I Lost My Best Friend

"Where the hell were you all night?" was the first question my wife, Ruth, angrily asked when I walked in through the kitchen door at 4:12 in the morning. She said it with hands on her hips and with a frantic agitation in her voice. Not to mention, her eyes were burning holes through me.

"Out." I noticed the red brew light of the coffee maker was on. "Any coffee left?" She said nothing. I grabbed my coffee mug from the rack on the counter and poured what little there was left into it. With my back up against the sharp edge of the formica counter, I took a sip. It was still hot but burnt, stale, and it left a bitter after taste in my mouth. How fitting. I waited for the next round of interrogation to begin. I didn't have to wait long.

"Steve, I've been calling you non-stop since 7:00 last night. I left over twenty voice messages. Why was your phone turned off? You could have at least called. I was worried sick thinking you were lying dead in a ditch somewhere."

I was impressed. I think Ruth got it all out without so much as taking a breath. Her face was flushed, her voice angry, but at least she'd stopped shouting at me for the moment. I could see the anguish in her red-rimmed eyes, as she stood there in her ratty bathrobe, arms crossed in front of her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"Well? Where were you?" she asked, leaning forward, resting her hands on the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

"I got some bad news yesterday and needed a little alone time to get my head around it." I spoke in a quiet, calm voice, my eyes locked on hers.

Her mood drastically changed. "I'm sorry. Why didn't you say that from the beginning? It must have been something really devastating to keep you out all night. You should have called me, I would have understood."

Ruth's concern almost sounded genuine. I thought about the report I'd received yesterday afternoon, and yes, she would have understood.

"Honey, what was the bad news?" she asked. Her voice sounded sympathetic, like she was reaching out to me.

I paused for a brief moment and looked at my wife—the woman I'd been with for the last twenty-eight years, the mother of our three children—the love of my life. I started to answer, but the words stuck in my throat. In my mind, I relived the nightmare of the last twelve hours, and tried again.

"I lost my best friend yesterday."

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry." She started to say more, then abruptly stopped. "Steve, for a moment, I thought you said you lost your best friend. Honey, David's not dead. I talked to him at least twice last night. He even went out in his car to try and find you."

I set my coffee cup down on the counter next to me and faced my wife. "I never said it was David, did I?" My cold stare said it all. I watched as the color drained from Ruth's face. Her body then seemed to cave in on itself.

"I know what you did, and with whom. I just want to know why?"

The private investigator's report was detailed, way too detailed for my comfort. I'd suspected for a while, but the cold reality still felt like a punch to the gut. Ruth and David, who would have thought? Certainly not me.

"Steve, it was a stupid one time mistake. We can get through this. You know I love only you," she tearfully pleaded.

Even now she was still lying to me, but it really didn't make a difference anymore. After looking at the photographs and listening to the audiotapes, reconciliation wasn't even a viable option. Thank God our children were grown and out on their own.

About twenty minutes later I heard one side of a hushed phone call as I packed the few things I would need for the next couple of days.

Ruth's, "Steve, I'm so sorry," was too little too late.

"I'll be back to pick up the rest of my stuff when I figure out where I'm going," I said, without even looking at her.

This time there was no, "I love you," or kiss goodbye when I walked out the front door of our marital home for probably the last time. I felt empty and incredibly sad. How do you lose your best friend in the world and go on?

I guess I'll have to learn.