Another Love: Lost

So after he'd taken Karen, he'd sent her home to give me sloppy seconds, establishing himself as her primary lover while telling her that he wasn't. Typical, I thought: say one thing, do another. "Yes, you said that, but it was never true, not even at the very beginning. Think a moment. Was there ever a time when you were with him, even before you went to his bed, that you wished you were with me instead?"

Karen answered quickly. "Many times when I was with him, I wished you were with us. I often thought about what fine men you both were. I was, and am, sure you would have liked each other, if you'd given him a chance. Yes, I thought of you often when I was with him."

"But you never wished I was there instead."

"Instead? No, I did not," she grudgingly admitted.

"Now when was the first time that you lay with me in our bed, and wished it was him with you, not me?"

Karen's eyes sought the floor. "Please don't make me answer that. It doesn't matter, and it will only hurt you."

"So it was the day you first met him," I said. She nodded reluctantly. "The truth is, on that day, he replaced me in your heart. From that day on, you were his, completely. You denied him nothing." I paused, as a new thought occurred to me. "It's funny, he was never yours, certainly not in the way I was. You chose a share of him, over all of me. That's not very flattering."

"I really didn't think of it like that, Rob. Really."

"I'm sure you didn't. After all, I wasn't supposed to find out. You said the only mistake you made was the painting. Do you believe that?"

"Well, if it hadn't been for the painting, you wouldn't have found out, right?"

"You mean, I never would have wondered about those times you were distant from me, the discomfort between me and my sons when I came back from Iraq, and all those trips to Montreal for a State of New York health employee? You may be right; we both know how gullible I am, and I admit I was pretty stupid. On the other hand, once you brought Avril here, sooner or later she would have spilled the beans. The biggest reason you got away with it, though, was that I was in love with you, and I trusted you completely. You knew that, took advantage of it, and used it against me for twenty years. That's pretty cynical."

"Do you really wish you had found out sooner? Even before you went to Iraq?"

"A thousand times yes. It's a lot easier to start over at 30 than at 50."

"So it's come to that, has it?" Karen looked at me, softly and tenderly, as she'd done thousands of times. She could still make my pulse race.

"Rob, do you love me?"

"I do."

"Then can't we make this work somehow? It's what I want most in all the world, and if you love me, and I love you, surely we can find a way."

I sighed. "You gave him, and he took, whatever he wanted of you: your mind and body, your heart and soul. You were his, completely and absolutely; I got what was left over. Even his mother knows it, and she's proud of it. Karen, I will not come back for his leftovers."

Karen looked at me with determination. "Rob, even if that were true, it's all in the past now. How can I prove to you that at this moment, right now, you are first in my heart, my first love?"

"You can start by burning the painting."

"No!" Karen was horrified. The color drained from her face. "No, Rob, think what you're asking. It's a great work of art; the world needs to see it. You can't mean that."

I smiled sadly at her. "Karen, can anyone look at that painting and doubt that you were his lover? If you love me, why would you want to shame me by keeping it in our home, let alone showing it to the world?"

"But this is important, Rob! Not just to me, but to Avril, too. I know it will hurt you, and I'm sorry, but that painting has to be part of the exhibit. It has to! Rob, can't you love me enough to let me keep it, and show it? I love you so much, isn't there something else I could do to prove it?"

"Q.E.D.," I said softly, and stood to leave. "Goodbye, Karen."

I cried myself to sleep that night for the first time since the night I buried my parents. When I awoke, I knew finally that Karen's and my marriage was dead. I called Leverett and told him I accepted his offer; I would move in December or early January. I then dropped in on the attorney who had prepared my will, and asked him to draw up a petition for dissolution of marriage.

I considered just having Karen served, but that didn't seem right. When my attorney told me the papers were ready, I picked them up, signed them, and called Karen to set up a time to meet. She asked if Avril could join us; I said it was their decision.

I trudged slowly down the hill toward what was once my home, probably for the last time. I walked around the place, sniffing the brisk, cold air and the wood-fireplace smell. The sights and smells triggered memories, all now tainted by the knowledge that none of it had been what I had trusted it was. It was time.

