Private Affairs(7)

Sam didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. She just looked at me as she formulated her thoughts. “Why do you think that?”

“Last night, when he came home, I saw something inside his shirt near his collar. At first, stupidly, I thought it was a bruise. But I eventually realized it was not a bruise. It was a hickey.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“I tried, but he changed the subject and left.”

“Hmm. Suspicious,” she said, warily. I nodded. We were both quiet for a few minutes. I replayed the whole evening in my mind, running through each and every thing I could have done differently. But no decisions I’d made or words I could have said differently changed the fact that he’d come home with that mark on him. A mark another woman had put on him.

“Why don’t you leave him, honey?” Sam’s words were a quiet whisper, as if her voice could have scared me away. She was treading lightly, not wanting me to turn away from the direction the conversation was heading.

“I can’t,” I whispered, just as quietly.

“Yes,” she said, placing her hand over mine. “You can.” I shook my head slightly, feeling my hair sway back and forth over my ears.

“No,” I whispered again. I tipped my head up to look her in the eyes again. “I can’t, Sam. Really. It’s complicated.”

“How can I help?”

I shrugged. My next words were drowning in tears, choked out on sobs. “I don’t know.” I don’t know. Those three words were the answer to a lot of questions I had running through my mind. Was there any hope left for my marriage? Would I spend the rest of my life tied to a man who didn’t want to be with me? Would I feel this lonely forever? Would I go the rest of my life without feeling a man’s hands on me again? My head fell into my hands as I tried to cry discreetly in the coffee shop. I heard Sam move and then heard her next to me before I felt her arms come around me. I leaned into her and let the tears come, but stifled the sobs, tried to hold at least those in.

“What are you going to do?” Sam finally asked after I’d calmed down a little.

“Well,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I guess I’m going to find out if he’s really cheating on me.”

“The hickey isn’t enough proof for you?”

I shook my head again. “Listen,” I started, unsure of how I could explain something to her I’d never explained to anyone. Unsure of how to say the words I’d never uttered to a single soul. “I can’t just go on a hunch,” I said quietly. “I need actual proof.”

“For peace of mind?” she asked.

I nodded. “Sure.”

She tilted her head to the side again, her eyebrows narrowing at me. “What’s going on, Lena?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t go into any more detail than that. All I’m saying is, if anything is going to change, I need actual, physical proof he’s cheating. Me spying what I think is a hickey on the inside of his collar isn’t going to cut it.”

“Well, then,” Sam said with resolution in her voice. “We’d better get a rental car, some black turtlenecks and ski masks, and brush up on our stakeout skills.”

“What?” I said, half laughing.

Sam had a sneaky smile on her face when she answered me, rubbing her hands together. “We’re going to stalk your husband.”





Chapter Four

I sat in the passenger seat of a black Toyota Corolla, quietly crunching on Cheetos, my eyes glued to the front doors of my husband’s work. Cheetos, in hindsight, might have been a bad snack choice when wearing all black, and I struggled to keep the neon orange cheese powder from making its way into the fibers of my new turtleneck. I heard a giggle and looked over at Sam, sitting in the driver’s seat.

“What’s so funny?”

She took a bite of the licorice in her hand and waved the red rope between us. “We might be some of the worst stalkers ever.”

She wasn’t wrong, although, we had gotten most of the basics down. Black car? Check. The cover of night? Check. Black clothes to blend into said cover of night? Check and check. But we also might have indulged and turned our rental car into a snack wagon, using our stakeout as an opportunity and excuse to eat gas station fare, which we never really had a valid reason to buy. But under the guise of our stalker outfits, it seemed fitting to break a few rules, even if they were self-imposed.

It had taken two weeks from our original conversation about my husband’s possible affair for me to agree to Sam’s crazy idea. At first, although it was tempting to see if we could find out what was going on, I wasn’t really ready to know. I went home from our coffee shop date and pushed the idea of his affair out of my mind. I had gone back to plan A. If I tried to be the perfect wife, perhaps he would come around and want to be my husband again.