The Other Woman
I don't remember the day of the week or time of day that I first suspected my husband, Stephen Warner, of being unfaithful to me. It might have been a Monday morning, a Wednesday afternoon, a Friday evening or even late on a Sunday night. I do know, however, that before I had come to accept his infidelity as a certainty, from time to time nagging little doubts would spark in my subconscious; but they would be quickly brushed away by the love and devotion I felt toward him. Eventually, these smoldering embers of suspicion could not be extinguished. They began to rekindle and engulf my mind until I could no longer ignore them. I had to know the truth.
Finally, I summoned the courage one evening to follow him from his office in the Morgan Medical Park in Meadow Lake to an elegant townhouse in nearby Sherwood Springs. Immediately upon arriving there, Stephen took out a key, unlocked the front door and entered the home.
Cautiously, I drew closer to the house, intent on seeing this touching, intimate scene through to the end, regardless of the hurt it might cause me. I felt a fierce stab of pain in my heart as I watched Stephen take an attractive, redheaded young woman into his arms and kiss her. I continued to watch, torturing myself with heartbreak, as the two of them sat down to a quiet, romantic dinner, complete with candlelight and soft music.
While the two lovers ate, my husband frequently smiled at the woman during their conversation in a most affectionate manner. (Oh, how I remember that smile!) The girl—whose name I later surmised was Crystal—would smile back, her sparkling green eyes seeming to radiate music and laughter. When they finished their meal, Stephen helped her clear the table and load the dishwasher.
I don't know which caused me greater pain: the romantic look on my husband's face when he turned in the redhead's direction or his familiarity with this domestic setting. It made me wonder just how long he had been coming to this townhouse and deceiving me with this other woman.
"Wait until you see what I bought today at Twin Pines Mall today to bring on our cruise to Bermuda," Crystal said.
"You've sparked my curiosity. What is it?" he asked.
"Stay where you are. I'll be right back down."
My rival, the perky young woman who was, by my estimate, barely half Stephen's age, then ran up the stairs toward what I assumed was the master bedroom with all the energy and agility of a hyperactive ten-year-old child.
From my place of concealment, I watched my husband closely. Although somewhat older and a little grayer around the temples, he was every bit as handsome now as he had been when I first met him, while we were both interns at Boston Metropolitan Hospital. He had that rare combination of brains and good looks! It was no wonder that even a woman of Crystal's tender years would consider him quite a catch.
The redhead came back downstairs, modeling a black silk sheathe that seemed to cling to every ounce of her slender frame.
"Well? Do you like it?" she asked coquettishly, as though she could not determine just by the mesmerized look on his handsome face that he did. "It cost a little more than I normally pay for a dress."
"Ah, but it is worth every penny!"
Crystal turned slowly so that Stephen could see her from all sides.
He's practically drooling, for Christ's sake! I thought with disgust.
I will never understand why a man of his age and intelligence would make a fool of himself over a woman with the appearance and mentality of a Barbie doll.
"I'd better go up and take this off before it gets dirty or wrinkled. While I'm upstairs I'm going to take a nice hot, relaxing bubble bath."
I could not imagine why Crystal felt the need to relax. She probably hadn't done anything more strenuous all day than get her hair and nails done and shop for that slinky little slip of a dress, which, by the looks of it, probably cost more money than my entire wardrobe.
Pouring himself a second cup of coffee, Stephen called to her, "I'll be up in a little while. I want to look over the results of the new tests we ran on the Collins baby, first."
"All right, Dr. Warner, but don't stay up too late. We'll have to leave early tomorrow if we want to make it to the airport on time."
Stephen picked up his briefcase and headed in the direction of the den. Meanwhile, I remained standing silently in the shadows, trying to work up the courage to confront my philandering husband.
Well, if I'm going to do it, it might as well be now while the Sherwood Springs Lolita is upstairs running her bath water.
As I entered the den, I saw Stephen, standing behind a mahogany desk with his coffee cup in hand, thumbing through the folders in his filing cabinet. He must have sensed my presence and thought I was Crystal.
Nonchalantly, he asked, without looking up, "What is it, honey?"
I said nothing. He turned and saw not his "honey"—that detestable other woman—but me, his lawfully wedded wife. The coffee cup fell from his hand and smashed on the hardwood floor.
"Helen?" he gasped.
If the desk chair hadn't been directly behind him, he would most likely have landed on the floor when he fell backward, so great was his shock at the sight of me.
"You seem surprised to see me, Stephen," I said.
Now that was an understatement!
"You ... you ...," he stammered, his eyes wide with astonishment.
"Come now, Stephen, darling, I know you can do better than that. What kind of welcome is that for your wife?"
I saw more than surprise on his face; I saw fear. Did the fool think I had a gun in my handbag, ready to shoot my two-timing husband? Please! Such tawdry behavior was below me. I was a doctor, a healer, not a murderer.
