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  A Life Well-Hidden

  Emily Nealis

  © 2018 Emily Nealis

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  1

  October 4 7:16 PM– SUNSET, JESSAMINE CO.

  Keene, Kentucky lies at the junction of state highways 169 and 1267. It was founded before the Union Army roamed the hills and the water ran red with blood through Perryville Creek. It fits snugly inside Jessamine County, just over 11 miles southwest of Lexington, tucked away among the horse farms and honeysuckle. When you drive out of the city, you’ll pass roads named for Triple Crown winners whose names live on in racing folklore and echo at the bottom of empty whiskey tumblers. By the time you reach the historic Antebellum estates, you’re already there. It’s where Ingleside oaks take the place of high rises and post and rail fences snake hundreds of miles through the countryside. Those fences will lead you home because, in the bluegrass, everyone is always “going home.”

  If you turn down Keene Troy Pike and follow the road all the way through town, past the Baptist church, deep into the rolling hills, there is a farm. At roughly 18 acres, it’s not a large farm compared to its neighbors who boast prized thoroughbreds and Derby winners of days gone by. But this isn’t a farm whose residents seek fame and fortune. The Hunts are not extravagant people consumed by materialistic delusions of grandeur. The details of their own lives are kept shrouded in secret, safe from wandering eyes. The Hunts are just like everyone else; they maintain a veneer of normality, hiding their imperfections in plain sight. Each of them born and raised in the bluegrass, their roots are much like their secrets; strong as a sip of Bulleit and deep as a limestone well.

  Tonight, Jessamine County was silent as Adam Hunt watched his wife through the kitchen window, the breeze a whisper through the ancient oaks, tearing desiccated leaves from their branches. From where Adam stood in the grass, Haley Hunt was little more than a silhouette in the orange glow of the kitchen light. The crickets and toads no longer sang, silenced by the death of summer. Adam crossed the driveway, kicking loose asphalt as he went. The evening brought a chill with the wind, requiring more layers as he completed the chores around the farm. The horses in the pasture stamped at the grass, chewing the fresh hay hanging from the buckets on the fence posts. Creatures of habit, they would soon wander back toward the barn for the night.

  Adam patted his pockets, suddenly realizing there was only one cell phone tucked in the fabric of his jacket. He reached into his pocket, hoping it was his work phone. It wasn’t, of course. It was his personal phone, the screen flashing with multiple missed calls from his own mother. This was nothing new. He ignored them and glancing up at the window once more. Adam spied Haley holding a flat object in the palm of her hand, her face studying the surface. He froze in the middle of the driveway, close enough to the house now to recognize his phone with its familiar protective case. Adam stared at the window in disbelief, his stomach suddenly dropping. He had left his work phone laying on the kitchen counter while he filled a water bottle from the filtered pitcher in the refrigerator. Holding Adam’s work phone, his wife furrowed her brow, and, to his horror, she put the phone to her ear. Her lips began to move.

  Hello?

  Jessamine County went cold around Adam Hunt, forgetting the summer nights, thick with honeysuckle along Clear Creek. Now, the air bore nothing but a sharp autumn chill and the cloyingly sweet smell of hickory logs burning in a nearby fireplace. Adam’s heart felt like it was exploding, blood was pumping in his ears, his chest heaving in and out with the cold air burning his lungs. As he watched Haley through the window, his mind raced as he began to formulate the hypothetical explanation that would need to be provided. In true irony, he needed an explanation for the one thing that could not simply be explained away. Adam tried to think of a rational alternative to what he was witnessing. There wasn’t one. There would be no reason for his wife to answer his work phone. He was not on call that evening. For God’s sake, Haley didn’t even know the password to that phone.

  Adam remained motionless in the driveway, as though not to draw attention from even the horses grazing in the fields. He watched her slide a paper towel across the counter and turn to the side, the phone still at her ear, listening. Haley stiffened, staring at the counter, her arm coming to a halt. She blinked rapidly and exhaled, her mouth falling open. Adam knew, right then, who was on the other end of the phone. At that moment, a year’s worth of his secrets was being revealed to her—secrets he had been so careful, so meticulous in hiding. At that moment, they poured forth, spilled out across his kitchen for his wife to see. Adam stood outside, watching the scene unfold in silence, unable to intervene.

  After his wife ended the call, she tossed the phone across the counter, furious. Seconds later, a defeated expression washed over Haley’s face. She raised her hand to her forehead, squeezing her temples between her fingers. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply as if she were trying to compose herself. Outside, Adam continued, slowly, across the driveway, stepping into the grass. He veered off down the hill, walking toward the shed on the other side of the horse paddock. He sought retreat into the darkness, buying time among scrap metal and machinery while he considered what to do next. He would devise a plan, and alternative plans, to ensure he was not caught off-guard when he inevitably set foot inside the house.

