The Affair

We met on a Tuesday. You had your wife; I had my husband. We were both on vacation. We were all relaxing. But we all had different ideas as to what that meant from our partners. To me it was a chance to recharge and go adventuring. To him it was a chance to drink as much as he could and have sex. To you, it was a chance to fix what was broken. To her, a chance to do something you wanted. All of us had a plan. All of us had a motive. None of us had an answer.

I loved (love) my husband. I loved (love) our life. I mean, we had always been at different ends of the spectrum, we had always been at odds. We had our ups and downs. Who hasn’t been there? Name me one couple in history who hasn’t been married to a person less than perfect. Name me one person who hasn’t had moments of weakness; moments where they wondered, what if? Name me one person who hasn’t considered the possibility. That possibility was you.

The problem with cruises are many, but the biggest issues, as we’ve since learned are seasickness and all you can drink packages. We both found ourselves victims of those. My husband decided to drink his weight in tequila daily and your wife found herself vomiting off the balcony. We were both alone. I think back now and realize maybe we already felt alone. By the time we met I was in my forties, married for the second time and wishing I had just said no to a second rodeo. By the time we met you were in your mid-thirties, jaded, angry, and in a relationship with a woman whom you married because she was pregnant. A woman who lost the baby two weeks after the quick wedding in the Poconos and who has never forgiven you.

The day we met we went on an ATV excursion. Four-wheeling through the jungle outside of Cozumel, Mexico. I wanted to drive. I always want to drive; I always wanted to be in charge. You wanted to drive. I know now, you take charge, you’re a domineering person, but in a subtle way, in a ‘you don’t see him coming sort of a way’. We were the only single people in the group. They made us ride together, promising to switch us at the halfway point so each one of us could drive. We fought about who would drive first. You won. You always won. I always lost. It’s the nature of this whole situation we find ourselves in. I still remember the argument. “Have you ever driven one of these before?” I paused, I wanted to lie, it was right there on my tongue, but I’m a terrible liar, or at I least was, “no” I said, “but I’m a fast-learner and it can’t be that hard.” “It’s not hard, but if you’ve never done it, it can be tricky.” “I’m Thomas by the way, Thomas Hunter.” I remember the way you held your hand out to me, casual, but convincing, sure of yourself. I remember taking your hand in mine and shaking it, “Lana”, I said in reply, “Lana West.” You drove us out, I felt so awkward, not knowing where to put my hands. “Do I grab his waist?”, “do I casually put my hands on his shoulders and play completely non-plussed”, in the end I opted for putting my hands on my hips, casual, cool. It was a mistake. The first of many.

We went first in the group, you gunned the engine, you’d driven on of these things before, I felt myself falling backwards, upended, tilting, I grabbed onto your waist and threw my head into your back to stay on. I felt you flinch as my helmet connected with your spine. I remember how you roared away from the group; you were laughing, you were mocking. Looking back now, I think you were trying to prove something. I think you were trying to scare me. I think you wanted me to feel unsure, to feel afraid. It worked. I held on for dear life. I remember thinking, “he’s going to kill us”. Eventually my fear abated, and I looked up, eventually my grip loosened, and I took in my surroundings, but I kept my hands around your waist, I held on tight, I’m still holding on. When we got to the turn-around point, you got off the Yamaha, stretched, and gave me a sideways glance. It’s a look I know well now. A look that simply says, “well…you’re turn”. I slid forward, putting myself in the driver’s seat. I noticed then how tall you were. At least six feet, maybe taller. Lean, muscular, but not overly so, I had a strange thought then, “I wouldn’t want to get in a bar fight with this guy”. You swung your leg over the four-wheeler, sat behind me and scooted up close, so close. I could feel your legs pressing against mine. I could feel your chest on my back. I remember the way your hands felt on my hips, you had big hands, I’m not a little girl, but your hands covered my sides. Embraced my hip bones. I felt safe. I felt like as long as you were holding on to me, I wouldn’t fall. I could feel your breath on the back of my neck. You leaned forward, “Alright Lana West, take me for a ride”. You reached around me and put your hands on mine, “this is the throttle, ease it forward, do you feel that?” I did. “This is the brake, don’t be afraid to use it, but be gentle”. You returned your hands to my hips. I turned the ATV; the rest of the group had caught up. I eased into the throttle, hastily, tentatively, we jerked forward, I hit the brakes, we jerked to a stop. You laughed at me. “Just do what feels natural Lana, don’t force it”. I eased onto the throttle again, I felt the machine move, I let it go this time and away we went. The trail wasn’t difficult. A few twists and turns, a few bumps here and there, but mostly it was just a wide trail through the woods. I let myself go and pushed the four-wheeler as fast as you had on the way out. My eyes were watering from the wind, despite my sunglasses. My heart was racing. I felt alive for the first time in years. I felt daring. I felt untethered.