"You ... can't ... be here," he moaned, finally managing to sputter out a coherent sentence.
"Oh, but I am, as you can plainly see. I waited for you to get out of work, and then I followed you here from your office. I've been here all evening waiting to speak to you."
"Why, Helen? What is it you want of me?"
Now it was my turn to be at a loss for words. What did I want from him? Why had I come here? What had I hoped to gain? Frankly, I had hoped to win back my husband, I concluded. I could feel the tears fill my eyes and then leave a wet trail down my cheeks as I spoke.
"Here I am," I said, laying my heart bare before him, "one of the most successful surgeons in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, well-respected by my peers in the medical community. I graduated at the top of my class at Harvard, and right now I would trade it all if I could make that bimbo upstairs disappear."
Stephen flushed and came to the other woman's defense.
"I know Crystal can never compare with you, but she's no bimbo. She's a warm, sweet, caring young woman, and I need her, Helen. I seriously doubt if I can make it through the lonely years ahead of me without her."
"Oh, Stephen!" I cried. "I know I put more effort into being a doctor than into being a wife and that I was at the hospital more than I was at home. But I always thought we'd have time later on in life to be together, to relax and enjoy ourselves."
"So did I. I don't think either one of us expected time to run out the way it did."
The obvious emotions behind his words made me face the painful truth. This was no empty, meaningless fling for Stephen, no temporary infatuation with a younger woman that would burn itself out in a few weeks or a few months. This affair with Crystal meant the end of our marriage.
"Helen," Stephen continued, no longer fearful, but terribly sad. "I'm glad you're here now. It gives me an opportunity that so few people in life ever get: the chance to say goodbye and tell you how much I loved you. I know I never said it often enough, but I always felt it."
"But that love wasn't strong enough to survive, was it?" I asked helplessly.
"The love survived, even though you didn't."
"What are you talking about?"
Anger, pain and grief all left me. The only thing I felt was a fierce sense of foreboding.
"Don't you know?" Stephen asked incredulously. "Oh, my darling Helen, that must be why you're here. You aren't aware of the fact that you're dead, are you?"
"Dead? That's ridiculous! You're making this whole story up because I caught you here with your mistress."
"Mistress? Crystal is my wife. I married her six months ago."
"No. Six months ago, you and I moved into our new house in Beacon Hill."
"That was eight years ago."
I took a good, close look at Stephen's face. Were those fine lines etched in the skin beneath his eyes there this morning when I saw him at breakfast?
"Six months after we moved into that house, you were driving home from the hospital late at night. Your car went off the road and crashed into a tree. You died instantly. The police surmised that you fell asleep at the wheel."
He reached into his briefcase, took out that day's issue of The Boston Globe and laid it on the desk in front of me.
"Look at the date on this newspaper," he urged gently.
I could not deny the evidence he placed before me. The paper was dated eight years from now. Or, rather, I was eight years behind. This was no trick, no prop to deceive me. Surely Stephen had not been carrying a bogus newspaper around with him on the odd chance that his wife would confront him at his mistress's house.
"I suppose it's true. I must have been dead for the past eight years. And now you're Crystal's husband, not mine."
"I'll always be your husband, Helen. Do you think I could ever forget you? That I haven't missed you desperately these past eight years?"
The mental torment and sense of betrayal I had felt earlier in the evening began to fade and disappear. The understanding that eventually comes to us all when we shuffle off the mortal coil finally came to me. As a doctor, I had fought bitterly against death, ferociously battling for the lives of my patients. I had feared and hated what I perceived to be the end of life. Now I knew better. Now I could go on; I was ready. I had come to terms with death at last.
It then seemed that the room around me was vanishing like a mist, but I knew this wasn't so. I was the one who was fading away.
"Please don't go, Helen!" my husband cried out in anguish. "Oh God, I couldn't bear losing you all over again."
"You'll never lose me, Stephen. Time hasn't run out on us, after all. We'll be parted for only a short time, and then we'll have the rest of eternity to be together. But for now, you'd better go upstairs. Crystal is waiting for you."
"Can't I go with you now? I have a bottle of sleeping pills," he desperately pleaded, reaching for his medical bag.
"No, my love. There are still a lot of people who need you here. Who else would take such good care of that Collins baby?"
He smiled sadly.
"I miss you so much," he sobbed.
"Crystal will be here to comfort you. Give her a chance; I'm sure she'll do her best to make you happy. Goodbye for now, Stephen."
From another dimension, I watched my husband place his head on his desk and cry. After a while, however, he wiped the tears from his eyes, rose from his chair, slowly walked out of the den and headed upstairs to the other woman.
I turned away, at last, knowing that he'll be fine. The pain he is feeling will pass slowly, but it will pass. Eventually, he'll find comfort and happiness in his memories. And when his end comes, he will not wander lost in a limbo between life and death as I had done because I will be there to lead the way home.
Salem, don't you ever worry that one of your girlfriends will find out about the others?
