Cowboy Town (2 page)

I arrive home and on shaking legs, I make my way up the path and into my duplex. My hands are shaking so badly, I drop my keys three times before I can insert them into the lock and make my way inside.  I shut the door, lean up against it and slide down until my ass hits tiled floor.  My mind is whirling.  So many questions are swirling around and the images.  Oh god, the images. 

How long has he been cheating on me?

Is she the only one?  Is there more than one?

He never, not once, gave me an orgasm. He never once gave me oral sex – he said performing that act on a woman was filthy.

What am I going to do?

What am I going to do?

Then the tears come.  Huge drops raining from my eyes, tumble down my cheeks.  I hang my head between my bent knees and let my tears splash onto the floor as I sob quietly.

Should I confront him?

Will I forgive him?

Should we stay together?

Does he still want me?

Do I still want him?

Can I get past this?

Do I love him enough to forgive him and try to make it work?

Does he even want to make it work?

Do I want to make it work?

The questions continue to run through my mind, but I know one thing deep in my heart.  I can’t forgive him.  It doesn’t matter if it was one time or a hundred.  I can’t move past this.

My mother put up with my father’s infidelities throughout their entire marriage.  It wore her down and she developed deep self-esteem issues from his cheating.  Don’t get me wrong, my father was the best dad.  He was also a loving and caring husband to my mother.  He was just shitty at being faithful.  That’s why she stuck with him – because everything else was great and the only down side was his faithfulness, or lack there of as the case may be.  I remember a conversation I had with my mother, about a week before they passed away.  We were sitting on the back deck at their house (the same house I grew up in) drinking coffee and eating fresh cinnamon scrolls from the bakery down the street.  They were still warm.  My mother looked sad.  Dejected.  Lost.  My father hadn’t come home last night.  He still wasn’t home, and it was nine a.m.

“Mum, are you ok?”  I ask, watching as tears fill her eyes.  She doesn’t let them fall though.

“I’ll be fine, sweetie,” she says in a small voice.

“Why do you put up with it, Mum?  If I had a man and he cheated on me…” I shake my head and let my words trail off.

“I know it’s hard for you to understand, Eden, but I promised your father ‘for better and for worse’.  You can’t expect a marriage to last if you’re prepared to only take the better.  My whole life with you and your father has been the ‘better’.  His … indiscretions are the only ‘worse’.  So to continue having the better, I have to deal with the worse.”

“I understand that, mum.  But I think somewhere in your vows you also promised to ‘forsake all others’.  Did dad leave that part out when he declared his love to you in front of Pastor Nicholson and the congregation?” I ask heatedly.  I love my father but I hate when he hurts my mother.

“Hello, my girls.”  I spin around in my chair and see my father striding through the sliding doors.  He leans in and kisses my cheek before making his way to my mum.  He lays a passionate kiss on her mouth and I turn away - I definitely don’t need or want to see my parents making out.

“Hi dad,” I answer.

“Hi, honey,” my mother whispers.

“What are you two doing out here?  Oh, are one of those for me?” he asks picking up a cinnamon scroll.

“Go for it,” I say, gesturing toward the delicious baked goods.

I wait for my mother to call him out on where he’s been.  I hoped my speech about their vows would hit a nerve.  But she doesn’t say a word.  She just acts completely normal and unaffected in front of him. 

I knew from that moment on that I couldn’t tolerate an unfaithful partner, no matter the ‘better’.  I’ve always viewed cheating as a cowardly act.  If you feel the need to cheat then you, at the very least, owe your partner the respect of telling them where your feelings lie
before
you commit an act of adultery. 

My tears ease and I know deep in my bones, the answers to my questions.

I cannot forgive.

I cannot forget.

I cannot get past this.

I don’t want to be with him any longer, regardless if it was one time or a hundred, with the same woman or with many.

Should I confront him?
  I don’t know.  I’ve never been a big fan of confrontation.  I don’t like it and I go to great lengths to avoid it.

My phone rings and vibrates in my pocket, bringing me from my thoughts.  I lift it up, hoping it’s not an after-hours work related call, or worse, Matt.  My shoulders sag in relief.  It’s my best friend, Jules.

“Hi,” my voice is thick from crying so I cough to clear it.

“Happy Birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to yoooooou,” sings down the line.

A small smile touches my lips.  “Thank you,” I say as tears well in my eyes again.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”  She gentles her voice, concern clear in her tone and I just know she’s frowning.

“I wish you were here,” I manage on a quiet sob.  Jules is in Bali on a work trip.  She’s due home in two days, but she’s been gone a week already.  Jules has been a part of my family for the twenty years we’ve been friends, but three years ago when I lost my parents, she became my
only
family.

“Oh, honey, I know.  Don’t cry.  I wish I were there too.  I’ll be home in a couple of days and we’ll celebrate then, ok.”

“Matt cheated on me.” I blurt out to her.

“What?” She gasps.

“I caught him.  He was … Oh, god, he was in between her legs and then he … I’m going to be sick.” I cover my mouth and jump up off the floor, racing down the hall and into my bathroom where I empty the contents of my stomach into the bowl.  Wiping my mouth, I bring the receiver back to my ear and mutter sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“I’ve heard worse,” she jokes.

“I can’t believe it, Edie.  Did you have it out with the bastard?  You should have ripped him off her and kneed him in the balls,” she seethes.

“No, I just ran out.  It all happened in slow motion.  I only watched for half a minute maximum but it was enough.  It was
more
than enough.”

“He was eating her out?” She asks, sounding confused.

“I know,” I whisper.  “He always told me that was filthy.  Maybe he just meant me, that I was filthy down there,” I whisper even quieter.

