Winter Harbor

Communal solitude sometimes sits in the eaves before taking flight.

Beads of sweat burst onto my brow as I muscled my way through another set of ten chin ups on the cross bar out in the barn. The aroma of the recent hay season was in my nostrils as the chaff stuck to the sweat on my back and belly and when I dropped to the floor a pair of rose breasted barn swallows set flight from the high eaves above me.

It had become a twice daily routine; work out, run, more work outs and then shower followed up by consuming salad greens and lentils with an occasional ripe fruit. After the playtime I would work the garden and split wood for the coming winter before retiring inside to work on America's next great literary accomplishment; the weekly column for The Downeast Observer along with a syndication extolling the virtues of wholesome Down East living. A living was what it was; I could pay the bills, sock a few bucks away for a snowy day and still have a bit leftover to chase a pint or two on the slow evenings.

It wasn't ever going to be riches but it was most satisfying and provided a peacefulness that was desperately needed at a time in my life when angst and anger ruled every thought and pattern of my existence. When you have enough to provide for the basics and there is a sense of serenity in and around your personal space, everything else is all a matter of perspective.

I have what I call an ideal home; a two story 19th century farmhouse with a big barn, a great garden spot and one hundred acres of space. It was the space that hooked me. For a few years space consisted of a two bedroom condominium with a balcony off the living room and a view of the sound and marshes leading to the river and the expanse of the Holy City, Charleston SC to the south. It was a great view but that's all it was. I could look but not touch.

Along with the farmhouse came the small coastal community of Winter Harbor, Maine, population 516 souls absent those of us who happened upon this piece of paradise after the odd bespectacled man from the Census Bureau in the little old Hyundai took his official count. I think there are a dozen or so of us that have added to that count since. In other words, this is a small town where all the locals know each other and the goings on of those who aren't well known.

When I turned into the small town three years earlier the scorched inscriptions of hellish betrayal were fresh and barely scabbed over. It could have been any number of anonymous towns and villages along this rocky coast that might have slaked my wretched thirst but Winter Harbor offered the best lobster roll I had ever had along with a young and newly minted real estate lady who knew precisely what I wanted.

She showed me several places and held back on the farmhouse until last. When I walked the land over and stood in the soaring barn I knew this was the place; not just the farm but the village, the harbor, even the young real estate lady and the little diner that served that delicious culinary creation on a bun.

After the sale and over a couple shared pints in a local tavern she asked me the question.

"So what in the world brings you to Winter Harbor, Mr. David Bartholomew Higgins?"

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"David, can you help me with the rest of the groceries in my car? I have a few more sacks I couldn't carry."

I looked up from the screen in front of me and rose to help my wife with the things in her arms, setting them down on the granite counter and headed toward the door to our condominium apartment. The elevator ride down was quick and when I stepped out into the air the blast of humid heat permeated every inch of clothing.

'Damn, this is hot' I thought to myself glancing at the weather screen on my phone. It was 98 degrees and the 5th day in a row without relief. I grabbed the remaining grocery bags from her Audi and headed up the elevator to our door, fumbling with the key as I entered.

Kari had already started putting things away and when we finished she headed to the shower.

"Jesus, I'm a soaked pig from this, even with the air on all the way back." She said as she peeled off her top and kicked off the sandals.

After seven years of marriage it was still a measure of excitement to watch her strip off her clothing even for something as mundane as this. She was as taut and fit as she was as a College of Charleston collegiate swimmer when I first met her; a 5'6" lithe form slicing through the waters of her lane to win the NCAA Nationals freestyle title. I was a competing swimmer in the men's division from the University of Maine and she caught my eye immediately not just for her expertise but her personality as well.

We went out for dinner and dancing a couple days later, hit it off well and stayed in touch through our graduation later in May of that year. As luck would have it she let me know of an opening in the firm she had interviewed with. She got her job and I ended up getting a position with another company on Daniel Island, one of the upper scale bedroom communities in the Charleston area.

