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A Simple Case of Infidelity

By: carvohi



Be forewarned:

First, this is not a BTB story. 

Second, there's no revenge. Revenge is a troubling word isn't it. A spouse cheats. They get caught. A marriage and a happy home is destroyed. Can anyone ever really 'get even'? If you think so then stop reading now, because no one 'wins' no one 'gets even' here.

Third, can a man lose his happiness, feel sad, even cry, and still not be called a wimp? 

Last, I write for myself first. If you think you can skim through this and get something out of it you'll be wasting your time. I'm long winded. If that bothers you, go no further.

*****

Joe Diffie got it right when he said he wished he could've been the 'Big Bad Wolf' instead of just another sheep in the fold. That's what I wish; it irks me that I've ended up just another sheep. I know what really irks me, but I didn't realize it until it was way too late. Now I know; I've been sheared, taken to the cleaners, cleaned out, mopped up, just name it, and it hasn't been about money either, it's been my life.

Look, I'm a good guy. I've always played by the rules. I did all the right things. I graduated high school. I belonged to the Forestry Club. I was a Boy Scout. I enlisted in the National Guard and used the support money to go to college where I majored in Forest Technology. I went to Grad School, got a job with the Maryland Department of Natural Resources with the forestry division and did it even right in my own home county. I got a part-time job teaching forestry at the local Community College. I even got married. 

Name's Francis Campbell by the way; kind of skinny, wiry's the word. Got brown hair, brown eyes, clear complexion, and lots of determination, or I thought I did.

I'm no kid, not anymore; forty-five, been married twenty-two years, got two kids in high school, a house, sort of, on a small farm, two pick-ups, a jeep, and until recently what I thought was a pretty good life. Not quite so good anymore; but that hasn't been my fault. 

The problems been my wife. What'd my dad tell me? God put two things on this earth to torment man; women and cars. I can handle the cars, but women, forget it. 

My wife Leslie hasn't always been the disappointment she's become. Once she was the love of my life, but well, everyone knows, the same old same old.

Leslie was a great girl, intelligent, pretty, long brown hair, blue eyes, nice figure, taller than me. I'm 5'8"; she's 5'9". 

I'm from the westernmost county in Maryland; Leslie's from the city, that's, ugh, Baltimore, for the uninformed. Leslie went to college just outside Baltimore. She majored in English Literature, and managed to wangle a job out here in the west. It's the west too; our largest town is Oakland! Don't believe me? Look it up. 

We found each other right after she moved out. We met at one of the fall festivals. I was already employed and working a stand where I was explaining some of the intricacies of forest life. I had a glass case with a Timber Rattler. I had some pictures of Bob Cats, and a few other odds and ends for the tourists to gape at.

Leslie was new to the area; she had on a brightly colored lavender blouse and some very expensive, and very powerful perfume. She should have known better; it was October in the 'mountains', the queen wasps had already shut down and their little workers were out in search of anything good to eat. Nothing attracts those little yellow striped buggers more than vivid colors, strong aromas, and hamburger goo. Add to that an open soda can and you've got yourself a real invite to some particularly unpleasant company. Well our girl put that soda can to her lips without looking just one time too many, and one of those nasty little critters got her right on the upper lip. Poor girl, she swelled up like a balloon. 

Lucky thing I was there. I rushed to the rescue. I popped her some Benadryl, slapped on some worthless salve, and tendered her with all the TLC an unattached twenty-three year old could muster. She wasn't happy, but I did my best and pretty soon, wasp's sting and all we were hooking up pretty good. It turned out to be the start of something that lasted more than twenty years. 

She'd come out to the festival with several girlfriends, all new teachers. They'd taken one car, and ridden the commuter bus to the Festival. I had an old jeep at the time so I left my stand in the care of a partner and took the pretty young thing home to her apartment. I got her phone number, and set up a date for the next week. There was some pretty stiff competition for a while, but I fought them off, and the following spring we tied the knot. Two years after that Richard popped up, and a year after him little Victoria made her appearance. Leslie gave up her job and became 'Mamma Campbell'. 

For the next eighteen years it was 'happily ever after'. Then the 'Big Bad Wolf' made his appearance. 

I hadn't changed much, maybe a little more frost around the temples, but I'd kept my weight down and my muscle tone was good. Leslie had held up pretty well too, actually damn well. The two kids, the pregnancies, had increased her boob size, and her hips were a little broader, but she still had the old sex appeal. I liked to watch other men stealthily stare at her when she sashayed down the aisles of the supermarket. She could really swing those hips; I bet more than a few men went home and jerked off to thoughts of my wife. It was a great feeling; I had her, she was mine, and everybody else could just go home and pretend.

She was every bit as good in bed as she looked too. In bed, in the kitchen, out back in the yard, it didn't matter; we tried it everywhere. Leslie liked the doggy. She liked the old sixty-nine too. She kept her pussy well-trimmed, and I'd get down there and sop up those succulent juices that oozed from between her thick outer labia. She was like some mountain spring, only hot. 

She did me too; oh could she do me. She liked to get down on her knees in front of me when the kids were in bed. She'd pull down my fly, reach in, pull me out, and take me in her mouth. She was a true artist. Oh yeah, she kept my motor running, and she kept it running for twenty years. And then...

I found out these things don't just happen overnight; it's not like Monday you're blindly bouncing away and Tuesday it's "not tonight Francis". I thought I was happily married. I thought my wife was happy. I thought we'd stay that way. I thought we'd grow old together. I thought I thought...

~~v~~

Usually, from the things I read on the Internet later, there's some kind of trigger; some sort of event or mechanism that stirs the evil engines of suspicion, the old 'something's fishy' metaphor. Like a fart in church I smelled something that just wasn't quite right.

Since my wife hadn't worked most of our married life handling the day to day chore of managing the budget had fallen to me. No big deal right? It was no big deal as long as there wasn't anything that looked like a big deal. I mean the checkbook, the bank books, the Mutuals, the mortgage, the VISA. 

VISA? What's this with the VISA?

We didn't keep a gas card. All our credit expenses we kept on VISA; that included gas. Sure no big deal. I use about a tank every week or so. I had a state truck when I was on duty. Leslie uses a little less. Then when Victoria was up and about more, Leslie got herself a little part-time job at the town public library. OK, sure, two, three afternoons or evenings a week Leslie would be at the checkout counter stamping, or electrocuting, or tazing, or whatever it was they did when they checked books in and out. I guess that took a little more gas; still no big deal.

But it became a big deal when her gas bills almost doubled! Come on, four miles in and out of town three times a week didn't add up to an added $70.00 in gas costs. Something didn't smell right. 

I started to give things some thought. For real, I understood it's not like we lived in an area where everybody gets married and stays married to the same person all their lives. What was the line in that old Alan Jackson song; a song I think he lifted from someplace else. How did it go, "Who's cheatin who, who's being true, and who don't care anymore? Who's doin right with someone tonight, and whose car is parked next door?" Not that I thought Leslie was up to something, but gee, that was a lot of gas. I had to look a little deeper.

Leslie has a GPS in her car, and she has an IPhone, but I didn't want to play with her stuff. Gosh what if I got caught? What if she'd been doing something nice? I sure didn't want to look like some creep spying on his wife. Not me. I went out and bought a second GPS and sneaked it in the back of Leslie's car down where her spare tire was. I wasn't being naughty, or nosy, and I sure wasn't spying; I just wanted to know where all the gas was going. I found out.

The gas, along with her car were going to Martinsburg every day or so. It looked like Leslie was getting Victoria off to school, and then slipping down to Martinsburg for a few hours. By the way our son Richard has a vehicle of his own but due to other early morning commitments Victoria had to ride the bus.

What was Leslie doing in Martinsburg? Sure we had friends down there, but twice a week? Besides there were 'other things' too. I'm not a suspicious person, but the gas, then the trips to West Virginia, well it got me to thinking. 

We live in a log cabin. In wintertime that means the wood-stove, firewood, and a little dust. I cut, split, and stack the firewood. All Leslie had to do was bring in a few hunks once in a while if I forgot. We had the wood stacked in two places; one was a woodshed about fifty feet from the house, and the second was under the back veranda. We kept a tarp over the wood on the veranda just in case we had a windy rainy day. What's the big deal about lugging a couple pieces of wood fifteen feet in the house, and then making sure the stuff still on the veranda was covered? I didn't think I was being picky about that. Not a big deal; I never said anything.

The wood was a small thing, something miniscule, but what about other stuff. Leslie always kept the beds, filled and emptied the dishwasher, tidied up around the sink, kept the bathroom rugs clean and in place, occasionally she'd run the vacuum over the floors, made sure there was plenty of coffee in the cabinet, saw that the dogs got fed, the cats got let in and let out. None of this involved some Herculean effort, and they weren't just Leslie's jobs. Everybody pitched in. But lately, more and more, I was doing it all, I mean all the pitching in.

Sure that was little stuff, but there were other things. Leslie had her cell phone. I didn't call much, but until lately I was always able to get her. Why now was everything going to voice mail? Another 'bigger' thing was dinner. Leslie was a great cook. She prided herself on some of her meals. Sure there was pizza every now and then, and maybe once in a while we'd eat a 'bought' casserole, but most of the time it was steak, fish, spaghetti, homemade lasagna, venison, rabbit, mac and cheese, meatloaf, maybe even a roast. Honestly, I was starting to get tired of throwing something in the microwave because she was out someplace. Where was this 'someplace' anyway?

There was something else I noticed too. Victoria had been in a car wreck when she was thirteen. Leslie had been driving. It wasn't her fault. She got T-boned by a 'druggie' running one of the only two red lights in the area. Poor Victoria got her legs broken pretty badly. We were in a panic getting her back and forth to hospitals first for operations, then follow up care, the periodic checkups, and the therapy. 

Our girl was coming along fine; she'd missed a year from school, but she was back in the saddle. She got good grades, worked hard, and she belonged to a couple really neat school clubs. Of course, staying after for clubs meant someone had to be there to get her when the meetings were done. Richard, Leslie, and I all switched off. This got me; twice in the last month Leslie missed her pickups. Victoria was outside, one day in a misty rain, waiting for a mom who never showed. She called me and I got her both times. Leslie never really had a reason. That pissed me off.

Actually it didn't piss me off; it made me feel sad. Victoria's a sweet kid. A really sweet kid. Missing a pickup was like beating a puppy. 

I've got a story about Victoria's innocence I like to tell when I want to embarrass her. She was in the ninth grade and an older kid came to school drunk. Victoria got home and told us how Dillon had been drunk on Va-di-ka. Leslie asked, 'Va-di-ka?' Richard laughed and said she meant Vodka. I thought that was precious. I mean how could anyone forget and leave a girl like that out in the rain?

The second time Leslie missed her pick-up Victoria and I had a little talk. Little was an understatement. I asked Victoria if she had any idea what caused her mom to forget. Victoria got all teary eyed and replied, "Oh daddy...you're so thick!" 

I asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Victoria said, "Ask Richard," well I asked him.

Richard didn't give me a straight answer. All he said was, "Just check out mom's new clothes."

I was blind. I never thought. I started watching what Leslie was wearing. Sure she had the job at the library. She needed a few nice things. But I wasn't stupid. Well no; I guess I was. I looked at what the other ladies wore. I checked my wife's wardrobe. She had great legs, but why was she the only one with miniskirts that were mid-thigh? They looked kind of tight too. I loved her new blouses. I stopped in one day. I remembered when she left that morning her pretty white blouse was buttoned almost to the top. Why were the top three buttons undone, and where did the 'push-up' bra come from?

She always had thick brown hair. I never noticed the pierced hooped earrings before. I never noticed the three inch high heels either. Christ the other women at the library wore tennis shoes! Who was Leslie trying to impress?

~~v~~

I thought maybe it was time to look a little further. It wouldn't be that hard. I had the kind of job that enabled me to move around, plus I had plenty of vacation time, taking a day off here and there wouldn't be a problem. It was winter, the right time of the year; there weren't a lot drunken hunters on the loose, it was too soon for canoeing, and the parks were all closed. I checked Leslie's work schedule and her recent travel activities. 

My first couple days didn't turn anything up; then on my third free day, a Thursday, the lights went on. I decided instead of driving to Martinsburg or drifting around town I'd just pull off to the side of the road near our house to see if anybody showed up. We live on a small farm but our house is near the road. Across from us are two other houses, an old clapboard with some renters, and an old Victorian style with a widow by the name of Venica Hastings. Her parents had died a few years back. She'd been an only child; the house she lived in was the same one she'd grown up in. I'd known her a long time.

Venica's a nice person. She was maybe three years younger than me. Her husband had been a great guy. He'd worked for a private contractor, but he got Hodgkin disease. I didn't and still don't fully understand it except that it attacks the lymph nodes and can be very aggressive. The guy felt bad for quite a while. He'd had some undiagnosed discomfort, got down, and died within a short time. Except for his life insurance he left his wife high and dry. Now she was forced to work all sorts of shifts at the local Denny's to keep her head above water. I'd known her a long time and I liked her.

Well I was parked in a wooded spot about twenty feet from the road listening to talk radio and trying not to laugh when I saw this black Lexus pull out of my house's driveway. Whoever it was must have been parked around the back. I didn't know who it was, but I saw that it was a man, and my wife was home because her car was out front. I couldn't get to my cell phone to take a real picture, but I got a good mental image. It had Virginia license plates. Of course that meant nothing; it could have been a rental.

For sure I'm no detective, no sleuth me, and I sure wasn't trying to spy on my wife, uh huh, but it was my house. I got my jeep moving and parked around the back of my house. I thought, 'what the fuck.' I parked in my usual spot. I didn't try to hide that I was coming; it was my house wasn't it? I got out. Slammed the door, and walked up the back veranda to the door. 

It was unlocked so I went straight in. As I stepped in the kitchen I hollered out, "Leslie I'm home. Whose car was that out there?" I heard some shuffling around in the front of the house, and saw Leslie seated on the sofa.

Leslie looked surprised, and kind of chagrined, peeved maybe, a little guilty too. She had on a pretty aqua colored blouse. I noticed the top three buttons were undone. And she was wearing a pretty nice looking pair of dark brown slacks. Her hair was up; maybe a little mussed, and she had a ton of makeup on. The makeup looked smudged up a little. If I was a betting man I would have bet that those pants and that blouse hadn't been on fifteen minutes ago. 

We live in a log cabin. I went past Leslie to the kitchen counter. The whole downstairs of our house was one big room; living room, kitchen, dining room. I went to the sink, got a glass and poured a glass of water. I turned to Leslie, "What did you do with the dogs?"

We had two dogs, a yellow lab and a beagle; both were for hunting. I liked to hunt. As I drank my water I thought I bet I knew someone who's been doing some hunting right here behind my back. 

Leslie was up and she walked toward the back door and looked out, "They're outside," she turned back to me, "You're home early?"

I finished my water, "Was in the area and thought I'd stop in. Aren't you supposed to be at the library?"

She replied, I was surprised at how easily she'd regained her poise, Then again this was Leslie, she said, "I was just on my way out when that man drove up. He said he was a representative from someplace, an oil company or something. Fracturing he said. He was lost and stopped in for directions."

God was she a liar! I grinned, "That's nice." 

I put my glass in the sink, walked over and kissed my obviously befuddled and incredibly stupid wife on the cheek, "See you later. Hope you have a good day. Don't forget to pick up Victoria," I didn't wait for a response. I left the way I came.

I went out back, scratched the dogs, got in my jeep and drove back the way I came. It was the only way out. I didn't go far though. I simply drove across the street to Venica's. I figured I'd give her a call. I sat in the car and thought a moment first. I had some serious things to ponder.

First I acknowledged I truly and deeply loved my wife. There wasn't anything I wouldn't do for her. We'd been together for more than twenty years. She gave me two beautiful children. All the time we'd been married she never given me any reason to doubt her. Up until lately, really up until today, I'd have sworn infidelity had never crossed her mind. She was a beautiful human being, pretty to look at, warm and loving toward my parents and our kids, well liked in the community, she sang in the choir, taught Sunday school for years, and she was affectionate in bed. Maybe I was wrong? Maybe that guy had stopped in for directions? Maybe the moon really is made of green cheese?

I got out of the car, saw Venica's late model S-10 Blazer was there, went up the walk, and knocked on her door. The porch looked terrible; loose and partly rotted floorboards, chipped and peeling paint everywhere, the screen door was half off and the screening was filled with gaps and gashes. 


A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 02



Preface: 

If you've read part one of this story you may have noticed no annualized time frame was indicated. The timing of the story was in terms of months; the period from shortly after Thanksgiving until sometime in the following fall, roughly October of the next year. Knowing this we can proceed with the understanding the year of those events could only be dated from Francis's limited understanding of electronic appliances such as cell phones, GPS units, and various audio and video recording devices. Additionally, I erred in one important technological instance. I mistakenly referred to Leslie's phone as an IPhone; let's correct that to simply cell phone. With that in mind we'll only add the things we've heard so far probably occurred just a few years after the 2007 melt down. That gives us the time we'll need to find out what happens, but don't count on us burning any bitches. Don't count on a reconciliation either. Then again, everyone knows I'm a limp dicked, man hating, wimp. So only follow along if you're ready for uncertainty.

And now on to the second part of this tale.

~~~V~~~

(Near the end of September in Oakland, Maryland not far from the West Virginia state line. Francis's wife Leslie had committed adultery, then she'd tried to dissuade him from believing his own eyes, but she was caught in Baltimore with her paramour. She'd been subsequently sent away. )

~~V~~

"Dad," Richard began, "we know you still love her. Victoria and I just wish you'd give it a little more time."

"Son I've given things nearly seven months already. I'm not submitting any separation papers; I'm just moving out of the cabin and donating all Leslie's clothes to charity."

Victoria slipped her hand in her father's, "We know it's been tough for you. We know you think you need to move on, but just give it a little more time. We hear from mom all the time; she's really suffering."

"And I haven't suffered? Look, like I said, I'm not filing anything. I picked out a house. I'm tired Victoria. I'm tired of waking up in 'our' bed. I'm tired of washing 'our' dishes. I'm tired of splitting wood. I'm tired of being cold all winter. I feel like I'm living in a mausoleum. I need to get out. I just want something different."

Richard asked, "You picked a place?"

"The old Hamilton home over near Red House."

Victoria scoffed, "That old place?"

"It's not that old. It's a nice little bungalow, and it's on a quiet side street in the woods. It has oil heat, and with the money we, 'I've' got in the bank I'll be able to swing a decent down payment. Besides, look at our situations; Richard you're at Frostburg now, and Victoria you're a senior and my mom and dad said you can stay with them till you graduate."

"What about the dogs," Richard asked?

"I'm taking them with me. Plus your mom's Avalon is coming off my insurance, and I'm dropping her from my health plan. I'm selling one of the pick-ups too."

Richard rebuked, "That's cold dad."

"Look son she's gone. She's not coming back, and even if she did...I don't know that I'd want her."

~~~V~~~

(Early October, Baltimore, Maryland.)

"I don't think this is a very good idea Leslie."

"Mom I love you and father, but I've made up my mind. Oakland is my home. That's where my children are. That's where my husband is, my heart, my home is there."

Leslie's father looked at her skeptically, "He doesn't want you. Your kids hate you. There's nothing there for you."

Leslie tried to counter her father, and though she was far from sure she tried to be persuasive, "No father you're wrong. First Francis hasn't submitted any divorce papers. If he really wanted to be rid of me he'd of done that months ago. The kids don't hate me. We email back and forth all the time. They're angry, they're disappointed, but they don't hate me. They tell me about Francis. I know he's lonely. He doesn't date. He doesn't see anyone. He just plays with the dogs."

Leslie's father retorted, "What about Mr. Weatherby? What about Richard? We thought you and he..."

Interrupting her father Leslie countered, "No Father you're wrong. Oh sure, yes, Richard and I have been seeing each other. I guess you'd say we've been dating, but it hasn't been about us, not like that. Since his second wife left him he's come to terms with himself. He wants to go back to Richmond. He wants to try again. He wants his old life back."

Leslie's mother countered, "That's not what he said to me. He told me he loves you. He loved you back when you in college. Don't send him away again. You've got to get past your Forest Ranger. Get a divorce. Move on with your life."

Leslie reflected on her mother's remark, 'Richard had left her back in college, not she him. Mother either forgot or Richard misinformed her.' Just the same Leslie was determined to go forward, "Mother I'm past forty. I made a bad decision. I wished Richard had never come to Oakland. I need to go home. I need my family. I want my husband back."

"Leslie," her mother retaliated, "That man Francis; he doesn't want you. He'll make a fool of you."

Leslie held her ground. She knew her mother and father disliked her husband. Even after over twenty years and two children, children they'd never truly accepted, they still hadn't gotten over her decision to abandon her 'entitled' life for some 'mountain man'. She persevered, "Mother I'm already a fool. I've ruined the best part of my life. I don't know if he'll take me or not. I kind of doubt it. It only matters now that I get back home, back to Oakland. I need to be where he is. I need to see him. I need to be near him."

Her father warned, "You're setting yourself up for another heartbreak. You'll only tear yourself apart."

"I've already done that father."

Her mother asked, "What will you do? Where will you live?"

Her father interrupted, "Don't count on us; not one red cent."

Leslie wasn't surprised; her parents hadn't lifted a finger, not one finger, not once to help her and her husband, and she an only child. She reached out and clutched her father's arm, "I know father. It's OK. I've already got something, and I've found a place to stay. I know I won't have any money, but there's a worse kind of poverty, the poverty of the heart. Sorry father. I can't live like this anymore. If I can't taste the cream at least I can still see it."

Leslie's father was incredulous; he just shook his head, "Good luck."

Her mother chided, "You'll be back."

Careful not to muss her mother's makeup Leslie air kissed her cheek, then she held out her hand for her father who took and shook it. At last she chided, "We'll see."

~~V~~

(The Trek back.)

I left my childhood home early the next morning. 

