The Affair (11 page)

Sunday, 22nd December

 

 

T
he remainder of Saturday passed in a blur, and Kathy had no memory of driving back from Maureen’s house. She’d kept out of Robert’s way, busying herself around the house with the Christmas preparations. Robert had gone out in the morning with the kids to buy the Christmas tree, so by the time she got back the house smelled of pine and echoed with Theresa’s squeals as she decorated the tree. A trail of pine needles led from the back door, through the kitchen, and into the dining room.

Maureen’s words had frightened her, confused her. She could almost accept that Robert was having an affair with another woman, but that was sex, wasn’t it, nothing more? Maureen had said she thought they were in love with one another, which implied. . .

She wasn’t sure what it implied.

Kathy had gone to bed early, claiming a headache, which was true, and had lain in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the TV from the room below and the noise of the regular weekend argument coming from next door. The young, good-looking couple next door did everything together—golf, hikes, tennis, movie nights. They had great barbecues and were excellent hosts. Only Kathy knew that they had screaming matches in the backyard, usually about this time every Friday or Saturday night when one or the other—or both—had a little too much tequila. In the six years she’d lived in this house, she’d learned all the details of their unhappy lives. But when they stepped out on the streets, neighbors only saw a perfect couple....

When people looked at her and Robert, what did they see? A happily married couple, with the standard two children, nice house, and two cars? Or could they see the cracks . . . the distance that had crept in between them? She suddenly wondered how many other people knew about Robert’s affair. She felt her heart beat too quickly and a panicked tightness squeeze across her chest at the idea. The entertainment business in Boston was a tight-knit community; someone must have seen Robert and his mistress together. If they had, would they have made the connection and assumed the couple were sleeping together? Or would they think Robert and Stephanie were just colleagues? Friends even. Kathy hated the thought that people knew and were pointing fingers as she drove past or walked down the street, whispering behind her back. No, if that were true, someone would have told her. The reality was, most likely no one suspected.

She hadn’t.

Kathy fell into a fitful sleep, only snapping awake again when Robert crept into the bedroom. He undressed in the dark and slid in beside her, sighing with contentment as his head hit the pillow. She had not intended to speak to him, afraid that she might blurt out something, or rage or scream at him, but she needed to say something. The rhythm of his breathing was changing, slowing, as he drifted toward sleep.

“I went to see Maureen today.”

There was a long pause and, for a moment, she thought Robert had fallen asleep. There was movement in the bed as he turned to look at her. In the reflected streetlights, she could see the sparkling whites of his eyes.

“How is she?”

“Getting better. But she won’t be back till the New Year.”

“Didn’t think so,” he mumbled.

“She’s not as young as she pretends to be.”

“I know.” He shifted again, rolling onto his back. “The new girl, the Russian . . .”

“Illona?”

“Yes, Illona. She’s very good. Does what she’s told, doesn’t have an attitude, is in on time, and takes exactly an hour for lunch. Maureen does it her way, treats me like a boy, and has no concept of a one-hour lunch.”

“You’re not thinking about firing her, are you?”

“It’s crossed my mind,” he admitted.

“It’s not going to happen,” Kathy snapped. “I forbid it.”

“Forbid it?” There was something in his voice she didn’t like: sarcasm or contempt. “You forbid it?”

“I still own half the company, remember? Maybe it’s time I started to take a more active interest in it.” She sat up in bed and turned on the light.

Robert groaned and shielded his eyes. “It’s almost one, for Christ’s sake. Can we talk about this in the morning?”

Kathy ignored him. “Now that the kids are older, I’m thinking in the New Year I might start coming in with you three or four times a week. Even when Maureen comes back, she’s not going to be able to work full-time. I can go back to doing what I used to do: helping you run the company. Put the K back into R&K Productions.”

“Where are you going to find the time?”

“I’ll make the time. I’ll concentrate on getting new business; you concentrate on making the material. Remember? The way we used to.”

“Yeah, that would be great,” he said, sounding less than enthusiastic. “Let’s talk about it in the morning.”

“Maureen said the company was in the red.”

Robert shuffled up in the bed. “Maureen should have kept her mouth shut. Can we talk about it in the morning?”

“We rarely get a chance to talk anymore, Robert. We’re running in opposite directions.”

