Chapter 10: Day 2: 10:35 PM continued

Eight months later, I was in one of my happy places.

For ten years I had lived the life of a traveling man easily flying over one hundred thousand miles every year. I loved it. I have a serious case of wanderlust and having a company pick up the tab made it that much better. Plus, with frequent travel comes travel perks like nearly always being upgraded to first class, better than booked hotel rooms and finding places in the cities you visited that gave you joy. I had a couple of them in Los Angeles. The Palm in West Hollywood where you could watch celebrities exercise their inner carnivore. Fred Siegel’s the clothing store because they had clothing, I would never buy but find amusing. Perhaps my favorite place in LA was the IN-N-Out Burger that sits directly opposite runway 7R at LAX. If I had the time either at the beginning of my trip or at the end, I would stop there and order a Double Double, animal style, with animal fries and sit in the parking lot and watch planes take off and land

One afternoon in early June I was watching a Quantas 747 land when my phone rang. It was Wen. This was unusual. We had done what we could to prevent inadvertent discovery of our affair. Part of the “protocols” we had put in place was no cell phone calls to each other. Her husband Trey was a principal in a digital technology company, and it would be far too easy for him to gain access to her phone. At that moment I didn’t care about our rules. I was in a happy place, and this added to my contentment.

I answered saying. “Hi. I just landed. I am at the In and Out Burger. You know the one I love right by the airport….”

“Daniel, stop!” And burst into tears.

The comfort and joy of my happy place evaporated in an instant. “Hey. What’s going on? Why are you crying.”

Wen struggled to stop sobbing and replied through tears “Trey knows about us.’

My stomach lurched; the Double I had just eaten had turned to lead. I felt as if I might vomit at any second but managed to blurt out. “How?”

Regaining a little control of her tears she replied. “I forgot to turn off my laptop before I went to sleep, and he figured out a way to find our emails I had deleted. He woke me up in the middle of the night and demanded to know what they were all about.”

“What did you tell him.”

“What could I say? It was obvious what those emails were not between two people who were just friends. I told him the truth without telling him the whole truth. That we were emotionally connected. That we have been having an emotional affair. That we had deep feelings for each other but that is far as it went. We loved each other but had respected the fact that both of us were involved with someone else.”

“And…”

“He was crushed. Angrier than I ever have seen him. He slapped me.”

“That motherfucker. Are you all right?”

“He didn’t mean it. It was involuntary. It was my fault for what he done.”

Angrily I replied “No woman should ever blame herself for a man hitting her. You need to leave.”

“Danny, it was nothing. Honestly, he made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“Wen, you sound like battered women who take the responsibility for their husband’s misdeeds. You are the victim here. He is the villain.”

“Danny. Stop! We don’t have time to talk about that now. I only have a few minutes to talk to you. He asked me if I still loved him. I told him I did. That I loved our family and wanted to save it.”

In a second, the life I was living irised down to the size of a pea. I knew in that instant the thing I valued most in the world, my greatest love, my happiness, and the source of much of my joy was about to disappear. I said, “What did he say.?”

“He wants to save the marriage too. He understands that he is partially responsible for me going outside the marriage to find the emotional comfort and understanding I was not getting from him. We agreed to go into counseling.”

Desperate, feeling as if my life was slipping away from me. “Wen, you have other choices. We could be together.”

“Danny, I have two small children.”

“You know I would love them.”

“But they would know that I cheated on their father. They would know that I broke up the marriage. They love their Daddy, and they would not be able to understand the decision I made. I can’t let that happen. You know that. We have talked about that.”

“But won’t they also be happier if you are happier. Isn’t that what all those psychological studies show? Better for a child to grow up with divorced parents than in a toxic household. For Christ sakes Wen. He hit you Do you want to teach your kids that is okay? It is all right to hit your spouse.”

“Danny, I have always told you I love Trey. Just not the way I love you.  I have always been honest with you about that. He thinks we can make our marriage work. He wants to go to counseling. All the things he would not do before. I owe it to him and to Margie and Zach to at least try. So, I am going to try.”

Defeated, trying not to sob and feeling as if my head might explode at any second, I whisper “What about us?”

“Trey’s only condition of us staying together is that I never speak or see you again. No contact whatsoever.”

 I whispered “No.”

“This is the way it has to be. He wanted me to end with an email. But I convinced him to give me a few minutes on the phone. To explain why I can never see, speak, or contact you in any way.”

“But what if …”

“Danny, Trey is standing right here. I have to say good-bye. Do you understand? I have to go.”

Hurt and confused, I let me my anger get the best of me and said harshly “Then goodbye.”