I decided to take old Route Forty west from Baltimore, through Frederick, by Hagerstown, through Indian Springs, Hancock, Cumberland, by Frostburg, Grantsville, out to Keyser's Ridge, then down #219 to Oakland and home. She thought, 'that's the way Francis and I had taken when we first came out right after we'd gotten married. We'd loaded some of the stuff I hadn't taken when I first moved, and then we'd driven a U-Haul all the way out.' 

In the back of her mind, rumbling around in the deepest recesses of her memories something kept calling out to her, 'In spite of all I'd seen and all I'd done as a child and young woman I still can't help thinking that simple drive west has always been my greatest adventure.' 

I drove north on Charles Street out of Baltimore to the Beltway, then west to Route Forty. I remembered my mother and father had disapproved of Francis. They'd disapproved of our marriage. They never said it, but I knew they thought I'd married beneath my status. Oh they'd been nice, but the trust fund money never materialized. They cut me off from their insurances. They'd put $2,000.00 in my savings, but that had been it. 

Francis and I had done the big Catholic wedding just like mother and father wanted. We'd had the mass, I'd put flowers on the altar for Mary, yeah we'd done the whole thing. If I'd married someone more appropriate I knew my parents would have seen that we'd honeymooned in Europe, but Francis wasn't good enough for Europe, we got a gift card and just enough cash to spend a weekend at Niagara. 

The drive wasn't that long, so I thought I'd do it all in one day. Not much to think about till I got past Frederick. Just west of Frederick was a crossing point on the Appalachian Trail. Francis, me, and some of his friends had hiked parts of the trail. It had been the summer right after our wedding, and the trail was pretty crowded. No one cared. We had one of those little igloo tents. It was easy for me to forget about the rocks when I was snuggled in tightly with my man. 

Francis was a gentle sort, and I needed that. I hadn't been a virgin on that wonderful hike. We were already married, but I'd only been with two other boys before, one had been right after high school, and the other had been Richard Weatherby. I cringed; I'd given myself to Richard near the end of college. Even in that tiny tent Francis had been a more caring and considerate lover; that hike in the Appalachians was filled with golden moments.

Francis was more than a forester; he'd minored in archaeology. He knew all about the Appalachian Mountains. He explained to me how the Appalachians we knew weren't really the mountains at all. They were the residual valleys that had existed between what he called the 'Old Appalachians'. Francis was a mental marvel; he'd really studied. He explained the whole Appalachian Chain was actually a giant 'eo-geo-syncline'. It had once been a vast inland sea that had been pushed up to create a mountain range once as high as the Himalayas, but they had been totally eroded away. He told me that was why there was so much limestone in the old range; the limestone, he said, was the residue of millions of years of sea life that had died and settled on the sea floor. 

I never knew any of these things. I was overawed. I remember I asked him where the eroded material had gone. He told me the whole eastern coastal plain was composed of the eroded material; especially the areas east of the Piedmont Plateau. He added on the west side it made up the rich soils of the Ohio River Valley. 

As I drove along past Braddock Heights; the area they say where the British general had been buried after his disastrous invasion of the Ohio country back in 1754 I thought about my high school years. I'd been a good student. I'd been popular with my classmates, and I'd been well liked by the boys who attended the nearby 'all boys' academy. 

I remembered all through high school I'd followed my father's advice. I'd kept that aspirin held tightly between my legs. 

Why had I given up my cherry right after high school? I suppose it might have had something to do with the usual adolescent rebellion. I was just eighteen and pretty much free to make my own decisions. Back then most of my girlfriends were all already pretty much sexually active. They raved on about their hot orgasms, how they were able to manipulate boys with their pussies and, how much they liked getting and giving head. I didn't even know what 'giving head' meant until my junior year. One of my girlfriends had to explain it to me. 

My first time wasn't anything like what they said. For one thing, I didn't especially like the boy. He was an athlete and was supposed to be experienced. After all the confusion and uncertainty I wasn't so sure. I'd 'fooled around' before; foreplay is what they called it. I knew I was supposed to be wet before he did anything. That didn't happen. He just pushed in, he bounced around a few times, pulled out, ejaculated all over my stomach, and then he sat back and lit up a joint. I was so disappointed I decided to skip any return performances. It wasn't until much later in college with Richard before I gave it up again. 

My Mother and father had always been difficult for me to sort out. I believed they loved each other, I believed they loved me, but they were so reserved; there was never any emotion, no enthusiasm. That wasn't completely true; father was a vigorous man, a dedicated businessman, a tireless philanthropist, and an avid golfer. Mother had always been a devout Catholic; someone others counted on to head up charities or chair special committees. She'd been an almost full-time docent at the Walter's Art Gallery. She'd dedicated herself to adding to the number of worthwhile volumes at the Pratt Library. Yes, mother and father had always been involved in many wonderful causes. 

They provided excellently for me also. I always had a nanny. I attended the best private day schools, and when high school beckoned they found the finest private boarding academy for me. I spent my summers at a variety of camps and toured with numerous excursion groups. I, my girlfriends and their parents had walked the 'Great Wall of China', toured up the Nile, and we'd seen all the great museums of Europe. My favorite European city, after Paris, was Florence. I had the finest and most expensive clothes and the flashiest cars. I lacked for nothing.

My mother had attended an exclusive private college just outside Baltimore. I surprised her by doing the same. I joined the same sorority, and I gained the same kind of reputation as a woman who devoted herself to helping others. I worked hard, I studied, and my grades were always good. By my senior year I was far enough ahead to spend much of my time helping others.

In north Baltimore there was a small children's' hospital. Kids from all over the world with all kinds of ailments came for a variety of treatments. It was there during my senior year that I had something of a 'mountain top', or more accurately a 'slough of despair' experience. 

There'd been a horrific fire down in Guatemala City. Hundreds of people had been killed. Dozens of children had been terribly burned. Eighteen of these poor burn victims were brought to the Children's Hospital. None of them was expected to survive. I started my so called 'service career' at that hospital before Christmas just as those children arrived. Imagine visiting a hospital three or four days a week intent on delivering all the TLC one could give. Imagine watching as, one by one, each of those poor pathetic little children slowly died. The last one, a five year old girl, died the spring of my senior year. I was crushed. 

It was during my senior year when I'd met Richard Weatherby. He was very tall, very blond, very athletic, and very handsome. He was the most beautiful and most charismatic man I'd ever met. We started off dating slowly. He had another girlfriend, and I refused to take him seriously as long as he was keeping company with her. 

I was fortunate he was around while I was visiting Children's Hospital. Richard was there for me. Every time one of the little ones faded away he was there. He was so warm, so considerate, and so compassionate. He held my hand. He listened to me talk. He rubbed my head and caressed my cheek whenever I railed against God. He held me while I cried, while I poured my heart out. I guess I fell in love. 

He broke up with his old girlfriend and we became a couple; it was with him that I learned about true love and what genuine passionate love making was all about. He taught me how to give head. He literally took over my body. He used his manhood and his tongue, and together we explored all the secrets of sexual love. I even gave him my ass. I became his wanton. 

I loved Richard so. I thought he was going to ask me to marry him. It wasn't to be. One night in May, just before graduation he took me to New York. We stayed at a terrific hotel. We saw a fabulous play and ate at a wonderful restaurant. Late in the evening of our last day he broke my heart. He told me he'd been talking to his old girlfriend; he said he wanted to make it up with her. Oh I cried. I begged him not to leave me, but he was adamant, he was convinced she needed him, he said it was his duty to marry her. 

Shortly after Richard gave me up I decided to go into teaching. I'd acquired the credentials. I decided to find a place as different from my past experiences as I could; that was how I ended up in Western Maryland, and that was how I came to meet and fall in love with the man I would marry. 

I felt a lot of uncertainty about Francis at first. He was so different. He was so confident, so sure of himself. He was the most witty and most intelligent young man I'd ever met. He was always surrounded by friends. Whenever he appeared it was like the whole room lit up. He had the most dazzling smile, and when he talked it was never about trite or trivial stuff. He always had something interesting to talk about. Honestly, I have to admit whenever we were together we usually ended up talking about me. He acted like I was the most important and most interesting person in the world. Whenever he was around me, though he seldom flattered, I felt like I was the center of the universe. 

Well I guess I fell in love. No, I didn't just fall in love with Francis; I fell for him like a ton of bricks. He was an only child like me, but his parents weren't like mine. He introduced me and they took over. They wanted to know everything about me, and they wanted to be in on all the things we did. It wasn't long before I felt more like a daughter than just another girlfriend.

There was another thing I found out about Francis. He was immensely popular. I think every girl in the county had a crush on him. I could see why too; he was nice to everybody. I never once heard him say a bad or mean word about anyone. If there was someone he didn't like or he disapproved of he simply remained quiet. 

I think it helped that he had a big dog, a big ugly brown hound of some type. The thing had the longest ears and the most wrinkled up face, but that dog just adored Francis. I'd never been around animals much. Dogs were something not allowed when I grew up so I didn't know much about how treat them. At first I was afraid I'd be bitten. Was I ever wrong! That dog fell in love with me. I think after a few days he loved me more than Francis. 

It's funny how going from just a dog a person can learn to love all kinds of animals. Oh for sure, I'd learned to ride, but they were always somebody else's horses. I would have liked to own my own horse, but my father was practical. He said horses were a 'dead expense; 'glue on the hoof' is what he called them. He said it was 'more economical' to rent one or ride someone else's. 

Oh forget father; with Francis and that old hound around it wasn't long before I was cuddling up with kittens, playing with new puppies, stuffing carrots and sugar cubes into horse's mouths, scampering around with heifers, spying on bears, and learning to trail and bag wild turkeys. Francis was a great teacher and a natural when it came to animals. 

I realized early on Francis was what they call a 'Renaissance Man'. He seemed to know or be competent about almost everything. 

~~V~~

As I drove into Cumberland I thought about how we came to meet. I'd gone to an apple festival with a couple teacher girlfriends. I'd gotten a job teaching English at one of the high schools. The kids were all pretty nice. 

That was another surprising thing. I'd gone to private schools and then a private college. My parents, and most of my friends and their parents had never had much real contact with 'regular people'. I recalled later how my parents sort of treated the people who worked for them more like interchangeable parts in a machine than human beings. I was like that too. Oh sure we were polite and kind, but if some employee had a problem and needed 'real' help we'd usually just let them go. We had an immaculate house and a pristine lawn, but our employees were all illegal. It was and wasn't funny how my father decried the 'intrusion' of illegal aliens, but he religiously chose them over citizen employees. 




A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 02



We were rich, and I guess we assumed public school types were all a little lazy and 'thick'. I found out that was totally untrue. The kids I'd been teaching, and I got what some of the older teachers called the mediocrities, the dead beats of the school.  

They were wrong. I discovered from 'day one' the kids were wonderful. I remembered I was holding forth about all my rules and regulations and how they had to obey every single thing I said when one young man raised his hand. I called on him and, and he politely reminded me I had to take roll and probably assign everyone a seat. I was really green. I grabbed the first roster I saw and started calling names. Not a single child on the list was in the room. It was only after I'd finished that a girl in a front seat sorted through my rosters and gave me the correct one. I was so embarrassed, but no one laughed or anything. If that had been at any school I'd attended we would've hounded that poor teacher mercilessly. 

Well we went to this apple festival, it was in the fall, I should have been more careful. I was sipping a soda from a can when a yellow jacket flew in the top. I hadn't noticed it. I tipped the can to my mouth and the rascal nailed me right on the lip. It hurt! It really hurt. From out of nowhere my Galahad appeared. It was Francis. I knew. I knew right away. I just knew. This guy was something special.

I played hard to get for a couple weeks, but honestly, it was a done deal. He had me. I was completely at his mercy. He could have jumped me and taken me any time, but he didn't. He took his time. Then one night when he finally did approach me I was ready. Oh was I ready.

He had a pick-up truck with a vinyl cap. There were thick blankets, pillows, and a blow up mattress in the bed. He had a bucket with a bottle of wine cooling inside. The weather was cool, not cold, it was in the early evening, after sunset. We climbed in the back of that pick-up. He closed the rear and lowered the back window so we were all safe and secure. I was wearing a plaid shirt, a pair of too tight jeans, and tennis shoes. He slowly undressed me. Then he studied my body. I must have passed because he undressed too and together in the back of that pick-up we made love for the first time.

A week later at his parent's house; it was the week before Christmas, he asked me to marry him. He and I and his parents had just finished some fried chicken. He and his dad and mom were talking about the weather when he quietly slid a small box across the table toward me. He, his mom and dad just stopped talking and stared at me. I knew what was in the box. I opened it; just a quarter carat solitaire but I didn't care. It could have been the Hope Diamond.

We drove down to see my parents the next weekend. Anyone would have thought I'd contracted Malaria or something. They were speechless; speechless as in oh shit no, not this. I could tell. Francis could too. It didn't matter. I had who I wanted. We got married that June. 

I had to laugh as I drove through the last of Cumberland. Thanks to my stupidity my life might have become a shambles, but no matter, I was still allowed to remember how crazily happy I'd once been. I reached the top of the hill just outside Cumberland. There was a discount store on the left and tire outlet on the right. My stomach tightened and clenched into a tight knot; I was having another moment of truth. I once had everything my heart ever desired, but instead of thinking about all the good things I had I'd gotten consumed with...nothing, things I couldn't even remember anymore. I'd gotten self-absorbed, selfish.

Most of my friends and almost all my family had been scandalized by my decision. Here I was, Leslie Marie Wells married to a 'Hill Billy'; a Hill Billy who'd grown up a scant seven miles from the ultimate Hill Billy factory - West Virginia! 

My family wasn't pretentious! My middle name, Marie, was a commonplace in our family. Henrietta Marie had been wife and queen to King James I. Maryland was originally named 'Terra Marie' after her. Inconceivable! The 'Queen of the Debutantes' married to a doltish, aw shucks, howdy do, golly gee, backwoods hick farmer-forest ranger who wore a Smokey the Bear hat and nursed worthless bob cat kittens! 

Finally past Cumberland I gasped and almost pulled over in unhappy tears as I thought about my one big bridal shower. A couple of my 'real' girlfriends had decided to have some fun me and my staid mother. One searched the Internet and found every episode of the old 'Hee Haw' show; that was her only present to me. Another, again as a joke, bought me a banjo. They were all surprised when I told them Francis actually played the banjo. I never bothered to tell them he also played the violin and the piano; he called it a violin and not a fiddle. Other 'special' gifts I got included a Dolly Parton wig, and straw boater that still had the price tag on it; the price tag she reminded me was in memory of Minnie Pearl. 

The Dolly Parton wig had been a gift from my Aunt Annie; she'd only done it to tweak my mother's nose. Of all my relatives it was only Aunt Annie who saw through the absurdity of the situation and knew I was really in love. My Aunt Annie had been named after the 'Lady Anne of Arundel'; one of the muckety muck wives of a member of the Calvert family, the 'Lords of Baltimore'. Anne Arundel County and Maryland's capital, Annapolis, was named after her. 

Aunt Annie had always been one of my truest friends and absolute favorite relative. She'd married 'down' too; she'd married an auto mechanic. Once she and I were at a 'show' in Seattle or Portland or someplace out there. The host had been asking where people came from, and he got to my aunt. When he asked her she'd replied, "We're from Maryland. You know the state that provided the hole on the Potomac into which everyone pours all their hard earned tax dollars." It got a big laugh.

I loved my Aunt Annie. She hadn't married 'down', and neither had I. We'd both married 'up'. Oh why had I been so stupid? I kept driving. What was I going to do? I'd thrown my life away. What could I possibly say? I knew Francis. He'd never...no...I had to go on.

I kept driving. Back in the 'old days' when we were first married Francis liked everything I said and did. In fact, as I thought about it, Francis liked everything about me; he liked everything right up until...

~~V~~

Around Frostburg I thought about our son Richard. We, I'd, made some mistakes regarding Richard, two mistakes actually. I made them actually. I never got to fully explain why I liked the name Richard. I'd been coy when I first suggested it. I wished now I hadn't been so foolish. It had nothing to do with Weatherby; quite the opposite in fact. 

Francis and I hadn't been married very long; maybe a little over a year. I didn't know it at the time but I was pregnant. We didn't have much money so our social life was pretty limited. We spent a lot of time staying home just watching TV or playing board games. We had cable, and there were the movie channels. One night Francis and I popped some popcorn, opened a bottle of very reasonably priced wine and watched an old movie titled 'The Cotton Club'. The big stars were Richard Gere and Diane Lane. About that time I'd tried putting a rinse on my normally light brown hair. It hadn't turned out like I thought it would, but Francis said he liked it. I hadn't thought about that particular movie or that Diana Lane was a dyed blond for her role as Vera Cicero. I'd just wanted to try something new.

We watched the movie, we kissed and cuddled, and we ate popcorn. People have to remember I've always had what I'd call a rich fantasy life. While I watched that movie and kissed and nibbled on my handsome husband's ears it occurred to me how much alike the Richard Gere of that movie and my real life husband were. The Richard in the movie was lithe and muscular in a sinewy sort of way. Both men had warm personalities, they had deep almost brooding minds, and they both had a disarmingly charming way with their ladies. I guess I started to fantasize that I was Diane Lane's Vera Cicero character and my Francis was the 'Mob Boss' character played by Richard Gere. 

One thing led to another, and pretty soon I was watching Richard Gere movies whenever they were on. I pretended; it was like Richard Gere had his Diana Lanes, his Debra Winger, and his Julia Roberts, and I had my own Richard Gere in my Francis. 

When our first child came out and he was a boy it was easy for me to persuade Francis to agree to give him the Richard tag. Honest, it never had anything to do with Richard Weatherby; I'd almost completely forgotten him. It never occurred to me years later, and it broke my heart when I found out the only other movie Richard Gere and Diane Lane made together was about infidelity and was called 'Unfaithful'. If I had only known. What was I doing? Why had I been so stupid?

I recalled I'd made two mistakes about our Richard; one was the name, the other had to do with his and Victoria's college funds. The second thing turned out to be a real disaster. I mean a catastrophe! Francis and I decided to put all our spare savings in two special accounts; one for Richard and the other for Victoria's college. As time went by it was with disquiet as I watched college costs escalate. Thanks to my parents I'd never worried about college costs, and Francis's SAT scores, his parent's money, plus state aid had all made his education an easy hop. 

It was with growing alarm as I saw how our government and our nation's bankers were using young college kids as a place to squeeze extra money via ridiculously costly and totally self-defeating college loans. I read someplace where it said the highest rate of debt in the nation was owned by kids graduating from college. I felt like we needed to do something. 

I cast about and saw how the stock market and especially mutual funds were raking in record returns. I called my father to get his advice. He mailed me a short list of what he called highly desirable and lucrative mutual funds. He'd even starred the accounts he most preferred. I talked Francis into pouring all the savings we had into the top mutual my father recommended. We dumped everything into two of what my father called aggressive funds; we did it in the early winter of 2006-2007. The rest was history. Francis and I watched in disbelief as nearly everything we had simply disappeared. 

Broken hearted I called my father. He almost laughed, he did laugh; he reminded me of what John Maynard Keynes had once said, He'd said, "Money in the stock market was like a person's lap. When the owner is sitting the lap is there. Everyone sees it, but what happens when the person stands up. The lap disappears." All our money had simply disappeared. Our children's futures were put in jeopardy, and it had been all my fault. Francis had been good about it; he'd said we shouldn't worry, it was only money.

My father was good about it too. He suggested if I came home he'd help with my children's college. He never liked Francis. He just didn't understand.

~~V~~

I went on past Frostburg; that's where my Richard was in school and then I tooled on by Grantsville till I got to Keyser's Ridge where I turned off Route Forty and picked up #219. In a little while I'd be home.

As I made the turn to go south I remembered back. That first time I'd made the turn had been in August the year I started work; I had a new job, a new place to live, and was starting a career. I'd been filled with uncertainty. I'd known nothing about the area, nothing about the people or their 'ways' except it was like West Virginia and all that meant. Then there was the second time. Me and Francis in the U-Haul truck, and that time, for the first time in my life I felt like I was going home. I had been going to 'my place', my home, my life, my future, and my very own 'happily ever after'. 

This was my third 'big turn' south down #219. This time I was going back to the wreckage I'd created. I knew I needed to do this. I had to; there was no other option. I knew where I belonged. I knew who I belonged with. My hands tingled as I tightly gripped the wheel. I felt terrible; I'd been a liar, a whore, a deceitful bitch.

The closer I got to Oakland the more nervous I got. My stomach started to act up. On the back seat I had my 'sewing kit'. The thing I called my 'sewing kit' actually was an old sewing kit, but there weren't any needles or threads inside. My sewing kit had l my 'meds'. I'd promised myself this time when I got home I'd throw everything away.

I'm not an addict or anything crazy like that, but over the years I've collected a few prescriptions that I sometimes find I need. I got the idea from my mother; she has a sewing kit too. When I was in school; that was back before I went off to board mother would sometimes help me get through the rough spots of middle school with one of her 'little helpers'. Mother said she needed her meds because my father made her nervous. Mother had a doctor who gave her Valium; that's something almost impossible to get now a days. My mother has her special supplier; her brother's a doctor, a respected surgeon, if he prescribes a little Valium or a little Librium for my mother no one's going to say anything. 

When I was young and I had a problem mother would get out her little sewing kit. She'd give me half a Valium; she'd take two. We'd stay home, me from school, her from whatever charity she was working on. We'd drink diet soda and watch soap operas together. Sometimes mother would do my homework for me while I took a little nap. 

When I went to college I seldom drank. Drinking lowers a person's inhibitions and it's easy to overdo it and maybe die from alcohol poisoning. College was stressful enough without the booze.