We returned to the boat after the excursion. You shook my hand again, saying, “it was wonderful to meet you Lana West” and walked away. I went back to the room to shower. Robert was nowhere to be found. His wet swim trunks were on the bathroom floor, discarded and in a heap. There was vomit on the back of the toilet. I thought about going to find him. I thought about the fight that would ensue. Instead, I cleaned up the bathroom and undressed to shower. Tonight was supposed to be the Captain’s dinner. Robert and I were supposed to get dressed up and paint the town. We had reservations for the late seating. I had bought a new dress, having recently lost about thirty pounds, I had found a pretty Michael Kors number on sale at the local department store. It made me feel glamorous. Like maybe I was finally living up to my namesake Lana Turner. I did my hair and my makeup, taking special care on both. Something I hadn’t done in a while. I stood at the door of the cabin, staring at the handle, willing myself to walk out it alone. Willing myself to attend a dinner, that would be filled with happy couples, newlyweds on their honeymoon, octogenarians celebrating their 60^th wedding anniversary, and here I was, single, but not single, alone when I shouldn’t be. I opened the door and stepped into the narrow hallway.

I walked into the ballroom; I had never been on a cruise like this. The opulence overwhelmed me. Everything was so gilded and shiny, crystal and mirrors and flowers at every glance, it was like Vegas if Vegas had been decorated by one of those women from the Real Housewives of New Jersey. I was about to turn around and head back to my cabin when I felt a hand on my lower back. I thought, “Robert?” I was in mid-turn when you leaned in close and whispered into my ear, “Lana West, we meet again and you my dear look absolutely stunning”. My heart fluttered. I think I flinched but I didn’t pull away. I had never been called stunning before. “Shall we?” I let you escort me to your table, hand on my back, steering me in whatever direction you saw fit. You pulled out my chair and then instead of sitting you disappeared. When you returned you had my name card, I still to this day don’t know how you found it or how long you looked for it. You casually removed a name card that said Madison Hunter and replaced it with mine. And just like that, I was yours. We were seated with four other couples. Newlyweds, as promised, I can’t remember their names. She giggled too much, and he swooned too much. An elderly couple from Houston, Dottie and Frank, who were celebrating their 54^th wedding anniversary. He was a retired cattle rancher and she was a retired school teacher. Their accents made us all laugh. He called me ma’am and you son. There was the recently, just started dating gay couple, Simon and Danny, they were from New York City and both trying to make it on Broadway. They had both had bit parts in the chorus of a few shows, but none of which I was familiar with. They both liked to use the expression, “as if…” and then laugh boisterously after they said it. The final couple was just like us. A married couple from nowhere Florida, on a vacation, just enjoying each other’s company and celebrating being alive. You carried the table. I learned more about you in that night than I think I learned in all the years following. You were a contractor, ran your own business now, but started in the trenches. You had dropped out of high school in the 12^th grade when your mom got sick and worked two jobs to help pay for chemo that wouldn’t save her. You started working nights on road crews for the Ohio Department of Transportation. You found you had a knack for building things and designing. You were a problem-solver by nature and soon the foreman took notice of you. You were promoted, you went back to school, you got a GED and then an associate degree in accounting. You kept working, odd jobs during the day, building things for people, mowing lawns, doing landscaping, you worked nights on the road, your mom died. You moved to Georgia when a friend suggested you guys start a construction company together. He had gotten a tip about a development in the works, nothing official and no companies had bid on it. He figured a fledgling company could underbid the bigger the companies in the Atlanta area and make bank eventually. You sold everything you owned, moved to Atlanta the next week and the rest is history. You were a risk-taker. A self-made man. I was impressed. I barely said two words all night. You made up stories for me. I wasn’t your wife; your wife and my husband were sick in bed. Motion-sickness had gotten the better of them, but we were all old friends, we had come on this trip together, you and Robert were high school friends from Ohio, and this was supposed to be a getaway ten years at least in the making. I was a school teacher, elementary, fifth grade to be exact. Not even close. I was a writer or fancied myself as one at least. I worked as an editor at a publishing house in Boston. Per you, Robert was an investment banker. Closer, he was an accountant at H and R Block. Your wife, Madison, was an out of work interior designer, or at least that’s what she put on her resume. By day she walked dogs, by night she took care of the house. Truth be told, I had never even been to Ohio, but I let you go. I let you spin the tale and I just listened and nodded. I think now maybe I should have been concerned with how easily you lied. Maybe I should have questioned how quickly you answered, never pausing, never doubting, just weaving an intricate web of lies and mistruths into a convincing and compelling story. I think at one point I even started believing you. When Frank asked me what my favorite part about teaching fifth grade was, I replied, without hesitation, “writing, I love giving the kids a prompt and seeing where they take it, they always surprise me”. I was completely enamored with this story. I was all in. I was having fun.

