A Breath of Fresh Air

Madeline shivered impatiently, looking up at the blustery sky. The pine trees surrounding the cabin bent and swayed against the force of the gale, and Madeline bitterly wished she had taken Jason’s advice to wear warmer mittens. Of course, she would never tell him that; he would never let it go.

A soft, feathery snow had started falling, and Jason paused from searching for which key fit into the door’s lock to catch a snowflake on his tongue and grin at her. “Isn’t this romantic, you, me, and a cabin in the middle of nowhere?” 

“Jason,” Madeline complained, “Open the door already, I’m freezing.”

“What’s your hurry?” Jason teased. “It isn’t even that cold out yet. When I was living out in Vermont, this would practically be summer weather.” 

Madeline fought the urge to roll her eyes at this, and grabbed the keys out of his hand. “It’s the ugly brass one, remember? I made sure to put red nail polish on the key so that it would be easier to find.” She fit the key in the lock, and pushed on the door. It barely budged. 

“Must be frozen. Doors can swell sometimes in the cold weather.” Jason used his shoulder to ram the door open, and gestured for her to go in. “After you,” he smiled.  

Stepping into the cabin, Madeline looked around. They were borrowing the place from one of her friends, supposedly to help her have a writer’s retreat. It was true that she had been having some writer’s block, but of course, that wasn’t the only reason they had chosen such an out of the way place. She had never seen the cabin before, but it seemed nice enough, if a little neglected. A soot streaked brick fireplace was against the far wall, and the furniture was well worn and appeared to be a few decades old. It wouldn't have been her first choice as a secluded rendezvous for them, but beggars can’t be choosers. Right from the beginning, they had had strict policy of meeting out of town, even with the inconveniences that went along with it.

Madeline leaned back into Jason, tucking her head under his shoulder and feeling his arms wrap around her waist. Even through the layers of winter coats and mittens, Madeline felt a thrill of warmth at the intimacy of the gesture. Her days just half a year ago had been all but devoid of human contact. Sometimes, before Jason, she had gone out of her way to have those innocuous, everyday moments of touch. She would buy her daily coffee, instead of making it at home for that brush of the barista’s hand as they handed her change. Or sometimes, she would go to a crowded restaurant or subway station so that she could easily slip among the throng, always making sure to say “Excuse me,” and perhaps to lay an apologetic hand on someone’s shirt sleeve as she passed them. 

It had been a lonely existence. There was no doubt about that, and for weeks at a time Madeline would feel ashamed of these impulses. She knew she wasn’t hurting anyone, and that most likely, these strangers would forget about her as soon as she had left their vicinity. But still, it was never enough. It was in those dark years from her early twenties that she felt like half ethereal, some invisible wallflower, no more real or tangible than a shadow.

It had taken months of therapy for Madeline to realize that this pathological feeling of invisibility was something she could overcome, and that the crux of the matter was her husband. She had married young, and naive, and almost immediately after the wedding, her husband had signed up for a tour in the army. Every month or so, she would get an impersonal letter, full of small mundane details about his service, but empty of any personal details or questions for her. When he came back, he was a different man. The soft spoken, kind man she had married had transformed into one prone to sullen silences. He flinched if she tried to touch him, and after a while, she had stopped trying. Even a light hand on his shoulder would cause him to shudder and step out of her reach, reminding her of a cat gone feral she’d had as a child. Immediately after thinking this, she had felt guilty, but nonetheless it was true. 

He had never expressed any wish to divorce, but all the same, he retreated into himself so utterly and completely that she could hardly reconcile this as truly being a real relationship anymore. The week he had returned from he war, he moved all of his belongings into their spare bedroom. He refused to share a bed, and would only speak if spoken to in monosyllabic responses. They might as well have been roommates, and ones who didn’t particularly like each other at that, at least on his part. 

Madeline nearly forgot what it was like to be loved. She had been so embarrassed by the abject failure of her marriage that she had not told a soul. Her mother had passed away when Madeline was a child, but the thought of telling her father was unbearable, and she felt as though she couldn’t confide in her friends either. They couldn’t understand, wouldn’t understand. Not when they had their own loving husbands, and later their own children. How many anecdotes had Madeline heard over the years to show how pitiful her own relationship was? Ones about how Pearl’s husband brought her flowers for no other reason than to make her smile, or how Jeanette’s husband would pick up extra shifts at work to pay for them to take a vacation together. How could she admit that her own relationship was in such a barren and lifeless state that she couldn’t remember the last time Henry had asked her how her day was or seemed interested in what she had to say? 