My mother was always there for me. She said Valium wasn't good for me, and her Librium was too strong for a 'growing girl', so she got me other things. She got me Ambien, Xanax, and something called Zolpimist. Once she got me something called Tranxene, or Tranzene or something, but I never liked that one much, it made me groggy. It made me feel like a zombie. I think I always liked the Xanax the most. I've always kept a few extra pills on hand. I found out early the best thing to do was to fill all the refills as fast as possible because sometimes the pharmacists would say the prescription had expired. Nothing's more nerve wracking than running out of something and not being able to get any refills. Sometimes I had to resort to getting things from 'friends' around campus. Later of course mother's brother, my uncle, took care of me.

I remember my senior year when I visited the Children's Hospital. All those dying children really made life hard for me. I'm thinking crazy; that sounded selfish. It was hard for me; it was a lot harder on the moms and dads who watched their children die. We prayed together a lot. People from Guatemala are all Roman Catholic so it was easy for me to relate to them. It was hard watching their children die; I'm glad I had my sewing kit.

Richard was a big help to me back then; he did a lot more than just hold me and love me. The girl he'd been dating before me had some kind of medical problem and she used something called Roliphyl or Rohypnol I think. Richard always had some for me. Before we went out he always made sure I took one; I sort of remember how dreamy they made me feel. Sometimes I'd take two. I wouldn't even remember anything if I took two.

He gave me some more when he came to see me after his wife left him. I still have some in my kit. He gave me a big bottle; they aren't marked so I couldn't say where he got them. 

I drove past Deep Creek Lake. When we were married and the kids were young we'd go fishing, canoeing, and swimming, and well, all kinds of things. Jeez I'd been everywhere, done everything, I swam in the Aegean, been scuba diving all around the Bahamas, surfed the Hawaiian coast, not the north coast, I'd camped in the Alps, in Colorado. But in all those places I'd been the 'single'; the girl who was the friend, the party 'extra'. At DCL I was at the epicenter, the mom, the wife, the daughter, no the daughter, the very best friend. Oh DCL was and is a homely little place, not much to do really, but to me it was the most wonderful lake in the most wonderful place in the world. How could I have not seen...? I had so much.

Weatherby wanted me to use those pills again after Francis sent me away. That was after Francis showed me the pictures of me and Richard together in front of my parent's house.

I think about it now. I have to admit I did some pretty sneaky things last winter between Thanksgiving and the start of Lent. I almost got Francis to deny, or at least pretend to deny, what he saw. I thought I had everything figured out. I'd go back to my parents. I was so sure Francis would miss me so much he'd agree to almost anything. He almost did too. It was those pictures, those three lousy pictures that ruined everything. The awful thing about it was when I went back to my parents I'd only wanted to make Francis feel insecure. Why Richard was in Baltimore I'll never really know. He said some things. He said a lot of things. He said he wanted to get back with me, but I'd already moved on. Those pictures, the things Francis saw when he came to Baltimore might have looked incriminating, but they weren't what really happened. 

I had a bunch of other pills too. Back when I was in middle school I used to have a terrible time getting out of bed in the morning, and I'd always be falling asleep in classes in the afternoon. Some doctor said I had something called Narcolepsy, and he prescribed something called Provigil. Wow! Talk about an upper! I don't think I had Narcolepsy; I just stayed up too late, but my mother insisted there had to a 'medical' reason. 

I had, and have a good supply of pain killers. I have prescription level Ibuprofen. I have something called Meloxicam which is really only Mobic. I have Oxycodone, and I have Hydrocodone too. Oxycodone hasn't been my favorite. I liked the sense of ennui, but I thought it made me feel puffy. Hydrocodone has done the same thing, but lately it's made me jittery, especially after I stopped taking it.

Victoria and I were in an accident few years back. We got Tee-boned by some druggie. Victoria got her legs all smashed up. I hit the steering wheel and the side door panel really hard. I got a cracked rib. The doctors prescribed the Oxycodone first, but Francis said that was addictive so they gave me Hydrocodone as a replacement. Hydrocodone is addictive too. Neither one did anything except make me nervous as so I couldn't sleep. I still kept them. I take one or the other every now and then just for the hell of it. They have helped to take the edge off sometimes. 

Francis never blamed me for the accident, but he did say one time that if I'd taken a Provigil I might have been a little more alert. I never admitted it, but I think I might've fallen asleep a little bit. The druggie sad it was me who ran the light. Victoria hadn't been paying any attention. It was my word against his, and he had a criminal record. I don't think I caused my daughter all the pain she's gone through. I hope I haven't. Francis has always said it wasn't my fault. He still mentioned the Provigil though. I wish I could be sure. 

~~v~~

I just passed the sign for Oakland. My mind has been going a mile a minute. What went wrong? Why did I do what I did?

It all started I guess right after Victoria was born. I was feeling fat and out of shape. I hadn't paid any attention before, but I noticed then how other women, younger women, hell I was still young, who were prettier than me all fawned all over Francis. They kept getting close to him, touching him, putting their hands on him, rubbing up against him, pushing their breasts against him. I guess I got jealous, and maybe a little unnerved, perhaps a tad insecure. That's when I sort of drifted to the handcuffs. 




A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 02



I saw a pair of handcuffs at a novelty shop in LA Vale. There was a small sign above them on the counter that said, 'keep her under lock and key.' They gave me ideas; her, him, what was the difference? I wasn't into bondage, but I think I was into control. Yes, I was definitely into control. 

I had, I guess unconsciously gotten it in my head that I had to keep a guard over my man. Sounds stupid now, but I guess at the time... Then there was the time he turned the tables. He took me over! We had some pretty wild sex after that. Even anal. 

The toys went out of fashion pretty fast. If I wanted to keep Francis I'd just use my body. I mean absolutely use my body; that's when we started a whole new chapter. A chapter that really fully seemed to work, it made me and Francis happy. Right up until...I guess when the economy went bad and then Victoria's accident, and the operations, and the therapy. Francis got more...he got morose...gloomy. He stopped paying attention to me. He worked harder. Like all men I guess, when he faced a problem he responded by working harder. Somehow I felt left out, left out a little bit maybe anyway, and there were always plenty of younger, by then really younger women around to get his attention. 

There were the college girls; they were hanging on him all the time. He'd get calls at night from this or that girl from the college. I'd ask him what the call was about. He'd say something like, 'oh nothing, just a question about something; then he'd say it was something I wouldn't be interested in.' Why would he say that? I had always been interested in his work. 

Sometimes he'd get home late. I'd ask him where he'd been. He never lied; he'd say oh this or that student, he'd even name who it was, and it was always a girl who needed the extra help. A couple times it was some pert little blond. I remembered thinking, 'Oh no, Vera Cicero!' I'd go to the mirror and all I saw was lines and wrinkles, lines, wrinkles and a saggy middle aged woman, an old not very desirable woman.

I remembered how I knew I could never compete with those 'girls'; that's all they were, just girls. Still I started buying new clothes, prettier clothes. I bought some low cut blouses, some new push up bras, a couple pleated mini-skirts, and even a bra dress. I even bought some new underwear, lingerie even. I fixed my hair in different ways. I even tried a ponytail once. I watched how Francis watched the girls when their ponytails swished back and forth. I remembered trying to dress and act sexier when Francis was home; he didn't even notice. I was invisible.

Francis acted tired all the time. He didn't seem interested in me. He didn't want to make love anymore. I was so afraid. I felt old. I knew. I just knew...

I think I just started to feel extra sorry for myself sometime last fall. I became too self-absorbed. I thought everything was or was supposed to be about me; I took things to extremes. 

At Thanksgiving I'd made my specialty, an Oyster Casserole. Francis, Richard, Victoria, dad; they all raved about mom's turkey. Turkey season's the first week in November. Richard and Francis had both bagged one. Mom had prepared them in her special way, and the meat was gamey but still delicious. She'd taken the wild livers and mixed them with livers she'd bought, and made her own special dish with her own special gravy. I had to admit what with the stuffing, the red cabbage, the mashed potatoes, the succotash, it was great, a real feast. But no one ate hardly any of my oysters. Mom even noticed and made sure everyone got at least a spoon full. 

My homely little casserole; I guess I was wearing my feelings on my sleeve. I mean it was stupid; over the next weekend all the oysters were eaten, but that afternoon at the table, well I suppose I just was feeling way too sorry for myself. I know it sounds stupid, but at the time...It hadn't helped that I'd been doing all those other things; I'd bought the new clothes, I'd changed my hairstyle, I'd been working harder on my makeup. Francis just didn't notice. Then right after Thanksgiving...Richard Weatherby... 

He was so...Oh what was I thinking? It was like he stepped out of one of the pages of GQ magazine. Mr. debonair had come back into my life. I can't think about it. What he said. The way he behaved. But I'll have to tell someone. Won't I?

~~V~~

(Red House, Maryland. Francis is staring out the back window of the small bungalow he's recently closed on. He's on the phone with his mom and dad.)

"Well I did it."

Dad responds, "You've moved in?"

"No I told the lawyer. They'll deliver the paperwork to the courthouse in the morning. He's sending someone to find Leslie today."

After a few long seconds dad replied, "So you're ending it."

"I think its best, don't you?"

Dad answered, "Victoria told your mother and me that Leslie was on her way back. You sure you don't want to at least listen to what she might have to say?"

Francis hesitated, then answered, "She can tell me after she gets the papers."

His dad answered, "Well it's your call."

Francis responded, "Thanks dad," he turned off his cell phone. 'Damn it,' he thought, 'she would.' He picked his cell back up and called his lawyer. He got his lawyer's secretary, "Hello Mary Lou? Can you tell your boss that Leslie Campbell is probably back in Oakland," there's a brief pause, "I don't know. She might go back to our old house. She might have rented a room someplace. Let me give you her car's license plate. It shouldn't be too hard to find." He told Mary Lou the plate number on Leslie's car, and he identified a couple people she'd most likely want to see. 

Again he thought, 'She's come back. I know what she wants. I can't do it. I just can't do it,' he buried his head in his arms and tried to put her out of his mind. Glumly he gazed out the window. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it.

~~V~~

(Same day, just outside Oakland.)

Finally home; it's close to 8:00 p.m. It doesn't look like anybody's home. She wonders...

Out of my car and up on the porch; the front door, the house, it was locked. Out with the key, the lock, it works, worked the door, it opened. Stepping Inside looking around. Being dark, Leslie turned on the lights. All the furniture was gone!

"Oh no," she cried. She ran upstairs. The bedroom furniture was gone too. She checked the closets; all her clothes were gone. She collapsed on the hardwood floor, "He's gone," she broke into tears.

~~V~~

After several minutes of angst and self-pity Leslie picked herself up. I've got to get things together. OK, first I'll go to Harriett's. I'll find my apartment. I'll settle in. I'll see what she can tell me. Francis couldn't have gone far. He's got his job, his career. The kids are here. I just talked with Victoria. I wonder if she knows anything. Why didn't she say anything? 

Leslie used her cell and called Harriett. Harriett picked up on the first tone, "Hello, Leslie you can't come over right now. I'll call you back," she hung up the phone.

Leslie wondered what that was all about. She called again. Harriett answered again, "Look Leslie you shouldn't come over now. Something's going on."

Leslie heard someone else in the background. Harriett spoke again, "You might as well come over. It doesn't matter anymore."

Harriett Merriman had been her very best friend when she lived in Oakland. Harriett's middle daughter Elaine and Leslie's son had been very close all their lives. Both and Harriett and she had hoped once that their two kids would make something happen. Things didn't look so good at the moment, but Leslie was still holding out. It had been Harriett who'd found her an apartment and had helped get her part-time job back. 

A little after 9:00 Leslie pulled onto Harriett's side lot. She noticed a brand new Subaru parked in front of the house. She wondered whose it was. She got out and stepped up on her friend's porch. She knocked on the door. 

Harriet stepped to the door and opened the screen. She looked like death warmed over. Behind her was another woman, a girl. Leslie recognized her; it was a girl who'd graduated a year ahead of her Richard. Richard had taken her to her senior prom. She remembered her; she was a really nice kid.

The young girl stepped through the screen. I'm so sorry Mrs. Campbell. I'm just doing my job.

Leslie saw what looked like the beginning of tears form in the corners of her eyes.

The girl held out a thin manila folder, "This technically isn't a legal document. No, I mean it's legal, but it's not as bad as...well...it's just a 'separation agreement', not a formal petition for divorce." By then the girl was really in tears, "Please Mrs. Campbell. I'm supposed to say 'you've been served,' so I guess...well...you've been served." 

The girl slipped between Leslie and the door and scampered down the steps toward her car. Then almost mechanically she turned, ran back up on the porch and hugged Leslie. Whimpering and almost in a whisper she said, "Oh please I'm so sorry. Don't be mad at me."

Leslie knew what the manila folder contained. In Maryland most divorces didn't begin with an outright closure of the total relationship. Usually they started with what was called a 'separation agreement'. The estranged couple usually had what was called a separation period, a time when they might want to try to work things out. This folder contained the documents indicating that; it was devastating, but it could have been worse. Leslie put her arms around the young woman; she stroked her long blond hair, "It's all right. I know. It's not your fault, and thank you."

The girl looked up at Leslie. Leslie was tall for a woman, this girl was small. The girl stammered out, "I'm so sorry. I know how you must feel. My dad, my mom...oh I'm just so sorry," she turned and fled.

Leslie reflected on what she knew about the girl. Yes, her parents had gone through pretty much the same thing. Her dad it seemed wanted a younger woman. Yeah, Leslie remembered. She'd thought at the time the girl's father had been a real bastard leaving a good woman and breaking up a happy home. Yeah he was a bastard, and she was, is a bitch. She choked back a sob and thought, 'No, Francis would probably never take her back.'

Harriett was beside her, "I'm sorry. I tried to warn you, but Mary Ann, well she's out pretty late. She has school tomorrow. She goes to Garrett, and has an early class. She's taking up 'Wildlife Technology. Francis is one of her instructors."

"Oh," responded Leslie. She thought, 'these things get out. They hurt everybody.' She asked herself for the thousandth time, 'Why had she been so stupid? There was no excuse, no good excuse, for what she'd done.' 

"Harriett could I crash here for the night?"

Harriet took her hand, "Just for tonight. Craig is away, but he'll be back tomorrow. You're not his favorite person these days."

Leslie sighed, "I'm not either. Have you seen or talked to Francis?"

Harriett winced at first, but then forced a smile, "Yes I have. You want me to tell you?"

Leslie nodded.

"Come on back. I'll make a pot of coffee. I'll tell you everything I know. It's bad, but it could be worse."

Together they walked back into Harriett's large and friendly kitchen. Harriett had a thing for chickens so there were pictures and little statues of hens and roosters all about. She thought, "Francis liked roosters. They'd had a little banty rooster. Mottle colored thing, nasty, aggressive, went after people. Francis treated the little bastard like it was a member of the family. To Francis he was. He even named it; called him 'The Little Cockster'. She had to admit, as mean and nasty as the thing was it was certainly beautiful, and the damn thing sure liked Francis, followed him all around the yard. He lived close to seven years; an incredibly long time for an animal like that. She remembered one day Francis went out back and found him; he must have died in the night. Usually when an animal like that died Francis just took a shovel and walked it back in the woods. He buried that rooster. He's had others since then, but none quite like 'The Little Cockster'.

Leslie thought she'd give anything to get that back. But she knew Francis too well. She'd pushed him too far.

Together Harriet and Leslie sat at the kitchen table and sipped their coffees. Leslie asked, "What can you tell me?"

Harriett began, "Well he doesn't date. At least I haven't heard. He moved out, but you know that. He used some money and made a down payment on a bungalow outside Red House, the old Hamilton place."

Leslie had to ask, "What about Venica?"

"That's one of the reasons why Francis moved. Venica kept coming over, helping out, you know. Well Victoria told me they got in a big fight. Venica must have been getting impatient. Victoria said she said some things about you. Francis wouldn't hear it. He kicked her out. In fact the word is others may have said some things too. I know Alvin Stevenson was sporting a shiner for a few days. Someone said he said something about you, your pants, or what's in your pants actually."

Leslie sat passively, but her thoughts wandered, 'Maybe all hope wasn't lost," but Harriett quickly killed that notion. 

"Don't get your hopes up girl. Several people have asked him about you and your future together. He's pretty resolute on that matter. He keeps saying you and he are history."

I had to ask, "Do you believe that?"

Harriett looked into her friends eyes, "It's his pride Leslie. Somebody let on that you'd been up to something. I know he loves you. He loves you like crazy, but I don't know. I just don't know."

"Anything else?"

Harriett replied, "He works. That's all he does anymore. He works. He sees Richard occasionally. He eats dinner when he can at his parents so he sees Victoria every dew days." 

Harriett paused for a second, "That's another thing. It's Victoria. Victoria hasn't been doing so well. Her grades have slipped. She misses time. I talked to your mother. She's really angry with you about this. She says Victoria needs you. I think she said she thought it might go back to the accident. She thinks Victoria thinks you blame yourself and that you're ashamed, what with this other mess, you're ashamed to see her. You've been away too long Leslie. It's time you stepped up; not so much for Francis, but for Victoria, and Richard too." 

Leslie pondered this; then she replied, "Mom Campbell and I have talked frequently. She hasn't said much about Victoria; just that she misses me. I know every time we talk Mom invites me up. I've been afraid, no ashamed, to well..."

Harriett got up and dumped the remainder of her coffee in the sink, "So what are you going to do now?"

Leslie unconsciously thrust out her chest, "I'm back aren't I? I'm back and I'm getting my family back. I guess first I'll straighten things out with Victoria. I need her as much as she needs me. Then I'll go to work on Francis." She was lying to herself and she knew it, but she didn't see any alternatives. This was her world. She had to try.

Harriett sighed, looked to the ceiling and then back to her friend, "Don't get your hopes up."

Leslie got up and put her cup in the sink, "Harriet what else is there? He's my man. OK, I fucked up. I know I fucked up. But he's who I want. He's all I want. I've got the rest of my life. Think about it Harriett. I'm a woman, just a woman. She pressed her chin between her thumb and index finger. She thought Kipling said it best; she recited a few lines, "She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast; may not deal in doubt or pity - must not swerve for fact or jest. For these be purely male diversions - not in these her honor dwells." 

I'm a woman Harriett. I can't and won't deal in honor and pride. Those are mans' things. I'm the she wolf. I'm the momma grizzly."

Harriett chuckled, "Don't go getting all college on me Leslie."

Leslie nervously shuddered, then laughed, but it was a laugh without mirth, "I am woman hear me roar. Francis is mine. He belongs to me. I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, but I'm back now. I'm back for good. He's mine. I've got to prove to him that I'm his, truly his, his and his alone. That's all there is to it. I can't and won't quit. As long as there's breath in this body," she punched her ample chest, "I can fight. I can win," releasing a deep sigh she added, "I will win! I mean it. I will! Harriett in a way I feel sorry for Francis. He doesn't know what's in store."

Then Leslie smiled, no she beamed, "See here Harriett. I've got this," she pushed up her breasts, "this," she squeezed her crotch, "but mostly I've got this," and with that she tapped the side of her head. "Poor Francis. Harriett, you watch. I'll bring him home like a deer on the hood of my car."

Harriet smiled broadly, "I'm with you Leslie. Just let me know. I'll do what I can."

Together, hand in hand, they went upstairs. Harriett prepared a bed for Leslie for the one night. In the morning Harriet knew Leslie would have to head out. She had an apartment to check. She needed to find her old clothes. She had a job. Maybe it was just part-time, but she was no fool. If she needed a better job and more money she'd have to find one.

Bed made, Leslie undressed, Harriet pulled her friend down beside her, "I don't know about the grizzly thing Leslie, but I know a little about wolves. From what I've read momma wolf only has one alpha. She doesn't spread her hind legs for any but the one," she took her friend's hands in hers, "Leslie you broke the cardinal rule, and face it sweetie Francis is the real deal. He's alpha all the way."

Leslie felt stricken, even more stricken than she'd been, "You don't think I have a chance do you."

"I think there's always a chance. I'm just warning you not to get your hopes up. I've known Francis all my life. Sure people cheat. Men cheat. Women cheat. But that's something that's never been in Francis's nature. Come on gal; I got the whole story, some from you the rest from Victoria," Harriett squeezed her girlfriend's hands, "you really did it. I mean really did it. I'm with you. I'll be with you all the way. But don't count on my husband. He's really angry. He's an alpha too. He doesn't understand you. And to be honest Leslie. I don't either. I mean how could you do it?" 

Leslie's eyes started dripping tears. She wiped them with the back of her right hand, "I can't explain it. I don't know. It just happened."

Harriet put her arms around her friend, "Leslie you know that dog won't hunt. Francis knows. He knows you and that guy, what's his name - Weatherby? You were with him more than just once. Craig told me. Francis told him. After you left, or after Easter when he sent you away Francis went down to that motel in Martinsburg. He paid the kid to give him the motel records. He found out how many times you and that guy shacked up down there. Three times is what Craig said. Three times down there, and for sure you and him were up to something around here before that."

Leslie sniffed, "I don't know. I must have been crazy."

Harriet added, "Like I said. Saying you were crazy won't work. You're just going to have to open up. Tell the truth. Then if he doesn't kill you. If he doesn't absolutely refuse to ever see you or talk to you again; then maybe you'll have a chance."

Leslie wrapped her arms around her friend, and quietly wept.

Harriett slowly untangled herself, she got up, went to the bedroom door, turned and blew her friend a kiss, "Good night Leslie. And remember be honest, and above all be yourself. No games. Just be the person he fell in love with." 

As Harriett closed the door Leslie climbed off the bed. She knelt down. She clasped her hands together and prayed, "Oh please God, Jesus, I need you. I really need you. I'm not Jezebel. Let me be Ruth. Help me. Help me get back what I so stupidly threw away," she climbed back in bed, and clutched the goose down pillow to her chest. She wasn't reassured. She knew the task ahead of her was formidable. She didn't even know where to start.




A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 02



~~V~~

Just outside Oakland not far from #219 Whalen and Maggie Campbell were about to sit down to watch the evening news. Victoria their granddaughter was upstairs. They thought she was asleep. 

Whalen glanced up from the TV screen. Through the top part of his bifocals he managed to catch his wife's attention, "Heard whose back?"