Karen and Avril were sitting in the love seat. There was a fire in the fireplace, and the familiar Christmas decorations were up. The living room and dining room were strewn with materials for the exhibit, but the old house managed to look cozy and warm despite the abstract art. Karen was wearing a new Christmas sweater; somehow Rudolph's red nose ended up squarely atop her left nipple. I envied it. I told them about my job offer in Cincinnati, that it began in early January, and that I had accepted it.

"But Rob, I can't move now. We're far too busy, and you know I don't want to leave this house."

"You won't have to." I watched their faces fall as they understood. I put the manila envelope on the coffee table.

"This is a petition for divorce. I've signed it; all you have to do is take it to James' office and sign it. They'll notarize it for you there, and then they'll file it. The settlement is described in detail in here. Basically, the house is paid for, and I'm giving it to you. I'm leaving you half our money and all our investments. I'm keeping my retirement, and I won't contribute to the joint account after the first of the year. You may want to have another lawyer look it over, but I'm sure they'll tell you it's fair."

Avril broke the silence. "How can you do this? How can you be so cruel? so heartless? She gave you twenty-five years, and you throw that away? You throw away her love for you, for something that is all in the past?"

I shook my head and addressed my wife. "Karen, when I came over here two weeks ago, I was looking for a way to try to make our marriage work. Twenty years of lies, deception, and betrayal is a lot to get past, but if you were even a little bit sorry for what you did, I would have tried. You aren't: you feel no guilt, and have no regrets. You're sorry I found out, and sorry that your affair hurt me, but you aren't sorry you did it. If you had given me any indication that I could win back the place I once had in your heart, I would have tried to do it with all that's in me. Instead, we both know that place was his from the day you met him, is his now, and will be his until you die, despite anything I could do. That's why it will never be 'all in the past.'"

"Even if that's true, Rob, and I'm not saying it is, it doesn't mean I don't love you. We can still have something very good together. It might not be everything you want, or everything you thought you had, but try to think about what you could gain, instead of what you feel you lost. Think about the beautiful family that is ready to love you and accept you. Wouldn't you be better off with all of this?"

"Karen, you were all I had, the only..."

"Then why did you leave her and your sons to go to war?" Avril interrupted me.

"We never talked about that, did we? I guess now's as good a time as any. You've both told me I failed you by going, but you had already been his for a year."

"I was about to break it off, as I told you," Karen said, somewhat sharply.

"That's what you said, but you never actually did anything about it. Besides, the only reason you gave for even thinking of breaking it off was that you were afraid even gullible Rob might find out." Silence. I continued.

"Anyone who wants to go to war is a fool. I certainly didn't, no matter what you think. But every day, I told myself I had to survive, to make it home to Karen and our boys. I got through it, because I thought you needed me. The truth was that you'd already found my replacement, and you had moved him into our bed, into our home, and into our family before my flight even cleared Newfoundland. The only thing you needed me for was to pay the bills. You even forced me to provide for him while you betrayed me with him.

"It's a terrible thing to wear the blood of your shipmates, your crew. I did it more than once. That's why I needed you so desperately when I came home. I counted on you. Instead, you were distant and unresponsive, and I couldn't figure out why, but now I know: you were invested elsewhere. He came first, as always.

"I had a job to do there, and I did it well. Because of what I did, there are men who survived to go home to their wives and children. I'm proud of that, though I know you both consider it a failure. I just hope the families they came home to were more faithful and loving than mine."

We sat there for several moments, neither woman meeting my eyes.

"What if I don't sign?" Karen asked.

"Karen, our marriage is over. Really, it's been over since the day I saw that painting, though neither of us wanted to admit it. That's true regardless of whether you sign. Avril, you and I don't agree on a lot, but I do thank you for being Karen's friend. I'm glad you have each other."

"And just what is that supposed to mean?" Karen wanted to know. I smiled.

"I'm sorry, but Madame Sara-Marie has long ears and a loose tongue. I'll leave it at that." Avril giggled; Karen blushed. An awkward silence fell.

