Love Letters Ch. 03

"I agree, Danny. Whatever planet she's living on, it ain't planet Earth."

"Yeah, I know. I honestly think she believes her affair should be considered on a par with the time she borrowed my car and dinged it or the time she accidentally threw my new effing phone into the washing machine."

"But, Danny," Shaun mimicked Claire's voice. "I'm addicted to being a slut so I can't be held accountable for my actions."

I snorted, pacing back and forth in front of the glass sliding doors.

"Did you hear the part where she said that while I didn't know about the affair it wasn't hurting me? Christ, Shaun, how fucked up is that? It took everything I had not to leap across the table and strangle the bitch. Not hurting me because I was in the dark? That's like saying cancer isn't harming you just because for 'X' amount of time you didn't know it was lurking in your body. Try convincing a cancer victim of that logic. Whether you know it's there or not it's still eating away at your insides, slowly killing you. It just does so by stealth until it can't hide its evil face anymore."

Shaun patted my shoulder on his way to the fridge. He grabbed a couple of beers, passing me one.

"Here, I think you've earned this. Man, I was so proud of you. I'm not sure I'd have been able to stay calm with some of the bullshit she spouted. You even scared me; you sounded so formal and uncaring, like a school principal. Did you feel sorry for her at any time? Maybe think about working it out?"

"No. Not once. In fact, when I looked at her, I felt repulsed. All I saw was an actress playing a part. Nothing she could say or do could convince me our marriage meant anything to her. It can't have or she wouldn't have given in to her urges and invited him between her legs again and again and again. She did things for him things she wouldn't for me. With me she was Little Miss Goody Two Shoes. And you read the letters. Christ, she asked him to father our children. You know how long I've been asking her to start a family and she was going to rob me of even that. That's not love. That's hate.

"But even without all of that, I refuse to live a life of quiet desperation, wondering and questioning who the real Claire is. I won't go through life with a permanent knot in my gut, suspicious every time she's late or not in the mood, or, heaven forbid, she is in the mood and I'm torturing myself, wondering if she's really in the moment with me or whether she's plastered some other bloke's face on mine and imagining its him she's having sex with."

"I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear you say that, Danny. I have to admit, I was worried she'd get to you and somehow convince you to forgive her. I mean, I wouldn't have blamed you; you've invested a lot of time and emotion into the woman. And I would have supported you, if that was what you really wanted, but I just can't see any happiness for you if you go down that road."

I nodded, still pacing. I felt like a bull pawing the ground.

"What I don't get is if Claire wanted to fuck around why marry you? Why marry anyone? Why even date seriously? She could have presented herself as a career girl and kept it light and casual, seen other people and when one or the other of you got bored or saw someone else you fancied you could have moved on with no hard feelings. She could have had all the strange cock she wanted."

I nodded in agreement. Shaun was right. Why the hell marry at all if she needed to screw around in order to be happy? Unless the guy got off on that sort of thing it was never going to end well whoever she married.

"Exactly. For me, a huge part of what makes marriage special is that from the day you stand at the alter in front of your family and friends and take your vows you know as you speak the words you're promising each other to be faithful forever. You know you're promising her that she's the only woman you'll make love with ever again. And the same in reverse. She's promising to be yours and only yours from that day forward. Without that vow of fidelity, what makes marriage special? What makes it different to casual dating? Why bother making the commitment? Why bother making the compromises and sacrifices that all successful marriages need?

"Without her fidelity, there was nothing special about her or us. Without that trust and commitment to be true to each other I don't think there's any real intimacy. And without that, she's just another notch on my bedpost.

"Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but for me it's simple— black or white, no shades of gray in sight—either she's mine or she isn't. There's no in-between. I'm just not wired that way. And despite her reassurances that she was mine, she wasn't. Not ever. She just pretended to be."

"Wow, I don't think Mum or Mel could have said it better. You should say some of this shit when they interview you." He winked at me. "Since when did you turn into a philosopher, Dr. Dan? Must be all that sawdust you've inhaled over the years."

I laughed, Shaun's teasing deflating my rage. "Well, at least I didn't have to be hit by a bolt of lightning which is what it would take to penetrate your thick skull."