“Danny don’t be that way. You know what you know. Don’t forget that.”

What could I say so I remained silent.

“Goodbye Danny.” And she was gone.

A year later I was in another one of my happy places, the bar at Gibson’s Steak House in Chicago. To me, it is not only the personification of not only what a Chicago bar should be but what to expect in any imbibery. Everything from its railed, arcing brass and wood bar with leather covered stools and backlit mirrored bottle display to its checkerboard tiled floors and high-top satellite tables nestled against picture window made it that way. There was, if you forgive the pun, almost always a buzz at the bar with people stopping by for a quick drink before they went home to their families or while waiting for a table in the steakhouse. Over time and many trips to the city I had found it a great place to meet customers and when I had a night off a place to have a great meal without feeling alone.

They also made an exceptional vodka martini with blue cheese stuffed olive.

I was in Chicago for an industry conference. Two days of presentations and panels about the various challenges and opportunities digital publishing and advertising were facing. I had a love-hate relationship with these conferences. On the one hand I loved the opportunity to see many of the people with whom I did or wanted to do business with in one place. I love to schmooze, and these events were schmoozapalozas. On the other hand, the presentations and panels were often old news or paid news where sponsors created a panel or presentations that hyped their product or bad news in the sense, they were boring or stupid. They made me twitch and want to do almost anything else. As a bulwark against my ants in my pants I made it a habit to get an aisle seat in one of the last rows of the auditorium. That way, I could beat a hasty retreat unnoticed should the panel turn out to be dud.  

I was sitting in my desired location, paying more attention to my cell phone than what was happening on stage when they announced the last panel of the day. It was called a “Conversation on Data Privacy” and were going through the panelists when I hear “From Develin, Coughlin and Bondanza Chief Data Officer Dwynwen Morgan.”

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck.

I had spent the better part of the past year chasing answers to questions that I could not answer. I knew that she loved me. I knew that was real. A flower in a field of weeds. A center of the universe of love from which all other things are created. I thought, I knew, she had felt the same way. But she had walked away If she loved me the way she said she loved me, how could she have done that? How could she walk away and disappear into the good night without a trace, without a word. Was it really better to love and lose than never to love at all?

My world had gone from technicolor to sepia the instant she said goodbye. The soundtrack? Any song from any Adele album.

I was in the darkest of places and had no one to speak about it with. I was someone that I never thought I could be. An adulterer. I couldn’t bear the thought of sharing that with people as I thought it was a shameful thing. How could I explain to anyone the depth of the love I felt for Wen? I was sure no one understood why those feelings compelled me to do something that I did not think I was capable of doing. When I realized my days were just getting darker, and almost too dark to navigate, I sought counseling.  Twice a week for months plumbing the depths of how I found myself at the bottom of this deep dark well and what I needed to do to crawl out of it.

The first thing that Dr. Bick said to me after I shared my story with her was to imagine what happened to me as a horrible car wreck.  One in which I was severely injured. Recovery would happen but it would take time and I would likely be forever altered. And that was okay. That was life. Life and our decisions alter us. Sometimes gently, sometimes suddenly and violently without warning.  The questions we would answer together were why I got into that car and what made me choose to go down that road when I did. If we could answer those questions then maybe, just maybe, it would help justify the pain I was feeling.

I worked hard at counseling. I did everything I could to reach deep and find the understanding I needed. I thought I had reached a place where I was at peace with myself, my actions and could move on. The world once again had a tinge of color to it and Adele was no longer on shuffle. All that inner peace that I thought I had achieved disappeared when I saw Wen take the stage. I did what any rational human would do in a similar situation. I fled to my happy place.

Which is why I was currently staring into the depths of one of Gibson’s exceptional in and out Chopin Martini with three blue cheese stuffed olives. It was my second. The first one I had thrown down within seconds of it being handed to me. I was trying to show a bit more restraint with this one and to help slow me down I was contemplating the right ratio of vodka consumed to olive eaten. I was deep into the calculus of that equation when I felt a tap on my shoulder and hear a very familiar voice say “Watcha doing?”

Without turning around and with a mouthful of olive I mumbled “I call it Olive therapy. I have found under certain circumstances it is a very effective modality in treating psychic shock and or distress. Care to join me? “

“Is it Freudian, Jungian, or Skinnerian based.”

“None of the above. I think this is Chopin based with just a whisper of Noily Pratt. Although the olives may be Freudian. I have to think about that.”

“Well in that case I guess I have to join you.” With that she took a seat on the adjacent bar stool.  I turned to her and said, “Hi Wen. How did you find me?”