“C’mon, Kathy, it’s only temporarily, and it’s Christmas. That always brings its own drama.”

“No, it’s not only temporarily, and it’s not just Christmas. We’ve been doing it for months, maybe longer. I barely see you anymore. You’re home late four nights out of five, you go in to the office on the weekends, and when you are home, you’re locked in your office, working.”

Robert shrugged. “It’s been crazy busy.”

“Put my mind at ease; tell me the business is going well.”

Robert sighed deeply. “Look, we’ve gone through a rough patch, but I’ve landed a few new accounts. Next year will be good.”

And Kathy knew where those new accounts had come from.

“Does that mean you’ll end up working eighty hours a week next year too?”

“While the work is there, yes. Kathy, I don’t have an option. It’s one of the joys of being self-employed; you know that.”

“Then I’m even more determined to help you. Starting in the New Year, you’ve got a new colleague: me. You can give your Russian girl notice.”

Robert made a face and shook his head.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. But here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll come work with me for a week, maybe two, then you’ll have to take time off to be home for some reason: Theresa’s sick; you have to get to Brendan’s concert on time; you have to be home for the refrigerator repairman.”

“Really? That’s your worry, my needing to be home for the repairman?” Kathy was getting angry.

She noticed that Robert was completely ignoring her. He kept trying to justify himself. “Then you’ll take more and more time off, and soon enough, we’ll be back to the way we are now. Except I’ll have to go looking for a secretary again.”

“So, you’re using the fact that I’m prioritizing my kids . . .”

“Our kids, and I’m not saying that, Kathy.”

“You sound as if you don’t want me to work with you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Kathy took a deep breath. The conversation was not going the way she had hoped it would. “Look, Robert, I want to be more involved. I feel . . . I feel like we’re drifting apart.”

Robert reached out to take her hand, but Kathy slid her fingers away. “We’re not drifting apart; we’re just busy. And it’s Christmas. That’s all. I’d love you to be more interested in the business.” He lifted the clock off of the nightstand and held it up. “Jesus, can we please continue this tomorrow? I have to get an early start in the morning.”

“Okay,” she agreed, turning off her light and sliding down beneath the covers. “But we will continue it,” she promised.

“Fine,” he said.

“Fine,” she parroted.

Lying in the dark, listening to her husband’s breathing deepen beside her, Kathy realized that there was no way he could allow her to be around the business—not if he was using it as the base for his affair.

 

Kathy awoke Sunday morning with a blinding migraine.

She made the kids brunch and then the three of them decorated the tree. Robert was of no help: he spent the entire day in his study. Kathy went to bed and fell asleep watching an old Hitchcock film.

The entire day had passed and she and Robert had never continued the previous evening’s conversation.

Monday, 23rd December

 

 

“A
re you free tonight?” Kathy tucked the phone under her ear as she picked through the clothes in the closet. “I hate to ask. . . .”

“I can be free. What do you need?” Sheila’s voice was breathless, and Kathy could hear music and a cheery voice in the background.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.”

“Two-dimensional company. It’s a workout video. The Bar Method. Really lifts the butt.” Each sentence came in short bursts.

“Like your butt needs any more lifting,” Kathy said, unable to keep the touch of envy out of her voice. “I was wondering if you could stay with the kids. I asked Julia the other night, and I don’t want to ask her again.”

“Sure. Where are you off to?” There was a silence, and Kathy heard the television click off. “This is something to do with Robert, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

Kathy pulled out a black polo turtleneck and tossed it onto the bed.

“I went to see Maureen Ryan on Saturday. You remember Maureen, the office manager at R&K?”

“Of course, she’s great.”

“She knew about the affair, Sheila; she knew about it, and she didn’t tell me.”

“I’m not that surprised,” Sheila said softly.

Kathy blinked in surprise. “Would you, if you had known? Would you have told me?”

“Honestly?”

“Of course.”

“If I had known for certain, I would have talked to Robert first before I spoke to you. What did Maureen say?”

“She says it’s been going on for over a year. They meet every Monday night at the Boston Sports Club on Bulfinch, and then usually go out for dinner afterward.”

Sheila’s voice was deadly serious. “What are you going to do?”

“I want to see them together. That’s all. Nothing else. I promise.”