We clinked bottles. "Touché. It's good to have my brother back."

"Do you think she really believes the rubbish she spouted?" I asked.

"Who knows? Maybe she just can't face the truth."

I shrugged. "Well, in her case the truth certainly wasn't pretty."

Shaun smirked. "She disappointed me, though. I kept waiting for her to offer to turn a blind eye to you having a revenge fuck."

I laughed and not just a chuckle. It was a deep belly laugh like I'd heard the funniest joke ever.

"That would have to be a year-long orgy to come even close to what she and that piece of shit, Rat-Zack, indulged in."

# # #

Thursday evening saw me on my back patio, enjoying the sunset, freshly showered, beer in hand, laptop balanced on my knees, and on the phone with Haley.

I gave her the short version of Claire's visit, not wanting to get riled up.

While we spoke, I opened my email and read through Haley's final questions, discussing with her my answers. Knowing my plan to pretend I was indifferent, she'd framed them in such a way as to make it possible for me to speak philosophically rather than have to reveal the depth of my hurt and anger. I just hoped I wouldn't lose my cool or give away my strategy when Oscar did his more impromptu questions and banter.

"We couldn't use all the letters. Some, if we'd blacked out all the X-rated bits, all that would have remained is a few pronouns, and maybe the word 'the'. If you go on Facebook you can see them. We started loading them this morning, releasing one per hour. Same on our website. A few more will go up over the next couple of hours. They're getting a mile of comments. Most people are horrified. You have the odd jerk who thinks it's okay, and one or two joking they'd like the number of whoever the bird is. And don't worry; I made sure we blacked out Claire's and your name on all the ones we used so she can't sue you or anything."

"Um, I'm not on Facebook."

Haley chuckled. "Why does that not surprise me? You should think about it, though, for your business if not for a personal profile. Give me a sec and I'll email you the ones we used."

Moments later the email hit my inbox. I opened the first three and sure enough Claire, Rat-Zack, and I couldn't be identified by the letters. That was important. I didn't intend forking over big bucks to the lying bitch because she bleated to some fancy-assed lawyer that I'd invaded her privacy. In the letters, and for the interview, I would be 'D'; Claire would be 'C', and Rat-Zack 'R'. Not using 'Z' for Rat-Zack was a bit of insurance but anyone in our family or group of friends who had requested a copy of the letters from my mother or Mel—and they assured me plenty had—would know who I meant. I felt confident word would spread from there. With any luck Claire and Rat-Zack would be so shamed they'd leave town.

I felt okay about what I was doing—I hadn't sought revenge. In a way, the means had found me. I merely intended to give people straight, honest answers when asked instead of whitewashing what the pair of them had done. As far as I was concerned, if they didn't think they'd done anything wrong then they had nothing to be ashamed of—if they didn't want to do the time, they shouldn't have done the crime.

I wanted to keep Haley on the line but I knew she needed to get an early night and I needed to practice.

I cooked some pasta and checked the remaining love letters that the radio station had used, just in case someone referenced them in the interview. Next, I tackled my answers to Haley's questions, tweaking them with each run-through. By my last rendition my performance was fierce, implacable, monumental. It was an execution by words.

# # #

"Danny, this is Oscar. Oscar, Danny."

My greeting was reserved, Oscar's anything but. I was convinced the guy had A.D.H.D.—even when seated he seemed to be in constant motion. It was clear he and Haley had as great a rapport in real life as they had on air. The banter flowed back and forth between them as easily as mine did with Shaun. I wondered if they were a couple off-air.

Their assistant, Zoe, fussed over me, placing a coffee and apple Danish in front of me and giving me a brief rundown on the use of the microphone and headset. Her actions rammed home the reality—I was about to talk about very personal things with an unseen audience that could number in the hundreds of thousands.

A wave of nausea washed over me. My stomach muscled clamped tight as they sought to contain the nest of angry hornets that had suddenly taken up residence in my gut. I couldn't decide if the pesky things were seeking their freedom via my belly button or my throat. All I knew was I wanted them to settle down before I embarrassed myself.

An ad was running. I was on once it finished. I looked at Haley in a panic.

"You'll be fine, Danny," she whispered. "Everyone gets nervous. Once we get the first question out the way the nerves will disappear."

