Page 153 of The Housekeeper

Chapter Sixty

I wish Icould report that I stormed into our bedroom and confronted Harrison, pushing him out of bed, then onto the street. But of course, I did no such thing.

Instead I sat there in the dark until the computer went into automatic sleep mode and the screen went black. I immediately pressed the bar on the keypad that reawakened it, once again coming face-to-face with the undeniable proof of my husband’s betrayal. I continued sitting there, staring at the horrifying images of my husband and his young lover until the computer drifted back to sleep, whereupon I wakened it yet again.

And again.

And again.

I like to think that I was contemplating my options, but the truth is that I’m not sure I was thinking anything at all. I was too numb to think clearly, too devastated to be angry, too tired to be much of anything.

Strangely enough, a part of me was also relieved.

Harrison had made me feel as if our problems were allmyfault—Why do you always have to make everything somebody’s fault?he’d had the nerve to chastise me—and while I was certainly willing to accept part of the blame for our marital issues,these emails proved the fault didn’t rest entirely, or even mostly, on my shoulders. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t paranoid. I wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there. I wasn’t overreacting to a threat that didn’t exist. My concerns were real, my suspicions justified, my instincts sound.

My husband was having an affair with a former student, an affair that had been going on for months. He’d taken her to Whistler just days after my mother’s death, cavorting with his lover under the guise of fulfilling his obligations, knowing how much I could have used his support at home. He’d taken her to meet an old writing buddy and had actually had the nerve to be incensed when I was half an hour late getting home so he could leave. Who knew how many times they’d met up over the last few months or how many people knew of their affair? These emails confirmed that Harrison had been lying to me for the better part of the past year, and possibly even longer than that.

My mind took a quick journey down memory lane, conjuring up a series of the nubile young women who’d taken his course over the past five years, women I’d welcomed into my home for his annual barbecue. How many of these girls had he seduced with his charm and celebrity? I doubted that Wren was Harrison’s first affair. If I dived into his emails from years past, how many more incriminating posts would I uncover?

I shook my head, deciding there was no need to torture myself further. I had all the evidence I needed to prove my husband was a liar and a cheat.

Just like my father, I realized, a startled cry escaping my throat.

The cry bounced off the walls and echoed down the hall. My eyes shot toward the office door. Had I wakened Harrison? I held my breath, relieved when the ensuing silence confirmed he was still asleep.

“I married my father,” I whispered to the indifferent walls, aware that at least part of my reluctance to storm into our bedroom and confront my husband was because I had no desire tobecome my mother. How many nights had I lain in my bed, listening to their furious fights, my mother’s angry accusations, my father’s dishonest denials? The last thing I wanted was to subject my own children to that same trauma. I couldn’t bear the thought of them trembling in their beds, their hands covering their ears in a failed effort to dull the sound of our fury, all the while praying desperately for the fighting to end.

How could I have been so stupid as to fall into the same sordid trap?

At least my mother hadn’t gone down without a fight, I realized, as thoughts of my mother led inexorably to thoughts of the woman who’d replaced her. What would Elyse do now, if she were me? I wondered.

And then I knew.

I felt her invisible hand grab mine and guide it toward the keyboard. Within minutes, I had clicked on each incriminating email that Wren had sent and forwarded copies to my own computer, feeling an unfamiliar rush of euphoria with each telltale whoosh.For insurance,I heard Elyse say.

Wait a minute,I heard Tracy chime in.What about me?

Which was when I started at the beginning again, and erased each and every one of Wren’s messages. I left all the other messages—the stores, the charities, his publishers—intact.

When I was done, I exited my husband’s email, watching the screen go blank as the computer drifted back to sleep. Then I stood up, making sure Harrison’s chair was in roughly the same position as before I sat down, and tiptoed from the room.

I tried imaging my husband’s reaction when he realized Wren’s emails were missing. What would he do? Whatcouldhe do? Would he risk confronting me? What could he say without giving himself away?

I was strangely calm when I reentered my bedroom. Slowly, I approached the bed and stared down at Harrison, his mouth semi-parted in sleep, a slight whistle emanating from somewhere deep inside his throat. Had he felt any guilt at all? I wondered.God knows I’d raked myself over the coals over my own infidelity, an infidelity I recognized had been fueled by a combination of Harrison’s indifference and Elyse’s manipulations.

I shook such self-serving rationalizations aside, recognizing that while I could provide good reasons for my behavior, I couldn’t excuse it altogether. I was an adult. I was responsible for my own actions. Ultimately, I couldn’t blame anyone else for the things I’d done.

So maybe that was another reason I didn’t confront Harrison that night. I don’t know. I only know that I was confused, disappointed, and exhausted. The time for confrontation would come soon enough, I decided, pulling back the covers and crawling into bed beside my husband. Immediately, I felt the warmth of his body as he snuggled up against me. “Where’d you go?” he mumbled, sleepily.

“Bathroom,” I said.

“Hmm,” he said, accepting the lie as easily as I’d accepted his.

Underestimate me,I thought, recalling Tracy’s sweatshirt as his arm settled across the rise of my hip.That’ll be fun.

—

I called Tracy as soon as I got to my office the next morning.