The next morning, I wake up, and Melanie is already up and gone. It’s like she can’t even stand to be in our bed at the same time. Our life was great before the incident; she blamed me. I don’t know if that’s why she had an affair, but I’m not the one who killed someone and then had her spouse cover it up, and then two years later, has an affair and wants a divorce.
We haven’t said anything to the kids, but honestly, I doubt they would care. They know their mom loves her job more than she loves them. Can you imagine living with a mother who couldn’t care less about what you did or didn’t do? I worry about Jayden and whether he will rebel and do something to get her attention, even if it’s bad.
Kirsten is only six but seems to be in her own world with her YouTube Kids videos, books, and ballet. Melanie more than once told me to take her to a psychiatrist because she has the signs of autism, but I think she’s wrong. This is how she copes with a neglectful mother. I try to pay special attention to her and take her on daddy-daughter dates, which she enjoys. I tell her Melanie is struggling with work and often has to travel, but she loves her, yada yada. I don’t think she buys it.
After lunch and saying goodbye to the kids, I put the Lexus in reverse and back out of the garage. If I time it right, I should be at the cabin around 1:45-2:00, depending on the Long Island Expressway traffic. I texted Grant about thirty minutes ago, and he said he would be on his way around 1:00, just ten minutes away. The plan is to get there, talk to Troy, and have Grant show up shortly after for backup if needed.
It's Saturday afternoon, and the expressway is busy but not too bad. By the time I reach the cabin road, it’s 1:42, shorter than I expected. I text Grant, and he’s fifteen minutes away, which makes me nervous. I only want to be here for ten minutes – max.
I drive the winding road to the cabin, glance out the window, and see the clear blue lake, the sun shimmering on the surface. It takes me back to swimming with Melanie here, with no one around. It was our paradise, but now, I know she’s taken Troy here, and it hurts.
I see Troy’s Range Rover parked on the side of the cabin. I think about his wife and kids. Do they know anything happening, that their husband and father is having an affair with a married woman with her own kids? I roll my fist into a ball as I sit, waiting a few minutes. The dark brown log cabin looks dark, so I wonder if he’s down by the lake. I get out and look through the windows and see no one, although I do notice a glass sitting on the coffee table and a sweater laid over the back of the chair. The two-story cabin isn’t huge; five wide steps lead to a deck of some sort. It has two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a small closet in the hall, with a loft on the second floor - two windows jutting out. Melanie decorated it, of course, buying the best furniture money could buy.
On the outside, it doesn’t look like much, with a few boxwood shrubs and azaleas on the east side, but when you step in, you see beautiful dark cherry oak paneling, which matches the flooring. White granite counters in the kitchen match the appliances to contrast with the wood. A large rectangular cherry walnut table features six matching chairs and a centerpiece of fake silk light pink roses, red zinnias, purple ranunculus, and eucalyptus nicely arranged in a crystal vase, with baby's breath to accent them.
The living room boasts a deep blue sectional with creme pillows and a large TV with a surround sound system. A large framed oil painting of Jean-Baptise Joseph Pater's The Fair at Bezons towers over it.
A dark blue comforter adorns a king-sized bed in the guest bedroom, with another oil painting of Paris, but the scene is Rainy Sunset in Paris, by Alexander Rusu, an iconic painting from the 1930s. A deep cherry oak dresser directly across the bed. A side table on each side of the bed matches the dark wood. I installed a fan in each bedroom since summers can get quite hot. The master bedroom has a deep maroon comforter and the same furniture. Two framed portraits of Long Island and Upstate, our two homes, are above the bed and the dresser.
I walk by the lake and see Troy lying on a lawn chair, a beer sitting on a small table. As I get closer, I can see earbuds sticking out of his ears and his eyes closed. I stare at the man who ruined my marriage, and for just a moment, I fantasize what it would be like to … I snap back to reality. He doesn’t know I’m here, so I tap his shoulder.
Troy snaps his head up and sees me looking at him. He pulls out his earbuds and sits up. “Jeff.”
“Troy,” I say back.
“What’s up?” I say as if I didn’t know he’s been banging my wife.
“Listen, I’ll only be a few minutes. I know you’re having an affair with Melanie."Troy's eyes bulge out, but then they soften, and I can detect a hint of victory. "Yeah, it’s been going on for a year.” The smug look on Troy’s face makes me angry.
“Yeah, well, she needs a real man, and you’re not it,” he says and gets up. I step back, not sure what will happen next.
“Well, if you knew what Melanie did ten years ago, you may think she’s not a real woman.”
He waves his hand away. “Oh, that? Yeah, I know. She told me what happened. And she told me it was your fault.” He folded his arms, and the same smug look returned. I didn’t expect this. I thought it would take a few minutes to spill the beans, not that Troy would already know.
“You know, your little plan of supposedly telling me about Melanie’s dastardly crime and me shocked would leave her, and you could be a wonderful family again failed spectacularly.” The anger boils up, my face getting red, my heart racing. He came closer to me, chest-to-chest.
“You will never get her back,” Troy says. The thoughts spin through my mind, take over, and fear grips my soul. My family is gone; my kids will be broken up, and my dream of the perfect family will be destroyed. I didn’t know what to say, but I couldn’t let Troy ruin what I spent a decade building. He would not win.
