Le Coeur du Jardin (Garden's Heart)

Everyone portrayed is over eighteen. This is fiction; as always, all characters and events, etc. are figments of our imagination and have no connection to any living or dead persons, or true events.

Le Coeur du Jardin (The Garden's Heart)

My marriage to Gwen needed a boost; our fourth anniversary was coming up soon and something had changed over the past several months.

The change coincided with Gwen's recent promotion to project manager, taking over an important assignment when her supervisor took leave after his heart attack. The pressure was on and Gwen's OCD, which was normally barely under control, kicked into high gear. Gwen's time in the office increased exponentially and our time together decreased proportionately. At first, Gwen seemed to appreciate the little things I did to relieve the pressure - the foot rubs, keeping the house clean and the laundry washed.

Then, maybe six weeks after her promotion, none of it mattered. My touches were unwelcome, my comments made in an effort to encourage and support her were discounted. I was living with a stranger and at my wits end.

Talking to my friends who have been married for a while - especially those who knew Gwen and I as a loving couple - all of them were surprised by my concerns. My buddy Paul's comment was typical.

"Les, that's hard to believe, every couple goes through a bit of a lull, but you and Gwen have only been married four years, this sort of thing shouldn't be happening for at least three or more years from now. Are you sure you're not imagining things?"

When I told Paul that it had been over three weeks since Gwen and I last made love, he was surprised. When I related some of the recent comments that came out of Gwen's mouth, he went from surprised to astonished and into 'guy mode'.

"Could she be stepping out on you?"

"I don't see how - or when. She's working her butt off at the office. She's been put in charge of the conversion to a new platform. The project is in her lap, from A to Z. It's a make or break, career-wise. And Gwen's too career focused and driven to blow her chance by sneaking off to some lovers' hideaway."

"Well, that's probably it then, buddy. Your wife has this ball-busting project that's consuming her and you're collateral damage."

"I thought of that; but something just doesn't feel right."

Paul looked into the bottom of his beer glass, I knew Paul well enough to read his mind, he was thinking, "Do I have another or do I go home to my wife and kids?" I saw the small smile wash over his face as he made up his mind, then signal the bartender to close him out; Paul loves his family. As he paid his tab, he gave me one last piece of advice. "Let me tell you one thing, Les; don't go off half-cocked accusing Gwen of anything, especially if all she's guilty of is working long hours under stress to get this project finished. Nothing worse than a non-supportive spouse. Don't be that guy."

The stranger sitting on the other side of me must have overheard Paul's last comment. I barely made out what the stranger said in an aside to himself. "Nothing worse than a non-supportive spouse - except a cheating spouse."

I decided to do my best to 'trust but verify'. For example, the following Saturday when Gwen had to spend the day in the office installing some new hardware, I called her up mid-afternoon and asked if I could deliver a pizza for lunch. Gwen's reply?

"Oh Les, that would be so nice of you; but could you pick up three large pizzas? There are four of us here and we're all starving."

I took their pizza orders and went down to her office to deliver them. Gwen introduced me to the two guys I hadn't met, Janice I already knew from the last holiday party; the two guys, Brad and Clark, were recent hires. We five sat and ate the pizzas, the conversation was relaxed, although Brad was noticeably quiet, but I was used to that when hanging around techie types.

Without being obvious, I did what I could to verify Gwen's time away from home. No doubt about it, she was spending all her time on that project, I never caught her out and about.

Three weeks later I was sitting at home, waiting for Gwen. I hadn't found even a hint of any misbehavior on Gwen's part, but we still hadn't reconnected, emotionally or physically. I decided to take a different tact. Dinner was on the stove, a bottle of Merlot was breathing, the table was set, complete with candles and a small vase of irises. It was half past seven when Gwen walked into the door.

Gwen looked at the table and seemed stunned for a moment, then she smiled, gave me a kiss and took off her coat and shoes. "Les, this is so nice."

I poured her a glass of wine. "Get washed up and change. Dinner will be served in ten minutes. Then we have to talk."

She looked at me, the wheels were turning.