"So, this is how it ends? You are determined not to understand? You are really giving up, walking away from Karen's love? Keeping your hurt and your anger, and throwing away the love of twenty-five years? You are that foolish?" Avril seemed genuinely sad.

"Avril, I think it's you who don't understand. You can't imagine what it's like to find out you've been deliberately lied to and betrayed for twenty years; to find out your absolute love and your complete trust have been cruelly and cynically used against you. That there's nothing, absolutely nothing, that the only woman you ever loved saved for you alone.

"Karen is still his woman, and she always will be. Every time there's a choice, she still chooses him over me. She always will. I was her first love; he is her last, and her best."

I stood. "Karen, you don't need to tell me what you decide; James' office will handle everything for you." I left my house key on top of the envelope, and walked to the front door.

"Goodbye, Avril. Fare well, Karen."

There was no reason to hang around Albany. I put my little bits of furniture into storage, loaded up my car, and headed west. The "Queen City" as they call it, is on a river and has hills and woods, so it wasn't like I was moving to Kansas or somewhere completely foreign. Leverett had lived there for some years and I wasn't picky, so we made quick work of finding a place for me and arranging for my furniture to be moved in.

I chatted with Georges, or with him and Simone, at least once a week. They lived in Ottawa, where he was a civil engineer for the government; his temperament was a lot like mine, and we got along well. Still, I was surprised by his offer.

"Rob, we have to spend Christmas Day in Montreal, but we'll be coming home the next day. How would you like to come up the day after Christmas, and stay through New Year's? We have a spare room you could use. It isn't big, but Simone and I and the kids would really love to have you, and you'd get to spend some time with a family."

I was speechless. Simone got on speaker phone to help persuade me. "We know the holidays are going to be hard for you, Rob. You can talk about Karen or not, as you please. You know how we feel about that, anyway. Please come, Rob."

Well, I said I would, and they both actually sounded happy about it. I briefly wondered why, then decided it didn't matter. That still left me on my own for Christmas Day, but a short chat with Lisa (we did still keep in touch) reminded me what we'd done for Thanksgiving. I called the local Salvation Army and yes, they did need volunteers for Christmas.

Cincinnati isn't an easy place for a stranger to find his way around in, so they had me loading cars and vans instead of going out on deliveries. For the first couple of hours, the physical labor felt good, but after that I began to feel my age. I knew I would sleep well that night! We had a pretty good crew, if I say so myself. When we broke for lunch and introduced ourselves, we found out we were a VP from Procter & Gamble, a lineman from the UC football team, a lineman from the power company, and me, all supervised by this sharp-tongued little slip of a redheaded girl. She could have been any age between 25 and 50, and whatever figure she might have had was completely hidden under her winter work clothes. She knew exactly how everything should be done, and didn't hesitate to tell us. The saving grace was, she was right.

The football-type lineman wanted to know why she had to be such a hard ass, especially on Christmas. Weren't we supposed to be tidings of comfort and joy, and all that? The VP said there were rumors of a dark past in which things had gone very wrong for her, but no one seemed to know any more. One certainly didn't ask her, especially when she chose that moment to pop her head in and ask why we were still sitting on our asses when there were kids waiting for their Christmas?

"'Cause we can't sit anywhere else," the utility-type lineman muttered too low for her to hear. At least that's what he intended, but I thought I saw the corner of the redhead martinet's mouth twitch upward just the merest fraction.

It was fully dark when we finished, and slogged wearily toward the front door, to a handshake and a "Merry Christmas" from the guy who ran the place. I shook hands with my new friends, and said I'd see them around, was slightly surprised to find out I really hoped I would, and found myself face to face with our slave driver.

"You're new, aren't you?"

"Yeah." I wanted a hot shower far more than conversation just then.

"Carly," she held out her hand.

"Rob."

"Listen, Rob, I just wanted to say thanks. You were great to work with. Ex-military?"

"Navy."

"Thought so. It's in the way you take to organization. Listen, would you have time to do some more volunteering? I could really use some help organizing this place. Could you maybe do once a month or so?"

