by Lori Vadala Bizzoco

Created on: January 11, 2009

Did he lie or was I lying to myself? Did he cheat or was I cheating me? Maybe he told me the truth but I chose to ignore his words.

We met in Bermuda in the fall of 2000. I was there on pleasure; Daniel was there on business. He stood about 5'8, only slightly taller than I did if I was wearing heels. He had mesmerizing blue eyes and rusty-brown hair that sat atop a fair-skinned face. If painting a landscape, the serenity and unaffected scenery that blankets the rural areas of Arizona would best reflect him. His nature was similarly crunchy. Our paths crossed at the hotel lounge where we enjoyed small talk about our lives, both of us being from Manhattan. He asked if I would accompany him to a business event that evening and without hesitation, I obliged. This was a spontaneous decision on my part. Typically, I would have either refused his impulsive invitation or found a bottle of wine to put me at ease before I joined him.

Daniel was not my type when it came to men, but then again, I didn't even know if I had a type anymore. My type never seemed to work out. I recently told myself that I would remain open when it came to dating.

Upon our return to New York, Daniel and I continued to see one another. He was charming, sophisticated, educated, age-appropriate and successful. Our conversations always felt comfortable and our time together was relaxed. One evening during dinner at one of my favorite Sushi restaurants, Daniel announced that he was moving to Seattle. The announcement was enough to cause unrest, but the words that came next left my head spinning in circles.

"My wife's job transferred her there last month. I'm just wrapping up final details in New York before I leave." he confessed.

Wife! I wanted to scream. Was I so hungry for attention that I didn't notice the shiny gold band on Daniel's left ring finger? Did he simply forget to put the ring on until tonight? Minus a few glasses of wine, my brain was straight. How could I have missed the signs?

"I will be back in New York a lot and you can always come out west," he continued without hesitation.

His sudden confession to me and betrayal of this person he left at home cut through me like a razor blade tearing down my insides. Just moments before, I was singing his praises about his generosity and gentleness. Now, he sat there across the table covered in camouflage.

"At one time, hundreds of boats were found shipwrecked on the coast of the island due to its shallow waters and coral reefs," said our fair-skinned, Irish excursion guide just the month before. "Sailors once called Bermuda "Devil's Island" because of this torturous experience." At that moment in the restaurant, an epiphany took place and I fully understood the meaning of Devil's Island.

I could not let my emotions show. Clearly, he thought I knew. Otherwise, why would he have been so candid about itabout her? If I told him that I did not know, it would just make me look stupid and desperate as if I was hoping for something more, something that obviously could never be. How I longed to be drunk at that very moment in an effort to erase the evening from my mind.

Instead, I lifted my heavy head from the dinner plate of scattered white rice kernels, traces of raw tuna and teardrops of soy sauce. As my neck uncurled from its position, my stare met his and my lips pursed softly forward. I looked straight into Daniel's transparent blue eyes and said, "That's great. I love Seattle."

That was not the last time I heard from Daniel but that was certainly the last time that I dated him.

Learn more about this author, Lori Vadala Bizzoco.
Click here to send this author comments or questions.