Maggie yawned, "The 'second coming'?"

Whalen snorted, "Gail Humber called me a while ago, said she saw Leslie. Told me Leslie's got an apartment in town. Starts back at the library in a day or two."

Maggie pretended not to be interested, "Wonder what she wants?"

Whalen, pretended to be as indifferent as his wife, he shrugged, "What do you think?"

Maggie put the remote button on pause. She turned toward her husband, "Don't you get involved."

"Come on Maggie. You know me."

"That's why I said it," she replied, "let them work out their problems. If Francis wants her back well..."

Whalen pretended to yawn like his wife had, "This TV news is just bullshit. Think I'll turn in."

Maggie admonished, "Don't forget the trash."

Whalen got out of his easy chair, "I'll get it now," but as he did he surreptitiously slipped his cell phone in his pocket. He'd done his bit at home, now it was time to put 'other' things in motion. He'd call Hank Abernathy, Francis's supervisor first, then...

As Whalen walked out the door with the trash Maggie picked up her cell phone. In an instant she had her sister on the phone, "Hello Lorna. Leslie's back. Where's she staying?" After a momentary pause she added, "Yeah find out."

Upstairs Victoria heard her grandparent's conversation. She might be a teenager and in high school, but she still slept with the door open so she could see the light in the hallway. Her grandparents were old and hard of hearing. It was easy to pick up the things they said. She leaned over to her night table and disconnected her cell from its charger. She punched in the number. A second later her brother's voice was on the phone, "Yeah, what do you want Victoria?"

Victoria replied, "Mom's come back," she could hear the rustle of bed sheets on the other end.

Richard responded, "Find out where she's staying," he hung up.

Victoria put her phone back on its charger. She rolled over and hugged her pillow to her chest. She whispered, "Mom's home. It'll be all right now." She wept softly as she slowly drifted off to sleep. 

~~V~~

In an old bungalow just outside Red House Francis was trying to iron out the wrinkles in the pants he'd wear in the morning. He muttered to himself, "Man isn't this some shit." He knew he wouldn't get to sleep anyway. Yeah, he'd been leafing through the albums again. He wondered if Leslie had gotten the papers. He wondered if he'd done the right thing. Everybody kept telling him he should wait a little longer. Had he been too hasty? Damn it'd been months hadn't it? What did his dad always say? 'Either shit or get off the pot.' He'd call his dad in the morning.

*****

This is the end of part two.

I hope you enjoyed part two. Comment and vote if you like, but be forewarned there may be a few things no one can be sure of. There is no guarantee where this is going. Is it a RAAC? Is it a BTB? I couldn't say. I wouldn't put my money on anything just yet. Let's let Leslie, Francis, and time work this one out. 

You'll certainly be able to point out plot holes, but life is full of ploy holes. So let's not have a lot of jumping up and down and 'see here's, or 'look there's' just yet. A plot hole is a gap in a story. Let's wait and see how many gaps we've got when we reach the very end. 

Say whatever you want, say it anonymously, but please no personal invective.



A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 03



A Brief Prelude:

Recall Leslie had cheated, really cheated. Then she'd tried to lie to get out it. It didn't work. Francis sent her away, and he'd done it with malice. After six months she'd finally summoned the courage to come back, but back to what? Part three is the first installment of that phase of our story.

Part Three: Ground Zero. Leslie's first day back.

Harriett placed the hot coffee on the end table by the bed. She softly tapped the pillow, "Leslie dear, time to wake up," she watched as Leslie, eyes tightly shut, groggily rolled over. 

She knew her friend hadn't slept well and she hated having to wake her up so early, but her husband would be home soon and she didn't want to deal with the aggravation. Yes, her husband Craig was mightily put off by what Leslie had done. 

She, Francis, and Craig had all grown up together. Craig and Francis were the same age; they'd gone all the way through school together, even college. She was older by two years. Craig had been an underclassman in high school. He'd taken a shine to her, and in spite of her repeated rejections he kept at her until she finally gave up and gave in. Shortly after he graduated from high school he made her promise to wait till he finished college; she did, they married, and never looked back. Together they'd watched Francis when he courted Leslie.

Francis found Leslie at some fall festival; she was a real looker. Francis was something of a catch too. He'd dated furiously all through high school and college. Moonstruck girls followed him around everywhere, but until Leslie he'd never taken anyone seriously. It was amazing; she showed up, caught his eye, and it was all over; within a year they were married. 

Harriett shook the pillow, "Leslie sweetie, you've got wake up. You've got to get going," at last she saw one eye open. She remembered the whole love affair thing between Francis and Leslie had caught everybody off guard. Francis seemed a confirmed bachelor, he eschewed long term anythings with all the girls who came calling; then wham, there was Leslie. 

Leslie sat up on one elbow, "What time is it?" 

"A little after 7:00. I've got to get you off. Craig will be home soon, and believe me you're persona non grata as far as he's concerned," Harriett thought, 'It hadn't always been that way. Once upon a time Craig would have done anything for the tired haggard woman she saw lying on her daughter's bed. It was like Leslie completed their friend; before Leslie Francis was one way, after, well he changed, he became the complete man. They were the perfect match; the prettiest girl, the handsomest man. They had it all. Why did Leslie have to go and ruin it?'

Leslie stretched, she glance over at the night table, "Mm coffee," she reached over, picked up the cup and took a sip, "Folgers huh."

Harriett reached over and wiped the dribble from Leslie's chin, "Only the best for my girl" she leaned back as Leslie sat up.

"I've got to get my clothes. I checked our house last night, and nothing was there. Francis must have stored them someplace."

Harriett stood up, "I think he gave them to Goodwill."

"Goodwill," Leslie hadn't expected that.

"Come on Leslie, he was moving, he had to do something. You've been gone for months. You never called or anything."

"But Harriet, he threw me out."

"Can you blame him? You cheated on him. Still, you might have called, at least about your clothes and your other personals," Harriett went on, "I mean I haven't talked to him, not about you two, but Craig has. That's why he's so mad. Jesus Leslie, like I said, you've been gone for months."

I reflected on why I was in the horrid place I was. I thought about my recent time in Baltimore, my last six months. Everything seemed like this big blur. I remember I'd gone back to my parents. I remember crying. I remember doing a lot of sleeping. There'd been more.

My parents had been; well they'd been my parents. My father had been away most of the time. I think he came up to my room once or twice; that was typical and expected. I can't remember exactly my mother had brought in several doctors; specialists from Shephard Pratt, a local mental facility. The doctors were all very sympathetic and helpful; their diagnoses were all the same. They said it was depression. The therapy; tranquilizers, sedatives, sleeping pills, prearranged scheduled trips to a private health spa, home massages.

I spent most of my time in my old room; there was a lot of moping, and sleeping, and watching old movies, and crying, lots of crying. I overheard one of the doctors say something to my mother about a suicide watch. My mother hired a full time 'companion'; actually she was a nurse. I wondered how I managed to muster the courage to get up and come back. But I was back now.

Yawning and stretching I said, "Francis's been waiting for me. He has hasn't he?"

"I don't know. I think maybe, but then maybe not. I know he doesn't date or anything, not even Venica, and you know how she is."

Leslie frowned, "Venica; she's been something of a bitch if you ask me."

Harriett pulled Leslie off the bed, "Come on girl. You're hardly in a position to call anyone else a bitch. Now get up and get dressed. I'll call your mom and see if she knows where your clothes are," that said, Harriett left the room and went downstairs.

Leslie came down a few minutes later. Her skirt and blouse were a little worse for wear, but she didn't want to pull anything new from her suitcase. She got to the kitchen, "Did you call mom?"

Harriet was on the phone. She turned and put her finger to her lips, she whispered, "Mom Campbell wants you to come over right away."

Leslie put her empty cup in the kitchen sink. She shuddered, then she thought, 'People still cared. After all she'd done people still cared,' then she reconsidered, 'maybe mom just wanted to ream me out, no,' she calculated, 'not Mom Campbell.' She glanced at Harriett, Leslie's thoughts were a muddle, 'I've not only done a horrible thing to a wonderful man; I've interrupted and in some cases ruined a lot other people's lives. I've got a bunch of paying back to do. It'll take a lifetime to fix all this.'

Putting her fears aside she whispered back, "Tell her I'm on my way."

Harriett breathed a sigh of relief as Leslie went back upstairs to retrieve her suitcase. Craig would be home soon.



~~V~~



I drove over and got to mom and dad's place a little while later. It was funny how I thought of Francis's mom and dad as my mom and dad. I pulled into their front yard, got out and went to the door. Mom was waiting for me; she opened the door before I got to knock.

"Leslie girl, where've you been? We've, I've missed you so."

I started to say something, but like always, I didn't get a chance.

Mom pushed right by my effort to reply, "You look tired honey, lost weight too. Bet you haven't had any breakfast either. You come right in here. Whalen will be down soon. I've already cooked up a batch of bacon. I'll fix you up some scrambled eggs. Then we'll talk, OK?"

"Mom I..."

I was interrupted again as Mr. Campbell came in the kitchen. 

"Oh Jesus," he said as he rushed over to me, "our girl is back. No getting away this time. We've got you now."

"Dad I..."

Mom caught me up, "Coffee?"

I nodded. I started to say, "Mom, dad you...." 

Mom placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me, "You better eat something."

Then dad got me again, "You gave us all a scare. We thought you weren't coming back. Didn't know what to do. But you're back now, and..."

"Shut up Whalen," Mom scolded, "let her at least eat something and then say good morning."

"Mom, dad; you don't hate me...?" I was a little nervous and scared; plus the eggs were delicious. Why was I always on the edge of tears so much?

Mom put a pile of pancakes in front of me, "Eat some of these."

I started to say I was sorry but mom tackled my sentence before I finished, "Hate you! Honey you're our girl. We love you."

"But mom; what I did, the things I did."

Dad elbowed past my sentence, "Leslie that's between you and Francis. You two have to work things out. But you're our girl, our daughter, mother of our grandchildren,' then he added, "Here have some of this bacon."

I was starting to feel stuffed when the kitchen door flew open, "Mom!" 

It was Victoria. I gasped! She looked so radiant! My stomach quivered. One more thought and...oh no, don't cry.

I started to get up, but she beat me to it. She rushed me and threw her arms around me. She was all over the place, "Oh mom, at last you're back. We've got so much to talk about. It's my senior year. Watch it; don't get syrup on my blouse. I met a boy. Right now my grades aren't so good, but last year remember, my SAT score. I'll be good to go. I want to go with Richard to Frostburg so I can be home with you and dad," she glance at the pile of pancakes and the fried eggs Mom Campbell had just lifted off the griddle, "Mm, those eggs look good. Can I have some grandma?"

Mom plopped a plate of eggs in front of my daughter. I was momentarily forgotten as she started to scoop them in her mouth

I tried to explain, I didn't know what to say, "Your father, he...," Victoria wouldn't let me... 

Her mouth full, orange juice had spilled all over her hands, "Mom, don't worry about dad. You're back. He'll come around. You just watch. You'll see. "

I gulped. I felt all itchy and nervous. I changed the subject, "I need to go see Mrs. Bielson's today. She's got a room for rent."

Mom interrupted me, "You say you're staying at Mildred Bielson's place? She's not real high on you right now. There might be trouble. She might want to give you a hard time. If she does..."

Dad interrupted mom, "What Maggie means is we can set you up in the back bedroom. We already got the place cleared out," he knew they hadn't actually done anything yet, but he wanted to make sure Leslie understood she had a home, then he added, "Mildred gives you any trouble, or you can't pay the rent we're ready for you."

I looked from mom, to dad, to Victoria. I thought, I wondered, 'What was going on? Didn't they know? Of course they knew. Everyone did. Why were they...,' I burst into tears.

Dad blundered, "What the..."

Mom interrupted with a scowl, "Whalen watch your mouth."

Dad gulped down some more eggs.

Victoria pounced, "You're my mom...we've all missed you. Sure you did a...wrong doing," 'she couldn't say the things her mom had actually done. They didn't matter anymore anyway', "you're back now, and now we can fix things. I called Richard last night..."

Mom Campbell admonished, "Victoria, the bus. You'll be late for school."

Victoria replied, "Can't I..."

Mom Campbell, "Certainly not. You're going to school young lady, and you're to tell everyone you see your mother is back home, especially tell your teachers."

Victoria looked at her mother, "Mom...can I?"

I couldn't seem to catch my breath. Wiping my eyes I answered, "No sugar. Mom's right. School comes first. Besides I need to see Mrs. Bielson. I have to find my clothes, and I need to visit the library and see about getting my old job back. Dot McIver said there might be an opening." I thought, 'Gee that was a mouthful; wonder how I got it out.'

Outside the kitchen door they heard what everyone but Leslie knew was a familiar knock. Mom Campbell said, "That's Addy now," Addy was Victoria's closest friend at school and they rode the bus together when they weren't fighting, "you better get going."

Victoria grabbed her coat and books. She kissed me, "Tonight, you and me," and then she was out the door. 

Dad Campbell looked at me, his erstwhile daughter, and commented, "Well you made one little girl very happy."

I continued to wipe my face; it was wet with perspiration and drying tears. I felt cold. I was getting all sweaty everywhere. I felt itchy around my bra straps. I said, "Victoria anyway. I wonder about her dad...and Richard."

Mom Campbell closed in on me. She sat down and pulled me, her, errant daughter, to her lap, "Don't you worry about Richard...and as for Francis...we'll see. Only time will tell."

I felt my mother's ample bosom against my cheeks; they were warm. Large soft arms encircled me, I felt secure, secure and safe. It was like I was home again. I told myself, 'No I'm not going to cry.' I thought, 'If only now...,' my thoughts were outraged by Whalen's next intrusive remark.

"I've got some errands. Maggie you take the Blazer this morning and help Leslie see to some of her chores." The Campbell's Blazer was an old K5; one of the earlier Blazers made, theirs was a 1977 and had historic tags. 

I tried to respond, "I can..."

Maggie scotched me, "Sorry, can't handle it today. I've got some of my own errands to run." 

I nodded my head. Mom Campbell was right; she had her chores, I had mine. I sat quietly and practiced my breathing exercises.

Together Maggie and I watched as first Victoria and then Whalen left. It was then Maggie turned to me and said, "You can tell me about what happened or not. Either way I'll understand. And no matter what, like I said you're my daughter."

I pressed my head my mom's chest, "Oh mom. I'm so scared. I feel like the ancient Spartan boy whose stomach was gnawed open by a fox while he was being questioned."

Mom Campbell chuckled, "I don't know about any Spartan boy's stomach, but I can just bet you've had your moments," she took her left hand and wiped some loose fronds of hair from my face, "whatever you decide, I'm here for you," the she paused, thought, and continued, "maybe you could practice up on me before you talked to Francis, that is only if you feel like it."

I felt another shiver go up and down my spine, 'Francis', I thought. I cringed at the prospect, "Maybe we can talk later tonight?"

"Good idea," said Mom Campbell.

~~v~~

Maggie Campbell and I left at the same time; Maggie to wherever she was headed, me to fetch my clothes, then on to Mrs. Bielson's, and last the library. 



~~v~~



Whalen was driving down Garrett Highway when he opened his cell phone. He got Woodrow Patch on the phone, "Hello Woodrow? Whalen Campbell here."

Woodrow had a headache. It wasn't because it was Monday; it was because he was dying. He was seventy and he didn't know it yet but he had an inoperable tumor. He'd stayed on as a forest ranger way past his 'expiration date'. Nobody knew why he'd refused to retire. He was on medication for a half dozen different ailments, but he wanted to hang around a while longer. That, and the fact that it was Monday made him a little irritable, "Yeah, I saw it was you. What do you want?"

Whalen smiled to himself, then replied, "Remember back and we were talking?"

"You mean about a part time something?"

"Yeah, is it still there?"

"Could be; you want it?"

"Tell you when I get to your office. By the way is Francis in?"

"He's been in and gone already. Got a report; seems some hikers, most likely just kids, left a mess on the Savage River Hiking Trail. He's gone to check it out. That boy of yours got a real burr up his ass. He'll check through any rubbish he finds to see if he can get some identification. Then he goes after them. Caught a couple. Usually it's high school kids. Somebody'll leave a sheet of note paper or a signed receipt. Dumb kids. If they want to go someplace and drink beer; why go there?"

Whalen replied, "Sounds like the same shit he used to pull, and as I recall, some smart assed young ranger caught him once or twice," of course the ranger had been a much younger Woodrow Patch, Whalen concluded, "See you in a minute."

Woodrow laughed, "More than once I caught that rascal of yours. I'll be here." They both hung up.

~~V~~

From Frostburg Richard Campbell got his dad on the cell phone, "Hello dad?"

"Yeah, hi Richard. Doing all right? Need anything?"

"I'm good. Have you heard?"

"Heard what?"

"Mom's back."

There was a long pause, then Francis replied, "When she'd get back?"

"Late last night I think."

Francis answered, "Thanks for telling me, I've got to go. Talk to you later," Of course he'd already suspected; he closed his phone. He pondered, 'Damn I gave her clothes away. I filed 'separation papers'. I took the insurance off the Avalon. I cancelled her on my policy. Just the other day I cut off her phone service and closed her out on VISA. She's off all my accounts. And now...well she's not my problem, not anymore.' 

He got out of his 'state truck' and took a few steps toward the river. Originally he'd figured he'd check on the report they'd gotten about teenagers, beer cans, rubbish and what. Suddenly he didn't feel much like rummaging around looking for two or three misplaced pieces of paper. No, he went back to his truck, got out his fishing rod and catch basket. He'd dig around, find some worms, and maybe do a little fishing, the weather was warm maybe he'd doze off, just take a nap.

~~v~~

The sun was well up. Fluffy cumulus clouds scuttered across a beautiful blue sky as Leslie drove back into town. 

As I drove along I looked at the sights and sounds of the town I'd lived in for over twenty years. It was good to be back. I pulled up in front of the Goodwill store, got out, and went in. The place was bigger than I remembered; it hadn't been open long, not more than an hour or so. 

I walked in and looked around. The store manager Lori-Ann Womack was folding some old shirts. I felt a growing sense of unease; Lori-Ann was wearing one of my blouses. 

Lori-Ann and I had never been very friendly. She'd been one of several girls I'd elbowed aside to get at Francis. Since then Lori-Ann had married a truck driver, divorced him, and much later married an older man who was a custodian out at the middle school. From what I remembered Lori-Ann wasn't the easiest person to live with; something of a scold, hot tempered.

I walked over and asked, "My husband brought in some clothes the other day. Do you know where they are?"

Lori-Ann blushed slightly, "We already put them out. Most of the stuff's gone."

"Could you show me where what's left can be found?"

Lori-Ann pointed to a distant aisle, she reiterated, "Like I said I'm afraid most of the stuff's gone."

When I got to the indicated aisle I saw Lori-Ann was right; only a few things were left, and the tags indicated ridiculously low prices, but then this was a Goodwill store. I thought. 'With these prices it's no wonder there's not much left.' It was kind of disquieting; I'd bought quite a few especially nice things back when... I'd spent quite a lot of money. 

I figured best not to make a big deal out of this. Francis had dropped the stuff off. I guess I should've been surprised he'd waited as long as he had. I picked through what I still wanted and decided to run over to Walmart and pick up anything else I needed. I carried what I wanted back to the front of the store where Lori-Ann was waiting.

Lori-Ann looked at me, "Just take it Leslie," she paused and added, "And I'm sorry. I took some, but most of it was sold right away, it went in all directions. You've got good taste. I took a couple blouses and a skirt. I'll clean them and bring them to you if you want."

I was surprised; she looked really sympathetic. I replied, "No I'll just take these. The things you picked; you should keep." 

Leaving Lori-Ann alone at the register I went out for my car. 'Damn it,' I thought, 'now I'd have to buy a whole new wardrobe. I was stupid. I never thought. I'd left all the things I'd bought when I was in Baltimore back there. I never wanted that crap anyway. I wanted my good 'homey' stuff, my heavy flannels, my jeans, my L.L. Bean boots, and my hiking shoes.' Well I guessed it was Walmart for me. 

~~v~~

On the way to Walmart I saw my gas gauge read just a quarter tank. Francis had always admonished to never let my gas fall below a quarter so I pulled in the BP station on Main Street. I got out and passed my card through the scanner. It was kind of sunny and I couldn't get exactly what it said, but I definitely saw the word invalid. I passed the card through again, and then again. I jiggled it around inside the slot. I wasn't getting anywhere. This was crazy! 




A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 03



Then over an intercom outside somewhere on the gas pump someone said, "Sorry, you've got an invalid card. You're supposed to bring it for me to examine. If it really is invalid I'm supposed to take and keep it."

'What,' I thought, 'that's insane! This is my VISA card!' I tried it again, 'we've got a terrific limit; no way we're over...oh no...oh...no.' Oh my stomach, the rumbling. Don't start; not now.

I found the speaker, or I think I did and answered, "No that's all right. We've got good credit. There must be some mistake."

The voice on the intercom responded, "You got a bad card lady."

I stood there beside the pump. Francis no. He didn't. He wouldn't. I've been using this card all summer. I just bought gas Thursday... This is Monday. I got pa...pers...last... I felt queasy. I needed to pee. A car pulled up behind mine. The voice in the intercom growled, "What are you going to do ma'am?"

I answered the voice. "I'll be right in. I'll pay cash."

The hidden voice retorted, "Come in and I'll credit you the amount you want."

Still confused I went inside. This was troubling. Francis had to know I needed my credit card. He's certainly been checking the monthly statements. He must know... I got inside. I checked my purse and found just over $40.00. I pushed a twenty across the counter, "I'll take twenty." The elderly gentleman at the counter, a man I'd seen around over the years, a widower now I thought, took my money and said I should go and pump my gas. 