I drank too much that night. We all did. We were having a good time with you at the helm. When the Captain came over to meet us you asked him if he’d dance with me. He agreed and before I could protest, I was off my feet and on the dance floor. I was awkward in strappy high heels I wasn’t used to wearing. I was awkward to begin with. The song was some Celine Dion tune, it was halfway over when we started. As the song was ending you came over, you looked almost sultry as you walked across the floor. I could see you over the Captain’s shoulder. We made eye contact. You never looked away, it made me uncomfortable but I couldn’t drop my gaze. I couldn’t stop watching you. You looked so handsome in your tuxedo. So, put together. You walked with a purpose, and with swagger, sauntering, slowly making your way to me. I remember your blonde hair, tousled, falling over one eye, unkempt, and sexy and carefree, but calculated. Your eyes were piercing blue. Like the waters off the coast of North Carolina where I had spent my summers, all tumult and churning, dangerous, but inviting. You placed your hand on the Captain’s shoulder, “mind if I cut in?” He handed me off, not letting go of me all at once, but actually giving me to you, putting my hand in yours, passing me off to the man he assumed was my husband. “So, Lana West, how are you enjoying your cruise thus far?” The song that came on next was Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra. Romantic, but quick in tempo, it’s not a slow dance and I am not a dancer. I retreated, pulled away, turned to run. You put your hand in mine, wrapped your other around my waist and whispered, “just trust me and follow me”. I did.