“Oh, you have no idea what I’m capable of, so don’t push me.” Troy was easily three inches taller than me, but I had muscle strength he didn’t have. I push him back from invading my space. Troy is taken aback but comes at me, pushing my shoulders. The rage built up in my body, and before I could stop myself, I felt my arm swing back, my fist balling up, and then strike his face. Troy almost falls backward from the blow. His nose is bloody.
“You son of a bitch. You will pay for that.” He comes at me, but I duck his advances and charge at him, grabbing his legs and pulling him down, then climbing on his chest.
“This won’t end well for you,” I say, my eyes bulging, the adrenaline flooding my body.
“What are you going to do? Kill me?” He’s challenging me, but I’m not a murderer like my wife.
“No, I’m not a murderer. But you will stop seeing my wife. If you don’t, I will release to the media who you really are.” Troy’s eyes expand as the fear arrives. “Oh, I guess you didn’t know what my private investigator dredged up about you.” Troy gulps hard.
“Look, man, that was a long time ago. It’s behind me; if you tell the media, my life is ruined. I’ll leave Melanie, but please don’t say a word.” I smile. I now have the upper hand, and he knows it. Some time ago, Troy got in hot water with the feds when he trespassed on government property with his buddies and nearly burned a city building down after lighting fireworks off on the Fourth of July and catching dry brush on fire. He was arrested and had to spend 90 days in jail, pay a fee of $3,000, and complete 120 service hours. He was 18.
“That’s better.” I get off him, and he wipes the blood from his nose with his sleeve. “You will tell her it's over when she returns from Florida next week. Got it?” He nods.
“Fine. Just leave me alone.” He backs away and grabs his beer.
“I want you out of my cabin now. Go get your stuff and get out.”
“Jeesh, okay. Chill,” he says and then starts towards the cabin. He starts up the five stairs, and I start to follow but stop when I see Troy trip over his feet on the last step and fall forward hard, landing on the concrete pad that led to the door. A smack stuns me, and Troy isn’t moving. My first thought is that he hit his head and was knocked out. I run up the steps and pull Troy on his back, blood flowing from his head. I panic. Suddenly, I see Grant running through the trees toward me.
“What the hell, Jeff? What happened?”
“I – I don’t know. One minute he’s going up the stairs, and the next, he falls forward, landing on his face. It's a lot of blood.” Grant kneels and presses his ear to his chest.
“He’s breathing.” I watch more blood seep out of his head and press my hand to his head to staunch the flow. After a few minutes, we drag him off the pad and on the ground. I pull off my shirt and wrap it around his head tightly, noticing a deep cut on the corner. I don’t even have a medical kit.
“Damn, this wasn’t supposed to happen. If I tell the police, there’s no way to prove I didn’t hurt him. I fought with him. My prints are all over. What am I going to do?” I pace back and forth, running my hands through my hair.
“Okay. What’s in the cabin?” I look at him strangely.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have anything we can give him that would look like suicide, like meds?”
At first, I'm stunned Grant would say something like that, but then it may not be such a bad idea if he dies here. I think about what’s in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I doubt any meds have been sitting here for years. I shake my head. This is crazy. He’s not dead yet. Maybe we can save him.
“Okay, let me think.” At this point, I don't notice more blood soaking my gray t-shirt, so it must be stopping, and I hear moaning. Grant and I whip our heads around and see Troy trying to get up and then fall back.
“Don’t get up. You fell and cut your head. I think most of the blood has stopped by now, but you probably need stitches," I tell him.
“What the hell happened?” He puts his hand to his head and quickly takes it off, sticky blood covering his hand.
I have to think fast. Doesn’t he know we fought before he tripped and fell – that I threatened him?
“Don’t you remember?” I say.
“I remember you following me to the cabin so I could leave, and then all went black. Did you do this to me?”
I shake my head aggressively. “No, you tripped and fell on your face, hitting your forehead on the cement pad.” His eyes look swollen, and his cheeks and forehead are a deep purple. If we clean him up and still use the threat against him, he can leave, and we can go back home, no harm, no foul.
Grant looks at me, the deep grooves etched in between his eyebrows. “Hey, Jeff, can I talk to you a minute?” Troy stares at Grant; confusion dots his face.
“Who’s this?” Troy says.
“A friend. I contacted him when you fell and passed out,” I lie. But Grant does have some medical experience, as he was in medical school for three years. We help Troy back into the cabin.
“Man, I feel so dizzy,” Troy says, “and I want to sleep.”
“Dude, you have a concussion. You can’t go to sleep right now,” Grant says. “Where’s your cups?” I point to the cabinet. He pulls out a plastic cup and opens the fridge. A few water bottles sit on the shelf, so he pulls one out and opens it up, leaving the cup on the counter. He comes over and tells Troy to drink some water.
“This will help,” he says.
I stare at Troy. How did the day go so wrong? He can’t drive home. I will have to drive him myself and hope he doesn’t fall asleep. And what if Melanie finds out? Would she go to the police? The panic starts up again. How long do we stay here? Because as I look at Troy, he looks pretty beat up. I have to talk to Grant.
Should we leave him here? If he falls asleep, then the effect of the concussion takes over. No, you’re not a murderer! But the only people who know we’re here are me and Grant, but what if someone saw my car go down the cabin road? I get Grant away from Troy and ask him what we should do. “If I drive him home, what will he say? Will he tell Melanie? He could say I tried to kill him. I can’t let that happen.”
Grant looked lost in thought. “Alright, hear me out,” he says, and I wait as he hesitates and then says something so crazy…
It might just work.
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