" she asked.

"I have an audit with a client on Monday, and I have to go to the office for meetings on Thursday and Friday. Tuesday and Wednesday I'll be working from home. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just to know. I'm always interested in what's happening to you, you know?"

Val's demeanor was a bit offsetting on Monday evening. She had always suffered from performance anxiety, and this would generally make her a bit subdued and within her own head the day before she had to leave. This time, she was her usual bubbly self. It seemed she had her stress under control, and since I did not want to cause a surge in her anxiety, I chose to keep my observations for myself.

On Tuesday morning, Val had already had breakfast when I got into the kitchen after showering.

"What time do you leave?" I asked.

"A cab will pick me up at 9:00," she replied.

That was odd, because Val was a last-minute packer. Typically, half an hour before leaving, tornado-Val would be all over the place, running against time to finish packing and zipping up her luggage on her way down the stairs.

But that morning, it was already past 8:30 and there she was, taking her time to finish her coffee.

"You look very relaxed this morning, sweetie. I take it you're expecting an easy trip?"

"Yeah, kind of. I am going because Mrs. Robertson, their VP Marketing, specifically requested that I be there as her main contact person, but it's really Greg and Claire who will be leading the show."

We exchanged some trivia for a few more minutes before her taxi arrived. She hugged me and gave me one of her signature kisses.

"Have a nice week, Love. And I promise I'll make it up to you. We'll celebrate our special anniversary as we should!" she said, still hugging me.

"Have a safe trip. Call me when you get there," I replied.

And she was gone.

After I finished breakfast, I sat in front of my computer and started answering my emails. I stopped for a coffee break at 10:30, and it hit me that Val hadn't texted me that she had made it to the airport. That was very unusual.

Now, make no mistake, I have never asked her to keep me informed of all the details of her whereabouts. But one thing you must know is that Valerie is a big, no, not big, more like COMPULSIVE Messenger user, and she has the somewhat annoying habit of sending text messages by the dozen explaining what she is doing, attaching pictures of what she had just seen, and so on. Hence my expectation to have received a text message from her by that time, since we live in Richmond Hill and the drive to Pearson Airport outside rush hour is no more than 45 minutes.

We had never installed tracking applications on our phones, I had no way of locating her phone to see if she was at the airport. I did not want to look like I was stalking her, and certainly did not want to embarrass her in front of her colleagues by calling her not even two hours after she had left.

Out of curiosity, I went to my favorite flight tracking website. I had not asked Val what her flight number was, but this should be easily figured out. She probably arrived at the airport around 9:25. For flights to the USA, they ask you to be there about two hours ahead. Knowing Val's general anxiety, she must have made sure she was a bit more than two hours ahead. This meant her flight to Atlanta would be no earlier than 11:30 and no later than 12:30.

You have maybe heard the old saying, that curiosity killed the cat? Well, I should not have been that curious...

A quick search told me that the most recent flight to Atlanta was at 9:45. There was no way she was on that flight. The next one was at 2:00 pm. What? What was the hurry to leave at 8:45 for a flight that was over 5 hours later?

It then occurred to me that if she was still at the airport, she would appear online on Messenger. I checked and indeed, there was a green dot on her profile picture. Knowing her FOMO, I figured she would stay online until the flight attendants would ask the passenger to turn off their phone when they left the gate.

I went to the kitchen to finally get my coffee, while keeping an eye on my wife's Messenger status. I tried hard to concentrate on my tasks for the next hour and was surprisingly able to do a few useful things.

And then, at 11:44, I saw that the green dot had disappeared, and Messenger indicating that my wife was last active 2 minutes before. I went back to my favorite website of the day and noted the flights that were scheduled to leave momentarily.

Montreal -- Could be. It was a 50-minute flight. I would know pretty soon.

Iqaluit -- Impossible. She could not be going to the Arctic. What would she do there? I discarded that one.

Tokyo -- Much longer than the others. I would not know before late in the evening...

Detroit -- Another 50-minute flight. Another one to keep an eye on.

Cayo Largo -- 3 hours and 30 minutes. A vacation? No... she wouldn't... unless... Well, definitely worth checking.

San Francisco -- That's a 5-hour flight. Another distinct possibility.

Ok, if she went back online in an hour or so, I would know that she was either in Detroit or Montreal. Then it would be a matter of figuring out where to go from there, figuratively speaking. But no matter what other flight she might be on, it would be easy to know because their arrival times were far enough apart to guess right.

I tried to go back to working, but my mind was just not there. I fixed myself a sandwich and was back in front of my computer in less than 10 minutes. I could see on the website that the flight to Montreal would be the first to land. I could not help noticing that the site was very well designed. There was a map showing all airborne planes in real time. I was able to track the flight approaching Montreal airport, then landing. The Detroit-bound was still 10 minutes away from landing. I checked Messenger on my phone, and 4 minutes after the Montreal flight had landed, my wife's status was still offline. She was not in Montreal.

