They were simpler and infinitely more devastating. Who was the woman sleeping next to me? And who had I been married to all these years? The next morning arrived with cruel normaly. Lauren kissed my cheek before leaving for work. The same quick peck she’d given me for years. She wore her favorite perfume, the one I’d bought her for Christmas two years ago.
Everything about her was familiar, comforting, exactly as it had always been, except now I knew I was kissing a stranger. I called my office and told my assistant I’d be working from home. For the first time in my 15-year practice, I couldn’t bear the thought of discussing tax returns and quarterly reports. Instead, I sat at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee that grew cold while I stared at Lauren’s coffee mug in the sink.
She’d used it that morning, just like always. Had she been thinking about Frank while she drank from it? By noon, I found myself doing something I’d never done before, going through Lauren’s things, not frantically, not desperately, but with the methodical precision that had made me successful in accounting. I started with the obvious places, her home office, the desk where she sometimes worked in the evenings.
The drawers revealed nothing suspicious. Workp papers, company letterhead, business cards from clients I recognized from her stories. Everything was exactly what it should be for a CEO who occasionally brought work home. But then I found something that made my stomach clench. A restaurant receipt from Sha Lauron, the French place downtown where we’d celebrated our anniversary three years running, dated six weeks ago for two people. $68.50.
I remembered that night clearly because Lauren had told me she was having dinner with a potential client, a female client from Portland who was in town for just one evening. I stared at the receipt, my hands trembling slightly. The time stamp showed 8:15 p.m. We talked on the phone that night around 9:30.
She’d sounded relaxed, happy, describing her challenging but productive client meeting. I’d been proud of her for landing what she described as a significant account. But this wasn’t a business dinner receipt. No alcohol charges that would accompany client entertainment. No appetizers or desserts that Lauren would order to impress a potential client.
Just two entre and a bottle of wine. The kind of intimate dinner I thought was reserved for us. My phone rang, startling me from my thoughts. Lauren’s name appeared on the screen. Hi, honey. I answered, surprised by how normal my voice sounded. Hey, I just wanted to check in. You sounded a little off this morning. Her voice carried genuine concern, the kind of caring attention that had made me fall in love with her 29 years ago.
Just tired, I said. Didn’t sleep well. Maybe you should take a real break today. You’ve been working so hard lately. The irony of her suggestion wasn’t lost on me. While I’d been working hard at my small practice, she’d apparently been working hard at maintaining two separate lives. Actually, I was thinking about that dinner you had with the client from Portland. The one about 6 weeks ago.
How did that work out? A pause. so brief that most people wouldn’t notice it. But after 28 years of marriage, I knew Lauren’s speech patterns. She was calculating. Oh, that it didn’t pan out the way we’d hoped. She decided to go with a local firm. Her voice remained steady, casual. Why, do you ask? Just curious.
You seemed excited about it at the time. Well, you win some, you lose some. I could hear typing in the background. She was probably answering emails while talking to me, multitasking the way she always did. I should get back to this board meeting prep. See you tonight. See you tonight. After she hung up, I sat staring at the receipt.