Kari and I continued dating during the next two years while we both completed our Master's degree in our fields; she earned an MBA in Marketing and mine was a M.S. in Project Management. Shortly after that we were married. Before that could occur I had to have a long sit down with Kari's father. The long and short of it was there was a prenup and I was expected to sign it.

Instead of immediately signing I sat down to read it much to his consternation and to be honest it pissed me off for a while. In the event of a divorce I would have no claim to anything Kari brought into the marriage and that included any inheritance. It wasn't the terms of the deal but the manner in which it was presented. Everything was one sided in Kari's favor and I would have to fight for anything that was rightfully mine.

"Carl, I'm not signing this until the same language is in it for my benefit. Fix that glaring language problem and there will not be an issue."

I got up and left shortly after that. Two days later he was at the condo with his secretary.

"David, I trust all is well now?" He asked as I signed the revised documents and folded my own copy after his secretary notarized all three sets.

"Carl, all is good." was my singular reply and the two of them went on their way.

The wedding went off without a hitch and at the reception I was shocked by the gift Kari's parents gave us; a condominium in Mt Pleasant overlooking the marshes near the Ravenel Bridge into Charleston. I knew they were wealthy but this was a $1 Million dollar property, $1.2M actually. Of course it was titled in her name and there was the prenup but the marriage was bliss at this point and why would I think it would be anything different?

So Kari and I settled into our young married lives at the age of 24, both career professionals and active in every aspect of our lives. She was climbing the career ladder with her firm, promoted to a managing senior in just four years while I was made a senior project manager with the biotech company I started with when I first moved here. We each had to travel fairly often in our jobs and because of that we put off trying to start a family until our thirties. Until then, we made good money, dined out and enjoyed an interesting social life. Things stayed on that even keel right up to when I lugged those groceries up to the condo.

I looked at her as she showered. Her dark hair was matted against her back as the water cascaded down and the dark neatly trimmed triangle at her mons created something of a montage through the opaque shower door. I noted her damp clothing on the floor and gathered them up to add to a load of my own that I was getting ready to wash.

As I dropped the pieces into the washer I came to her panties and my heart stopped for a moment or at least our microcosm of perpetual time froze for just a second. In my hand were a pair of lavender silk panties and smeared and encrusted on the gusset was an off-white slick and moist substance that every man is familiar with. With only a bit of hesitation I brought then to my nose and confirmed my suspicion; there was that telltale bleachy scent unique to the male ejaculate.

Worse than the evidence was the freshness of the crime, it hadn't hardened and dried into the fabric. My wife had just been fucked by a man who emptied his nut into her shortly before she arrived home just a few minutes earlier.

I folded the panties and pushed them into my pocket for the time being and sat down at a chair in the kitchen. Some people relate their accounts of short breath and high anxiety and even palpitations at discovering their wife or husband just fucked them over with an adulterous affair. I just sat there saddened and empty yet fully cognizant of the implications for my marriage and what I might soon be doing knowing the fucking angst would come later.

I poured myself a run and coke and sat at the table a bit longer. Kari was finishing up her shower and yelled out something about having to go over to her parents for a while but that she would be back early this evening. 'That was great' I remember thinking and I believe I mumbled something about having a good time.

I went back to my laptop and gazed at what I was working on before Kari got home with the groceries. She gave me a quick peck on the lips and was out the door. After she left I went out and stood on the balcony of the gifted condo and watched her drive off in her Audi heading off across the bridge.

Unless somebody had made a startling revelation, nothing, absolutely nothing would have been amiss in our marriage. Our love life was fine by all outward appearances, we never fought over anything and we were active in too many circles to keep count of. Yet, she was fucking somebody else at the same time.

I've never thought of myself as a coward but I made a decision I regretted afterwards. I packed my personal belongings and lugged them down to my truck. I didn't have a lot of things to take. I've been something of a minimalist for years so I had two suitcases and a rack of clothes along with half a dozen black garbage bags full of 'stuff'. With everything in the truck I went back upstairs and looked around. Our wedding picture was on the mantle and I debated taking it but turned it upside down instead and left it there for her to see.