“I listen. You used to tell me how much you loved this place. I took a chance this is where you would be.”

Seeing her on stage was a shock. But seeing her in person, so close I could smell her perfume, Pure Grace, broke me down. It tore at the fabric of my newly mended psyche and threatened to shred it. At the same time, I wanted to breathe her in and hold my breath until I could bear it no longer. Out of self-preservation I said, “Maybe the better question is why did you find me.” And with a little bitterness added “I thought you were under strict instructions never to see, speak or think of me ever again.”

Wen ignored my barb and replied “Danny, I saw you leave the conference today. You were practically running out the door and even from the stage I could see the look of horror and pain on your face. Like you had seen a ghost. I thought after all this time you would…” She paused and regrouping her thoughts said “I guess I imagined seeing each other again differently. I certainly didn’t think the sight of me would make you run away.”

“What did you imagine?”

“I don’t know. I hoped you would be happy to see me. More Rom-Com than Hitchcock. We would see each other across a crowded room and somehow made our way across the room to each other and greet each other with a warm hug and get caught up. Perhaps with a little melancholy but you know with joy too. Happy to see each other. Joy in stealing one more moment with each other.”

“Yeah. I can see that. But I have spent the better part of the past year giving up hope in ever seeing you again. Thinking there was even a possibility of ever seeing you again…I don’t know…wasn’t healthy. Even if I imagined seeing you again, it meant stopping my life. It would give me a false hope that would leave me down a dead-end road. And missing you more than ever. I spent a lot of time in therapy trying to work through it all.”

“And what did your therapist say?”

Laughing I replied “Not that type of therapist. Dr. Bick led me down a path and let me reach my own conclusions. That being said, she, helped me come up with some “tricks” to cope with the pain.”

When I mentioned pain a look of surprise and pain came across Wen’s face, as if she had been slapped but catching herself said “Like what?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Tell me.”

“Okay. She suggested that I imagine you dead. She helped me understand that whatever we were to each other had died. And, that I had to give myself time and permission to go through all the stages of grief. That I was stuck in denial and needed to find my way to acceptance.”

“And have you?”

Taking a sip of my Martini I say with a touch of irony “Well I think my performance today suggests strongly I have not. But I have made some progress. I am not angry at you anymore. I was for a long time. Breaking things off with me hurt me more than anything I ever experienced. I thought you loved me with everything you had.”

“I did. I do.”

“But you left anyway. And before you say anything, I know why you did it and stupidly it is one of the reasons that I love you. You put your children’s happiness over that of your own. Or at least that is the way I chose to look at it. I can’t tell you how hard it was to reconcile that. I struggled, am struggling, with those emotions. But I had an epiphany.”

“What was that?”

“Ironically, it happened at a funeral. A buddy of mine from college, Thom Walker, died out of the blue from an aneurysm. At the funeral, his family were beyond consolation. They were completely devastated and every time one of them let out a gulping cry of grief it was as if the entire congregation was stabbed in the heart. We all understood. One day he was there and suddenly with no warning or preamble he was gone. That is the sadness of life. It can be over without warning and in a blink. It was terrifying. It was unspeakably sad to the point of being unbearable. Looking around me I saw scores of people who had come from near and far because they wanted to say, “you touched my life.” You meant something to me. My epiphany was that in all this this sadness and grief when people die if they are lucky, they leave behind people who will be devastated by their death. That will be some who will have a hard time accepting that the person they cherish is gone and yet they need to soldier on. I needed to find peace in the thought that with love comes loss. If you love or allow yourself to be loved, there will come a time where you be devastated by the loss of that love. It is the price of admission.”

“Danny, I agree with all of that…

Seeing a look on incredulity on her face I said “But…”

“Your epiphany is good as far as it goes. But when you love someone, their death does not mean they are not a presence in your life. It just means that it is altered. Don’t look at me like that. I am not talking about religion or some sort of material manifestation at a séance or some sort of falderal like that. What I am saying is that people who are no longer with us always leave a bit of themselves with you. Conversations, experiences lessons learned from them or with them. They are still 100% real to you.  And it does not take much to conjure them up. A song. Perhaps a fragrance or a scent. A story, a photo. Anything really and they are there.”

“I am not sure I understand.”

“You remember me speaking about my Grandmother Lloyd. My mother’s mom.”

“Sure. The gardener. You talked about her all the time. She was the one who started taking you into her garden as a toddler and taught you how to plant tulips.”