“No!  Don’t you dare.  This is all on him.  He’s the stupid prick that couldn’t keep it in his pants.  He’s a pansy anyways, honey.  He never finished you off, always in it for himself.  He never cared about anyone but himself.  Don’t you take this on.  You hear me?”  Jules never did like Matt very much.  She thought he was slimy and slippery – her words.  I’m not sure what she meant exactly but I think she meant untrustworthy and dishonest. 
How right was she?
I think sardonically.

I nod, then remembering she can’t see me, I say, “Yes.”

“What am I going to do?”  I wail. “I just want to go away for a while.  You know?”

“Why don’t you?  There’s nothing stopping you.  Take your annual leave – I know you haven’t taken a holiday in the seven years you’ve worked at Prestige, so ring Dawn and take some time.  Go somewhere, clear your head and see what you come up with.  If you wait until I get home, I’ll come with.  If you have to go tomorrow, then I’ll take leave when I get home and I’ll go to you, wherever you end up, if you want me to.  Okay?” she soothes.

“Okay.”  I acquiesce. 

“Ring Dawn now.  Tell her you need some personal time – you’re not sure how long you’ll need but you’ll keep her informed.”

“What if she says no?”

“She won’t.  She knows how long you’ve been with her for.  She also knows how valuable you are to her company.  Further, she knows that you have not taken leave for seven years and you’ve only had, what, a handful of sick days in those seven years?  And you were genuinely ill, not pulling her leg.  She won’t say no.  Trust me.”

“Okay,” I say sounding firmer.  Resolute.  I want this.  I need this.  I want to get away.

We talk for a while longer and then I end the call to phone Dawn.  As Jules predicted, Dawn is totally fine with me taking unexpected leave for an undetermined amount of time.  She assures me her daughter can fill my position indefinitely.  She also ensures that Bridget will take care of the financials first thing in the morning.

I breathe in deep and then let it go slowly.

I spend the night packing.  I don’t concentrate on what I am packing.  I also don’t question what it is that I am packing and why I am packing certain items.  I just pack.  In one box I pack photographs and important papers.  It takes three large suitcases to contain the clothes I want to take with me.  Plus, I have two smaller ones.  The first of which contains my toiletries and the other has my hairdryer, my straightener, my laptop, chargers for my iPod, phone, computer and anything else I deemed essential.

Once everything is boxed and taped or bagged and zipped, I load up my RAV.  Then I emptied my fridge and the small freezer attached to the top.  I chuck away anything that needs tossing (which, considering tomorrow is usually grocery day, is not a lot).  I place everything else in a bag so I can take it to Gladys in the morning before I leave.  Gladys lives in the duplex next to me.  She brought hers when she was widowed five years ago because she felt she needed to downsize seeing as it was only her now.  She’s seventy if she’s a day and the dearest senior citizen I know. 

I knock (loudly) on the door of the duplex next to mine.  Then I shake the pain from my hand before ringing the doorbell.  Gladys is “deaf in one ear and can’t hear out of the other” (her words) hence the loud knocking and doorbell ringing.

“Oh, hello Edie dear,” she opens the door smiling.

“Hi Gladys, how are you?” I say talking a few octaves louder than what some would consider socially acceptable, especially at this time of the morning.

“I’m good, dear.  Is everything alright?  You’re up and about early.”

“Everything is fine,” I lie, “I’ve got to go out of town unexpectedly and I had some food I didn’t want to spoil while I was gone.  I thought you could put it to use.  There are some frozen dinners, milk, cheese, yoghurt, a tub of ice cream…”  I rattle of some of the items while glancing in the shopping bags.

“That’s kind of you.  The price of groceries these days,” she scowls at nothing then continues, “You don’t get much for your pension nowadays.  Back in my day, my mother would give me twenty pence and I could buy a meat pie with gravy and peas, and still have enough change to get a milkshake.  Not these days,” she sighs, shaking her head.

“I know,” I nod in agreement, because I did know.  Gladys never missed an opportunity to tell us “young folk” (again, her words) about life in the “good, old days” (still, her words).  “I have to get going, Gladys.  I was hoping to be on the road a half hour ago, so I’ll leave these with you.”  I hand her the bags which she takes, after unlocking her security screen. 

“Thanks, dear.  Any idea how long you’ll be gone for?”

“I’m not sure.  Maybe a few weeks.” 

“You take care of yourself then.  I’ll keep an eye on your side of the fence.”

At her caring words, I feel a twist in my guts.  I’ll miss Gladys.  Before I can think, I wrap my arms around her and give a hug.  She smells of soap and old lady.  Comfort.  She’s taken aback by my sudden show of affection, however it only takes a second for her to return the gesture.

“’Bye, Gladys,” I give her a kiss on the cheek and take a step back.

“’Bye, Edie,” she whispers, her voice is thick with emotion and her eyes are shimmering with unshed tears.

I turn and walk down her path and climb into my RAV.  I pressed shuffle on my iPod and then I drive away singing along to “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” with Bob Marley.  I don’t even look back.

Chapter One

“There are winds of destiny that blow when we least expect them. Sometimes they gust with the fury of a hurricane, sometimes they barely fan one’s cheek. But the winds cannot be denied, bringing as they often do a future that is impossible to ignore.” Nicholas Sparks, Message in a Bottle

Some people say that everything happens for a reason.  Some people believe in fate or destiny.  Others believe in luck.  Don’t forget about Karma – what goes around comes around, or the old adage “Do unto others as you would do unto yourself.”  Many say that you hold your future in your hands; that only you can choose the path your life takes.  If you don’t like something, then change it.  Easy as that.  Some people believe that life is life and wherever you end up and however you got there is just the way it’s supposed to be.