End of an Affair

For the most part, I was able to keep a stoic face, but I did have to get up once to go to the bathroom when I couldn't fight back the tears. It had nearly been 24 hours since I had heard the devastating news. I didn't expect to be over my grief this quickly, but I had hoped to get a better handle on it. I couldn't keep running and hiding from Rich. Even in our dull evening routine, Rich was bound to sense something was wrong, and I had no idea what I would tell him if he did.

It became too much to hide. At 9:30, I stood up and told him the allergies were hitting me hard and I was going to go take some allergy medication and go to bed. He acknowledged me with what may have been an "okay dear" or maybe just a random grunting sound, but it didn't matter. I headed upstairs and went straight into the master bathroom, checking my appearance again. I was glad to see there wasn't too much redness around my eyes. At least that part was getting better.

I knew if I went to bed right away, I'd have about an hour to get to sleep before Rich came upstairs. I also knew that lying in bed with nothing else to do would mean my mind would probably track to good times with Byron. But there weren't any other options, so I headed to bed. As I lay thinking about him and some of the times we had together, my hand absentmindedly reached down between my legs - not to give myself pleasure, but just as a reflex reaction to the intimate sex we had with each other.

Sometime before Rich came up stairs, I fell asleep. I never heard him come to bed, and I didn't hear him get up and leave the next morning. Byron's death may have affected me, but at least my relationship with my husband was stumbling along as if nothing had happened, which I realized was actually best for me right now.

I managed to make it to the office that next day. I still wasn't doing well at all. But with no house showings on the schedule for the day, it looked like I was going to be able to hide in my office, updating listings and calling potential clients to try and move them along in the decisions they still needed to make. That meant I could close my door and block out the rest of the staff, knowing that interaction with my colleagues would not be good for me.

I took a break at about 10:30 a.m. and opened up the local morning newspaper online. I don't know why I did it, but I ended up at the obituary section to see if Byron's service information was posted. It was - scheduled for Saturday morning, which was two days away. I was in a dilemma - I really wanted to go, more for my own closure than anything else, and technically I was probably still within the window where a caring real estate agent could go to pay her respects to the surviving family.

But the more prevalent thought was that I wouldn't be able to handle it without breaking down and sobbing, and that would be hard to explain to anyone there why I was acting that way when Byron was supposedly just a client that purchased a house through me. I was also afraid that the guilt I would feel hugging Gloria during the receiving line would make my sobbing even worse. After all, she was an innocent victim of my affair with her husband, just as my husband was.

I knew I needed to do something, because I thought maybe it would help give me closure. I thought about Gloria and how much pain she must be in, and yet because her relationship with her husband was no secret, she likely had all kinds of friends and family and clergy that were helping her through her grief. Since my relationship with her husband was not public knowledge, I really felt I was going to have to face this alone, and I didn't know if I was strong enough to do that. So by at least visiting the cemetery during his burial, perhaps I could do a little of my own therapy.

Therapy - for the first time, the idea of a professional therapist to help me crossed my mind. I weighed the pros and cons; if I could find a grief counselor, someone that I assume could work with confidentiality, I could address grief and the person could see that because of my situation, I was in desperate of his or her services. I wouldn't have to worry about Rich finding out, I didn't think, since I had no problems keeping the affair from him for ten months.

But then another thought struck me. Byron and I had done a great job of keeping our affair from everybody else - at least we thought we did anyway. Confiding with a grief counselor - while surely falling under confidentiality laws, would be telling someone else that I was a cheater, and I didn't know if I could admit to that. I knew I was, but nobody else knew, especially now that Byron had been killed. Was I willing to admit to someone else what I had done?

I kept that idea on the back burner. I figured after Saturday, I'd have a new perspective in which to view this mess. Maybe then my head would be a little clearer, and my grief would be subdued by that time, if not by the finality of Byron's burial. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to get worse, although dealing with this alone, I was the only judge of that, and I wasn't sure I could judge with a clear mind.