I nodded, not trusting myself not to squeak like a mouse if I tried to speak.

Haley took charge of the introductions and early part of the interview and she was right, though it took me to the third question to forget thousands of people were listening to me. She led me down the path we'd decided on and I was happy that I got to use my gangrene and design plans analogies so I didn't sound like a complete idiot.

"So, 'D'," said Oscar, "Forgiveness was never on the agenda? You don't love 'C' enough to forgive her for her, ah, weakness?"

"Rather than answer that question directly, Oscar, I'd like to turn it around. Why couldn't she love me enough to remain faithful? Or, at the very least, love me enough to be honest?"

"Good point, but, dude, I have to ask, but how did she get away with it for twelve years? Were you walking around with blinkers on?"

"Oscar, I guess in a way I was. A friend of mine who did some psychology as part of their degree explained it to me." I glanced at Haley who was beaming. "I think it's called Confirmatory Bias, though don't quote me on that—"

"Christ, what's that?" Oscar laughed. "It sounds ominous. It doesn't mean you're a sociopath, does it? Do I need to call security or whip out my ninja moves?"

Haley snorted. "Ninja moves?"

"Yep, I'm a master at origami. I can fold my enemy into a pretzel."

I couldn't help laughing. "Ah, I'd best behave then. I don't do good pretzel! Seriously though, I'm a tradie, and used to reading a set of plans, not personalities. I'm not a psychologist so cross your fingers for me that I don't stuff up the explanation. Basically, the premise is that when you believe someone loves you, you interpret the thing they say or do in a way that supports that belief."

I looked at Haley for confirmation. She gave me the thumbs up.

"So what you're saying is that for twelve years you thought she loved you and so you thought the best of her and that blinded you to the signs of her affair?"

"Yes. That about sums it up." I chuckled. "Now that I've been offered that explanation I'm sticking with it; makes me feel less of a gullible fool."

"Folks, we've got a switchboard full of calls wanting to speak to 'D', so please be patient; we will get to you."

"Hello, 'S', what would you to ask, 'D'?"

"Can't you find it in your heart to forgive 'R'?" The woman's voice was croaky, which may have passed as nerves to anyone who didn't know her, but I did know her. The caller was my Aunt Sally. "I mean, he's your cousin, after all."

"Pity 'R' couldn't remember that every time he organized to meet my wife or write her a, ah, love letter. Pity he chose to forget our kinship every time he lied to my face and stabbed me in the back. So, no, forgiveness isn't an option. I'm afraid he's out of my life for good."

The woman sobbed, and my heart broke for my aunt, but I couldn't lie to her. I caught a glance pass between Oscar and Haley who realized 'S' must be a relative.

Oscar fielded the rest of the call, getting 'S' off the line with practiced ease.

Haley mouthed to me, 'You okay?"

I nodded, though my heart constricted; I hoped I wouldn't get too many similar calls.

The next call had me blushing to the tips of my toes.

"Honey, you sound delicious. If you ever get sick of building things you should consider a career in radio. And if you need a bit of comforting give me a call."

Oscar laughed. "Well, thank you, 'B', we'll be sure to get your details for 'D' off-air. I'm sure you've done 'D's battered ego the world of good."

I thought Oscar was joking, but two minutes later, Zoe was grinning from ear to ear as she placed a note in front of me. Sure enough; Bev or 'B' had left me her number.

The calls kept coming. Most were sympathetic and wished me well. One I suspected of being a friend of Claire's as she asked if there was any way possible I could forgive 'C's mistake.

"Hmm, mistake. I'm not sure I could ever call it a mistake, 'G'. For me, a mistake is coming home with lemon essence when your wife sent you out to buy lemon juice, or turning left when you were supposed to turn right. Maybe washing the colors with the whites and turning all her, ah, delicates, lilac. Can something that happened repeatedly over a twelve year period and necessitated planning, required choices being made, lies to be told, evidence to be hidden, be considered a mistake?"

The phone line went dead. I looked from Haley to Oscar.

"Oops, it looks like we lost 'G'."