Back at the pump I put in my twenty dollars' worth. I wondered, 'Francis had turned my clothes in to Goodwill. He'd moved out of our house, or his parent's house we'd always lived in. He'd moved further down the road, and he'd filed 'separation papers'. OK, get a grip, I deserved it, I had it coming, but he couldn't have cut off my credit. He knew I didn't have any of my own money. He knew how much I depended on my VISA. He wouldn't have done that to me-would he?'

I had this sinking feeling in my stomach. I'd read stories. These were the kinds of things people did when they were getting divorced. I'd been gone half a year. My father had warned me Francis might do something, but I refused to believe it. Had he? He couldn't have. No he wouldn't. What was I going to do if he had? He wouldn't hurt me like that. Not Francis, my Francis. I should have come back sooner. I should never have left. Was I that stupid? How could I have been so stupid?

I pulled my Avalon over to the edge of the BP lot. I still had to pee. I got out and went back inside the station, got the bathroom key, and went and did my duty. I still felt sick. I was so nervous!

I had my cell phone. I could call Francis and find out if he'd done anything with my VISA. If he had I could tell him how much I needed it. He'd fix it for me. I'm sure he would. I think he would?

I got back in my car and pulled my phone out and decided, 'I'll just give Mr. Francis Campbell a call.' I looked at 'my' cell phone. I didn't open it. The cellular contract was in Francis's name. I'd used the phone just, just...well I'd charged it just a couple days ago, last Thursday. What if? I opened the phone; the light came on but no Verizon...nothing, darkness, no real signs of life, not a hint, not a smidgen of communicable life. I tapped on all the appropriate buttons, still nothing. 

This was awful! 

I was beginning to feel really extraordinarily nervous. 'No,' I said to myself, 'I couldn't be a 'Nervous Nellie, not today.' I needed to do something. I reached back and scratched around on the back seat and found my sewing kit. Opening it I rummaged around. Xanax. I needed a Xanax. I found one of the bottles, opened it, and popped one in my mouth. I took a sip out of my water bottle. OK, just sit quietly, sit here and relax, let my little friend take over. Things will be all right; it'll be all right.

After a several long moments the fear started to dissipate, my confidence started to ooze back in. Oh, it felt good. 

I restarted my car. I thought, 'Maybe instead of Walmart I'll just go to Mrs. Bielson's; get my apartment straightened out, then Walmart.' I popped it into drive and took off. My, I pretended it felt good to be driving along familiar roads. The weather was good. The sun was out, not a cloud in the sky, but I still felt jittery. Maybe if I took another... I reached over to the passenger seat, opened my sewing kit, and got out another pill. I turned on the radio; ah a country station, real music, written by real people, about real pro...blems. I turned the radio off. 

~~V~~

Reaching the Bielson house I jumped out and walked briskly to the front door. My legs felt kind of rubbery. On the way I saw Mrs. Bielson in the backyard; she was hanging out some wash. I eschewed the front door and slipped around the side to where she was. As I rounded the corner I called out, "Hello Mrs. Bielson!"

She turned around. At first she smiled, but I guess seeing me she thought of what I'd done; the smile left her face, "Leslie. What takes you here?"

"Oh, mom didn't tell you? I came about the apartment you have for rent."

"Oh that old thing," shrugged Mrs. Bielson, "you're not interested in that."

"Yes ma'am. I am"

I watched as Mildred Bielson hesitantly and uncertainly set her wash down on a picnic table, "Well come on." She didn't look at me. I didn't look directly at her either. I was scared.

I followed her inside through her back door, through her kitchen, her living room, and to the large foyer area in the front of her house. I was feeling a little better, calmer. Thank god for Pfizer.

Mrs. Bielson's house had been built for her by her father years ago, long before her husband died. The front door led into a large foyer area. Immediately facing the front door was a long stairway that led to her second floor. On either side in the front was a door; one led to her living room, the other to her dining room. The way the place was constructed it allowed for privacy entering and leaving the front door. She'd apparently decided to 'let out' her second floor, and by keeping the two side doors closed and locked the front door and stairway afforded a good degree of privacy.

We got to the stairs, she started up, and I followed. When we reached the top the one thing that immediately accosted me was the total absence of furniture. I'd thought the place was going to be furnished. My mind started to close; it was like I was entering a narrowing tunnel, no clothes, no VISA, no phone, no furniture...

Mrs. Bielson turned to me and interrupted my thoughts, "There are two large rooms. One you could use as a living room, the other as a bedroom," she pointed to a door behind her, "there's a small kitchen in there, and," pointing to the right, "there's a bathroom with a shower."

I asked, "Any furniture?"

She replied, "No, and I expect you to get carpets for the living and bedroom areas. I'll want padding for the carpets too. There's a stove, but you'll need your own refrigerator. The rent's $700.00 a month, in advance, and I'll need $100.00 deposit.'

My mind was in a whirl, 'Carpets, padding, a refrigerator? The rent's $700.00 plus a deposit.' I kept feeling sweaty, sweaty and gritty. I asked, "What about utilities?"

"I've got those," she replied, but I want it quiet up here. No friends, no loud music, and no 'men friends'."

I noted she'd said 'men friends' in a somewhat less than familial way. She didn't like me. I asked, "Can I write you a check?" 

Mrs. Bielson answered, "I'll take your check Leslie, but I'm not happy you're renting. I know what you did, and I'm more than a little ashamed of you. I'm only taking your money because I'm afraid I might lose my house, you know, taxes and all."

My stomach turned into a hard tight ball. I bet I had an ulcer, or stomach cancer. 'No,' I said to myself, 'stop making a catastrophe out of everything.' I wasn't sick, not physically, but heartbroken for sure. But why did I... I needed to hide someplace, if I had a Valium, "Mrs. Bielson I need the bathroom. May I be excused?"

Mildred's indifference fled; her face took on real concern, "Sure, right in there," she pointed to the bathroom door, and I fled.

I got to the bathroom and sat on the toilet seat. I was having trouble breathing again. I needed another 'pick me up'. A glass of red wine, maybe another Xanax; I needed something, anything. If I could just go lie down someplace. I checked my wrist watch. I usually took my mid-morning nap about this time. 

I held my stomach and tried to regain control. I felt light headed. I knew why too. My mom, dad, Lori-Ann, now Mrs. Bielson, I bet everyone knew, small towns and such. I felt like I was branded, and I was. I was a deceitful lying conniving cheating bitch, and everybody knew it. I was back at the scene of my crime. Francis had... It was awful. I told myself, 'You can't, you mustn't cry.'

Mildred Bielson's comment made me feel like I'd been stuffed through a shredder. She had always been one the nicest people I'd known. She and my mom were like good friends. I remember listening to her when Francis and I were first married. Mrs. Bielson wasn't just a nice old lady; she was wise, and now she hated me. I knew she'd had it tough since her husband had passed. When her husband was alive they'd lived a happy comfortable life. They'd always been...faithful...not like me. I felt small. She made me feel small. I was getting a headache. I shouldn't have had that second Xanax. 

Her house was on a side street. Officially it was on Algonquin Avenue, but because of the appearance and the values of the homes the street was commonly called 'Quality Hill'. Realtors in the area were always traveling about trying to latch on to one of these quaintly beautiful old Victorian 'almost' mansions. There were those in the county government, and others among the 'Nuevo riche' who would've loved to get her property. No wonder she was worried, alone, no man, probably on fixed income, she was scared even maybe. 

After several minutes I was able to go back out. After several sips of tap water I felt a little better, and Mrs. Bielson looked a little less threatening, "You said you'd take my check?"

"Yes."

I sat cross legged on the floor; got out my purse, found my checkbook and wrote out a check for $800.00. I got back up, handed her the check and said, "I'll run out to the Furniture Warehouse and get some carpet first thing."

Mildred took the check, "I'll get you the key." I followed her back downstairs. She found me a key to the front door, and in short order I was on my way to buy two rugs, with padding.

~~V~~

I felt like I needed another 'pick me up'. I checked my watch, it had been long enough. I found my sewing kit, opened it up, got another Xanax and dropped one in. I demurred on the Furniture store; we had a Lowe's and they sold cheaper carpet. It was an easy drive, just a hop skip and a jump.

I got to Lowe's, pulled up as close as I could, walked in, and to the back where the rugs were available. 'Gee,' I wondered, 'would Lowe's take my check?' I walked back to the front to customer service, found the counter person and asked. The woman checked their computer, found Francis and I were in their system, and said my check would be accepted. 

Thanking god for that I went back to the rug selection area. There were dozens to choose from, but I decided to be careful. I found two 9'X12' carpets for under $100.00 each, and I selected the least expensive padding. They told me delivery wasn't free so I asked if they'd help me load them on my car. They said they would.

We went outside. I brought my car around, and after a considerable amount of finagling we managed to lay the carpets and the padding over the hood and down the back on top of the trunk. Using the twine they had we were able to hold them pretty firmly by wrapping the twine through the windows and the trunk respectively and by tying each carpet and each rolled set of pads off separately. The workers asked me how far I'd be traveling. When I told them they said there'd be no problem as long as I went slowly. I told them I was up for that. I felt kind of dizzy.

I got in, restarted the car and checked my rear view mirrors. If I relied on my side mirrors I knew I'd be all right. I also felt I'd have no problem dragging the stuff up the steps at Mrs. Bielson's. I pulled out of the lot. I was on my way, I felt good, this was going to be easy. Driving along I stayed close to the 'shoreline'; that was I stayed as close to the right side of the road as was possible without actually drifting into the shoulder. I'd turned the radio back on, and they were playing a Reba McIntyre oldie. Keeping time with the music I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. I was fine. Things were fine. 

Things would have been fine too if that teenaged idiot in the pick-up had been looking where he was going. What happened? About half way through town I had to stop at one of the few street lights. I stopped, or I thought I did, well I was within my legal area. I think I was. Some high school boy in a grey truck came through his green light and snagged my left front fender. Honest, it was hardly a scratch, and his old grey truck wasn't damaged at all, but we were in traffic. Wow, it happened so fast!

It just so happened a state trooper was driving down Main Street and he saw us. The boy insisted we do everything 'by the book'. I couldn't really blame him. He was just a kid, and he said his dad would kill him if he got in an accident and it was his fault. I didn't know the boy, but when we exchanged insurance I did recognize his name. His dad worked for the railroad, but I think he'd been injured or something and was on disability. They probably didn't have much money.

The state trooper meanwhile had pulled a U-turn and had come up behind my Avalon. He told us to get our cars off to the side since we were blocking traffic. He asked me if I had any trouble seeing since the rugs were draped across my car. I felt fortunate the rugs hadn't been jarred loose when the kid hit my car. It got a little more complicated after that.

The state trooper was Gary Pomeroy, and I knew his mom and dad. I said, "You're Ben Pomeroy's boy aren't you?"

He smiled officiously and replied, "Yes ma'am."

"You know me," I said, "I'm Leslie Campbell. You were an upperclassmen when my boy Richard was in high school. My husband was your scout master. You remember him, Francis Campbell."

He said, "Yes I remember Richard. I remember Mr. Campbell."

I said, "This is really a very minor thing, this silly little thing. I'm sure Gary and I can take care of it." I was getting my names mixed up, I changed what I said to make it sound better, "I mean you're Gary," I smiled sweetly and added, "The young man and I can take care of it. You can go now." 

Officer Pomeroy replied, "May I see your license and registration please ma'am, and yours too young man."

I said, "Oh come on Gary." I'd slipped again, "I mean officer. You know me. This is such a tiny little mishap."

"Yes ma'am," he said, "now may I have your license and registration?" 

I was a little miffed. I thought for sure he'd let it go. He didn't though.

Officer Pomeroy took our information and stepped back to his car. He came back, handed the boy's paperwork back to him, but kept mine. He said, "Mrs. Campbell did you know this car isn't insured, and when I checked with the MVA they said you had no insurance."

'Oh no,' I thought. I answered, "I'm sure there must be some mistake. You've...no I mean the MVA's made an error."

The trooper answered, "No ma'am, there's no mistake. I'm afraid I'm going to have to write you a citation, and those tags will have to come off the car."

Had he just said he was taking my tags? "Officer," I responded, "this is a mistake. I'm sure I'm insured. Couldn't we call my husband?"

He wrote out and handed me a citation, and then went back to his accident report. He completed the report, excused the boy who ran into me, and, looking back at me said, "Where were you going when this happened?"

"I was going to Mrs. Bielson's over on Algonquin. I needed these..."

He leaned into my face and interrupted me, "Have you been drinking? Have you been taking anything Mrs. Campbell?"

'Oh wow,' I thought, 'this is really getting bizarre,' "No I, uh, I took a Xanax earlier, but I'm fine." I think he softened.

"Mrs. Campbell you're driving an uninsured automobile without personal insurance, and you've had an accident, plus I could cite you for the driving a motor vehicle while impaired and the load you're carrying could be perceived as a road hazard."

Gosh, I hadn't even done anything wrong, "Oh please..."

"Mrs. Campbell I want you to get back in the car, and I want you to drive very slowly and carefully over to Algonquin Avenue."

I asked, "And you won't write me up?" 

He replied, "I've already written you one citation. Now I want you to drive slowly and carefully to Algonquin Avenue"

"Yes sir," I hoped I was suitably obsequious.

I drove back to Mrs. Bielson's with the officer close behind. When we got there, to my surprise and somewhat of a relief Officer Pomeroy carried my carpets and padding upstairs for me.

Mrs. Bielson, upset about having the police on her front lawn came out front wringing her hands in her apron, "What's wrong? What's going on?"

Officer Pomeroy, while unloading my car told Mrs. Bielson I'd been involved in a minor accident. He also asked if she had a pair of pliers or wrench set. She said she did, and went and got it.

Once the trooper finished unloading and hauling the carpets upstairs he used the pliers and wrenches to remove the tags from my Avalon.

I asked, I pleaded, "Please don't take my tags. I need my car, and besides even if you did I can't just leave it here. Mrs. Bielson," who was there and watching everything, "won't like it."  

Officer Pomeroy very politely told me, "Call your husband and have him get someone to tow the car to a safe place." After that he sympathetically smiled at me and tipped his hat to Mrs. Bielson, got in his car and drove away.

I guess I was kind of stunned. I swiftly ran over, opened my car door, rummaged around till I found my sewing kit, found my Xanax, skipped them and grabbed the Tranzene bottle and took one. 'Phew,' I thought, 'I needed that.' I stood back up, closed the door and walked over to Mrs. Bielson.

~~v~~

So there we stood, Mrs. Bielson and me. We were in front of her house with my car parked in her drive without any tags. It might just as well have been an old truck up on cinder blocks. I was upset. I'd lost my wheels. My phone wasn't working. I didn't have my VISA, and there were scratches on the hood and trunk of my Avalon from where the rugs had been. I just knew Francis was going to be furious when he saw the scratches. 

Mrs. Bielson looked at me, "You can't just leave it out here. I have neighbors you know."

I felt listless. This hadn't been a very good day. I answered, "I know Mrs. Bielson. May I please use your phone so I can call my husband?"

Mrs. Bielson looked at me in a funny way, kind of skeptically. I wondered what she was thinking. I wondered if she'd noticed my sewing kit. Couldn't have that. Then she sort of stoically nodded and together we walked into her house. She led me to the kitchen where she handed me her wall phone. She checked the clock, it was late, "I was about to fix myself some macaroni and cheese. Have you had anything to eat?"

I took the phone and I guess you could say I sheepishly answered, "...no...," I was going to be polite. I mean what else could go wrong? 

She said, "You can call Francis while I heat up this frozen macaroni and cheese," then she added, "and coffee?"

As I punched in my husband's cell phone number I said, "Yes thank you." Things seemed kind of blurry. 




A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 03



I was surprised I got Francis almost right away, "Hello Francis? This is Leslie."

I heard him say, "Yeah, so what?"

'Gosh, I thought, 'he didn't sound very happy.' "Francis," I said, "I don't have any insurance. They took the tags off my car. My cell phone won't work, I don't have any clothes, I can't use my VISA card, and I don't have any money and I need a refrigerator. Where are you? I need you."

He replied, "Why are you calling me? Are you drunk? You sound drunk."

That took me by surprise. I guess I sort of lost my breath, but managed out an answer, "No, no, I'm not drunk, but I need help. I need you. The car's at Mrs. Bielson's. That's where I'm staying. I had to get some rugs, and I had a little accident. This nice policeman followed me home. He carried the rugs upstairs for me, and then he took my tags. I got a ticket and...Francis..."

"Are you hurt? Is the car damaged?"

"No," I said, "just a few little scratches on the hood."

"On the hood! What'd you roll the damn thing over?"

I felt so nervous. He sounded angry. I wanted to just cry. Mrs. Bielson put a cup of coffee down in front of me. I didn't know what to say, "No. The scratches are from the rugs."

"Rugs!"

"Yes. Didn't you hear me? I had to get rugs. I had to get pads too. I need my furniture, and I need a refrigerator. Do you have one? You gave my clothes to Goodwill. Most of them were sold. I hardly have anything wear. Why did you give my clothes away? Francis you've got to fix my VISA card and I need my car and my insur..." 

He interrupted and he sounded gruff, "That's too bad. Have you called Richard?"

I answered, "No he's in school. You know that. Why would I call him?"

Francis tore my heart out, he reminded me of what I'd done that was so wrong, he replied, "No, not that Richard. I meant Richard Weatherby."

God! Why'd he mention him? Was he still mad? I was confused. I felt all shaky all over again. My head was pounding; it felt like it was going to explode. Geez I'd been up all day. I was past my nap time. I needed my nap. I needed another Xanax. I forgot; what was it I'd just taken? I wished I had one or two of mother's Valiums. My stomach hurt. I needed to pee. I said, "Francis I need you. I'm at Mildred Bielson's. Can you come and get me? We'll talk. I haven't had a..."

He yelled, "Get lost!" Then he hung up...

"...chance to explain..." That was what I was going to say. I slipped to the floor. I squatted on the floor beside Mrs. Bielson's kitchen table. I looked up, I was afraid I was going to cry, "I need to go to the bathroom."

Mrs. Bielson pointed to what I presumed was her hall bathroom. I saw the door. It wasn't far. I decided it would be faster to crawl on my hands and knees than to bother to get up. I felt kind of dizzy anyway.

~~V~~

I crashed. This was just too much. I got in the bathroom, closed the door, and I broke into a full-fledged tsunami of tears. I clasped my head in my heads and really let them roll. Mrs. Bielson came to the bathroom door and asked, "What's wrong now? What did your husband say?"

I blubbered, "He said I should call the man who...who...," Oh I just couldn't say it.

Mrs. Bielson finished the sentence for me, "He told you to call the man you cheated on him with."

I couldn't stop crying, but I did manage to nod. I guess I was so self-engrossed I didn't realize until Mrs. Bielson started talking that she'd picked up her cell phone and had called someone. Through my tears I asked, "Who are you...?"

She put a finger up for me to be quiet. I listened to her, "Hello Whalen? Mildred here. I need something, actually several things."

There was a pause.

"Yes she's here. There's a problem. Fact is there're several problems; seems like Francis has completely cut the girl off, no credit, no insurance, not even a phone. Yes, that's a good idea. Say 7:00? OK." 

Before I could say anything Mrs. Bielson had taken a cool wash cloth and whisked it all over my face. She grabbed my chin in her fingers and shook my face back and forth, "Pull yourself together. We're meeting Mr. and Mrs. Campbell at Madigan's at 7:00.

Madigan's was one of the locally owned family restaurants that still existed in the area. Most had either closed because the proprietors had grown too old or they'd closed because they couldn't compete with the newer franchise restaurants that kept cropping up. Back in the day Francis and I used to take the kids to Madigan's; they had some really good reasonably priced meals. We'd shared a lot of happy times in that old place. I hadn't been there in nearly a year.

I sniffed and asked, "Why're we going there?"

Mrs. Bielson didn't answer. She looked at me, "Why don't you go lie down, take a nap. Use my spare bedroom." Without waiting for me to answer she got up, reached out her hand, and added, "Come on. You've only got a little while and you look like you need the rest. I'll get some towels and you can shower up before we go."

I didn't know what to say so I said, "OK." 

She led me back to a small bedroom, turned down the spread and sheets, "You're a sight. Get out of those clothes. I'll fetch your suitcase from upstairs."

I did what I was told. As I lay there on the stiff white sheets and on the fresh pillow case I thought, 'Three days ago I was lying in my bedroom in Baltimore. Now I was in a bedroom in Oakland. Nothing had changed. I was still...no I wasn't,' I sniffed some more, 'I can't. I won't.' I dozed off. 

~~V~~

A couple miles away Whalen put the phone down, "Maggie!"

Maggie Campbell peaked in the kitchen from the dining room where she'd been sewing, "You don't have to yell. What is it?"

"We're meeting Leslie and Mildred Bielson at Madigan's at 7:00."

"What wrong?"

"We'll talk about it at the restaurant."

Maggie Campbell dropped her sewing and stormed into the kitchen, "No we won't you'll tell me right now."

Whalen asked, "Where's Victoria?"

"Not home from school yet. Why?"

"If we're talking to Mildred and Leslie I'd rather not have Victoria there."

At that very moment Victoria walked in, "Not have Victoria where?"

Whalen blustered, "We're having dinner with your mother tonight and I don't want you there."

"Why not? It's my mom, and I haven't seen her in months except for a couple minutes this morning."

Whalen growled back, "It's going to be a serious discussion, and I don't want you there."

Victoria ignored her grandfather and looked pleadingly at her grandmother, "Grandmom?"

"Let her come Whalen. It is her mother. She'd old enough."

Whalen grumbled, "Stupid." 

"Now what's to talk about," asked Maggie?"

Whalen threw up his hands and fumed, "Oh what the hell, I can't seem to win around here. Seems Francis has done what I already knew; he's completely cut Leslie off, no insurance, no credit, no phone, no nothing."

Maggie sighed, "Oh."

Victoria listened.

Whalen kind of brusquely went on, "Yeah so why don't you go do something to get ready?"

Maggie had heard enough, she left the kitchen.

Victoria thought, 'Dad's cut mom off; that's pretty bad, another thing that needs to be fixed.'