“Yes. She has been gone for a long time now. But, every time, every time, I walk into my garden I think of her. And I have long conversations with her about what I am planting and where. What I think would be nice and how I am thinking about expanding and improving it. Those conversations are real because she gifted them to me long before she left.”

Taking my hand and making sure I was looking for her in the eye she says, “Do you understand.”

I must have had a blank expression on my face because she said. “Have you ever read any books by Isabel Allende?” When I shake my head, she adds “She wrote “Death does not exist, people only die when they are forgotten; if you can remember me, I will always be with you.”

She holds my gaze as if trying to penetrate my soul and says “Do you understand, now? That as long as you remember me, us, we will always be together. I will always be here for you whether I am present or not. I will always love you as long as you remember me.” Squeezing my hands she says “Okay.”

“But…”

“No ifs. No buts. I love you. I may not be able to be with you. But I am with you. I will always have your back. I will always love you.”

I say nothing because what is there left to say, and I know if I say anything my emotions may leak out all over my face. She squeezes my hand one more time and kisses me softly on the cheek, lingering just long enough for me to savor her scent and revel in the softness of her cheek and then, she is gone. Again.

Iz is crooning the “White Sandy Beaches of Hawaii” and my Martini is at a dangerously low level and absent any olives. I signal the bartender for another and raising an eyebrow ask Wen if she would care to join me imbibing. She shakes her head and holding up a single finger let the resident mixologist know that I needed just one Martini.

Wen is one of those of lucky women who manage to become more attractive with age. She was beautiful when we met but now, she has an aura that makes it nearly impossible to look away. I say, “I have two questions for you.”

“Okay…”

“The first is, how is it that the rest of us have become old and ugly and you have managed to get more beautiful.”

Smiling she says “Always the charmer. What’s your second question.”

“Why are you here?”

“I see now. The first question was to butter me up so I would answer the second. Great strategy. Why do you think I am here?”

“Delilah?”

“Go on. “

“Because I am so angry at her that I can barely stand being anywhere near her. I want to let out my inner Karen and just scream obscenities at her.”

“Okay, but why do you want to scream at her.”

“She is so fucking sanctimonious. It is as if she ordered a halo from “Christians R Us.” and uses like it is a medal awarded to her by the almighty for all her saintly behavior over the last few years when it store bought not earned.”

“So?”

“She doesn’t have angel wings. She has horns.”

“And?”

“I want her to know that I know it.”

“Know what?” 

My martini arrives and the bartender pours the gleaming liquid into a chilled glass pre-deployed with three olives. I take a sip and say “I want to her know she is largely responsible for much of the sorrow we are here to commemorate.”

“Why is she responsible?”

Sighing I respond “She blames her divorce on Conor’s cheating. That was the destructive force that destroyed their marriage. And everything that happened afterward is on him.

“Did Con cheat on her?”

“I don’t know. I gave him a lot of chances to come clean to me about it and he never did. But knowing him and how he was, I think it is possible if not likely. But that is not the point.”

“What is? “

“If you and I have learned anything together it is that infidelity is by its nature a destructive act. Breaking promises almost always has consequences. But these things do not happen in a vacuum. When we started our affair, we did so for reasons far beyond the fact we felt an overwhelming pull for each other. Catherine was not capable of giving me what I needed emotionally. I wanted to be married and committed and she could do neither, so I went looking for it in other places. You loved Trey but he saw you as a possession. Something he owned and took for granted. You wanted to be cherished. Loved without judgement and condition. I gave that to you. Catherine and Trey may not have been guilty of adultery like we were, but they were accomplices before the fact.”

“Go on.”

“Destruction happens. It is the nature of the universe. But destruction isn’t necessarily bad. Sometimes things need to be destroyed. The question always is what you do with that devastation. You can use it to take stock. Find out why something fell apart. And that use that knowledge to build back better, stronger than it was before. Isn’t that what you and Trey did?”

“This is not about me.”

“Fair enough. What I mean is Delilah could have taken a beat and said we have a problem. We have been married far too long to throw it away. Let’s try to work through this and see if we have the skills to rebuild.”

“But she didn’t, did she. Why do you think that is? “

“Simple answer?”

“Sure.”

“She didn’t want to be married anymore. She had had enough. I don’t blame her. It happens to lots of people. Conor was a handful. And as he got older, he just got to be more so. It is like a car, it may have served you well for years but at some point, the cost of the repairs outweighs your sentiment for it. You trade it for a new model and hope the new owner enjoys it as much as you did.

“Don’t you think that is a little simplistic.”

“I did ask if you if a simple answer was okay.”

“Fair enough but don’t you think there is more to it than that?”

