Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Randall
I’d bought the place for the view, my cabin in the woods.
When you entered the front door, you could look out of windows on three sides of the room, clear up to the vaulted ceiling in some areas.
The open floor plan had a kitchen tucked along one side, a fireplace opposite the kitchen on the one wall that wasn’t mainly windows, and two open lofts facing each other up above.
One was meant as the bedroom and included a well-appointed bathroom.
The other acted as my office and library.
I’d returned to the States after twenty-one years with shockingly little in the way of possessions. Everything I’d owned, I’d owned with him, and I found I didn’t want much of it.
I think David thought I’d put up more of a fight.
But I had always been a simple guy, with simple tastes, my new cabin in the woods notwithstanding.
When we’d separated, I told him I was taking my books and my clothes and a few meaningful trinkets, and that he was welcome to everything else.
The large terrace house had been his choice when we bought it.
He’d decorated it more than once over the years and filled it with fancy stuff.
Those material, showy possessions had never interested me, and in the end, I managed to fit most of my non-book, non-clothes possessions in one large container. Over twenty years in England and I was returning to the States with a few suitcases and a few boxes.
David got the house, the stuff, the vehicle, and, if he were so inclined, the guy I’d caught him with the day he’d told me he was out playing golf and would be home late. He’d catch dinner at the club, he assured me, and maybe a few drinks. I shouldn’t wait up.
With no husband to get home to, I’d stayed late at work and then decided to procure my own dinner from a curry place not far from my office.
It was a bit off the beaten path and not quite on my way home.
My routine was already off, seeing as how I’d stayed at work so late.
It had been a long day, I justified to myself, and I deserved a treat.
It wasn’t like I had to rush home to David.
Right when I was thinking of him, that’s when I saw him.
My husband, David, stepping out of a cab on the roadway side before quickly jogging behind the vehicle to open the door for another passenger.
Well, that was unsafe, was my first thought before my brain caught up.
This is not the country club. What’s he doing here?
Like it was all happening in slow motion, my next thought was, And who exactly is he opening the door for?
The man was young and handsome and smiled at my husband like he hung the moon, as he poured his long, slim body out of the vehicle, turning in one smooth motion to face my husband, who had him essentially caged, blocking his exit with his body and the door.
David smiled back before leaning into him.
Almost immediately, I went from shock to understanding. The nights out, the long work hours and overnight business trips, the visits to the gym or the club. Lies, all lies.
I had the wherewithal to snap a few photos, not wanting to hear any more lies from my husband, then I went home and contemplated my life.
David and I had been opposites from the start. The flashy clothes and cars, the luxurious home, perfect for entertaining and showing off, the country club membership. That was all David. But I’d gone along with it for over fifteen years because …
Well, because I was quiet and shy and, though I’d made a few friends in London, I mostly kept to myself.
I’d always mostly kept to myself. And then, there he was, this larger-than-life, out-and-proud man, and he wanted to be with me.
I thought it was enough. I’d made it enough.
Frankly, had he ever suggested that he wanted an open marriage, I probably would have gone along with it.
It wasn’t what I wanted out of a relationship, but that “go along to get along” attitude I had toward David meant I likely would have resigned myself to it.
But lying and cheating? That wasn’t something I could ever resign myself to. When I caught him, it made me reevaluate and really understand the nature of my marriage.
I didn’t confront David at first. I can be methodical that way, thinking things through, planning. I’d done two spontaneous things in my life, moving to London and saying yes to David. I took my time figuring out how to undo both of those things.
My company had asked me if I would consider moving back to the United States to head up the team working on a merger with the American firm, New Day Technologies, and initially, I turned them down, as they expected I would, citing my marriage and my life in England.
When I told management that I’d changed my mind, they were both surprised and pleased.
By the time I confronted David and asked for a divorce, I was prepared for my new future back in the States, even a bit excited about the prospect of working with the famous New Day Technologies.
David tried to start a confrontation, but I remained calm, explained my plan, and provided him with a document I’d had a solicitor draw up.
I left our home that evening, bags and boxes packed and already en route to the States, and I never returned.
Initially upon my arrival in the US, I was needed in Boston, but after the first few months, I was able to work remotely for the most part, and when I did need to be in the office, my time was split between Boston, where New Day was headquartered, and New York, where my team was headquartered, so I traveled to New York to find my true home, a small but well-appointed cabin in the woods a few hours away from our New York offices and a quick plane ride to Boston.
I was looking out a set of vaulted windows from my desk in the office loft of my cabin as the calendar neared the day of the year with the least sunlight. It was almost dark already when I dragged my eyes from my computer screens to take in the scene around me.
In the gloaming, I watched as trees swayed in the gentle wind. Verdant evergreens, peppered with their barren deciduous cousins. Vibrant life, sharing space out my window next to not-quite death but dormancy, the slumber that mimics death even as it rests in anticipation.
Beyond the tree line, the valley spread out below. More green beauty splayed out on the mountain that dominated my view. Mount Pheasant itself appeared lush and green, with two ski slopes carved into it.
I could sense the sun dimming and night taking over. As if the descending sun were some kind of alarm, my stomach started to protest. I was just about to head downstairs and prepare dinner when my phone rang.
I didn’t recognize the number, but work calls were filtered through my cellular device, so I answered the phone anyway.
“Randall Glenn,” I began as I always did when I took a call.
“Holy fuck, is it weird to hear your voice!” the caller responded.
I pulled the phone away from my head and stared at the number. It was the same New Jersey area code used at my alma mater. I put my ear back to the phone quickly as the man on the other end continued talking.
“Randall Glenn,” he repeated in an exaggerated and poorly executed British accent. “Holy shit, dude, you’ve been there so long you’ve picked up the accent!”
There was little denying who was on the other end of the line.
Much as it had been years since I’d seen him, I recognized the voice of my old friend, Martin Lessand.
It was a shock to hear his voice as well, mainly because when I’d left for London years ago, I’d basically cut off all ties with him.
I may have had my reasons back then, but at a certain point, it just seemed like too long of a time had passed for me to reach out to him.
Especially for someone like me, who didn’t have a huge circle of friends and wasn’t very good at managing social situations.
Ahh, I realized. It was another thing I had gotten out of my relationship with my ex-husband, someone to manage my social life.
Too bad he was so much better at managing his own.
But my old friend didn’t appear to have the same compunctions I did. He had no problem dropping back into my life as if out of the past itself.
“Randy!” he exclaimed, “It’s me. Marty!”
“Martin, my God. It’s been a long time. How … how did you get this number?”
“Number,” he repeated in that ridiculous accent, making himself laugh. Martin always was a lot of fun to be around, making himself and everyone around him laugh. I smiled, thinking of our good times.
“Stephanie heard that your company was bought out by New Day Tech. She works for ATC Bank.”
“Ahh, yes, we are using them to help finance the merger.”
“Yeah, she wasn’t sure you still worked for the same company in London, but then your name came up on an email or something, and she hunted you down.
She said your office is in Upstate New York, not too far from the city?
I can’t believe you’re here, man! How long have you been back in the States?
Can we get together? We moved closer to the shore years ago, still in Jersey, of course, but I don’t mind coming into the city to meet.
I thought New Day Tech was based in Boston?
That weird guy that owns New Day Tech with all the robots is from Boston, right? ”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “The robots don’t co-own the company; Anson Day owns it, and yes, it is based out of Boston.
The owner went to MIT, I think. But we’re just a subsidiary, working on the software side, not directly with the mechanical team.
Our offices are about an hour north of New York City. ”