Once Maggie left Whalen scowled at Victoria, "You get out of here too. Do some homework or something," then he picked the phone back up and called his son. He got Francis on the second ring, "Francis?"

"Yeah dad."

"You cut her off."

"Yeah, that's right."

"Pretty harsh don't you think?"

"No, I think it's more than fair."

"Hold on a minute son. You never told her?"

"Not my responsibility."

"Come on damn it. She's come back. Maybe you won't take her back, but this is her home. Her kids are here."

Francis hesitated on the other end but answered, "Her home's in Baltimore."

Whalen wouldn't hear it, "That's bullshit and you know it. This is where she belongs. Her home's here. She left that place, raised her kids here, she married you. Now she's back. I'm telling you son; she's in a bad way, never saw her like this."

"That's not my fault. She's not my problem, and as far as I'm concerned she can just go back again."

"Look Francis she has a right to see her kids. Come on I know you're hurt, everybody knows you've been hurt, been hurt a long time, but she's still their mother. She was your wife for twenty years. She's back and she's going to need some help. I don't know what to say; we've got a real sick puppy on our hands. She's going to need you son."

"Look dad I'm not saying she can't see her kids. They're mostly grown now anyway. She can live wherever she wants. She wants to move back let her, but she shouldn't expect anything from me. And it was twenty-two years, not twenty."

Whalen concluded the conversation, "Honestly son I can't blame you. I just thought...well you waited six months. She's come back. It's a small town; you know you're going to see her."

"No, I don't have to see her, and I don't have to see you either if I don't want to."

Whalen wanted to say something more, but Francis hung up on him.

~~V~~ 

On their way over to the restaurant Whalen told Maggie a little about his conversation with their son. Victoria was on the back seat listening attentively, "You know what he said. He said he didn't need to see her or me if he didn't want to. Maggie the kid's really mad. It's like the whole thing happened last week and he just found out. You'd a thought he'd a cooled down some by now. I don't know what we're supposed to do. He's my kid, but she made our grand kids, and anyway, I really love her."

"I wished I knew more myself," was Maggie's reply.

"I know. Something's not right. I mean twenty years the perfect wife; then bang, a whore?" Whalen looked at Victoria, "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, "I mean it doesn't add up."

Victoria grinned, "I know granddad."

Looking out the window of her husband's pick-up Maggie gloomily replied, "I just wish I knew."

Victoria sort of whispered, "Now that she's back it'll be all right. You'll see."

Neither grandparent replied.

~~V~~

It was a Monday; a night most restaurants were usually closed, but Madigan's never closed so, though sparsely attended they knew they'd get some kind of meal. The Campbells arrived first. The waitress seated them. Shortly thereafter Mildred and Leslie showed up. Since it was Monday the menu offerings were sparse, no specials. The five ordered, ate, and managed to squeeze in dessert. As they were finishing up they got down to brass tacks.

Whalen started, looking at me, Leslie, he asked, "You have any money at all?"

"Less than $2,000.00 now."

"Maggie added, "You'll need more than a part-time at the library." 

Victoria plunged in, "Why don't you come back and live with us?"

"No, that's not a good idea," intoned Mildred, "I'm not completely in the dark. Leslie came home to try to patch things up. Am I right?"

I nodded in the affirmative.

Mildred continued, "She moves back with you guys Francis won't come home. Now I'm not saying I'm taking sides, but I think this marriage could be made to work again if things went just right. You putting Leslie up will make it harder."

Whalen thoughtfully replied, "You think she should stay with you."

Mildred pursued, "Yes I do. For one she'd still be close by. For another we could use my place as a kind of halfway house; a place where we could find ways to force the two of them to be together from time to time. Also I'm lonely."

I said, "I'll have to get some of my furniture."

Whalen interjected, "Yeah, that'll force Francis to see you; he'll have to help."

I asked, "How can we get Francis to talk to me?"

"I've got that," responded Whalen.

"How are you going to do that?" 

"Just shut up, and don't worry about it. Just do what I tell you when the time comes."

I looked down and thought, 'I'm getting all this help, and I don't deserve any of it,' I said, "Yes sir."

Whalen grunted, "That's better; now about the insurance and the transportation; the Avalon's in Francis's name right?"

I nodded.

"So you don't have a car and you don't have any insurance, right?"

I nodded again.

Whalen looked at Mildred, "Would you let her drive your husband's old truck?"

Mildred nodded, "It's pretty beat up; he used to let his old dog ride in it so it smells, but I guess so."

"All right," said Whalen, "we'll put her on our policy, and she'll drive the old truck," he shook his finger at me, "but this is only for work."

I nodded, then added, "But I don't have a job."

Whalen frowned, "I said to be quiet. 

Again I nodded.

My dad went on, "Now about a job, you will have one. I've got something in mind for you," then he sort of glowered at Mildred, "she'll be kind of in your care. You're to keep an eye on her. She's not to go anywhere," he frowned at me, "not anywhere, especially alone. Consider yourself under a kind of house arrest, he glared at his wife to keep her mouth shut, then back at me, "you Leslie have to earn your way back, and I mean earn your way back on everything. I'll expect you in church every Sunday. All the time, everywhere you go you're all prim and proper. You're polite to everybody all the time. Someone says something about what you did; you apologize. Leslie you've got to do some major ass kissing around here. You understand what I'm saying?"

I guess I did. I replied, "Yes sir."

He plunged ahead, "I'll get you a cheap cell phone. No frills. We'll put you on our VISA, but only for gas."

This was amazing. I nodded.

Whalen frowned, "Now about the clothes. Maggie you and Mildred here take Leslie over to Walmart. Get a few things," he paused, "then Saturday go to Cumberland. Victoria you go with them Saturday. Get her a whole new wardrobe; nothing elaborate, but nice things, matronly genteel things. Cumberland's got a Bonton's, and a Sears, and they've got a Penny's. I think there's a TJ Maxx up there too. I want a pretty girl, no sexy stuff. Get her things that will turn heads, but won't make her look trashy. You know." 

He looked at me again, "You wear what they get you. I don't want any arguments. Do as you're told, and get a haircut too."

Victoria chirped up, "Gee mom, granddad's got your number."

I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. I was glad I'd taken a Tranzene before we went out.

Maggie looked at her husband and sarcastically asked, "Any particular hairstyle?"

Whalen looked at me for a moment and sort of evinced a half smile, "I like ponytails."

Mildred chuckled. She took the index finger of her hand and tapped my left wrist, "Ponytails it is."

Victoria excitedly smiled, "This is going to be so cool."

I didn't know what to think.

~~~V~~~

Where do we go from here?

Leslie has come back. She's come back completely alone and utterly empty handed, but her mother and father, literally her adoptive parents, and a lonely widow with rock like moral character have taken her on. 

For sure Leslie was down, her life was in tatters, with the papers she'd gotten her marriage was all but over, but she still believed she wasn't completely out. The seas ahead were going to be perilous. Leslie had cheated and she'd lied, and she'd done both in 'cold blood', but for the first time in a long time she didn't feel so completely alone. 

Meanwhile and much the worse for her there was Francis. Francis was a strong willed, upright, ethical man, a popular, handsome, and a soon to be legally available bachelor. He was a man with a good job, and a real career; he wasn't just a catch, he was a prize catch. Even worse for Leslie he hadn't been hasty, he'd been slow and deliberate; he was a man slow to act but firmly committed once he had. Last and certainly not least; his was the moral high ground, he was totally in the right and he knew it



A brief postscript:

I'm sorry for the delay. Not knowing where this was going has made things go slowly. I absolutely appreciated the comments I got from part two, but even now I couldn't say how this is going to end. I know what's going to happen, but people are funny. I just can't tell what Francis is going to do. Let's find out.

I hoped you've enjoyed this part. Vote if you like. Leave a comment.



A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 04



Summarizing what's already occurred:

It was Thursday morning. My soon to be ex-wife Leslie Campbell had only been back a handful of days. I thought, 'So far so good.' 

I hadn't seen hide nor hair of her. Thank goodness my mom and dad hadn't bothered me about her, and neither had my children. They all knew how I felt. Sure I still loved her, I guess; I suppose I probably always would, but that no longer meant anything. She'd crossed the line; hell, she'd crossed a couple lines, no, several of them. Twenty-two years, two kids, all the usual stuff; what was I supposed to do, welcome her back with open arms? Couldn't, no couldn't do that - never. 

It'd been like...well there were, or are, or have been two Leslie's. There was the Leslie I met, fell in love with, married and raised a family with, but then there was the other one, the one I didn't know, the one I couldn't understand, didn't want to understand.

Sure we'd had some pretty good, no great years; she'd been good for me, but I'd been good for her too. Man, that family of hers; that father, her mother, what a couple of fucked up people. Hell, there were hardly any relatives, none on his side, none that I'd met and Leslie never mentioned any, just him, him and his 'fabled' name. And what a selfish unfeeling prick he was, no emotion, no sentiment, just business. 

Then there was 'what's his name', good old Richard Weatherby. From out of nowhere he showed up, her old college boyfriend, and she couldn't wait to hop in the sack. I remember Leslie mentioned him once or twice; some kind of financial whiz kid, rich, handsome, she said charismatic. I never thought.

Well I'd caught her; I caught her red handed. What did she do? She tried to get me to believe I hadn't seen what I saw. Tell the truth, I loved her so much I was just about ready to go along with it. Then what; she pulled her second little trick, she decided to leave to go home to be with mother and father.

Yeah sure, smart; after a few weeks of me almost willing to deny what I saw and take her back she packed up a suitcase and trundled her deceitful ass back to Baltimore. I guess she thought I'd get lonely and knuckle under. Know what? She was almost right. I did knuckle under; I packed an overnight bag and drove down to Baltimore to bring her back. What a fool I was.

I got down to Baltimore and caught her all cuddly and lovey with her Mr. Weatherby. Well I got pictures, and I went back home. Then she came back, and she had some 'phony' pictures of her own, pictures I later found out my kids had stupidly set up. Talk about loyalty. I was through, done, finished, I threw her ass out. I didn't actually 'throw her out'; I told her to leave. She did too.

The minx stayed away for six months; six months of me here and her there. I waited, I procrastinated; God knows what for? I guess I should have gone for separation and divorce from the start; not me, like the fool that I was I hemmed and hawed. I let things drag out. Stupid me, huh. Then when I finally got my ass together, got my act in gear she came crawling back. 

What, did she think; that she could come back, and after six months, a dozen lies and god knows how many months of infidelity I was supposed to pretend everything was all right? Sure, my mom and dad and my kids have all been on her side, but I'm not, I'm on my side. 

~~v~~ 

Morning at work:

I pulled my Jeep into my customary space just outside our Swallow Falls office, thinking the pressure was low I check my right rear tire. It was OK. Damn them, damn them all. I didn't need anybody. I've got my job, two dogs, and the whole quiet countryside to move around in. I grabbed my old campaign hat, adjusted the creases, threw my jacket over my shoulder and sidled on in to the office. My supervisor, Woodrow Patch was at his desk; he'd probably been in the office since before sunup. I saw he'd already made some coffee and looked through the 'paper', "the Cumberland Times".

I poured myself some coffee and walked on over to his desk and picked up the paper, "You mind?"

Woodrow looked up at me over his spectacles, "No go ahead."

I took the paper and started for my desk further in the back. I figured I had maybe an hour to kill before I left to go out. Just as I was sitting down Woodrow looked up at me, "Hey Francis. I want you to look at something."

"Sure what,' I said.

"It's an application."

"Application? Do we need anybody?"

Woodrow had a paper in his hand, "Probably not, but I'm going to hire this one anyway. Here look it over."

I got up and reached across to get the application. It's no big deal to me. We've hired kids from the college all the time. They get to put in a few hours, earn a little money, build up a resume, and they get some experience working in the forest and around other people. Most always the kids were really nice; quite often they're kids I've had in my classes. I worked part-time at the college.

I took the application and held it up. It looked pretty good, but I'd need my readers to really go over it. As far as it goes I've always had excellent vision. By that I mean I've had superior visual acuity as it related to distance, but my ability to read the printed word has suffered. I guessed time had taken its toll; I'd come to rely on a pair of Walmart 'readers'. 

I thought of Leslie. She wore glasses. Damn why did everything have to end up back with her? Leslie has had eye problems off and on ever since I could remember. She wore glasses when I met her. In her thirties, what seven eight years back she got that Lasik surgery. It was supposed to fix her near sightedness. It worked for a while, but after a couple years she was back with glasses again. Poor girl's always been horribly near sighted, not even the surgery helped much, and the progressive lenses gave her headaches so she ended up with bifocals. She was really self-conscious about those bifocals. I told her it was no big deal. The truth was I thought the glasses made her look sexy; I never told her that though, I figured it would've only made her more self-conscious.

As I returned to my seat I could see the neatness with which this applicant completed the form. I'm not anal, but I've always been a stickler for tidiness and accuracy on anything that required my name. I've always expected the same from others. I could see this applicant shared my view; without reading a thing I could see it was meticulous.

Already confident this young person would be a good match I picked up and put on my glasses. I glanced over the form; good schools, older female, married...then I had to laugh. Looking up at Woodrow I laughed again and said, "Hey, some joke."

Woodrow looked up from the Zane Grey he was reading, "No joke Francis."

"Come on Woodrow I can take a joke. How did she come by this?" 

"She got it at the state office building up in Cumberland. She filled it out and brought it over yesterday after you left to go home. Whalen brought her."

I still couldn't believe it, "Oh come on, you're not..."

"I am."

I continued to stare at the paper, "You can't be serious."

"As serious as a coyote turd in the road."

I still wasn't sure. Woodrow's always been a tease, a real practical joker, "OK you got me. I get it. Where do I put this?" I started to drop it in the can. 

"I mean it,' he said, "I'm hiring her." 

I sat back. This had to be a joke, "What you're putting her over in New Germany?"

"No. She'll work here."

"Here?"

"Yeah here."

A joke was one thing. Even hiring the cow was something I could take; I mean if she was at the other end of the region. But here? I sat there. Then I said, "I can't work with her."

"Yes you can," was Woodrow's matter of fact reply.

"Let me put it another way then. I won't work with her."

Woodrow looked at me over his readers, "You will if you expect to work here."

That turned my stomach, "You threatening me?"

Woodrow leaned back in his chair, "No, not at all. What I'm saying is I'm bringing Leslie on here part-time."

I said, "Damn it Woodrow she's not qualified. She doesn't know the first thing about forestry, and why here, why with me, I mean us."

Woodrow answered, "First she's pretty well qualified; had a pretty good day to day teacher if you ask me. Second, she's experienced. You know yourself she's been out there," he pointed to the woods, "She knows her stuff almost as well as anybody."

I was getting a little heated, "Oh yeah? Well what about the exam?"

Woodrow knew I meant the civil service exam, he replied, "Doesn't need it. I've got the money for her from a state initiative set up by the governor. The initiative lets me hire anybody I want if they're a local, if they're indigent, and if they have a willingness to work."

I thought, 'Damn left wing socialistic bastards down in Annapolis always trying to find ways to piss away tax dollars on worthless programs.' I told him, "This is another one of those 'do nothing' state jobs our 'Communistic' friends down in Annapolis thought up isn't it?"

Woodrow replied, "Yeah like the same ones that got your kids summer and off season jobs year after year."

This was really fucked up, "I can't work with her. I'll have to transfer to another part of the state. Assateague is a pretty good spot."

Woodrow laughed, "You can transfer if you want. Hell, quit of you feel that strongly. But I'll tell you right up front about any transfer; you won't be going to no Assateague Island or anywhere on the lower Eastern Shore. You won't get Southern Maryland either."

I got up and walked to the window, "Yeah I know, the waiting list," I spun around, "Look I'll take what I can get."

Woodrow yawned, "Francis I want you to have what you want for yourself, but you've got to know if you leave here you'll never get back. After Assateague we've got the most people applying for transfer," he smiled, "But there's good news. They've got openings in Central Maryland; Patapsco and Gunpowder Parks. Plus, I hear the mayor of Baltimore is trying to reintroduce another 'catch and release' trout program like that old guy Schaefer tried once. It won't work, streams all too polluted, but I'm sure the state would be glad to loan a sharp cookie like you to the city. Hell you could help them out with their parks."

I scowled, but kept my mouth shut.

"Look at it this way Francis," continued Woodrow, "You could help them with their city parks and streams. They've got a raccoon problem and a robust rat extermination program. You could help clean up the trash. Might even find a body every now and then; you were in the 'Guard' you could handle that. Another thing; there's all those yuppies a drinking that so-called healthy spring water that comes bubbling up in those inner city parks. It's a wonder some of those folks haven't started to glow in the dark. You'll be able to keep them from killing themselves. You know healthying themselves to death."

I was fucked, "You're really hiring her."

"Yeah, guess so."

He had me. He knew I'd never leave home, "When she supposed to start?"

"Next week."

I was totally fucked. I knew it and so did Woodrow, "Why you hiring her Woodrow? You know how it is with me and her. Is it because...?"

Woodrow got up and stared me down, "It's not because I like her. It's not because of your dad...it's...you know why," with that he grabbed his hat and started for the door, "I'm going to town to get some Danish."

Woodrow wasn't hiring my soon to be ex-wife for my dad, or because she was qualified, or because he wanted to stiff me. This was payback. Leslie had, well Leslie had done something way back when. I remembered it. I knew I was stuck. 

~~~.V.~~~

Clothes shopping for Leslie:

Friday, the same morning Woodrow had put Francis in his place Maggie, Mildred, Victoria, and Leslie had piled in the old K5 for a shopping trip to Cumberland. 

As we trundled along with Maggie behind the wheel, Mildred riding shotgun, and me and Victoria in the back Maggie opened up, "First we'll hit Penny's. I checked their catalogue. They've got some pretty yellow blouses and brown skirts. They'll look good on you when you start work."

Mildred asked, "What she's not wearing a uniform?"

"No", Maggie replied, "she's not officially with the forestry. She's part of another kind of state program. "That right Leslie?"

I responded, "Yes ma'am."

Victoria softly laughed while she hooked her arm around my elbow, "Aren't we all the yes ma'am no ma'am." She leaned her head against my shoulder. I put my arm around hers. We sort of snuggled.

I still felt kind of itchy and queasy. Mildred and I had had a long 'talk' the night after we came back from Madigan's. I found out Mildred was no slouch. She knew some things. She'd seen my sewing kit.

Just then Mildred looked back at us, "Leslie how do you feel?"

"I feel all right. I'll be OK, a little itchy," This was my third day without my sewing kit. I didn't know how she did it, but Mildred had honed right in on it. As soon as we'd gotten back from Madigan's she'd started questioning me. 

Victoria looked up at me and happily commented, "Impetigo mom?"

I took my right hand, grabbed the top of her head and shook it. I wanted to just crush her to me.

Mildred smiled, "Let me know if you get tense or anything. I've got some aspirin."

'Aspirin,' I thought, 'Aspirin, yes, Mildred knew more than she let on. For an 'old woman' she was smart. Plus she had me at a disadvantage, a big disadvantage. She's told me if I was to get any help from her, and that meant help from mom and dad too I'd have to tell her about my...special kit. She actually didn't outright tell me there'd be no help; she just made it clear I'd have to, as she said, pull my weight, and do it without any crutches.' 

I showed her what I had. She knew about every drug. She knew about what they did, how they worked, and how addictive they were. She knew more than I did! She even knew about the Rohypnol! I had to tell her where each prescription had come from, who'd gotten it for me, what it was for, and how long I'd been using them. When our 'little talk' was over she took my sewing kit. All I got to keep was the Pro-Vigil. I tried to keep a few Xanax, but she took all of them tool. She flushed everything down the toilet. 

I'd told her my problems. I explained the whole thing with the sewing kit had been from when I'd been in middle school, in high school, and later in college, but after I'd gotten married everything had been so wonderful I'd not gone back to them. Sure I'd stockpiled the stuff since Victoria's and my accident, but I hadn't used much of anything until just about a year ago. I didn't tell her about 'the year ago problems', and she didn't ask. 

I looked from Mildred to My mom, "I'm kind of excited. I feel like a kid on her way to buy school supplies." 

We spent the morning at Penny's going from department to department. I had three people walking the aisles picking out things for me to try on. I was careful not to get in the way. Everything, well almost everything they picked I liked. Victoria's taste was a little juvenile. I had to be careful. If I looked at or touched anything it was automatically carried along. 

We used my mom's credit card. She told me Whalen had already taken care of me on that matter. She said he'd have my card for me before the weekend. I was fully insured, at least car insurance. My dad had called his agent and got me put on his, no problem he'd said. Health insurance; oh that was another matter. Didn't have any, probably never need it, I never got sick anyway.

I knew my dad's insurance agent. His youngest girl had been in Victoria's grade and in all her classes all the way through elementary and part of middle school. I'd been their class mother when they were in their primary grades. The insurance agent's girl was a sheepish little thing, not very pretty. I remember always holding her hand whenever we went on school trips. She'd sit with us on our spring picnics. I always packed extra food just for her. I remember how much she liked my deviled eggs.

I especially remembered her first day. Her mom brought her in a little late. She was petrified, but my girl, my Victoria went over to her, took her hand and walked her to her table. I remember hearing Victoria telling her that they'd be friends from then on. They had been friends up until the seventh grade. It was then the agent and his wife split up. Her mom had been... In the divorce the mom got custody and they moved away. 

I recall not having a very good opinion of the little girl's mom. She wasn't a very good mother. In first and second grade the little girl rarely had her own lunch. Victoria told me she sometimes came with a jelly sandwich she'd made herself. Victoria started packing an extra-large lunch about then. We packed two sandwiches, an extra piece of fruit, and always two small bags of cookies. 

When they got to third grade a new elementary had opened, and it had a cafeteria. I made sure Victoria always had a few extra coins so the agent's girl got something. I don't think the agent ever knew. I know I never told him, and I don't think Victoria did either. I know Victoria wanted to, but I explained how we were Christians and good Christians always tried to do good deeds anonymously. 