Many of the calls offered advice on how to deal with my loss; anything from meditation to sand play therapy to going bush for a while. One even suggested using puppets representing the key players to work out my angst. Oscar, of course, couldn't resist making a Muppet joke about that one, likening Rat-Zack to the Cookie Monster. I wanted to protest—I'd always liked the Cookie Monster as a kid.

According to Haley and Oscar the segment was a success.

Zoe laughed, agreeing. "Only Justin Bieber and Hugh Jackman received more phone numbers."

"Dude, looks like you'll get plenty of comforting to see you through this."

# # #

No surprise, there was fall-out from the interview. Come five-thirty I had my soon to be ex-wife, incandescent with rage, pounding on my door.

"Daniel McCormack, you answer this door right this minute!"

I looked at my father, my designated babysitter for the evening. "Showtime."

"Just don't give her what she wants, Danny. And she wants a reaction, so don't give it to her. Deny her. Let cool, calm, and collected be your bywords."

I nodded. "Here goes nothing."

I strode down the hall and opened the door. I even managed to smile. "Good evening, Claire."

"How could you? How could you share my letters on radio? Because of you, they're all over Facebook." She screamed at me, two blotches of red staining her cheeks. If looks could kill, I'd have been ash. "They were mine. They were private. You had no right to show them to anyone."

I smiled. Ah, finally we see the real Claire.

"Private? Really? Whether you talk about the apartment or this house, the fact is, you stored them in books on a bookcase which I, or for that matter, any guest in our home, might have plucked off the shelf to leaf through. That certainly supports my argument that you had little expectation of privacy in regard to them. In fact, by making so little effort to conceal them, one could argue you wanted them found and shared."

"You still shouldn't have shared them. Not without asking me."

I shrugged. "I merely followed the precedent you set when it comes to decision-making in relation to our marriage. Besides, I've seen plenty of love letters posted online. Most people get all warm and fuzzy over them. You're clearly not ashamed of yours as you kept many of them for years, so what's the problem?"

"Don't get fucking cute with me, Danny. I-I-I sound like a slut."

I shrugged and smiled, raising an eyebrow.

"What I did may have been wrong, but it wasn't hateful. What you've done is cruel."

May have been wrong? There was a question mark over it? Wasn't hateful? Asking another guy to father our child wasn't hateful or cruel? What planet did she live on?

I nearly vented my thoughts but as I opened my mouth it was as if my father whispered in my ear. Cool, calm, and collected. Don't give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Whatever, Claire."

My lack of emotion clearly infuriated her. If anything her face was redder than when I'd answered the door.

"I'll... I'll make you pay for this, Danny. First thing Monday I'm going to a lawyer and I'm going to take this house off you. I'm going to turf you out. I'm done with playing nice. I'm going to make you pay through the nose for humiliating me."

"How about I save you the time and move out this weekend? You can move in, take over paying the mortgage and the tradesmen required to finish the renovations."

"The courts will make you pay half. You might even have to pay spousal support."

"Unlikely, Claire. You've watched too much American TV; it doesn't work like that here. You're on a good salary and able to support yourself so no spousal support for you. As far as the mortgage goes, my parents have offered to assist me but that won't be necessary if I temporarily move in with them or Shaun."

"Why would they have to assist you? You're able-bodied and can work and you earn good money. There's nothing wrong with you."

"Oh, but there is, Claire. I'm afraid that because of all the stress and anxiety your betrayal has caused me my judgement was affected and I made a mistake at work today and hurt my back." Not true, but I did have an old sports injury that flared up once in a while that required me to wear a girdle to support my lower back.

"That's... that's bullshit," Claire spat.

I shrugged. "Whatever, Claire."

I watched as she struggled with what to threaten me with next. What mode of attack would she resort to in order to get her way? Suddenly, I was weary of her and her games and decided to bring things to a head.

"Of course, Claire, we could always just jump to the finish line, split the spoils, and sell the place as is."

"But if we do that, neither of us will come out with much of anything."

Once again, I shrugged. I could see it annoyed her so I made a mental note to do it as often as possible in all future dealings with her.

"So what? It's only money."

"I've worked too hard to let it go for a song," she hissed.

I swallowed the derisive laugh that welled in my throat. She'd worked too hard? She'd planted a few herbs and rose bushes. What about all the nights and weekends I'd put in?