  Once inside the shed, Adam began working on the generator, three quarters built from the ground up, all the while keeping watch on his wife through the kitchen window, making sure she wouldn’t appear in front of him without warning. However, Haley remained inside the house. With the limited time he had, Adam needed to formulate a plan. Unfortunately, he did not know what sort of conversation had just taken place between the caller and his wife or the information that had been exchanged. It was obvious to him that his wife was now aware of his secret. The question was, how would he deal with it? What was his next move? This wasn't a choice Adam wanted to make under extreme pressure.

  If Adam had been a reflective man, he might have known this was coming. He might have known, regardless of how careful he’d been, that this secret would bubble to the surface after simmering long enough. If Adam had recalled his Methodist upbringing, he might have remembered sitting inside the mossy brick church on the top of the hill, listening to the pastor’s dire warnings.

  Pride Cometh Before the Fall.

  Adam had probably heard the pastor utter these words on more than one occasion, when he was a child sitting restless in a pew, or even as a man sitting in the same church pew next to his own restless children. He probably didn’t think twice about these words, peppered throughout parables and cautionary tales about the virtues of living a humble life. Few heed such warnings, and Adam Hunt was no different. Many people believe they are in constant control of their own lives, even in control of the people that surround them. But not even Adam Hunt can control everyone.

  Control is fluid, contingent upon the knowledge of others. It’s the silent details that lay scattered throughout conversations and momentary glances that give away true intentions. Adam Hunt would soon discover that control can’t be bought wholesale with southern charm and empty promises. It can’t be locked in a safe like a hoard of treasure or willed to next of kin upon death. The danger of being in control, of holding all the cards, is that eventually someone else will have a better hand. You don’t want to acknowledge that control is finite, that it can slip from your grasp at any moment. You don’t really care. In many ways, you would prefer to be fooled. You only realize you’ve lost control when it’s too late. By then, you’ve suddenly become the prey under another predator’s watchful eye. In an instant,
you realize that you’ve lost everything.

  Adam Hunt’s mistake was underestimating everyone else.

  2

  August 18 – THE STEEPLECHASE,

  14 MONTHS EARLIER

  Haley

  My little brother almost missed his own wedding because he was busy taking shots of Knob Creek with his groomsmen in the dressing room. I know this because my husband, Adam, was one of them and is probably the only reason Travis even arrived at the church. At that point, I didn’t really care if Travis was there or not because I’d done my part, and everything was taken care of. The cupcakes I made were in the refrigerator at the country club, there was air conditioning in the church, and June and Vivian’s flower girl dresses were still clean. Shocking, since I have an eight- and a six-year-old who live in trees and crawl through creek beds on a regular basis.

  The wedding took place on a balmy day in August, in a church in the rolling hills of the bluegrass. Leave it to my brother and his wife to choose the hottest and most humid month of the year to get married. Regardless of the weather, I was just glad we all made it to the big day in one piece. Between my mom bawling because her baby boy was getting married and Carolyn’s mother acting like she was still a sorority girl, I’d had enough wedding planning.

  And I usually love weddings—I made the cupcakes, after all.

  As much as my mom spoke about Travis and Carolyn, it was evident she had no clue what their relationship was like. But who really knows about the inner-workings of someone else’s relationship? There were likely many things I didn’t know, either. When Travis met her, Carolyn was a medical student who lived in the same neighborhood of rental houses near the university. She was about to graduate, which meant she was on her way to becoming a bona fide physician, which inevitably came with a comfortable salary.

  It became clear around the time they got serious that Travis wasn’t worried about advancing his own career—he was going to be a kept man. There was a time when my brother was motivated. He wanted a career in environmental sustainability, something I knew nothing about until he got to college. He travelled on the weekends with professors to farms, forests, and hatcheries. He spent the summer completing an internship somewhere out west, sending the rest of us photos of scenic landscapes and people with adventurous jobs. That’s who he wanted to be—someone with a purpose. That is, until he met Carolyn. When some people fall in love, they want to fly higher, so to speak. Travis realized he didn’t have to, and that was good enough for him. Fortunately for Carolyn, Travis fully supported her career aspirations. The relationship appeared symbiotic, culminating nearly two years later in flower arrangements, bridal gown catalogs, and champagne flutes etched with their initials.

  When the big day finally arrived, I was the mother duck herding a cluster of ducklings. The maid of honor was scuttling after Carolyn, trying desperately to button up the 200 clasps running down the back of her gown. It was completely ridiculous. How was she going to get out of the damn thing at the end of the night—by Samurai sword? I finally grabbed Carolyn’s wrist as she breezed past me, furiously thumbing her phone and gritting her teeth, seething about her mother causing problems over her father’s girlfriend. I pulled her toward me and reached into her make-up bag for pins to tack up stray curls that came loose from the mass of hair secured at the back of her head. I reached back into the bag and pulled out her bottle of perfume. She extended her arms and shut her eyes as I spritzed her with pink mist. I turned my head to the side, cringing at the overpowering, sharp scent of the perfume. Personally, I preferred sweet, fruity body spray over Chanel.

