By Paula Stahel

UNDONE

A Novel of Betrayal

He’d lied to her. She’d caught him in an affair, so many years after he’d sworn  it would never happen again. He’d probably taken up with some chippie—thirty, forty years younger than she. Oh, she knew she wasn’t as lithe and firm as she’d been all those years ago, but then, neither was he. Gil had started growing an old man’s gut in the last couple of years, and had gone gray. She was proud of the fact she was still slender and didn’t have to color her hair. True, things had shifted with time, but people still thought her years younger than her age. She took pride in being fit, dressing well, staying current—for herself, and also for him. She’d always wanted to make him proud. Now, she was humiliated. And angry. Angry beyond words.

In the madness brought on by her discovery, Lydia Casselberry wanted, desperately, to claw her way out of her own skin. An impossibility. But it was possible to escape from everything else. At least for a while. To think. To get away from her husband long enough to decide what she was going to do. Now that he knew she knew, he was probably using his latest trip out of town to concoct more lies, to convince her of what he wanted her to believe when he returned.

Once the idea of leaving hit, her mind calmed a bit. Where would she go? Where could she go? She didn’t know. Anywhere, somewhere, nowhere. Nowhere was somewhere. It didn’t matter where. She just knew she had to leave this house. It was no longer a home. It was a tomb. Stifling. Threatening. If she didn’t leave, it would smother her.

She focused on the concrete. She needed solitude. Somewhere far, far away. Pacifica and the ocean beckoned. But that meant driving cross-country from Florida. And days and days of interchangeable interstates and traffic and motels and truck stops and fast-food grab-and-goes that would only add to her misery. She couldn’t run back home to Mom and Dad. They were both gone, and theirs was the only other home, besides the one she shared with Gil, that had comforted her.

Wherever she went, she now wanted to leave as soon as possible. Before he returned in two days. She looked at the clock: 10:18 p.m. Too late to call Sheldon, unless it was an emergency. Well, this is an emergency, she thought. She picked up the phone and dialed Sheldon Turner’s number.

When he answered, she started speaking even before he’d finished saying hello. “Shel, I’m sorry to call so late. I have decided to take an immediate leave of absence. As of tomorrow. I’ll turn over my classes to two of my graduate assistants. You may as well hire them as adjuncts—they’re both ready. Cheryl has access to everything, so she knows what to handle in my office. I am sorry to do this, but it’s necessary.”

There was a pause. “Lydia, it’s been obvious something’s going on with you. But, taking a few days off without notice?”

“Shel, I’m not taking a few days off. I’m leaving for the rest of the term. It’s either that or I resign. As of now.

“The rest …? You can’t be serious. The term’s hardly begun. You want a whole ten weeks’ leave?”

“At least.”

“At least?” he repeated. His voice told Lydia that fear had replaced his irritation. They had worked together long enough to know each other as well as siblings. A sensitive man, he’d never been able to mask emotion in his voice—something she was adept at. “Lydia, what happened? This isn’t like you.”

“No, it’s not. Which is why you need to trust that I have to do this.”

“Will you at least tell me why? Oh, god, are you sick? It isn’t cancer, is it?”

Lydia clenched her teeth. It is a cancer, she thought, a cancer of my soul. “No. But I have to do this. By the end of the term, I’ll know if I can come back. I’ll let you know as soon as I decide.”

“Holy cow, Lyd. Are you serious? You might quit? Seriously?”

Lydia’s voice caught as she answered, “Right now, I don’t know.”

“Geeze.” Exasperation and worry poured out in that one word. After another pause, Shel spoke quietly. “If there’s anything—anything at all—I can do to help …”

His concern made her throat tighten. “Thanks,” she whispered, “I know. But no.”

“Promise you’ll let us know if there is?” Now his voice was sad.

“Yes. I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.” She knew she sounded curt but it was all she could manage without tears giving her away before she hung up.

She grabbed a tissue, pressed the wet from her eyes, and blew her nose to stop herself from breaking down in tears again. She’d managed to hold them in all day, but they had come in waves from the minute she was in the car after work. She couldn’t think when she was crying, and she needed to do that now.

Focus, she commanded herself. What next? Prepare. Be ready to leave in the morning. She needed to pack.