Even confronted with the divorce papers, Henry had remained impassive and guarded, hesitating perhaps a moment before picking up the pen and scrawling out his signature, but then pushing the documents across the table to her in what seemed to be a palpable and obvious relief. His shoulders seemed to unclench, and he had even given her the ghost of a smile. She had found herself still sitting at the table long after he had gotten up, tears spilling silently from her eyes that her marriage had ended as anticlimactically and as similarly as one would pay their monthly bills.

Shaking off the grim memory of her life before, Madeline lost herself in the moment and in Jason's embrace, pushing away the doubts and misgivings she had about their relationship. It was gestures like this that told her heart what her mind couldn’t accept; she belonged with Jason, no matter the consequence. 

“Let’s see what the bedroom looks like,” Jason whispered into Madeline’s ear. 

*

Afterwards, Madeline shrugged on Jason’s sweater and kissed Jason on cheek. “I’m going to get the fire started.”

“I’ll come help you, just give me a second to find my cigarettes,” Jason replied, pulling her in for another lingering kiss. She felt Jason smiling through the kiss, and had to force herself to pull away from him. 

The main room seemed chillier now, and Madeline pulled the sweater tighter around her. Her breath came out in a puff of white vapour. Immediately, she saw what the problem was. The door was ajar, and snow had already drifted into the room and created a mound. Madeline frowned. She thought Jason had closed it. 

Crossing the room quickly, she slammed the door shut, and locked it. Pulling on the handle, she double-checked the lock, and satisfied, walked to the fireplace. She had brought a newspaper, and the firewood rack was already full. 

She built the fire, heavy logs at the outer base and layered over top of smaller pieces of kindling, with strips of newspaper woven in. Getting up, she checked the mantle for matches, and finding none went back to the bedroom. 

“Jason, where’s your lighter?” Madeline asked. He was sprawled out in bed, acting impervious to the chilly cabin. A lit cigarette dangled from his hand. Normally, the sight of people smoking conjured up notions of cancer and blackened lungs, for Madeline, but there was something undeniably attractive about Jason smoking. 

He held the lighter out to her, then snatched it back just as she reached for it. “First, I think we need to decide something,” he said. He ignored her objections, and continued on. "When are we going to tell Henry?” 

At first, Madeline couldn’t think of what to say. She had been dreading this moment, and half-heartedly wishing that it would never come. She knew how it looked, how the whole thing cast her as this heartless, callous woman. But she had never planned to fall in love with her husband’s best friend.

In the end, they sat around the lit fire, a contemplative silence in the air. To tell, or not to tell? It seemed inevitable that they would have to. They had only been together a few months, but already Madeline felt as though this relationship was like coming up for air. She didn’t want the strain of secrecy to end what they had before it had really started. 

“How do we tell him?” she sighed. “I know that it seems like he won’t care, but to be blindsided by this? It would upset anyone.”  

“I know. I know. At least,” and here he clasped her hands in his, gave her a gentle smile, “it only started up once you were divorced. I don’t think I could look myself in the mirror, having an affair with Henry’s wife.” 

That phrase echoed in her head, Henry’s wife. Even when she had been married to him, it had never felt like a marriage. Only in those early days, but even then it was so new that it barely felt real, and her memories of that time had a mirage-like quality. 

“On the bright side,” Madeline said, aiming for some levity, “we won’t have to trek out to places like this once we tell him.” She gestured around at the bare wooden walls, the moth-eaten blanket resting on the rocking chair in the corner. “We won’t have to hide anymore.”

“So, it’s settled. We’ll tell him when we get back.” Jason beamed at her. “Although, I think you’re being a little harsh about the place. It has four walls, a fireplace, you. What more could I ask for?”

Looking into his grey eyes, she found herself thinking he was right; what could be more perfect than being in a quiet place with someone she loved, and who loved her back.