When Gwen came down, the meal was served. Medallions, roasted potatoes and asparagus. We ate while talking about our day. With the last bite gone, Gwen sat back and couldn't wait any longer. "What's this about, Les?"

I pulled out the envelope and opened it up. "Gwen, I know how tough these past five months have been for you and I know your conversion date is two weeks from Saturday. I think we need some time together after your conversion. Given that you'll want to stay close by for at least two weeks after the conversion, I booked a one-week vacation for us, starting a month from now. We have twenty-four hours to say 'yes' or 'no', if I don't cancel by four tomorrow afternoon, we lose the twenty-five percent deposit."

I showed Gwen the brochure of the Caribbean resort.

"Our flight is first-class to the Dominican Republic, the resort is an all-inclusive for couples."

I sat back and watched Gwen as she alternated between looking at me and flipping through the brochure. After a long minute, she spoke; there were tears in her eyes.

"Les, this is wonderful. I'd love to go on vacation with you. The timing is perfect, everything should be locked down by the time we take off." Gwen got up and sat in my lap, her arms around my neck. "Thank you for this." She kissed me.

The next four weeks took forever. Gwen's project went in, the conversion was a success and the hiccups from the conversion were minor and easily corrected. Gwen and I started to make love again. Not the twice-a-day monkey sex, but over those four weeks, we did it at least once a week.

I parked the car in the remote lot and we took the shuttle to the terminal. All we had for luggage were two small suitcases, my backpack and her purse. I wasn't planning on wearing anything but shorts, polo shirts and a bathing suit all week. Gwen had three sundresses, two pairs of shorts, a couple of cute tops and two of the sexiest bikinis known to man in her carry-on. This would be one hot week.

We grabbed our boarding passes and were standing in the first-class TSA line when a familiar face walked up to us. Gwen looked shocked and probably spoke louder than she intended. "Brad, what are you doing here?"

"I have to talk to you, Gwen."

I was pissed, thinking this was some work-related issue. "Can't this wait until Gwen gets back from vacation?"

Brad ignored me. "Gwen, we need to talk now."

I started to say something again, but Gwen cut me off. She looked upset and worried. "Les, please go ahead. I'll straighten this out and be right behind you. This should only take a few minutes."

I hesitated; Gwen said it again. "Please Les, just go; I'll be right there." She turned to Brad, looking incredibly angry. I figured if I stuck around, it would only delay what she had to say. I looked at the clock and went through Security.

As I got to our gate, the plane was boarding. I needed a drink, knew where I could get one and made the second biggest mistake of my life. I walked through the first-class lane, presented my boarding pass, walked through the jetway and into my seat. As the flight attendant approached me, I didn't even give her a chance to speak.

"Hi, can I get a double bourbon, neat?"

I must have said it nicely because the young lady returned with my drink in less than thirty seconds. I thanked her before taking a hefty swallow, the liquid warmed my throat going down; instantly sending a wave of tranquility through my core and up into my brain.

The last passengers were getting on. I pulled out my phone to ring Gwen. No answer, it went to voice mail. I texted, "where are you?" Nothing. I texted a second message, "you're cutting it close, where are you?"

I was so intent on my phone, I didn't realize the cabin door was being shut. My body registered the plane's movement - we were backing out of the gate. At the same time, my phone dinged with a message. It was from Gwen and it simply read, "I'm so sorry".

The flight attendant was standing next to me. "Sir, you'll have to turn your phone off." Her voice shook me out of my stupor.

"Can I get off? It's an emergency."

"What kind of an emergency?"

"My wife. She didn't make it on the plane. I think she might have left me."

"I'm sorry sir. We can't return to the gate for anything like that. Think of the other passengers, please. Any delay affects them."

The look on my face must have conveyed my helplessness because she handed me a small bottle of bourbon before beginning her safety instruction routine.

Five long hours later the plane landed at the Punta Cana Airport in D.R. As soon as allowed, I called Gwen's number. Of course, she didn't answer, why should anything go right? As I hung up, I noticed a missed call from her and I had a voicemail message. It sounded like she was crying, it took me two tries to understand it.