I never liked that mother very much. Couldn't stand her actually. Turned out I was no better. I feel so ashamed.

We stopped at Ruby Tuesday's for lunch. I wanted a salad, but Maggie and Mildred made me buy a hamburger and French fries. Maggie said I was too skinny. I had lost some weight. Back before...I'd weighed close to 140 lbs. I was fat back then. I think I weighed about 110 lbs. now. I'm not Anorexic or anything; I just haven't had much of an appetite since...well. 

In a way I'm kind of glad Mildred took my sewing kit. I still feel nervous and twitchy, but it's not as bad as it was Wednesday night. I threw a real tantrum Wednesday evening. Mildred just sat in the living room with her hands folded and listened. That just made me worse. When I finally ran out of gas Mildred called me over and wrapped her arms around me. Mildred has children, but they've all grown and moved away. I cried when she put me to bed. She stayed in my room all night while I cried. I feel pretty lucky; I've got mom and Mrs. Bielson. I know they're waiting for me to tell them what I did. I'm afraid about that. Maybe someday.

~~V~~ 

As we were walking out of Ruby Tuesday's Mildred asked how old Woodrow Patch had come to decide to give me a job. I told her I didn't know. That's when my daughter spoiled a secret.

Victoria was clinging to my arm. She looked at me, then at Mrs. Bielson and said, "I know."

I told her, "Be quiet Victoria."

Mildred said, "No I want to know."

I tried to head my daughter off, "There wasn't any reason really. I guess, I mean I'm pretty sure he was just being loyal to his old friend Whalen."

Victoria pinched me, "That's not it mom and you know it."

"Victoria," I hushed.

Mildred asked again, "Come on. Somebody's got to tell me something now."

Victoria pinched me again, "I'm telling her mom."

I said, "I wish you wouldn't."

Maggie said, "I'd like to know too."

I sighed.

As we climbed in the car Victoria started to run her mouth, "It was in October, almost Halloween back when I was in the seventh grade. I needed some cloth for a costume, and the only place that had what we wanted was the JoAnn Fabrics over in West Virginia. Mom drove me over to look at the swatches. Because she said I was old enough to sew my own costume I had to do it all myself. Well we'd bought the material; some red stuff because I was going to be a cardinal. How about it? Me a big red bird."

I told her, "Don't drag this out honey. It wasn't that big a deal."

"It was a big deal mom, and you know it," she went on, "we were coming back when I spotted Carolyn Wetzel by the side of the road. There was a bunch of boys with her; it looked like they were trying to pull her in the woods. I yelled at mom to look. She did. She stopped our car, handed me her cell phone and said to call 911. Then she jumped out and hightailed it over to that crowd of boys. I remember it was damp and chilly. I jumped in the driver's seat and rolled down the window while I called 911. I heard mom yelling at those boys. She was yelling at them to leave the girl alone. I heard a lot of hollering and cussing and threatening, but they let her go, they jumped in their truck and peeled out on the gravel shoulder. Mom brought Carolyn back to our car. Carolyn was crying and all. Between sobs she told us how her boyfriend, by then ex-boyfriend, had tried to get her to 'put out', but she 'got out' instead. He'd left her there on a shadowy side track all alone. She'd been walking home when that bunch of boys tried to get her to go with them. My mom rescued her. We took her to her home where she really caught the Dickens from her mom and dad."




A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 04



Mildred asked, "Well?"

Victoria concluded, "Carolyn's mom was Charlene Patch, Mr. Patch's daughter. So you see my mom was a heroine. She rescued Mr. Patch's granddaughter from being..."

"That's enough," I told her, "It wasn't nearly as dramatic as that."

"Oh yes it was mom, and you know it. You got the license number of that pick-up, and when the police got to us they told you the guys in that truck were a bad bunch, and the truck owner had a criminal record, and that Carolyn was lucky we happened along. You might have saved Carolyn's life that night, and that's why Mr. Patch wanted to hire you. You saved his only granddaughter's life. 

I shook my head at mom and Mrs. Bielson, "Victoria's making a big fuss. It wasn't like that."

Victoria rudely cut me off, "Was too mom." 

Anyway, after Ruby Tuesday's we stopped off at the T.J. Maxx and they bought me some more stuff. By the time we'd finished shopping I had more clothes than I'd ever need, more than I'd had in a long time, and pretty nice things too. I had everything Whalen said I was supposed to have. I was glad to get the clothes, but I felt funny about it. I knew I didn't deserve their help. They didn't know the truth. If they did; well...

We got back from shopping. Gosh was I tired. After we all unloaded the things Maggie and Victoria left, but not without a little tiff.

Maggie got back in her SUV, but Victoria wanted to hang around. She said, "You know mom with all the new clothes you're going to need someone to help you sort things out and put them away. Maybe I should stay a while."

I thought at first that was a good idea. Since being back I realized just how much I missed my daughter. 

I'd missed the late night talks, the pizza nights with her and Richard and Francis when he was home. I even missed the fights. Did Victoria and I ever fight! Only someone who's raised a teenaged girl would understand what that meant; I mean the 'I hate yous', the 'I wish I'd never been borns', the 'I'm running aways', and the worst, the 'I'm going to kill myselfs'. 

There were the good things too, and there was a lot more good than bad. Richard had never been interested in horses other than to just ride them. He was like my father back in Baltimore that way. But Victoria wanted her own pony. I remembered I'd always wanted one of my own. Francis had to work, but Victoria and I went pony shopping. We found a little mare named Sally. My god she was perfect, ornery but perfect. I still have the pictures of Victoria's first days on Sally. 

I have pictures of Victoria, me, Richard, and Francis all standing around; Victoria on Sally and us all hanging around laughing and teasing. Yeah, somewhere there're whole albums full of stuff; pictures of us swimming, rafting, kayaking, lying on the beach, some of us just lying around in the living room, me, Francis, Richard when he was little, Victoria, all of us altogether, a family, a real family. 

I had tons of pictures and memories like that. Francis had wangled two weeks off in January one year and it was off to Disney World for us. OK, Mickey, Minnie, and Goofy; it was all pretty silly, but not when a kid is five. I remember I'd been to Disney World several different times as a child. I always took a girlfriend or I went with their families. I had a really sweet nanny who went and took care of me; her name was Ngoc Bich, she was from Vietnam.

Francis had been in the 'Guard', Richard is now, and dad had served too. It was important for them that we go to D.C. so we went there for several days. We'd gone to the White House, up to the Washington Monument, out to the Jefferson Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Smithsonian. We drove down to Mount Vernon, and we went to Arlington. We saw the 'Wall'. Dad disappeared for a few minutes when we were there. Mom said to leave him alone for a while.

Arlington was special. My father had never served in the military; he'd gone the college deferment route. He said he was a Ted Nugent fan. He once said he agreed with what Ted said about how anybody who joined the military was either an idiot or an imbecile. My father's always been a staunch Republican. Dad's a Democrat. I don't know what Francis is; he's never said. Me, I'm a hardcore nothing. I've always said they were all crooked. 

It was kind of sad at Arlington. I didn't remember ever thinking much about the Kennedys or all the famous people buried there. Dad wanted to find some actor's grave; some guy named Lee Marvin. I remembered him from that old movie about World War Two where they captured some chateau. Dad told us about some old time TV character named Captain Kangaroo. He was really moved.

We were at the 'Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.' We didn't stay long though. Dad got mad at all the people standing around talking and joking. I did too a little, got mad that is. Francis held Victoria in his arms and explained it all to her. I learned a lot that day. That was one of the times I really felt completely attached and part of something bigger. I'd never thought about it much, but I realized I lived in a pretty special kind of place. I really love my country. We never talked about any of that stuff when I was growing up. Father was a business man, and mother had her charities. 

I had to stop day dreaming so much. 

Well Victoria wanted to hang around, and I was all for it, but Maggie and Mildred scotched her. Mildred told my daughter she had school work, and that I had my chores too. Gee, I had chores? I let it go that they were running my daughter's life; Maggie had been doing it for months anyway. I was back; we'd have time. Somehow we'd figure things out. Yes, yes, yes! I was back and I wasn't leaving ever again - never!

~~v~~

After my mom and daughter pulled away I smiled at Mildred and said, "Gee I'm tired. I could go for a nap."

Was I surprised! Mildred smiled back and said, "We need to keep you busy sweetie."

She'd never called me anything but Leslie before. I think 'sweetie' was something she used on her daughter. I said, "Busy?"

Mildred grinned, "You need chores honey..."

Another affectionate appellation? I said, "Huh?"

"Come on sugar you've spent enough time in bed. If we're going to get you straightened out, off the chemicals, and into a right frame of mind we'll need to get you physically in shape. You know what they say, 'right body right mind.'"

I'd never heard it that way before. I tried to talk her into a nap, "Mildred I'm really..."

No such luck, "Nap comes later, first we need to tidy up. I'll vacuum. You dust. Then while I'm doing the kitchen floor you can get the bathrooms."

I grinned, "OK 'mom'," we went in and went to work.

After we did a little house cleaning Mildred let me lie down a while, but not as long as I liked. She had me up and she started to talk, "You know Leslie most days during the week I visit the 'Senior Center'. We play cards and bingo, and I like to 'work out' on the machinery," she laughed, "imagine that." 

She went on, "I want you to get involved in a few things too. I don't suppose Bingo would be much fun, but there're other activities. You used to be involved in all sorts of things. I want you back out there; you know, rubbing elbows, mixing it up."

I demurred, "But Mildred they'll not..."

"They'll be glad you're back. There're a hundred places that need someone like you. Gosh, you used to be a central figure around town. Honestly honey, since your troubles began there've been places that have gone begging."

I asked, "You want me to tell you about my...troubles?"

Mildred got up, came over, and took my hands in hers, "Not till you're ready sweetheart."

I asked, "Can I take another nap now?" I felt like a kid.

She replied, "I'll call you when it's time for dinner. Maybe later we can...watch some TV." 

I went back to my room. I was in her daughter's old room downstairs. We hadn't done anything about the upstairs, and it didn't look we would. I put all the things we'd bought in drawers and in the closet. Then I lay down on the bed, on top of the spread. I didn't go to sleep. I just laid there and thought...about things. I remembered I'd wanted to tell my mother about what I'd done. She only gave me a pill. Now here I was with Mildred and my mom and they were both ready to listen. I was afraid to tell them. I knew they'd hate me, but I needed to tell someone. I needed to get it off my chest. Maybe...

~~V~~

Saturday I cut the grass. Mildred's husband had bought a Lawn Boy push mower back in the day. It was an old two cycle engine. The deck had rusted out and he'd taken some L shaped metal rods and bolted it together. It took me a couple hours, and it reminded me of not so long ago when I used to cut our grass. We had a John Deere rider and a Troy built push mower. Richard cut it sometimes. Sometimes Francis cut it, but mostly it was me. I remember how I enjoyed it. I enjoyed being outside cutting grass and weeding flowers. That's what I did all day Saturday at Mrs. Bielson's. All day I didn't think about anything except the grass, the flowers, and yeah, the bugs. I hadn't had any pills or anything in almost a week!

Mildred had gone shopping, and I helped her bring in the groceries when she got back. It was a lot like before... I was pretty frazzled Saturday night when Mildred told me we were going to church in the morning. She was a Baptist, but said we'd be going to my old church from now on. That threw me; all I thought about all that night was how much I needed a Xanax.

~~V~~

Sunday morning came and Mildred and I drove over to the church I'd attended and joined years before. Francis had been raised in the Presbyterian tradition so it was to a Presbyterian church, 'Faith Presbyterian' that we went. I was never one to fully buy into all the Calvinist things they advocated and I didn't think Francis ever did either. We'd all always just gone, followed the litany, sang, prayed, gave, and come home. There hadn't been a lot of discussion; certainly no controversy. Honestly, I'd been raised in a very conservative Catholic church, and I didn't openly agree or disagree with some of things the priests said. For one I didn't think what the Popes said should take precedence over the Gospels, but I'd been raised to be a good girl and never challenged what I was taught. 

Right up until my 'troubles' I'd been a Sunday school teacher. Troubles has been a stupid way to describe the things I did. I recall I'd taught elementary Sunday school. My last teaching day had been the Sunday after last Thanksgiving.

Ok so we went to church. I was scared. I just knew everyone was going to shun me. I sure couldn't blame them. Was I ever surprised! We only stayed for the service. I didn't see Francis, but mom, dad, and Victoria were there - right in 'our' usual pew.

When the service was over and after we shook the reverend's hand, he said he was glad I was back, several people closed in on us. I was sure I was going to get it, but aside from some curious stares and an occasional 'we've missed yous' I got nothing. Everybody crowded around Mrs. Bielson!

That's when it really hit me. Sure I'd cheated, broken my vows, and made a mess of my family, but Mrs. Bielson was a Baptist, the novelty of having her at 'our' church far outweighed all my indiscretions. It was kind of a relief to not be the target of all the things I feared. And as for Mrs. Bielson; she made it clear she was still a Baptist but she and I would be 'visiting' Faith Church until we decided what we wanted to do. 

'Christ.' I thought, 'it was almost miraculous! When the people around us thought I might be leaving their church for the Baptists the mood changed. It was scary! Everyone made it crystal clear they knew I was one of them, and for me to ever leave would break their hearts.'

I saw Mrs. Bielson smile at the sudden outflow of affection. I wondered if she knew. I thought some more, 'That old squaw's pretty smart.'

~~V~~

The only way I could describe it is to say Mrs. Bielson worked on me all the time. She kept after me about my eating and exercising. I'd always been a healthy eater and an active person, but my six months with my mother in Baltimore hadn't seen much of anything. I knew my mother cared, and my father, in his way, did too. It's just that nothing seemed to happen; I mostly slept, ate a little, and just slouched around in bed. 

I wasn't expected to show up for work until Wednesday. Through Mr. Patch and Mildred I was told Francis wasn't very happy about me being alongside him at Swallow Falls, but I was told he'd backed down on his threats to quit or try to transfer. I was glad of that. If I could just be near him I could show him by my behavior how much he meant to me. 

Mildred kept drumming it into my head that I mustn't go out of my way to please Francis. More important she said I mustn't get all weepy, not to apologize all the time, that I should let him to be as gruff as he wants, but I shouldn't get defensive. She said my best defense if he got mean was to just sit and take it. She insisted I treat him with utmost deference; treat him like who he was, my supervisor. 

She said she'd disown me and send me back to Baltimore if I tried to plead with him. What she said was he'd been living in his own private hell, I was to blame for that, and the only way I could free myself and get him back was to constantly remind him, by my good behavior, what had made him fall in love with me.

I told her I thought I could do it. Just the same Mildred kept me busy. I worked every minute I was awake, and when she couldn't find anything at her house we drove over to my mom's and together they found more things for me to do. I never washed so many windows, scrubbed so many floors, cleaned so much silverware, or wiped down so many walls. I understood; idle hands make an idle mind, and an idle mind for someone like me would only lead to a relapse into depression. I was depressed enough as it was. 

I'll say this for Mildred, my mom, and Whalen; they never let me droop into self-pity. It must have been instinctive; they could tell whenever I started to drift off, and if I did they'd be right on me. I remembered raising Richard and Victoria and being able to see their moods. Mildred and my Oakland parents were reading me like a book. I kind of liked it. I mean they still cared.

I guess I was OK right up until Tuesday night. Wednesday was to be my first back in front of my 'separated' husband. I thought about the Xanax; I wanted one, I desperately wanted one, but I knew I didn't really need one. I didn't sleep much. Mildred brought me a cup of tea, some tension tamer, it helped...some. Thank god for Maryland divorce laws; I had six months to prove myself. 

~~V~~

It was Wednesday, Francis's first day on the job with his estranged wife around.

Here I am, Francis J. Campbell. I thought about my son Richard, the shit bastard; he called me last night to remind me Leslie would be in today. He reminded me I had to be polite. Polite wasn't his word; he said 'nice'. Nice, nice my ass! Was she nice to me? No! That fucking lying cheating whore dishonest cunt bitch had lied and cheated her fucking ass off. 

Twenty-two years, twenty-two fucking years! Two kids; two lying back stabbing kids. And parents, my own parents! My neighbors, my so-called friends, even my boss! Is there anybody on my side? Oh yeah, one person, well one person other than Venica, but I know what she wants. Who's been that one person? Me! Oh shit yeah! 'I love honesty! Put another dime in the truth box baby!' 

I pulled up the gravel lot. Mrs. Bielson's truck was in 'my spot'. The cunt's taken over everything. I can see 'Mr. Patch' had already arrived too. Yes sir, no more Woodrow; its Mr. Patch from now on. Throw friendship and conviviality out the window. Oh I'll be polite. I'll be considerate. I'm a 'professional' after all. Isn't that what that rheumatic old man said, 'I needed to be professional. Don't let personal matters interfere.' Well don't you worry you old son-of-a-bitch; I won't!

I got out of my jeep, pulled out my duffel and lunch kit, yanked on my hat, and went on inside. Woodrow, no Mr. Patch had the newspaper and was sitting at his desk. I saw where Leslie had been given the empty desk behind mine.

Jesus H. Christ! Look at her! OK, she's lost weight, a lot of weight. I can see the crow's feet, there's grey in her hair. I guess she stopped dying it. She's wearing glasses, her bifocals. No uniform. No. Oh shit. Look at her. Just look at her! God. This is god awful! Well I'm glad I won't have to look at her. The way the desks have been arranged I'll have my back to her. 

Why does she have to be so awfully god damned beautiful? She's in slacks, loose fitting dark brown slacks. And that blouse; it's like a light green, green like her eyes. The damn blouse matches her eyes. All very prim and proper I see. Two, not three buttons open at the top. She's wearing a brassiere. I can see the lace of her brassiere! I can see her nipples pressing against the material. Well it is kind of cold in the room. We use propane, but we have a wood stove too.

"Woodrow," damn it I broke my first rule, oh what the fuck, "Woodrow, it's kind of cool in here. Maybe we could start a small fire."

Woodrow looked up from his paper, "Be my guest."

I dropped my duffel and my lunch kit on my desk. Ignoring Leslie as best I could I stepped outside and gathered up some faggots. I got back to the stove, opened the door, and started to crumple up some of the pages from yesterday's paper. I began to place smaller pieces of wood on top. Light a match and just like that, the fire was started. I stepped back, "There, that'll heat the place up until the sun gets out."

I looked around. Leslie's hair was in a ponytail. She was wearing a pair of gold 'hang down' earrings that had small emeralds encrusted in them. I'd bought them for her for...something; it hadn't been a birthday, or Christmas. I remembered I'd seen some like them on a person in one of the stores up in Cumberland and then I'd searched around for a similar pair for her. There'd never really been a reason, just stupidity I guess. She's always had such pretty ears. I remember how I used to nibble on them when we laid on one of the rugs in front of the fire back in my parent's cabin. God...

Shit she was wearing a necklace I got. It was the one with the gold cross. Damn, it still looked good around her neck...her neck. 

Jesus she's still so pretty, a little too thin. Too much dieting I guess. She really should put a rinse in her hair. The grey doesn't look good; she looks best when her hair has that lustrous chestnut color. 

She's looking at me. Why's she got to have such big eyes? Eyebrows. Shit. Hair's parted down the middle; there's loose fronds hanging around her face. Oh shit she's blushing. She's just put her hand to the buttons on her blouse. Jesus Christ Leslie don't fucking button it up! Oh phew, she didn't. I finally got down and sat at my desk, back turned now I wouldn't have to look at her.

Woodrow looked up, "Leslie go out and get the folder I have on the seat of my truck."

I hear her. She said 'yes sir.' I discreetly watched as she stepped beside my desk and went to and out the door. She's wearing my favorite perfume, Chanel something. She smells...so...good. I hate her! That voice, that sweet melodic, oh so refreshing voice. She sounded timid. Look at the way she walked by me; if that wasn't a 'come on'...

Leslie used to sing in the church choir. She never had the best voice, but she had a good one, kind of clear and pure. Pure, her? I remembered how when we were married, when we were happy, I could look at her and sort of see the child in the adult. Little girls have a way of kind of shifting their weight and swinging their hips in a sweet circular back and forth kind of way. Leslie always looked like that, like a little girl. She has dimples, and they show up when she smiles. I remember sitting in my pew, being so proud, feeling so warm, and feeling, well, I guess possessive. She was mine. Not anymore. Cunt!




A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 04



As Leslie stepped outside Woodrow looked over at me, "Remember yourself Francis. You're her boss. Be a good one."

I just nodded. Who does he think he is? Of course I'll be a good boss. 

Leslie came back in. She leaned over and placed the folder on Woodrow's desk. Using her waist as a fulcrum she involuntarily twisted her upper body around. I could see her breasts kind of twist and move under her blouse. I felt the hackles rise up and down my back. Goose bumps, I'm getting fucking goose bumps! I've got to get out of here.

I looked at Woodrow, "We've had a few windy nights. Several trees have fallen into a couple of the tributaries of the Savage. Think I'll go and saw some of them away. Better to do it now than wait till things get worse, too cold you know. Don't you think?"

Woodrow looked at me, "Still pretty wet. Those banks are steep and slippery. Better not go alone."

I'd been chain sawing since I was what, ten? Sure it's a dangerous chore. More people get seriously hurt with chain saws than any other piece of farm or garden equipment, but I was careful! I replied, "I'll be all right."

Woodrow ignored me; he looked past me to my estranged wife, "Think you better go with him."

I had my back turned so I couldn't see Leslie, but I heard her, "Yes sir."

I thought, 'This is insanity! Cruel and unusual punishment.' 

I slipped on my hat and started for the door. The saws were in the tool shed. I'd take three; an eighteen incher, a smaller one, and an extension saw for distant limbs. When I got out there I found the 'blade oil' and the engine mix. We used Stihl saws. They're a good saw. There were several other makes that were just as good, but someone got us a deal so we used Stihl. 

