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I had an affair when I was twenty-four.
* * *
I sit on the living room floor, surrounded by all of Peter’s memories—the chair we bought together that I’ll have to get rid of now, the pictures from our wedding still on the wall, the mounted deer head from the one and only hunting trip he took with his brothers. He is everywhere. It’s been four years and I’ve gone out with a handful of men since he passed, but my home is a shrine to the man I once loved.
I haven’t always been this devoted to him, though.
Our first year of marriage was hard. We’d just started working together at Bluemont Elementary when we discovered I was pregnant. I was terrified. It felt like we were only babies ourselves. I couldn’t imagine raising a child of my own. Taking care of them for a few hours every day was one thing, but they went home at 3:00 pm.
I didn’t have to worry for long, though. One trip to the ER due to spontaneous bleeding left us with news that no couple ever wants to hear. “You have a complete bicornuate uterus,” the OBGYN explained. “That means your uterus is shaped like a heart instead of being round. During pregnancy, your uterus expands to accommodate the growing fetus. Unfortunately, your uterus won’t expand properly due to the irregular shape.” She was very nice and explained the complications of getting pregnant with my specific uterus shape. “There’s a chance for miscarriages, preterm birth, bleeding, pregnancy-induced hypertension—”
She listed off what felt like a dozen complications, but I stopped listening. Her words sounded like the ocean as my vision blurred and everything darkened. I awoke a few moments later to the doctor’s stethoscope pressed against my chest and Peter fanning me like I was an Egyptian goddess. Thank God I was already lying down because the OBGYN said I fainted.
Lastly, she explained that having a bicornuate uterus didn’t mean I couldn’t have kids. While there was a higher risk for complications, surgery was an option to fix my uterus. “That also comes with some complications,” she shifted uncomfortably, “but the likelihood of getting pregnant and carrying to term increases dramatically.”
Peter was ready to have the OBGYN open me up right then and there, but I said no. He never really understood. Peter accused me of withholding a family from him. In truth, I was just afraid. I’d already lost one baby; I didn’t want to lose another. It just seemed easier to go on living my life with what I already had.
But my husband didn’t stick by my side. I guess I don’t blame him. He wanted a child as badly as he wanted to breathe. He saw my refusing to get surgery as denying him his rights. He came home drunk one night and raged at me for not giving him the only thing he asked for. It was one of the only times I saw him truly angry. “I don’t care if we have a dozen miscarriages, Fran. We can do this. You and me. We can get through anything.”
It wouldn’t have been him and I, though. It would have taken a toll on him to get excited every time I got pregnant and then become disappointed when something bad happened. Eventually, it would just be me living through the pain and struggle. And I refused.
We barely spoke to one another for six months. We went to work and ignored each other. We came home and ignored each other. We went to dinner parties with our friends and ignored each other. I think that’s why it was so easy to fall for Eric Benson when asked me to meet him for coffee.
“You’ve been teaching for what, six months? Eight months?” He asked with a smile that made me weak in the knees. “I’ve heard about you probably a dozen times since you started at Bluemont.”
I thought I was going to be fired; he made me feel like I was on top of the world.
“Parents have been calling me left and right talking about how their kid was behind in reading and you got them up to speed in six weeks. I’ve heard that you reignited a student’s passion for school, and that studentwasn’t even in your class.” He was more impressed by my accomplishments than I was. “You have a real talent for teaching, Ms. Scot. You get through to the students in a way I’ve never seen another teacher in the district do. I think it’d be beneficial for you to give a seminar on how you relate to the students and get on their level.”
Peter didn’t care that I was spending my evenings with Eric. The two of us got together to draft manuals on how to speak to different types of students and how to empathize with struggles we’d never been through. I don’t think I brought anything particularly insightful to the discussion, but Eric praised me as if I’d just opened the door to heaven.
“I wish all teachers cared like you.” It was a harmless little statement, but it was spoken after a few glasses of wine on a Friday night. We’d just finished working on a class that was going to be shown at the next professional development day for the district. Somehow we wound up kissing.
I don’t remember who started it, but it doesn’t matter. He knew I was married; I knew he was nearly twenty years older than me. His age and wisdom made him more attractive. I did the very thing that kept Cesare and me apart for all these years. And I did it with no regret.
Our affair bloomed like a flower in springtime. He never asked me about Peter and I never brought him up. My husband and Eric’s job were taboo conversations we didn’t want to have. For three months, we tiptoed around the sensitive subjects and spent all our time in bed. The pretense of working on professional development disappeared the moment we started hooking up.
I treated Peter like I always had. I was polite when necessary and if he asked where I was, I told him. But I never informed him that I was having an affair with the district superintendent. It wasn’t as though we wanted a happily ever after. We were both looking for something that only the other could fulfill. Eric wanted to feel young again and I wanted to feel loved.
One day something inside Peter broke. He stopped being angry at me and instead, made me coffee one morning. It took a week of slowly reintegrating himself into my life, but I woke up one day and he was curled up beside me in the guest bedroom. We returned to our lives as though nothing had happened.
I ended things with Eric immediately, citing a reconciliation with my husband. He wasn’t angry or anything at all. He said that he was expecting it eventually and he wished us well. In all of history, there was never a breakup as amicable as ours.
I swore to carry our secret to the grave. I’d done it well enough; Peter was dead and the secret was still buried. But the masked stranger was right.
Our affair from eight years ago could blow up more than my long-lost marriage. Peter doesn’t need to be alive for me to lose everything. Eric was an authority figure over me and I was a newly married teacher. I was barely twenty-four years old and he was forty-three. He should have known better—that’s what they’ll all say. Even if I manage to keep my job as Principal of Bluemont Elementary, I won’t want it. The slander and gossip will ring through the halls like a tolling bell. Parents will demand my replacement.
My entire life has been turned upside down in a matter of moments and I am powerless to stop it. What do I do to stop this ticking time bomb from exploding in my face?
I always imagined that when someone broke into my house, they’d kill me before taking everything. I never thought that they’d enter my home, threaten me, and leave me facing utter ruin, knowing that nothing I can do will stop it from happening.
9
CESARE
“You did what?” I stare unblinking at Mateo and silently will him to laugh. I want this to be a joke. More than anything, I want this to be his idea of pranking me.
“Mat doesn’t joke.” Bambi walks into the kitchen with Marceila on her hip. She’s wearing a very form-flattering dress, and Mateo notices it at the same time I do. His eyes dilate, and he looks torn between finishing his conversation with me and mauling his wife. “Celly and I are going to the grocery store. Do you need anything?”