"Les, I'm so sorry but if you read the email I sent you, it will explain everything. I'm sorry to take the coward's way out, you deserve better."

That was it. I signed on to email using my phone. There was a message from Gwen. The plane was ready to disembark. What crappy timing. I left the plane, sat down as soon as I could, and read Gwen's email.

Les

I'm sorry, I thought I could get away with you and we could start over. For the past four months, up until you surprised me with the idea of getting away together, I have been having an affair with Brad.

It went on, Gwen wrote a full page; alternating between apologies, justifications and descriptions of what, why, who and how long.

I sat, reading the note; trying my best to keep my shit together. I probably didn't do a particularly good job of it; when I finally got up and moved through customs, something about the way I looked must have rung some bells in the custom agent's head. Before I knew it, I was sitting in a little room with my luggage and two agents. Luckily, one of the agents was fluent in English and I was finally able to convince him to read my wife's 'Dear John' letter to understand why I was looking like a lost soul.

Is there any worse sight than a pitiful sap who has just been outed as a cuckold? The looks I received were horrendous, but I didn't cry, doing my best to man up. I was released within the hour.

I walked into the twilight and caught a shuttle to the resort. By now it was almost eight o'clock; I needed a drink and a bed.

The hits just kept on coming. When I tried to check into my room, the young lady asked, "Where is your wife?"

"My wife couldn't make it."

"I'm sorry sir. This is a couples' resort; I can't allow you to check in without your wife."

"I paid five-thousand dollars for the week. I need a room. Can't you make an exception?"

She couldn't. I asked to see the manager. The night manager came to the desk and explained the rules, reminding me the reservations expressly stipulated that singles were not allowed under any circumstances. When I asked where I could sleep that night, he was kind enough to call another resort down the beach that had a vacancy. He even had a bellman drive me to that resort.

As I tried to check into the second resort, my credit card was declined. I pulled out the second card I carried for emergencies. Another decline. I tried to call Gwen to find out why our cards weren't working. No answer. I called both banks' hotlines and was told the cards had been cancelled. I texted Gwen, "Why did you cancel the cards?"

Ten minutes later I received her reply. "Brad suggested cancelling the cards - he said you wouldn't need them because the resort was pre-paid and all-inclusive."

As I read her reply, I think I must have surprised the hotel clerk with the string of four-letter and other curse words that left my mouth.

Luckily (my only luck up until now on this day) I had over six hundred in cash with me. I paid for the night with cash, leaving me with a little over half of my cash left. I entered my room, probably the crappiest three-hundred dollar a night room I've ever had the displeasure to stay in and sat for a moment to gather my senses.

I couldn't access my bank accounts; I'd have to call the bank in the morning. Just in case, I called my brother in Denver. After explaining the situation, convincing him and his wife that I wasn't playing a joke on them, and then having to listen to both saying, "No, not Gwen!" and "That bitch!" I was finally able to get to the root of my immediate problem. My brother agreed to go to his bank first thing in the morning and wire a few thousand to the nearest Western Union.

Next, I called the airline. My ticket wasn't transferable (my fault for picking the cheapest option which meant the tickets weren't insured). I learned that if I was paying for my return tickets with cash, I'd have to buy the tickets in person at the terminal. The first available flight out of Punta Cana was the red-eye Tuesday evening. I sat down to read Gwen's letter for the second and final time.

Les

I'm sorry, I thought I could get away with you and we could start over. For the past four months, up until you surprised me with the idea of getting away together, I have been having an affair with Brad. I didn't set out to cheat on you. As the project became more intense and as I spent less time with you and more time with Brad, I began to lean on him for emotional support. No, it should not have happened, but it did. I spent several weeks after his first kiss resisting going any further; but in the end, during a long Saturday at the office and after the rest of the team left, I gave in to his advances and became an adulteress.

I kept wondering why you couldn't see me drifting away from you and that drew me closer to Brad. Only now, as I sit here and write this letter, do I realize how many times you asked what was bothering me and if there was anything you could do to help me. But now it's too late, isn't it, to acknowledge everything you tried to do for our marriage, including booking the week at the resort.