“I’m coming with you,” Sheila said immediately.

“But the children . . .”

“Are not children anymore, and they’re big enough to look after themselves for a couple of hours. They’re teenagers, for Christ’s sake. Brendan will be eighteen in a few months. He’s practically a man.”

“I really want to do this on my own. . . .”

“And what happens if Robert sees your car? What happens if you have a crash on the way home because you’re upset at something you see? I’m coming with you. I’m your sister.”

“Do I have a choice?” Kathy’s voice was shaky, but she was secretly relieved. She’d been dreading doing this on her own.

“Of course you do. You could ask Julia to go with you.”

Kathy laughed, a short barking sound that was completely without humor.

“We’ll use my car. He won’t recognize it,” Sheila said. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

“You really don’t have to do this,” Kathy said.

“I want to,” Sheila answered.

The two sisters were sitting in Sheila’s car on the street below the Boston Sports Club. Sheila had run into Starbucks, which was just across the plaza, and they were nursing cappuccinos as they observed the brick building. The entire second level of the building had floor-to-ceiling windows. Through the tall glass they could see people working out on the gleaming gym equipment.

The sisters had cruised around the block twice before they finally spotted Robert’s Audi tucked away close to the hedge in a puddle of shadow. There was a silver BMW parked alongside it, but plenty of empty spaces in front of and behind the two cars. Kathy had leaned forward, squinting through the windshield at the BMW. Was that Stephanie’s car?

“This is a good spot.” Sheila had tucked her Honda into a darkened corner of the street that afforded a good view of the front entrance to the building to the left and Robert’s car to the right. “This is very exciting. We’re like private eyes.” The moment she turned off the engine, the heater shut off, and chilly air began to invade the car. “I wonder how long they’ll be in there?” she said.

“Maureen told me that they usually leave about eight.”

Sheila leaned forward to look at the gym. “No matter how fanatical I was about my fitness, I’m not sure I’d be spending the night before Christmas Eve working out. Talk about neurotic.”

“No, instead you’re sitting in a car with your hysterical sister spying on her philandering husband. That’s not neurotic at all.” Kathy smiled. “Trust me, I’m sure you could have found better ways to spend your twenty-third of December. Didn’t you have something planned with Alan?”

Sheila didn’t answer immediately. She hit a switch and the windshield wipers swished across the windshield, wiping away stray flakes of snow. “Nothing that couldn’t be canceled.” She smiled, a flash of white teeth. “Doesn’t do any harm to keep them off balance; keeps them on their toes.”

“Is that where I went wrong, do you think?” Kathy wondered aloud. “He stopped guessing about me; I became too predictable, too ordinary.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve raised two wonderful children and kept the house going; you gave Robert the freedom that allowed him to grow the business. That’s called a partnership.”

Sitting in the darkness, staring out at the lights, Kathy gave voice to the questions that had been troubling her from the moment she had first seen Stephanie Burroughs’s name and known—absolutely known—that Robert was involved with her. “I keep asking myself what I could have done differently, how I could have kept him.”

“Do you want to keep him?”

Kathy sucked in a deep, ragged breath. “I don’t know. Everything’s just come at me so quickly. When I try to think logically about it, I get lost in issues like the house and the business and the children. . . .”

“Forget all that for a minute. Focus on yourself. What do you want?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Kathy whispered. “I’m not sure. When Maureen told me she thought they were in love . . . I hated him . . . and I immediately wanted him back. I wanted to take him away from her. The woman who had stolen him from me.” She shook her head. “What’s wrong with me?”

“You’re saying it was easier when you thought it was just sex?”

“Of course. Having sex with someone is one thing. But loving her . . . giving yourself emotionally to her. That’s the deeper betrayal.”

The windshield wipers worked again, squeaking slightly on the glass. Sheila took a long sip of her coffee before turning to her sister. “Alan is married,” she said softly.

It took a long moment for the sentence to sink in.

“Your boyfriend Alan is married?”

“Married for twenty years with three children.” Sheila’s voice was a monotone.

“Sheila! What were you thinking?” Kathy turned, pushing back against the door, twisting in the seat to look at her sister in horror.

