One of the biggest perks of being a true 'road warrior' – of which there really aren't many as you'd think – is autonomy and anonymity while traveling. Truth be told, it's probably the one major benefit, aside from my salary, that keeps me engaged in business travel.
When I first began my career in management, I looked forward to business trips as a means of escaping the office, and, somewhat ashamedly, the break it gave me from being at home. In those days, I was the dutiful husband and father, trying to provide a comfortable living for my family and climbing the corporate ladder. As time passed; however, I began to view all of the travel as somewhat of a nuisance. It became a "have-to-do" instead of a "want-to-do" – particularly in the aftermath of 9-11 and the increased hassles that accompanied air travel.
The farther in my career I advanced and the larger and more successful my company became, the more time I seemed to spend in the air. Client meetings, conferences, trade shows and conventions began to occupy an increasingly larger share of my calendar. While I had always tried to make it a priority to spend as much time with my family as possible – particularly when the kids were young – as time passed and the children grew older, my focus tended to shift toward work and career.
I had gotten married at a young age – 21 – and immediately set to work starting and raising a family. Almost exactly a year later, my wife Brenda gave birth to our son. Less than two years after that, our daughter came along. It was a struggle at first, but somehow I managed to complete college, find a good job and purchase our first home – all at about the same that time a lot of my friends were just striking out on their own for the first time.
By the time I had reached my late 30s, it seemed as though I had already lived a pretty fruitful and productive life. Our children were well into their mid- to late-teens, and for the most part, were model young citizens. Meanwhile, Brenda had returned to full-time work and was enjoying a great deal of success in her own right as a branch manager for a mid-sized community bank. And as for me, having received my MBA just as I was celebrating my 31st birthday, I had become the company's youngest executive vice president. By all accounts, we were the picture-post-card of the successful all-American family.
While it certainly seemed as though we had it all – money, a nice home, two good careers, wonderful children – there was a huge void that had formed in our marriage. Our sex life had atrophied to the point where it had all but ceased to exist. In fact, we actually managed to avoid having intercourse for one year entirely. And when we did manage to muster the desire and/or energy to make love, it was about as vanilla and rote as one could imagine.
As far as I could tell, neither of us was unfaithful. I certainly knew I wasn't, unless you considered the occasional flirting I did with a restaurant waitress, bartender or hotel desk clerk as cheating. It wasn't my style to cheat, nor was it my wife's – or so I thought. I had just assumed that sex had simply been something we had mutually chosen to opt out of for the time being. But, then, that's danger of assuming things.
I got the call from Brenda one afternoon while waiting in line to board a return flight home from an extended business trip.
"Hi Sweetheart," I said, thinking she was just calling to check to see what time I would be arriving home.
"Hi Michael," she said, pausing while she formed her next words. I could tell something was wrong.
"I'm getting on the flight now," I said. "Is everything ok? Are the kids ok," I added.
"The kids are fine," she responded. "There's something I need to talk to you about when you get in, so please don't go anywhere until I get home."
"Um, okay," I said. "I hope everything's alright."
"I can't talk right now," she said nervously. "We'll talk about it later tonight."
Before I had a chance to say anything else, she hung up. "What the fuck was that all about?" I thought as I put my cell phone away and handed my boarding pass to the gate attendant. The flight from Oakland to Orange County was only about a 60-minute flight, but it seemed like hours. I could always tell when Brenda was upset by the tone in her voice, and she sounded extremely upset. A million things ran through my mind. I took out my tablet and tried focus on a book I had recently downloaded, but my thoughts kept going back to our brief conversation.
Later that afternoon when I arrived home, the house was still. I had called my son from the airport after I landed to try and get a read on what was going on. He was at a friend's house playing video games and was obviously oblivious to anything of major importance. I tried to reach my daughter, but she didn't pick up, which was not uncommon. She did send me a text though letting me know that she was not going to be home for dinner. At that point there was nothing to do but wait till Brenda got home.
To pass the time I took a shower and unpacked. Afterward, I went to the den and poured myself a glass of Scotch. As I waited, one glass led to another. It wasn't until sometime after 6 that I heard the familiar sound of the garage door opening. "She's finally home," I thought. "Let's see what she has to say."
As if on a mission, Brenda wasted no time before seating herself at the dining room table. Normally, she would charge upstairs to change into something more comfortable before making her entrance for the evening.
"Michael? Are you upstairs?" she called.
"I'm right here," I said as I made my way into the dining room from the den. "What's going on?"
The whisky had begun to work its magic. I felt like I was prepared for anything she would have to say.
"Michael, there's something I need to tell you." There was a long pause, then she continued. "It's not going to be easy for you to hear, but... I want a divorce."
"You what? Wait a minute. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I heard you right," I said dumbfounded.
"I know it sounds awful, but I want a divorce," she repeated.
The only thing I could think to say was, "Why?"
Brenda paused for a few seconds. "I don't know how else to say it, but I'm in love with someone else."
Her words seemed to echo in the emptiness of the room.
"In love? With someone else? What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked as I gulped the remaining half of my glass.
"That's not important right now," she said calmly.
"What do you mean it's not important?" I said angrily. "Of course it's fucking important!"
"How many glasses of whisky have you had?" she asked quickly.
"What the hell difference does that make?" I shouted.