******

The rest of Thursday and Friday had gone pretty smoothly. I was down to just a couple of crying attacks during the day, although I was still struggling greatly in the evenings as I sat alone with Rich. At the time, I wasn't sure why, although the thought that it might have been guilt never crept into my mind. But I knew the normal silence of the last few years was nearly killing me now, because in that silence, my mind was left to wander, and it always wandered back to Byron.

On Saturday morning, I was up early, right after Rich, who doesn't allow himself a morning to sleep late. I had told him last night that I had a couple of house showings, which wasn't unusual for the weekend. I dressed professionally, and even though I knew I wasn't going to get out of my car at the cemetery, I still thought it appropriate to dress for the occasion - perhaps as a final nod to my relationship with Byron.

I backed my car out of the driveway to make the 25 minute drive to the cemetery. For being in the middle of a major city, the cemetery seemed remote and quiet. Surrounded by century old trees and featuring a couple of ponds with fountains in the middle, it was a respite from a high-speed world. I found the tent where his committal service was to be held, and parked as far away as I could while still being able to see what was going on.

And then I waited. I really had no idea when they would be there, but the thought of driving and parking close to the funeral home and then following the procession was just too risky. It had been nearly a year since I had seen Byron's wife Gloria, but I was driving the same car as when I was showing them homes, and I just couldn't take the chance of her seeing me there, wondering why my eyes were red and swollen.

Finally the procession arrived. I watched from my car as the hearse pulled up next to the tent over his gravesite. The first couple of cars after the hearse looked to be limousines owned by the funeral home to transport either family or casket bearers. I recognized Gloria right away, along with her kids, as they got out of the second limousine and slowly made their way to the tent. Watching her escorting her kids to his final resting place unleashed an emotion I had not felt yet - suddenly I felt guilty as hell for what I had been doing the past 10 months. Seeing them had just made it too real for me.

With the family and guests under the tent, the back gate of the hearse was opened and the coffin was taken out and over to the gravesite. Watching the casket bearers make their slow march, I felt my chest seize and the tears started flowing again. But as I cried for myself and the fact that Bryon and I would never be together again, I also found myself crying for Gloria - I was crying for the woman of the husband with whom I was having an affair.

I wanted to stay, but there was no reason for me to. I wasn't going over where the service was. I wasn't interested in talking to anybody. It was just as if I needed to see his casket removed from the hearse, and that was enough for me to accept the finality of the situation and hopefully move on. I started my car and quietly drove away.

I wasn't ready to go home, but I had no purpose, no intended destination. I just drove, wandering around the secondary streets of the city for an hour or more. Eventually I stopped and picked up a soft drink and a bag of chips - more for something to do and less about needing to eat or drink anything. I got my bearings together and headed back to the house. I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but I knew I couldn't spend the day driving around aimlessly.

******

Gradually, I tried to get my life back in order. I was relieved to find that the crying had subsided in the first couple of days after Byron's burial. While I was still thinking about him every day, and missing what we had together, I was able to make it through the day relatively tear-free. I didn't know if that was the official signal that I was healing or not, but since I still hadn't shared anything about this part of my life to anybody else, I felt that a lack of tears was a good sign.

I found myself thinking back to the cemetery, and the guilt I felt, as well as the empathy for Gloria and her kids. I didn't know if she knew about Byron and me, but I felt it was highly unlikely since we had continued for so long, and I imagined Byron would have told me if she knew. If that were the case, then Byron's secret would go to the grave with him, and I would be left alone with the knowledge of what we had done. Realizing the hurt I could cause Gloria, I knew I would never tell her. Certainly I had no intention of ever telling Rich.

But some of my pain was caused by the pain I knew she was feeling, and realizing I was mourning for her as well as for me just added to the confusion I uncovered at the cemetery. The tears for Byron were decreasing - would I be able to put aside the pain I felt for Gloria, and the guilt I was feeling myself - as the days turned into weeks and months?