I thought for a moment. What could it hurt? I didn't have to plan time for my family, and I'd be giving back, as they say. I agreed, and we exchanged phone numbers.

"Merry Christmas, Rob."

"Merry Christmas, Carly."

I followed my instructions (it's maps for me: no GPS, thank you) to a smallish house in a somewhat cramped residential neighborhood in Ottawa. It looked about sixty years old or so, and was obviously built on the same plan as all the other houses on the block, but it was well and lovingly maintained, and tastefully decorated for the season. It looked like exactly what it was: a simple, unpretentious family home. As I got out of the car and stretched, I saw the front curtain move slightly, and a small dark-haired face vanish from the corner of the window. I smiled. How long had it been since anyone, even my cat, watched out a window, awaiting my arrival?

I slung my duffel over my shoulder and walked to the door. It opened before I could knock. They were smiling as if for a family portrait, all seven of them, even though they had driven down from Montreal that afternoon. The girls took my duffel to the spare room and the boys showed me where to wash up. We'd all had long travel days, so we chatted a bit and shared homemade Christmas cookies, and went to bed.

I was down early next morning to get the coffee going. While it percolated, I looked contentedly out the window at eight inches of new-fallen snow, with more coming down rapidly. Family members trickled in, drawn by the morning-smell of coffee. Georges' proposal that we head for the sledding hill at a nearby park was eagerly accepted. A couple of long toboggans and those little circular sled things that we used to call flying saucers were produced from the basement; I helped the boys suit up while Georges and Simone attended to Georgette, and off we went.

The shouts of excited children were muted by the falling snow, and failed to disturb the restful quiet of the neighborhood. Stephanie tried to act like the mature big sister and hang out with the adults, until Philippe nailed her with a well-aimed snowball, and it was game on. No cars were out; the street was transformed into a snowy playground. We three adults followed along contentedly, while Georgette cooed and babbled. I think she was trying to convince her father that she was old enough to join the fun.

Simone noticed when a tear trickled down my cheek.

"What's the matter, Rob?"

I saw compassion in her eyes, and her husband's. "I was an only child," I said, giving only part of the answer. They moved on either side of me and hugged me without words. The moment was rudely broken when I was struck in the back of the head by something cold and wet. I think it was courtesy of Marie; she was laughing the loudest and was closest. I gave a roar and lit out after her.

We played chase, we had snowball fights, we tobogganed and sledded, all morning and into the afternoon. No one had a watch or a phone; we didn't care what time it was. Other families from the neighborhood joined us; snow forts were built, vigorously and noisily attacked and defended, and then abandoned post-haste for hot cocoa and Christmas cookies provided by a neutral party. We were all covered with snow from head to foot, tired to the bone but with smiles that wouldn't quit, when we headed for home. The boys were lagging tiredly behind, so I picked one up in each arm.

"Thanks, Uncle Rob," said a sleepy young voice in my ear.

The equipment was put away, and everyone but Georges and I was fast asleep. We looked at each other and grinned. I wanted to find words to tell him how much it meant to me to be included, but I couldn't. Instead, I asked where his snow shovel was, and started work on his sidewalk and driveway. I guessed there was about 15 inches of snow on the ground, but Georges didn't have much sidewalk, so I was finished in about an hour. As I shoveled, I tried to remember days like this with my family. There were a few, even after I returned from Iraq, but even the good memories were overlaid and tainted by Karen's affair. I tried to damn her for ruining what had once been fond family memories, but I couldn't work up the energy. The best I could do was a mild sadness, mixed with extreme gratitude to Simone and Georges.

After supper, I read a story to the boys (by Philippe's special request) and said good night to the girls. Georgette had been fussy; Georges and Simone were calming her. I finally remembered my phone, and turned it on. There was one message. Karen had signed the divorce petition that morning; it was filed with the court that day. I would be a single man in 90 days.

I had come a long way from the man who stood stupefied in his own living room, staring thunderstruck at a painting of his nude wife while his life crumbled around him. On the other hand, I was taking baby steps toward trusting again after Karen's massive betrayal, and it was Simone and Georges who were holding my hands as I toddled, while their children cheered me on.