Sheila didn’t look at Kathy. Reflected Christmas lights ran red and white down her face. “I didn’t know he was married when I first met him, and he tried to hide it from me for a while, but it’s easy enough to find out. The married ones never have that endless free time the single ones do. Weekends were out of bounds; holidays were impossible. It’s easy to spot. But . . . he was fun. I enjoyed his company. And he made me laugh. I’ve dated a lot of immature guys, Kathy, and I wanted a man, not a boy. I wanted someone mature, someone who would look after me, respect me.”

“But a married man!”

“I know. But I never wanted him as a husband; I never wanted to take him away from his wife. I enjoy my freedom too much. I was absolutely fine just being the mistress. We have good times, great meals, fantastic sex. It was like being twenty again . . . except this time we had the money and the credit cards to enjoy it.”

“Does his wife know?”

“I’m not sure . . . maybe.”

“Jesus, Sheila, if you knew what I’ve been through, you would never put another woman through it.”

“It was all going fine,” Sheila continued as if she hadn’t heard her sister, “until he fell in love with me. Now he’s talking about leaving his wife and kids. He’s talking about getting a divorce. He wants to marry me.” Her voice was suddenly shaky. “Can you imagine it: me, married?”

“You don’t love him?”

“No,” Sheila said emphatically. “Like him, yes, love him, no. I was going to see him tonight, talk to him, try and break it off with him, before he does something idiotic like tell his wife. Recently, he has started talking about how much fun it would be to go on a honeymoon with me. I may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but that’s when the alarm bells starting ringing for me.”

Kathy was shivering, and not with the cold. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her sister, Sheila, her baby sister, was a married man’s mistress. But her sister wasn’t a bad person, not an evil person. She hadn’t deliberately set out to trap a married man; in fact it looked as if she was doing everything in her power to ensure that he remained with his wife.

“You’re going to tell me that I should never have taken up with him in the first place. But I’m a big girl; I went into this with my eyes open. And when I discovered that he was married, I didn’t walk away, did I?”

“Why . . . why did you stay with him?”

Sheila shrugged. “Who knows? We always want what we can’t have.”

“You’ve no regrets about his wife?”

“No. If she’d been looking after him, been interested in him, he would have never wandered in my direction.”

Kathy looked away. Is that what had happened? Had Robert drifted away because she was no longer interested in him?

“There they are,” Sheila said, pointing.

 

This was the man you married.

This was the man who proposed to you, the man with whom you exchanged wedding vows, the man who carried you over the threshold, who had made love to you, gotten you pregnant, stood in the hospital and held your hand while you gave birth.

This was a man with whom you bought a home, started a business, raised a family.

This was the man whose flesh you knew, whose clothes you washed, whose hand you held, whose lips you kissed.

This was the man you loved and trusted.

This was your husband.

And he was holding the hand of another woman.

Kathy Walker watched Robert stride out from the main entrance of the gym. There was a woman by his side, pretty, slim, bright-eyed, smiling. Stephanie Burroughs.

Neither was wearing gloves, and their hands were wrapped together, fingers interlinked. They moved easily alongside one another, confidently, their steps in rhythm. Glance at them quickly, and you’d see just another happy couple.

They were both laughing.

Kathy didn’t remember the last time she and Robert had laughed together, didn’t remember the last time they had held hands so easily, so intimately.

The couple strolled over to the two cars. Both sets of lights flashed in unison as they hit their remotes simultaneously, and they laughed again, the sound high and brittle on the chill December air.

Robert opened the door of Stephanie’s silver BMW. The interior light popped on. The woman threw her gym bag onto the passenger seat and turned to Robert. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed the palm of her right hand against the back of his skull to bring his head down to a level with hers. Then she kissed him. Robert responded by dropping his gym bag to the ground and pulling her close.

The kiss went on for a long time. Kathy forced herself to continue watching, refusing to look away as this stranger passionately kissed her husband . . . and her husband returned the kiss with equal passion.

Finally the couple broke apart, and Stephanie climbed into her car. She waved once and drove away. Robert picked up his bag and moved around the front of his car.

Kathy pulled out her cell and hit a speed dial.

“What are you doing?” Sheila hissed, snatching for the phone.

It was too late. The call connected.

“Hi, it’s me,” Kathy’s voice was level, remarkably controlled.