I caught a bit of a break at home. Rich had a three-day out-of-state examiner trip in the middle of the week following the funeral. Even though I didn't have the affair to hide anymore, I was still being careful to not present myself to him in tears, while maintaining our already weak relationship. With him being gone, I would be able to get my focus back on my own job, throwing all of my energy at my listings and working with potential home buyers and sellers.

He was leaving Tuesday morning, and would return on Thursday evening, a fairly typical trip for him. For some reason I was awake as he was getting ready to leave, which was unusual. I went downstairs to see his coffer maker had already brewed his coffee. I knew the procedure - drink one cup at home before he leaves, and take the rest in the thermos he had washed out the night before. As he came trapesing down the stairs, I was there to greet him with his coffee in my hand.

Rich came around the corner and stopped suddenly when he saw me. A slight grin escaped his face - a grin I had not seen much of in the last few years. "This is a nice surprise," he exclaimed as he took the cup from my hands. He looked over on the counter and saw the thermos standing there for him. "Thermos too? To what do I owe this treatment?"

I really didn't have an answer - I was just awake and got up, but seeing his smile and our little conversation, I was glad I did. "Nothing special, I guess, except for the fact that you're going to be gone for three days and I'm going to miss you, so I thought I'd get up and see you off."

I was amazed at how believable it sounded as I said it, and I felt a little regret for not thinking of it in the first place. I made a mental note to remember what I had done today and try it again Friday. It had the potential to become a modification to an already established routine and become meaningless, but I realized that I held some of the responsibility for that lack of meaning on other things, and maybe I could learn from those and try to make this feel special.

Rich rounded up his briefcase and grabbed his coat from the closet. As he was putting it on, he looked at me and asked, "What are you going to do while I'm gone?"

Another surprise - since when did he want to know what I was doing in his absence? At least this was an answer I had already prepared. "Probably spend most of my time in the office, calling potential clients and see if I can get some showings set up. Things have been a bit slow lately, so I need to step up my work approach."

He headed to the door, and I followed him. I put my hand on his arm, and he surprised me by turning and giving me a little kiss on the lips. As I watched him walk down the sidewalk to his car, I was a little confused - he had paid more attention to me than he had in a long time. Why was today different? He'd left on business trips before - it was a very common practice in his duties as a bank examiner. I would imagine at least once a month he's gone for two or three days out of a week.

The only difference I could think of was the fact that I was downstairs before he was, and that hardly ever happened. That got me to thinking - how much of this stalemate in our relationship was my fault? It was true that he was in a rut, but perhaps my own rut was spending too much time thinking about how we weren't anything like ourselves earlier in our marriage. I felt it was foolish to blame him for all of our problems, and yet I was afraid that was exactly what I'd been doing.

It certainly gave me something to think about as I got myself ready for work. It had been three days since Byron's funeral, and while I still thought of him every day in some way or another, I was finding that the grief I still felt wasn't keeping me from things I should be doing. My last attack of tears had been upon waking on Sunday morning, the day after I had watched Gloria and her kids and the rest of her family lay Byron to rest.

I was anxious to get to work, hoping the energy I was feeling would help me get caught up. My job had suffered tremendously while I was lost in my grief. It was too easy to come in and close my door so I could hide from the rest of the world when I felt tears were coming. I hadn't shown a house since my last time together with Byron - in fact, I hadn't even made contact with a potential client in about a week. Keeping up with my clients was the most important part of my successful sales record. I cared about them, and wanted to get them in the houses of their dreams. So keeping up with them as they searched was important.

I opened up my client list on my computer and began to make calls. Making actual live contact with some clients during the day was difficult, since often they were at work and could not take my calls. But I always left detailed voice messages, including leads on potential new properties. The ones I could talk with were glad to hear from me. A couple had decided to stop looking for new properties at this time but gave me permission to contact them if I felt a perfect house came open. They knew I would not call them to show just any house - they trusted me to find them something that was perfect.