I woke up the next day, a bit hungover, a bit punch-drunk from the evening before. At some point Robert had come home. I wasn’t sure if he was there when I got home, or if he came home after I fell asleep (passed out). I got up at dawn, I always do, he was still sleeping when I went down for breakfast. I didn’t see you that day. I looked for you. Searched for you is more like it. I was floored that on a ship, even a ship as large as the Harmony of the Seas, that I couldn’t find you. That you weren’t, somewhere. Robert and I had no excursions planned for that day. We had made port in Honduras, I wanted to explore it, I’d never been, but Robert didn’t want to visit a third-world country, it would be a waste of a perfectly good day on an amazing boat, so he decided that we’d stay onboard. After breakfast I went back to the cabin and changed into my suit and spent my day by the pool. I imagined you off on some exciting adventure in Roatan. And I admit, I felt a twinge of jealousy when I imagined Madison beside you, riding shotgun in a rented jeep, top down, laughing and resting her hand on your leg. Robert actually showed up for lunch that day. We ate poolside. He was pleasant, chatty even and somewhat apologetic. “Work was hectic. He just needed to unwind. Yada, yada, yada.” He was excited for the Captain’s dinner that night. He was actually pissed at me when I told him it had been the night before. Somehow it was my fault, I had told him the wrong date. “Why the fuck did I even bother renting a tux then?” “Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” I knew he’d been drinking again. His use of the word “fuck” increased exponentially with every drink he took. It was like an art almost. One or two drinks, things were “fucking amazing” or “fucking cool”. Four or five drinks things became, “holy fuck-all fucking amazing” or “fucking fuck-all beyond belief”. After about seven or eight drinks things just became “can you fucking believe that fucking shit, I mean, fuck, it was fucking crazy”. He was the only person I knew that could use the word fuck as a verb, noun, adjective, adverb, preposition, all in one sentence. I mean, fuck, I think he could figure out how to make it a conjunction if he was feeling particularly inventive. He was the master of the word and it was a great indicator of how my night was going to go. That night we hit the conjunction phase early and I found myself eating dinner alone at a quiet table in a café off one of the pools. I watched people wake board on a man-made wave and I wondered where you were.

The next day we were back in Mexico and there was a snorkeling/scuba excursion to a turtle cove. I got in line for the catamaran and there you were, five people in front of me. Alone. This time I decided to surprise you. As I boarded the boat, I saw you heading for the front. I made my way through the crowd and put my hand on your waist, “Thomas Hunter, we meet again” and I laughed. I was surprised by my boldness, what if your wife had been there? I had never met her or seen her; I didn’t know what she looked like. I had assumed you were alone, but what if you weren’t? I had imagined her though. Tall, thin but curvy, big boobs, large blonde hair, bangs. I hate how detailed my vision had become. I pictured her as this sexy, voluptuous woman with big hair and a bigger personality. A woman who could handle you. A woman who could put you in your place. A woman who held her own, even if her hair was straight out of the early 90s. I didn’t see any women that met that description, so I felt fairly confident she wasn’t with you. You didn’t turn around to greet me. You didn’t even flinch at my touch. It was like you were expecting me, “Lana West, I was hoping I’d see you today, I’ve been thinking about you”.  You reached down, took the hand I had placed on your hip, held it and led me to the front of the boat. We sat, side by side, on the bow. Not speaking, just watching the waves. Our arms were touching, we sat like we belonged, we sat like we were together. We were. Together.

We arrived about forty minutes later at a place called Turtle Cove, we had both been here before, we had both seen turtles and knew what a “turtle cove” meant. It was a tourist attraction. There was a turtle cove at every island we had ever visited. It turns out we were both avid divers, but our partners were not. Not even certified, let alone avid. We spent our lives settling for snorkeling when we wanted to be 75 feet under. We always compromised and stayed on the surface when our hearts were begging to be deeper. The snorkelers got off first. Dropped near the shore, told to stay between the buoys. The divers were ferried further out and around the point, there was a reef there and a wreck in deeper water for the braver in the group. We spent an hour, together exploring the reef, the wreck, and the wall that seemed to drop into infinity beyond it. When the dive was over, and the snorkelers had been wrangled we all boarded the cat for a lunch on another island. Lunch was a buffet style affair. At least one hundred people standing in line for wilted salad and supposedly fresh fish. You took my hand, led me away from the line and onto a path in the woods. “Are you hungry?”, “not really”, “good, then follow me”. We walked in silence along the path. The sand soft on our feet, the woods alive with singing insects, after about ten minutes we emerged on a secluded beach. It was the ocean side of the island. Rocky and angry. The calm of the cove we had been in was gone. The waves were crashing, the ground hurt as I walked along it. I wished I had worn shoes. “Have you been here before?”, “no”, I was so curious, “then how did you know this was here?”, “I didn’t, I took a chance”. We turned left, hand in hand we made our way along the rocky beach to a spot where the forest met the beach and the rocks ended and the sand was soft. We sat down. Well you sat down, I stood there for a minute, until you pulled me into your lap.