When you told me about the week together to reconnect, it was as if you opened my eyes. At that moment I knew I wanted to be married to you. The very next day I told Brad it was over. He had a hard time accepting it. Hardly a day went by that he didn't try to resume our affair - and for the most part I resisted his overtures.

Yes, I'm weak. I was weak when I gave into his seduction and started the affair, I was weak when I let him convince me to repeatedly say goodbye 'one more time' during the past few weeks, and I was weak when Brad showed up at the airport and convinced me to miss our flight and our week together.

I hope you're able to spend this week at least having some time to get over us. Brad told me that if it was him, spending a week at a resort in paradise - with the great food, plenty to drink, the sun and time away from work - would be the way he would want to have it end. I hope that's true for you, too.

I almost left him and got on that plane, but Brad said that you had to know about the affair after he showed up at the airport and you probably wouldn't want to be near me after that. It made sense, and I couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to spend five hours sitting next to you and feeling your scorn.

I also need this week to get my head around what I've done. I will try my best to answer your phone when you return next Sunday. My clothes and everything else should be gone from our home by then.

Please don't hate me - I know I've done too much to ever be your loving wife after this; but I couldn't stand your hatred.

With regrets, Gwen

I almost deleted the letter, but decided I better keep it. At least it answered one question - the reason I never caught Gwen stepping out was because she most likely had been humping that asshole at the office.

The bar would be open for the next hour. Time enough to go downstairs and have a drink - and make a toast to a cheating, slut wife and the end of my marriage. Growing up, my father made certain all three of his children heard his lesson on booze and drinking. I heard it before my senior year of high school and again the morning I turned twenty-one.

"Les, getting drunk never solved a problem. And to make it worse, there are three kinds of bad drunks. There's the weeping-whiner, the violent asshole, and the laughing hyena. Don't be any of those guys. Drink slow and steady, enjoy the buzz, but know your limit. And if I ever find out you're drinking and driving - well, I don't care how old you are - I'll take away your car and give you a whopping."

The thing is, Dad was no tea-totaller; he could put away the beers with the best of them. But I never saw Dad drunk, act stupid or drive after having more than one beer. He lived by his rules.

That's why I knew I'd be leaving this bar after two beers; but I'd enjoy both of them before heading back to my room. As I drank my first Presidente, I looked around the bar. There were two single guys, four couples including the two guys I assume were a couple, and a fifth couple doing their best to hump each other on the dance floor. The bartender watched me watching the humpers and as our eyes met, we shared a laugh. The guy on the dance floor had to be sixty-plus pounds overweight and the 'lady' looked like Olive Oyl (you youngsters can look her up).

I almost said out loud to the bartender, "At least his wife didn't leave him at the damn airport."

It got me thinking, how did I fuck up? Did I fuck up? Had our entire five years together, including four years married, been some kind of illusion? I didn't think so, it seemed to me that up until a few months ago, Gwen and I were really in love and happy. It got me thinking as I nursed my two beers.

*********************

We met five years ago at a Chiefs' baseball game, the Peoria minor league team. Gwen was with a group of girls and wearing a Ryne Sandberg jersey. Although the Chiefs are affiliated with the St. Louis Cardinals, there are plenty of Cub fans down in this part of Illinois.

I sat near the group and instantly did my best to meet the tall blonde with the pretty face and long legs. I bought all four of them a beer to introduce myself. Then used her jersey to start a conversation.

"You seem to be a little young to be wearing Sandberg's jersey. A little before your time, wasn't he?"

"Ryne Sandberg was Daddy's favorite player; he bought it for me."

I introduced myself and held out my hand. "I'm Thomas Lester, everyone calls me Les."

She took my hand, "Gwen Harper, everyone calls me Gwen."

She told me she was a senior at Bradley University, an IT major. I told her I was two years out of college, working at Caterpillar in their design engineering section. We got back to the topic of the Sandberg jersey somehow.

"Daddy said the five best days of his life were - the day he married Mom, the day I was born, the day my brother Pete was born, the day he got drafted by the Cubs and the day Ryne Sandberg hit two home runs off Bruce Sutter."

"Your father played for the Cubs?"