I then took the soiled evidence of her adultery and lay it on the kitchen table and did something really childish. I took off my ring and laid it on top of the soiled gusset. I gave some thought to ejaculating onto it for dramatic flair but I couldn't have gotten it up right then in any event.

Ten minutes later I was out the door of my former home and life headed for a Residence Inn up near the airport.

Lying in bed in the hotel suite that evening my mind couldn't settle or focus on anything. Loneliness is the proper term for what distilled out of the brew of anger, jealousy, hurt, humiliation and angst; nothing but the loneliness of a man who lost the anchor of his life.

I suppose the fuck could have been casual or perhaps it had endeared two lovers for months or years; I didn't know but I did know I couldn't live with the cavalier discovery and the fraudulent displays of affection that Kari had to have ginned up to appease her conscience on my behalf. Perhaps there was no conscience or guilt. Some people are like that, able to detach their personal relationship for a casual detour. I guess my constitution was written for another perspective; I had never stepped out on her even though the temptations were constant in my workplace.

My cell went off at 9PM and the call was from Kari but I couldn't bring myself to answer it. I tried to push the button but it was as if my fingers were telling my soul to 'fuck off, we aren't going there'. Then she started texting me.

"Please talk to me, David - please"

I stared at it for five minutes and so wanted to call her, to hear her voice but the angst was growing in what was left of my heart. The night had fallen upon the misery of what was left of the most sorrowful day of my life. I let it sit there on the side table and with the help of Jim Bean I slowly fell into a restless sleep.

At 5AM much of the world is still slumbering and unwilling to stir to life until the sun at least makes its advent in the east. I lay on the bed staring at the ceiling in the dark. Years of daily workout training conditioned my body to an internal clock that sparked every nerve bundle to demand rising from the bed at that hour. Even a broken heart couldn't alter the pattern nor should it.

I was on the streets running 15 minutes later, running harder than I would have at that hour but I needed the release. It wasn't the greatest neighborhood but there was commerce and movement. I found myself running all the way to the Boeing plant and beyond in North Charleston, a quick five mile loop before I was back at the hotel.

It was Sunday morning with no business to conduct and my cell was full of text messages from Kari, all begging me to talk to her, telling me how miserable and sorry she was. Like I said I'm a coward and I left them unanswered. Instead I cleaned up, had breakfast and went into my office to try to work on my latest project. That lasted all of an hour before I had to get out of there.

Later the afternoon found a lonely man sitting on a bench overlooking the harbor at the Battery in downtown Charleston. There were a smattering of day sailors enjoying the waters and couples and lovers strolling along the walkways with the occasional college students rushing the common for a Frisbee. Kari and I had been down here many times; her parents lived over on Legare Street just a short walk from here. Those were happier days; this Sunday afternoon was a dark cloud masked by a brilliant blue sky in spite of the intense heat of the day. It was Hell.

Monday morning I was in the office before 7AM and I already had a message from Kari on my work phone. I listened to it and heard sadness but it only scratched at the shell I had constructed over the weekend. If I thought I was going to ignore it without consequences, reality interfered.

Kari was standing by my truck when I left for lunch at noon.

"David, please, we have to talk."

I motioned for her to get in and we drove to a sandwich shop and then to the park across the street.

"OK, Kari, you wanted to talk. Let's talk"

I have to give her credit in that she didn't try to sugar coat anything or give a litany of the cheaters handbook of excuses. She took full responsibility for her actions.

"How long has it been going on?"

"Three months."

"Are you in love with this guy?"

"I don't know."

"You are going to keep fucking him?"

She couldn't answer that or wouldn't. She said nothing.

Well, that was the sum game right there. She had been fucking another man for three months, might or might not be in love with him but was still fucking him yet she was still in love with me and was sorrowful for my finding out. Fuck that, she should have been sorrowful for breaking my god damn heart and repentant at that!

