Thin Air (Complete EDITING)

1- Cal

1 Cal- June 28, 2002

I've avoided stepping foot in this office for two years, but I have no choice today. Heaving a sigh, I drop the last of the paperwork for the Kent Youth Center on the desk and stare at the chair across the room.

My beautiful wife, Barbara, sat in that worn floral office chair for twenty-one near-perfect years. She was so excited to make her first big purchase for the office that I didn't even mind spending seventy-five dollars on a seat for her desk. The longing I have for her is still so intense that the ghost of her perfume and hazelnut coffee fills my lungs when I close my eyes.

A picture perched on the desk grabs my attention. I pick it up and lean my shoulder against the door frame, letting my mind wander to the day it was taken.

We'd just had a new sign hung on the front of the building, and our kids were standing beneath it. Shannon, who was ready to be a big sister from the time she could walk, had her youngest brother, Andrew, popped on her hip. While Brandon, our middle child, stood beside them sporting a sucker-stained grin, with his messy black hair sticking out every which way.

Holt Building Inspectors was nothing more than a pipe dream of mine when Barbie and I met in a business class back in '71. We built this company from the ground up when we were a couple of determined kids, full of ambition and lacking good sense.

Honestly, I'm not sure that dream would have survived at all if Shannon had gone off to college the fall after we lost Barbara. Or what I would have done with her rambunctious little brothers without all of her help. I am beyond grateful to her for stepping in at the office and home when I fell apart.

It's time for her to go live her own life now. Lord knows I wasn't in any condition to do what needed to be done for a long time, but everything has settled now, and I'm confident I can keep this company running smoothly. Of course, the boys are another story, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it.

I really should be focusing on finding a suitable replacement before Shannon heads out, instead of standing here staring at pictures of my family from the past.

I set the frame back where I got it and torture myself with one last glance at my wife's empty chair, promising her out loud that I'll visit her grave soon, then turn to walk out.

My foot catches on a box I hadn't noticed on my way in. It's marked with a label reading "Robert Kent 1998-2000". Shannon must have gotten it out of storage when we were inspecting another of Robert's buildings.

Bending to pick up the few papers I'd knocked off the top, my wife's scrolling cursive catches my eye. As I read on, the papers clutched in my trembling hands imply something I never would have suspected.

A pit forms in my stomach. Suddenly, I feel both scalding hot and chilled to the bone. This cannot be true. I'd known Barbara for thirty years; she would never do something like this. Not after everything we created together- our home, our business, our family. I must be misunderstanding something here.

The rustling of paper and my shallow breathing are the only sounds in the empty office as I sort through the box of miscellaneous trinkets- hotel keys to places I've never stayed, movie stubs of shows I'd not gone to, and mementos that mean nothing to me. The longer I shuffle through, the more apparent it becomes that my wife had been carrying on an affair with our biggest client for some time before her accident.

Oh God, I hope Shannon has not seen this.

Why would Barbie even keep this in the first place? I spend an hour piecing the evidence of her indencey together, pacing the fourteen steps from the window to the door, trying to make sense of it all, before deciding to go see the one person who can give me answers.

__________________________________

Stopping at the Gas'n'Go for a pint of Johnnie Walker and taking several long pulls gives me the push I need to see the man who can lock these puzzle pieces together.

As I round the bend and turn onto Robert's brick driveway, it all clicks. I finally understand why Barbie was coming from this direction that night.

She was on her way home from his house.

The edges of my vision take on a red tinge as I raise my shaking fist to pound on his front door. Weary acceptance quickly replaces the look of startled confusion on his face as he steps out onto his porch, taking in my seething expression.

"What can I even say at this point, Cal?" Robert's tone is defeated when he drags his hand down the side of his face. "How'd you find out?"

Alcohol fuels my anger. "She was my wife! Of course I was going to find out! How long?" I scream, "Damn it! Tell me!"

I have never felt so angry or out of control before. I need to take a deep breath, but I almost feel comforted by the rage coursing through me.

"Woah, calm down, Cal." He reaches for my shoulder, but I knock his hand away before he touches me. "She's been gone almost two years now. Does it even matter?"

I mop angry tears off my cheeks. "Don't tell me to calm down! It matters to me! Were you two in love? Was she going to leave us? How did your little affair fit into your grand plan of building 'Christ-Like connections'? You're a Goddamn hypocrite!"

He stares at me with an infuriatingly neutral expression before asking, "Would it make you feel better if I said it was a mistake and I ended it that night? Is that what you want to hear? That she left here in tears because I told her I didn't want her? I sent her home to you, Cal. Barbara didn't mean anything to me. I don't know what you want me to say-"

"Fuck you, Robert!" I spit through clenched teeth, a feeling I'd never experienced overriding any rational thought. "You keep her name out of your mouth! You're finished in this town! Everyone is going to know you're the reason Barbie is dead."

I jump in my work truck. The slam of the heavy door sends a booming echo through the woods surrounding his house. "I'll ruin you!" I thunder, peeling out of his drive.

The smell of hot rubber fills the air while tire smoke clouds my vision.

The rage bubbling inside of me burns through the alcohol in my blood too quickly. I need to sit and think this through before doing something I'll regret. Our three wonderful children would be crushed if they ever found out their mother had been sleeping with a client.

I should go home and sleep this off. Come at it with a clear head in the morning- but that's not what I do. Not at all.

The last clear memory I have of June 28, 2002, is walking back into the Gas'n'Go for another bottle. And walking out with two.