  It was one crisis after another, which was to be expected with this wedding. I couldn’t help but recall the giant floral arrangements and tulle bows that were painstakingly affixed to the edges of the pews. Only an hour ago, there was a slight chance Travis was about to attend his own funeral rather than his wedding.

  The bows were missing.

  Carolyn reminded Travis to pack them in his car. But there were no bows.

  The goddamn bows were missing.

  Carolyn was a half glass of champagne away from losing her shit. The wedding would be on hold until the bows were found. Finally, the crisis came to an end when our mother arrived, having already packed the bows in her car the previous night. And once again, Travis was saved from the wrath of Carolyn by his own mother. This was, no doubt, a glimpse into the rest of his life.

  To be fair, Carolyn wasn’t without her own flaws. Minutes before the wedding began, the maid of honor was still pouring her glasses of champagne. On my way toward the door to see if the groom and groomsmen had arrived yet, I swiped the bottle and dropped it in the garbage can in the hallway under the giant crucifix. It was ridiculous—my parents insisted on a Catholic wedding even though they were the only practicing Catholics in the family. I’m not sure Travis knew different Christian denominations existed, and I abandoned Catholicism when I was 19 after I told my mom I was pregnant, and in response, she asked me if I was going to abort my loser boyfriend’s unborn child.

  The interesting part is that my mom now talks about that same man as if he’s Travis’s keeper. My own wedding hadn’t been such an ordeal. It also hadn’t been as expensive. There were no missing pew bows that cost $20 a piece that were thrown into the garbage directly after the ceremony. Today, the bride was getting drunk, my mom was critiquing the flower arrangements under Jesus nailed to the cross, and guests were taking bets on whether the groom would even show up. Mine and Adam’s wedding was far simpler and straight-forward. My parents weren’t even there. In fact, they didn’t even know I was getting married.

  It would be an understatement to say they did not like Adam in the early days of our relationship. We started dating in high school, engaging in a volatile relationship of perpetual “breaking up and making up.” They were convinced he was nothing but a criminal who was going to drag me through the mud with him and ruin my entire life. I wouldn’t disagree with them now—Adam did whatever he wanted and didn’t answer to anyone. He enlisted in the Army, but was honorably discharged after only one year, having torn his ACL and breaking his tibia in two places during a training accident. This would leave him with a slight limp in his right leg whenever the temperature changed too rapidly. The thought of never being able to re-enlist tore him apart and threw his life completely off track. For Adam, that was one of the worst years of his life. His life plan consisted of a military career—there was no Plan B. After surgery and weeks in a military hospital, he was given the option of continuing rehab in the military hospital or being sent back home. Only after signing papers, Adam learned he would be honorably discharged without the option to reenlist once he left the base. Due to a section of overlooked fine print, he would leave the United States Army without ever having served in combat.

  After recovering enough to leave the hospital, he moved back to town—the same town where we both grew up. The next year was a blur, sitting in his parents’ house in a near catatonic state, consumed by depression. Not even his brother, who was closer to him than anyone else, could pull him out of his overwhelming despair. For months, he was an angry shell of a person, all but dead on the inside. He had no plan, no purpose, and no desire to exist anymore. I know it took him a long time to recover from his injury, not to mention the emotional toll it took on him. What I do know is that his Uncle Troy was paramount in getting his life back together. Adam started working on his farm—the same one on which we currently live—and whatever happened there apparently saved his life.

  Likely spurred by his time working with Troy on the farm, Adam got serious and decided what he wanted to do. The military paid for him to go to trade school for HVAC. Years later, Adam would be offered a job with a company specializing in industrial HVAC systems with large contracts with major companies throughout the region. We ran into each other almost one year after Adam moved back to town. I saw him in the parking lot of a gas station while getting into my car. I had no idea he was back from the Army. After
speaking to him for a few minutes, he asked me on a date. He was still the same guy I remembered, but he seemed older, more grown up. If it was even possible, Adam seemed more confident than I remembered two years ago.

  Even though Adam was working full-time and going to school at night, it wasn’t good enough for my parents. They still thought of him as the wild kid in high school, a bad influence. It was still the same—the side-eyes whenever I said his name and the whispers behind my back, until finally I just stopped speaking to them. It wasn’t worth the looks of disapproval each time I uttered his name. One day, they finally said that Adam wasn’t allowed in their house and I needed to wake up and realize what a mistake it was to waste my time with him. I called Adam right then, told him to drive over, and I moved out of my parents’ house that very day. It was the biggest decision of my life. That is, until that weekend, when we got married.

  Since my parents were paying for me to go to school, I didn’t go back. At the time, I thought all I needed was to be with Adam and wherever we went would be better than anything I’d ever dreamed. That’s the thing about Adam—no matter how terrible our fights were or how much I hated him one moment, I never truly wanted to leave him. He had a way about him that drew people to him, a charisma that made people want to follow him, like you’d miss something important if you weren’t there. He still has that.