“Of course I do. They both had a wealth of issues that bogged them down. But doesn’t everyone. He could be an asshole and treated her badly at times. He didn’t consult on decisions because he felt as the breadwinner final decisions came down to him and his faith backed him up on that. He drank too much. He was secretive and probably was not faithful. He resented the fact that he married a businesswoman and got a housewife. She never argued with him and instead papered over their problems. There is reason to believe that she stepped out her marriage on more than one occasion as well. She would drink a bottle of wine every night and didn’t think she was a drinker.”

I take a sip from Martin and eat an olive and say “In other words, they earned each other. They should have just shaken hands, said it’s been great but it’s time to move on, vaya con dios, asta lavista and moved on.”

“But they didn’t.”

“Nope. Delilah decided to turn the divorce into a scorched earth, take no prisoner, cage fight of a divorce.”

“Just her?”

“In the beginning, yes. Conor called her right after she served him with divorce papers and said okay, let’s get a divorce. There is no reason to do this acrimoniously. Let’s sit down together, draw up a list of our assets and figure out a way to divvy things up. She rejected that offer and turned everything over to her attorney who filed endless motions, subpoenaed his company and threatened depositions of his bosses. She was out to destroy him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because at the time I was serving as a mediator between the two. I was trying to convince both of them to step back. Understand that they were not just injuring themselves but all of the folks around them. And she told me outright that her mission was to destroy Con. Which is when I fired myself as mediator.”

“Why do you think she was so angry?”

“I have thought a lot about this.”

“I figured you had.”

“My theory is that she could not blame herself for the divorce. It didn’t go with her “brand” image. She is a god fearing, bible thumping Christian. They are righteous. It couldn’t be me. It had to be him. And I am going to punish him for not being as righteous and Christian as me.”

“But don’t Evangelical Christians have the highest divorce rate among all religious groups? So why would getting a divorce make her so angry?”

 I take another sip of my Martini and eat another olive and notice that Iz’s Maui Medley is playing. I reply “That is a great question. I asked Conor about it, and he had a theory. One that I am reluctant even to mention.”

“It’s me.”

“Con confided in me that Del had told him that her father, who was degenerate alcoholic sexually abused all of his daughters. This went on for years with the full knowledge of her mother who did nothing. He thought that she was taking all this repressed anger she held for her father and directed it at him.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think it is true?”

“Who knows. It is a theory that helps explain the facts. Which doesn’t mean it is true. And it really doesn’t matter.”

“How is that.?”

“Because Del did what she did. Explaining gives you a better understanding but doesn’t change the facts and the fact is that her war on Con killed him. just as surely as a bullet to the heart.” 

“Why do you say that.”

“The divorce destroyed everything he valued about himself. It got him fired from his job because the company didn’t like the fact that Del’s attorney was subpoenaing them for financial records and confidential communication. It destroyed his relationships with his sons not just from Del putting ideas into their heads about infidelity and such but because she made them choose between him and her. He lost his savings and had no control in his life. I think it wore him down to the point where his body said fuck it and let a cancer grow.”

“Do you really think that.”

“I do. Can’t prove it. But the same thing happened to Con’s dad. He had the company he had run stolen out from underneath him and months later was diagnosed with cancer.”

“You blame her for Con’s death?”

“I do. I think in her way she killed him and didn’t think twice about it. I am not saying she deliberately set out to kill him, but she certainly knew that what she was doing was destroying him and she was very happy about that. And to me it’s the same thing.  She is certainly better off with him dead. A million dollars better. People have been murdered for far less than that.”

“You don’t think you are being too harsh with her?”

“Nope. But that is not the heart of my anger.”

“What is that?”

“What happened after.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She is responsible for that too.”

I pause to take the final sip of my martini and polish off the last of my olives. The bartender comes over and asks “Another?” I shake my head. In the background Iz’s version of “Over the Rainbow” is playing.

Someday I’ll wish upon a star
Wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where trouble melts like lemon drops
High above the chimney tops that’s where
You’ll find me, oh

Wen says, “That is my cue.”

“I figured.”

“One thing before I leave. You have been through a lot, and you still have plenty to figure out, but Danny, I have faith in you. I know you will find a way to put all the pieces together. To find some peace.  And I have your back. I will always have your back and you know I am never that far away.”

I grace her with a half-smile and nod my head. I feel her hand touch my cheek and I lean into it as if it is a hug. As I leave the bar, the old woman with cane who was sitting in the table when I entered, grabs my arm. She looks up at me, her deep blues eyes boring into mine and says “’Ke Akua pu a hui hou.”