Same thing with the Detroit flight a few minutes later. My wife was still offline a few minutes after the plane had landed. I was left empty-handed, again. My next window of opportunity was the Cayo Largo that was scheduled to land at 3:28 pm.

For the life of me, I was unable to concentrate or do anything useful for the next two hours. I browsed YouTube and Facebook, watched mind-numbing Reels and Short videos, or liked idiotic jokes that even my uncles would have considered outdated.

I tracked the last minutes of the Cayo Largo flight. 3 minutes until landing. Was I becoming paranoid? I had always made fun of stalkers, and there I was, counting minutes for maybe unrelated planes to reach their unrelated destinations.

2 minutes until landing. My phone rang. It was one of my associates. Not the time to be distracted. I would call him later. Where was I...?

1 minute to landing. Maybe I was totally mistaken. No, not maybe, make it probably. Or surely. It felt like in college, when I had to solve a problem in a test, and I came to realize after 3 pages of tedious calculations that the answer could not be that far-fetched, that the solution was necessarily simpler than that.

The Cayo Largo plane finally landed.

And almost at the same time, as in a scripted scenario, the damn green dot reappeared.

***

I looked at my computer screen for a few minutes without really seeing what was displayed. When I reconnected with reality, my brain was kind of paralyzed, desperately in need of answers to all the questions that materialized at the same time. What was she doing in Cuba? Who was she there with? Why did she lie to me?

And why the fuck is this trip more important than our fucking fifth fucking wedding fucking anniversary?!?

My phone buzzed, it was a new message on Messenger from my beloved and honest wife:

"Just landed in Atlanta. We were delayed. Everything ok now. I'll call you later. Love you!"

For peace of mind (or lack of it...), I checked the recent arrivals at Atlanta airport. The last flight from Toronto had landed there at 12:10, and the next was not due for another 40 minutes.

Ok, I could admit that my conclusions were largely based on coincidence. I had no way of knowing if she was really in Cayo Largo, and with whom. I would have to grill her when she returned and make her spit it out. That is if I hadn't gone mad until then.

Unless...

***

I did a bit of research on Cayo Largo. It is a small island, south of the main island of Cuba. It is not very crowded, with only 10-12 resorts. Not very hard to find someone there...

In no time, I was on the site of my favorite on-line travel agency to search for tickets to Cayo Largo. As luck would have it, there were daily flights in January between Toronto and Cayo Largo. I was able to book a flight for the next day, at a surprisingly reasonable fare.

My plan was to wander the island anonymously and see if I could find Valerie there. I know, going to Cuba on a hunch, just from a coincidence seen on a flight tracking app and a messaging app is probably the epitome of ludicrous. I suspect I was not thinking very clearly at the time.

Now, the critical element was that I had to see, without being seen. The ultimately ridiculous thing would be to have my wife walking in on me while I was having breakfast. Booking at a different hotel was clearly a must. Valerie and I are not loaded, but we are well off for people our age. Cuba is considered a cheaper destination, but you can improve your experience if you select a more expensive hotel. Which means she was probably at one of the higher-end hotels on the island. I made sure I booked a hotel at the lower end of the price range.

I called my associates and told them I had to take the rest of the week off for personal reasons. It was getting late in the afternoon, but I still had almost an hour to run a few errands, including a visit to a nearby joke and prank shop where I got some useful material. I packed a light luggage that evening and popped a zopiclone to slow down my brain that had been on overdrive all afternoon, and get some sleep.

I was on my way to Cayo Largo the next day, trying to concentrate on the details of my plan while doing my best not to choke on the nasty munchies that the airline pompously calls an in-flight meal. But the attendants were very cool and friendly, so I forgave the airline.

It took an obscenely long time to clear customs and immigration, and it was already dark when I finally made it to my hotel. There was still a remote chance that Valerie was at that hotel, so I tried to be as low-profile as possible in the check-in line and in the restaurant later.

***

My hotel was very much on the el-cheapo side, and the Internet signal was anemic, at best. When I woke up in the morning, it did not really come as a surprise that I had not received any messages from Valerie since her confirmation that she had landed "in Atlanta".

It took me over half an hour to get ready for the day. Fake beards that look natural are not that easy to fix, especially when you are not used to wearing that. I had bought two new swimsuits and a few new T-shirts the day before, as well as new sunglasses. Everything it took to make sure Valerie would not recognize me. I had also packed in my binoculars. I was prepared to tell the custom agents that I was into bird watching if I got interrogated about that, but they never bit on it. After a solid breakfast and a generous layer of sunscreen, out I was to explore the miles of white sands of the island.

My hotel was located almost in the middle of the string of hotels along the beach. I decided that I would do the East side on the first day, and the West side on the second day.

Good thing I was a runner and a hiker, because walking on a beach all day has nothing to do with walking on a street or on a hiking trail. Walking on sand that subsides under your step requires much more endurance than walking on a hard surface. Even if I was in good shape, I was totally worn out after the first day. I had gone through five resorts, both within the resort properties and on the beach, back and forth a few times for fear of missing her, but no sign of Valerie.