About an hour into my morning, I was to call was Justin and Amber Stoddard, a young professional couple who had been married three years and were waiting to have children until they purchased their "forever home," as they called it. Because of that, they were being extremely picky, which sometimes causes frustration for agents who spend countless hours working for a couple that seemed to be impossible to please. Yet the Stoddards were a cute couple, not unlike Rich and me many years ago, so I wanted to see them get into one where they could stay forever.

Amber Stoddard answered after the second ring - "Hello?"

"Good morning, Amber - this is Julie Harris, from the Sunshine Agency. It has been a few days since I talked to you last, so I was hoping to get an idea of where you were in your house hunting process."

There was a pause on the other end, and then Amber started talking again. "I can't believe you called - Justin and I were just talking about you last night! We have decided that we need to increase our top limit by $50,000 if we are going to find a house that has all we want."

I was very happy to hear that - of course it would mean an increase in my commission if I could sell them a house, but I was happy because it had been next to impossible to find what they wanted within their budget. This was going to give them a chance to see at least seven more homes that were listed by my agency alone, let alone homes listed by other realtors who were on the multi-listing program.

I said, "Great, Amber - I'll start searching for homes with that higher limit in mind. I know for a fact that we have at least two or three that I think checks off all your boxes. How soon do you want to start looking?"

Amber replied, "Actually, Julie...we have one we'd like to see right away, if possible - after three o'clock this afternoon would be great. We're anxious to go look at this one because we know it's got a lot of what we are looking for, but until now has been out of our price range. It's time to go see if it's as great as we think it is."

I was surprised to hear they wanted to look at one so quickly. They must have been studying the listings on the internet after they had raised their top limit, and whichever one it was, they were excited about them seeing it.

"Amber, that's great! I have all afternoon open, so I think we can do a showing if the house is unoccupied. Which one do you want to look at?"

Amber said, "68 Osborn Road in Norwich."

I immediately panicked - I knew that address very well. That was the last house I had been in before Byron's accident - in fact, it was the house where we had fucked our last time, the house he had hurried from because we stayed longer than normal. It was the house he was racing from when he had his accident that killed him.

My eyes welled up again and tears ran down my cheek. I knew I had been silent for too long and had to say something to Amber. Somehow my auto-pilot kicked in and I heard myself confirming to her that I would meet them there at 3:15 this afternoon. As I disconnected the call, I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to do it or not. I was certain that I was going to have to go back inside that house at some point if I expected to sell it. I also knew that this house was a good one for the Stoddards to look at, and the only reason I hadn't shown it to them yet was that it was above their previous price range.

Obviously my grief over Byron's death had not gone as far away as I had hoped. I quickly entered the showing on the multi-list schedule so other agents would know the house was not available for them to show today. Then I stood up and went into the restroom to splash cold water on my face and try to get my wits back. I had to figure out how I was going to be able to show this house without the pain of Byron's death causing me to be a wreck.

The only way I could see myself possibly making it was to go early and face whatever emotions I would find as I went inside the house. I decided I would work through until about 1:00, and then take a late lunch, which should put me at the house shortly after 2:00, and give me a little over an hour to deal with the memories of my dead lover.

I finished making the client calls, and then created a list of calls to sellers, seeing if they wanted to make any movements on price. Those calls would wait until tomorrow, but the list was at least ready so I could start right in when I got to the office.

Eventually the clock said 1:00, and I grabbed the keys to the Osborn house and left the office. I went to a little café I liked that was halfway between the office and the house. As I ate, I tried to anticipate what my reactions would be when I walked into that house. I tried to give myself a pep talk, that I had handled all of this fairly well to this point, and this was just another hurdle I needed to clear as I got my life back closer to normal.