The Other Man in My Wife's Tent novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Through the Nylon

They ski to the lake camp at night, film a kiss and hear Lindsay say Eli will have a real family by spring.

We waited until the guides put out the Ridge Camp fire and the whole clearing went quiet.

Then Freja tapped my boot and pulled on her skis.

"A mile along the lake edge," she whispered. "Stay in my tracks and keep your headlamp off."

The moon was bright enough to throw shadows on the snow.

I followed her down the shore with my breath freezing on my scarf.

My mind kept doing the same stupid thing.

It kept turning up small memories of Lindsay coming home from the trip, tanned and soft and kind, and handing me a souvenir mug.

Six mugs.

They were lined up on the shelf above our stove.

I had dusted them.

Lake Camp was dark except for a few lanterns glowing inside the tents.

Tent Three glowed brightest.

We crawled the last thirty feet on our stomachs behind a long snowbank, and Freja pushed my head down when I lifted it too far.

The tent was close enough that I could see two shadows on the nylon wall.

One was a tall man.

The other one was my wife, kneeling in front of him.

I got my phone up.

My hand was steady again, which was the strange thing.

The shadows came together, and Lindsay's silhouette put both arms around his neck.

I filmed it until the battery warning flashed.

Then I held the phone down in the snow and listened.

Sound travels well on a still night.

"I miss this," Lindsay said, her voice muffled by the wall. "All year I miss this. I hate that we only get one week."

"Not much longer," Dean said.

"You promise?"

"I've been promising for six years, haven't I?"

She laughed softly. "You have."

There was a rustle of fabric.

Freja put her hand over mine in the snow and squeezed once.

"I told Cal to catch up on his grading this break," Lindsay said. "He thanked me for the advice."

Dean chuckled.

"He'd thank you for a parking ticket."

I made a noise.

Freja's hand tightened over mine until it hurt.

"Don't," she breathed in my ear. "Not yet."

"You know what I think about," Lindsay said, quieter now. "When this is finally over. By spring, Eli will finally have a real family."

I stopped breathing.

My son's name, in her mouth, in that tent.

I could picture exactly what she meant.

She was planning to leave me, and she meant to take Eli with her to some neat house with Dean in it.

I thought: she'll have to go through me.

"And Cal?" Dean asked. "Does he suspect anything?"

"Cal?"

She said my name.

"Cal doesn't look up from his grading long enough to suspect anything."

They both laughed.

It was a warm, easy laugh, the laugh of two people who have spent years laughing at the same joke.

I had my knee under me before I knew I was moving.

Freja hit me in the chest with both hands and knocked me flat.

She put her face an inch from mine.

Her eyes were wet and furious.

"If you go in now, you lose," she whispered. "He will make you the crazy one. I've lived it."

"She said Eli."

"I heard."

"He's my son."

"I know. That's why you can't go in there swinging."

Her breath was a white cloud between us.

She wasn't crying.

She had the same frozen, shaking look I felt on my own face.

I lay there with my cheek in the snow and let the anger go through me like a train.

When it had passed, I nodded.

She took her hand off my chest.

The shadows in the tent had changed again.

Dean's lantern clicked off.

We crawled back along the bank in the dark and didn't speak until we reached the skis.

"Cal," Freja said then. "How does Lindsay's friend know your name well enough to laugh at it?"

"He's not her friend. He's my boss."

"Your what?"

"Dean Tolland is the principal of my school," I said. "He signs my paychecks."

She stared at me.

Then she began to laugh, a thin, breathless, horrible laugh with no joy in it.

"Oh, Cal," she said. "Of course he does."

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