That is where everything was really left at that point. She knew I had moved out. She confessed to her affair. She knew I wouldn't tolerate it and I guess she had to find out if she actually loved the lothario or not. I suppose that's what married women do in her social circles. It wasn't anything my mom or sister would ever have done and not what I would ever consider acceptable in my marriage.

Since we were dealing in honesty I asked her another question.

"Were there any others before this miserable prick?"

"David, he's not a prick but I know how you could feel that way and you have the right to. No, there were no others."

"He's not a prick? That's good to know, Kari." I said with more than a bit of sarcasm. "Listen, I need to get back to work. I'll have my own place this week and I'll let you know where you can send the papers when you file them. I suspect Daddio already has them drawn up in his office safe and with the prenup he had me sign, it should be a pretty clean break."

"David, please, that's not what I want. I don't want a divorce. Please."

"Well, hell, woman, do you think I want one? I don't but I'll be damned if you are going to keep fucking some other man while you decide if you love him or not. Fuck that."

With that I rose and told her I was leaving and she needed to get up and come with me if she wanted a ride back to my office. She wiped a quick tear away and followed me to the truck and it was a quiet ride back.

"David, please forgive me. I am so sorry. I don't want this divorce."

"Neither do I. Goodbye."

I turned and walked back to the offices and never looked back.

I guess that was as much closure as I could ever expect. Neither one of us wanted a divorce but the woman couldn't keep the semi-love of her life from depositing his swimmers in her vagina; pretty simple dilemma.

I found a one bedroom apartment a short walk from work and bought a few pieces of furniture to at least make it look lived in and my life of loneliness resumed. When she decided to file the papers I knew there would be no alimony and we each had our own assets and financial accounts. It couldn't be a cleaner break. The condo was hers as was her Audi and we had no kids. I had my own 401K and substantial savings. She was rich via her parents with her own finances from her job; a clean, simple divorce when it came. It never came.

Over the next several weeks I poured myself into the job and with a couple new projects on the front burner I was upping my time as a road warrior. I was out of the office 4 days a week and sometimes at a two week stretch. One of the projects took me back to Maine every other week; downtown Portland.

It was in a bar in the Old Port waterfront area with a pint of Ale in front of me and a local weekly city paper opened to the weird section that I had my epiphany. My entire life was in a rut, a very well paid, financially rewarding rut. My marriage was fucking dead just waiting for someone to drop the lid on its coffin. I wanted something else or at least something else to fill the void I was living with.

It wasn't a woman although I hadn't been laid or so much as looked for it in several weeks. That would come when I decided to pursue recreational pussy; there was no shortage of that especially since a few of the women at the office were well aware of my new found single status.

No, it was the advertisement staring me in the face off the page of that city weekly.

'Wanted: Entrepreneurial and independent minded writer desired for new weekly Maine scene publication. If interested please submit a CV and copies of your prior work for consideration.'

Some people collect stamps and others hike mountain peaks around the world; nothing wrong with any of that but while I had been toiling in the business world for seven years and college and high school before that, one of my loves has always been writing. There were never any grandiose delusions about writing the next great American novel but I've always wondered if I could earn a living as a wordsmith. To date I never tried other than writing an article for Boys Life when I was 15 years old.

I tore the advertisement out of the paper and stuffed it into my pocket and returned to my Ale. It was something to consider.

Once I returned to Charleston I pulled the scrap of paper out and gazed at it for some time before I went to work on my response. When I thought I had something sufficient, my CV and a sample article hit the email address provided in the ad.

I actually did it on a lark without really expecting any real response but when I least expected it, two weeks later I received a call out of the blue. It was the managing editor of The Downeast Observer operating out of Belfast wanting to talk to me about my interest in their position. When I informed them I was still very much interested in it we started talking details. Initially the interest was for a bi-weekly article or column, 1,200 words tops, subject to editing on any topic that touched on what he called 'Life Balance'; a mix of work, career, lifestyle, activities etc. The pay was $1 per word. The agreement would be for 20 articles submitted every other Monday.