Leslie was waiting by the truck we'd use when I got back. I placed the three saws in the back, and dropped the fuel and lubricant next to them. We had extra blades on the back seat so, though I doubted I'd need one, they were there. 

Oh stupid me; I instinctively opened and held the passenger side door for her. She climbed in. She thanked me. Why did I do that? 

I went around to my side and got in too. I started the engine, released the brake, and slowly pulled away. I looked in the rear-view and saw Woodrow watching as we pulled away. 

I got about halfway down the gravel drive and stopped. I looked over at Leslie, "Look, I don't like this...you working here, but I guess I'm stuck. Just a fair warning, stay of out my way. Don't try anything."

She looked back at me. Why did she always have to look 'that way'? She said, "I'll be a good employee. I promise, nothing about us."

I turned and looked out the front windshield, and started on down the drive. 

I was pleasantly surprised; our morning of chain sawing went fairly smoothly. Leslie turned out to be a pretty good, hell damn good assistant, but then she'd had plenty of practice, we'd worked together doing pretty much the same kind of thing for over twenty years. Not like some women, especially not like our daughter; Leslie had always been a good helper. I've found over the years women, and I hate to admit it, some men, do more getting in the way than they do helping. Leslie had always been a good helper. I remembered hardly ever having to yell or cuss at her. 

We worked together quietly and diligently for the better part of three hours. Leslie was quite observant. She warned me of troublesome places on the trails a couple times. Once I started to slip and she touched my upper arm. Her hands are small. Her fingers were warm. I noticed she'd polished them with something clear. Her hands and fingers looked nice, feminine. Even through my shirt I felt how soft they were, like I remembered. I hated her.

~~v~~

We got back to the office a little after 12:00. We hadn't done all I'd hoped, but we'd done a lot. We were both pretty tired and kind of muddy. I had my lunch already packed. I'd packed it that morning. I had a PB&J and an apple. I opened my lunch pail and started to dig in. Leslie was behind me so I couldn't see what she had, but Woodrow did. He said, "What've you got there Leslie?" 

I heard her say, "Just a little corned beef brisket with mustard, some fresh blueberries, and a piece of Mrs. Bielson's homemade cake."

Woodrow was eating a ham sandwich. He asked, "You and Mildred make that up?"

She replied, "Yes sir."

I had to look around. God damn! There she sat; one napkin on her lap, another opened out on the table with her sandwich on it cut in half diagonally! In the middle were some blueberries in a small bowl. I love blueberries; hadn't had any in a while. On the side was the cake in a Tupperware container, and a milk carton with a straw in it on the far edge of the napkin. I'll be damned if she hadn't cut the crusts off her bread, just like...when.

That green blouse! She'd tucked it in...so tight. Those buttons were...her breasts were...I could see... Oh just look at her! She's picked up part of her sandwich...those hands and fingers and all... She's still got her rings on! Oh! Oh!

She looked at me and asked, "If you like I could give you half."

I took a bite of my PB&J, and answered, "No thanks," I took another drink from my Pepsi can.

After lunch Leslie got up. She looked at Woodrow, "Guess my time is up. May I be excused now?"

I looked up. 

Woodrow said, "Tomorrow, don't forget."

I watched. I had to. She slipped on one of those thin wool sweaters that buttoned up the front. She adjusted, no pulled it over her arms and buttoned just the top button. It was a white sweater. It stretched out around her...I could see... She used her hand and adjusted her ponytail. This wasn't fair. She's so...pretty. She silently stepped to the door, she paused, looked at me and said, "Thank you for helping me on my first day." She smiled at me.

I know I blushed. I felt my cheeks get hot. I only nodded. She left.

Woodrow looked at me, "I take it you weren't rude when you were out cutting."

I said, "No sir.

Then he said, "I'm kind of tired Francis. You mind if I leave you now?"

I said, "No sir."

Woodrow left. I sat there alone in the by then too hot office. I thought to myself, 'I'm alone. This is my office, and I'm in here and I'm alone. I feel so alone. It's so quiet. There aren't even any birds outside. I feel so...so gloomy.'

That had been our first day. 

~~V~~

Leslie came in every Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday mornings. That was all; just three mornings a week. It got to be pretty routine. Leslie was always quiet. She never volunteered any conversation, neither did I, and certainly neither did Woodrow. 

Every day we went someplace. Every day she looked so pretty. One day I said, "I see you're still wearing your rings."

She held her left hand out in front of her the way women do. She looked at the rings. She didn't look at me. She said real softly, so softly I could hardly hear her, "Yes."

I didn't say anything.

Woodrow was always tired so almost every day he left early. Then it was just me and Leslie. We never said anything. Every day she brought her lunch. Every day it was something nice, something I'd always liked. Every day she offered me half her sandwich, and every day I declined. 

We weren't fighting. We weren't talking. We weren't anything. Sometimes she'd look at me, but she never said anything. I guessed if nothing out of the ordinary happened everything would be all right. 

Foolish, stupid me; when does anything ever not get out of the ordinary?

~~~V~~~

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised if she decided to dig back in and rejoin the community; the woman had lived here half her life. Over the next several days people were knocking each other over trying to tell me what Leslie had done next. She'd rejoined the church choir; Advent was approaching and she had a great voice so church morality went right out the door. I'd been led to believe adultery was one of the 'big ten', but I guess it didn't matter if they got to add another versatile soprano. Leslie and those descants; it was going to be a long tedious fall, her up in the loft, and me, if I went, down in the sanctuary. 

To make matters worse she'd volunteered to teach the primary school kids in Sunday school. That meant there'd be no way I could slip in and out for the early service. 

I sort of said something to the reverend about Leslie singing and teaching. He went into this long song and dance about Jesus, Mary Magdalene, first stones, and forgiveness. I wanted to throw up.

Dad was the worst. He called all worried and nervous. We had an emergency call service, a kind of hot line, not 911, but something for lonely desperate people to call. Suicide wasn't a big thing in our area, but, like spousal abuse, drunkenness, and addiction it was a thing. 

Dad told me, "Francis it scares me that Leslie's getting back involved with people with all those problems. You remember how she was before."

Yeah I did remember. There was something about Leslie; she had this 'rescue mentality', she saw someone in trouble and she had to be there. I remembered her talking about some bunch of Hispanic kids when she was in college and how they'd all died in front of her. Back when we were still 'official', and before she fucked up our lives I did worry that she sometimes got in over her head. 

She had prescriptions for things like Xanax, and they helped keep her on something of an even keel. I'd always kept a pretty close track of what she bought and what she took. I remembered she'd run spells. Usually I could tell when she was down; it was most often in the fall and early winter when we didn't get much sunlight. I talked to our family doctor a couple times when we weren't real busy, and he'd said to keep lots of lights on and to not let her be by herself too much. He said the best medicine for what he said she had, he said it was clinical depression, was to stay busy. He said the more projects she had the better. He even said the 'call center' wasn't bad as long as she didn't let things get to her. He'd said lots of affection and attention, things like back rubs and hand holding and intimacy always helped.

I wondered, 'What if Leslie tried to say the pills made her do it? No, not her. She'd never try it. She'd know I'd never go for it. If Leslie had an excuse, any plausible excuse it wouldn't be something as stupid as drugs. I was interested, in a morbid sort of way I guess, to hear what her excuses might be. Damn I would've given anything to hear something last spring. I would've forgiven almost anything last spring. Now, no, waste of time. We are so over.'

I told my dad not to worry, and I told him not to be hassle me about Leslie again, she wasn't my problem. He got mad and hung up. Well fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck me.

~~V~~

Damn me, I should have known Leslie would be the 'queen bee' again at church. She had half the town and my whole family on her side. Aside from being a terrific cook, a great story teller, a passable athlete especially with stuff like softball and soccer, and having my mom and Mrs. Bielson cooking for her she was always so pretty. Yeah, warm and pretty and nice, the little ones idolized her. 

What was I supposed to do? I'd always gone to church; been an usher, collected the offering, counted the money. I'd been on the household committee. I couldn't remember the number of windows I'd fixed, how many times I'd mulched and planted the flowers, or how often I'd been called to open the church and help out when something went wrong with the furnace. Guess what? I stopped going. Guess what else? Nobody called. I wasn't missed. 

People noticed Leslie though; she sure wasn't being missed and my mom sure wasn't reluctant to let me know. Halloween was nigh upon us. Someone at church decided we needed a Halloween party; a party with games, costumes, and contests. Guess who was on the committee to organize it, and guess who asked me one afternoon before she left work if I'd help out? I told her no I was busy.

Of course they had the party. Victoria was there and she told me all about it, every grisly detail. Leslie was the center of attention. Was I surprised? Not hardly. She had 'that way' about her; especially with children. The little ones adored her, teenaged girls sought her advice, and the teenaged boys mostly just drooled. She wore a princess costume; it wasn't new. I remembered it. I sure remembered it. 

~~V~~

It was a small town and word about Leslie's infidelity had leaked out months earlier, but she was back and it was like nobody cared, or they blamed me. It was equally clear we weren't likely to reconcile. So I was sitting in Madigan's one afternoon after work when Joe Morgan walked in; he spotted me and came over.

Joe sat down; uninvited I might add, and said, "Here you and Leslie are separated."

I replied, "You got that."

He said, "I checked. Legally she can't get it on with anybody till the thing's final, but she can still go out and all."

I answered, "If you say so."

He got up; as he started to walk away he said, "You don't mind then?"

I was getting bored with this. Who did he think he was? She never much liked him. Him? Her? On a date? Not likely. I told him, "She can do what she wants," smart move huh. Guess I showed her.

Two nights later I got a call from mom. She was all angry. I asked her why, she asked, "Have you been telling men to call Leslie and hit her up for dates? Because if you have you better stop. She's been crying all night thinking you're trying to hand her around."

'Jesus H. Christ,' I thought, 'that bastard Joe Morgan.' I told my mom, "Joe Morgan asked me if we were still together, and when I told him no he asked if he could ask her out, I told him she could do whatever she wanted."

My mom answered, and she wasn't real nice about it, "Well it's all over town that you've put your wife up for auction. What, you think she's some piece of meat? Thanks to you every no good ornery cuss around thinks he's entitled to a turn. Darn it Francis she's trying to restore her reputation and you're trying to make things worse."

"Mom," I responded, "All I said was she could go out if she wanted. I didn't tell anybody to ask her."

"I'm just a little ashamed of you Francis," my mom started, "the poor girl's working hard to get herself back together. Everybody's been rooting for her. You had no right."

I tried to answer, "But mom..." 

She hung up. 

Leslie never brought it up when we were at work, and I sure didn't either.

~~V~~

So they had the damned Halloween party. I missed it. I thought now maybe people would leave me alone. Yeah, right, sure.

All right, so what always happens the fourth Thursday of November? O...K. So mom called first to forgive me for being so mean about the dating and about the Halloween party. Then Richard called. He said he'd met a new girl; a girl he really very seriously liked and he wanted me to meet her this Thanksgiving. Victoria called; sure I expected that one. Finally my dad got me on the phone. His call wasn't an invitation; it was an order. 

Come on, I'd been arguing with my dad since I learned to talk. He and I disagreed on almost everything. Ask him who the greatest president was; his answer never changed - FDR. Man my dad could name every program FDR ever started from the FDIC all the way to the USO and a million other socialistic things in between. I once told him I kind of liked Reagan. He almost belted me. He told me the only thing Reagan was responsible for was the need for two incomes in every family budget. I knew I'd never win that one. 

He'd rattle off the top six presidents. He said they were all 'left wing'. He even named them: FDR, TR, Lincoln, Washington, Jefferson, and Madison.

I thought I had him on that. I told him G.W., Jefferson, and Madison were all conservatives. He blew up! He said, 'Oh yeah, well who wrote the Constitution? Who wrote the Federalist Papers? Who did the Bill of Rights? Who broke the law and bought Louisiana? Who was the general who led the army that won the Revolution? A Revolution! Who wrote the Declaration?' I remember he yelled, 'Tell me that stuff was conservative! Not when they were alive it wasn't!' 

I gave up a long time ago. A person can't win arguing with a man like that.

Dad told me when I should get to their house for Thanksgiving dinner, what to wear, and to bring some flowers for the table. No argument from me; I said "I'll be there dad."

Well the whole afternoon was awful, just awful. First Leslie looked terrific. She had on this dark blue polka dot dress with pleats, three quarter sleeves, and slightly scooped collar. She wore a necklace, earrings, and small bracelet set; a set I'd bought her once. I couldn't remember the occasion. I don't think there'd been one; back when we were married I never needed a reason. I only stopped buying her jewelry and junk like that, flowers and all, after we lost all our money in the crash. She and I had agreed we needed to save. 

Her hair was in, of sure, a ponytail, and it looked gorgeous. She'd been putting a rinse in it, and the color was good again. Damn, she just looked good all over. I couldn't help it; I kept thinking about, what if...well...if we... No that was over. So over.

Before dinner dad, Richard and I sat around and argued about football. Richard loved the Ravens. Dad hated the Colts and the Cowboys. Me? I didn't know. I was sort liked the Redskins, dad called them the Deadskins, but I'd been leaning toward the Ravens. I kind of liked the Steelers too.

Dinner came. We all sat down. Mrs. Bielson was there and she said grace. Leslie had made her oysters, and I had two helpings. No one said anything when I asked them to pass the oysters. I didn't look up, not exactly, but I could tell out of the corner of my eye Leslie was quietly pleased. She was stupid. She thought she'd win me back with oysters; after what she'd done? They were good though. 

Dinner was great; it always was. Every time I looked up from my plate I saw Leslie was watching me. I'd look up and she'd, real quick, look down. She was like that at work too. No one said anything. Everyone was pretending like nothing was happening.

Nobody said much during the meal, but between the meal and dessert we all got to talking. Leslie didn't say much at all. Dad got off on Iraq and how much he hated 'W'. I tried the defend him. Richard took dad's part. Dad said some asshole wanted to bring back that bastard Patraeus; he was the man who got credit for settling Iraq problem, the surge and all. He was also the philanderer who'd slept around with that whore Broadwell. 

Looking back, I think the whole conversation was staged. I told them the guy Scott Broadwell was a real wimp for taking his adulterous wife back. Leslie blushed. I wanted her to. Dad said he thought her husband was a real man to take her back, to protect his sons, and keep his family together. Richard agreed with dad, but it was mom who split open the watermelon.

Mom looked at me, then at Leslie and said, "I could just bet that girl, that poor Broadwell girl, was all messed up. I mean out in another country, hanging around with some big shot general, her husband nowhere around. She was almost forty, probably feeling a little insecure..."

I interrupted her, "There's never any..."

Mrs. Bielson interrupted me, "I know what you're going to say. Never an excuse. I agree, but I disagree too. I think that poor girl got in over her head, what a war hero, a man others all admired, her feeling all alone. I bet he filled her head with notions. She got all starry eyed. I guess..."

I interrupted her right back, "There's never an excuse for adultery."

Just then Richard's date, a pretty girl; she looked a lot like Leslie, said, "May I say something?"

My dad and everybody looked her way. Dad said, "Of course dear."




A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 05



A brief preface:

~~~v~~~

This is the last installment of Leslie and Francis. All comments are welcome. Vote if you like. I know the temptation to skim can be almost irresistible, but try to really read it.

~~~v~~~

Seven days, it's been seven days since Leslie's 'accident'. Some accident; the asshole should never have gotten involved. I'd warned her; OK, my dad warned her about running out to help every time someone was in the midst of a domestic crisis. 

She should have been out of the hospital in two, not seven days. Total waste of time and money, my money. She couldn't stay on her feet, woozy was the way she described it so 'they hired', read 'I hired' an ambulance to take her to Cumberland for the full treatment; an MRI, lab work, more X-rays. I never heard of such a mess. They told us she had T.B.I.; that was 'Traumatic Brain Injury, concussion, neuropsychological testing. Anyone who's ever been there knows the deal - 'ka ching', 'ka ching'! 

When they were finished and I was broke they told all of us they couldn't find anything. I knew when they scanned her cranium they'd come up empty. Oh mom, dad, Victoria, Richard, Mrs. Bielson, the reverend, they were all ecstatic! I was surprised about one thing. The doctors told us the scars from her three old broken ribs looked good. 

I asked them what rib scars? That's when Leslie 'owned up'. She admitted when she'd had the accident that had caused Victoria so much pain she'd broken three of her own ribs. I guess I was told, but I swore Leslie had said they'd only been bruised. 

I should've known. There'd been other times back when the kids were small when Leslie had been really sick. I remember once I could tell she was awfully hot, probably running a high fever but she'd never let me see the thermometer. Once she got so bad I ended up having to take time off so I could bathe her in cool water and keep her head wrapped in cool cloths. She'd always been stupid that way; thinking it was all right for her to get sick while taking care of everybody else. 

Well it had been seven days, and I was standing in what I thought was 'my house'. Leslie's been asleep in what used to be my bedroom. Insanity; that's what it's been!

OK, I agreed Mrs. Bielson's and mom and dad's places were out; that left my house. So the very day after Leslie was released everyone converged on my place. What a joke; everything had to be changed. Their voices have been ringing in my ears ever since; 'Oh that won't work', 'that'll never do', 'we can't have that', 'no, that's out of the question'. I swear; nothing I had was right. 

Leslie needed the biggest bedroom. If she got the biggest room then there would be room for Victoria. Of course we needed Victoria; she'd get home from school earlier than me and she'd care for her mom giving the 'old folks' a break. But if Victoria were to move in, and she was, then my queen sized had to go, that meant two twins. Richard said he was sick of boarding; that meant the smaller bedroom for him. Me? I got the sofa. 

When I'd bought the house I'd taken up the old rugs. I'd planned on sanding the floors. That was out. Dad and I loaded up Leslie's as yet unused carpets and they went in the big bedroom and the living room. It got worse. Aw gee poor Leslie couldn't get about so satellite TV had to be brought in. 

Dad got a wild hair up his ass; it was winter, cold as the bejeebers, and he said my propane wasn't getting the job done. He said he had a friend who knew a guy who was trying to get rid of an old Fischer woodstove. My old house had a fireplace and chimney so Dad and Richard installed the stove and a liner for the chimney. Guess what? It was a Grandma Bear stove, Fischer's second largest; the house became an oven. 

I didn't have any firewood, but there was plenty back at dad's cabin. I figured two cords. Dad and Richard figured four. Guess who got to load it, unload it, and stack it?

My furniture seemed to be OK, just the curtains, the doilies, the stainless steel silver, and the bathroom, read single bathroom, were all inadequate. Just a few other things after that; a big new lazy boy and new lights. Gosh, Leslie couldn't get about so she'd want to catch up on her reading. Oh poor hapless Leslie. Whatever happened to poor hapless Francis?

So there I stood. In 'my' house, the house that was supposed to be 'my refuge', and my adulterous almost ex-wife was asleep on her bed in my bedroom. My mom, dad, Mrs. Bielson, and my kids were all slouching around in my living room, on the sofa where I was supposed to sleep. Well, all right; I said I figured six weeks. No sir! They all figured ten at the very least! 

What happened to my house? Where did my sanity go? Where had my life gone? And who the fucking hell had sliced my balls off?

~~V~~

What do they say? Things couldn't get any worse? Who the fuck made that up? Old Woodrow had retired; he was dying. He'd recommended me for his supervisory job. Uh huh, sure.

We, I, lived in good old Maryland, the 'Free State'; free for somebody I guessed, just not me. It so happens the only state in the nation with more minorities than Maryland was Hawaii. Hawaii has all those Hawaiians and Asians. Maryland has a thirty percent black population, and Maryland has been as liberal as Massachusetts since the Kennedys, him being Catholic and all I guess. 

Hell the whole rest of the state could have been black; there just weren't any black people to speak of west of the Hagerstown Valley. What was the deal? I assumed with local seniority and experience I was a shoo in for Woodrow's job. Not a chance! I submitted my paperwork and a few weeks later I got a registered letter telling me when and where my interview was to be; of course, on a Saturday morning in downtown Baltimore. 

Who schedules interviews on a Saturday? Well they do if they're interviewing fifty people for six different jobs. My scheduled time was 9:00 a.m. I got there right on time and I waited, and waited, and waited. People were in and out. They had my name. They knew who I was. They knew why I was there. Others came after me, had their interviews and left. Around 11:45 I asked one of the women, a black person who seemed to be in charge a very simple question. I asked, "My meeting was for 9:00. I see it's almost 12:00. Will there be time?"

She gave me this snarky smile and said, "We'll get to you," then she added, "you do want us to be fair to everyone don't you?"

That did it. I hadn't seen ten white faces all morning, and as I stood there it occurred I hadn't seen a single white man. I was Mark Furman! I was being treated like I was Mark Furman! 

A few minutes later I went in for my interview; three black men, two black women, and one white woman. What the fuck? I knew the interview was a farce. I went through the motions. Three weeks later I got my notice. They thanked me. I'd done well, but they'd selected somebody else for the position. Was I surprised? Hardly. 

About three weeks later Thurmond Freeman showed up. He sure was a nice guy; born and raised in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Penn State graduate, twenty-six, black, an Environmental Science major, and about as dumb as brick. For sure he had the paperwork, he knew the theory; he just didn't know what Poison Ivy looked like. I tried to warn him; 'no Thurmond that's not Red Maple'. Thankfully he said he wanted to set up over at Deep Creek Lake so I'd probably wouldn't see too much of him. That worked for me.

So I'd missed the promotion. My almost ex-wife had elbowed herself into my house, and my parents and children tried to sabotage my every move. What did I have to complain about? I told them; I meant it too, 'the jig was just about up.' They didn't believe me.

~~V~~

I guess the only thing that made it all even remotely palatable was how Leslie turned out to be a lot better tenant than I thought. She never whined, or complained, or cried, well not much, she almost never tried to get me to take her back, and for sure she was a pleasure on the eyes.

After the first few days my mom, dad, and Mrs. Bielson stopped coming around so much. Mom and Mrs. Bielson kept us all supplied with some pretty good foods, and mom did the wash. Victoria took care of Leslie when she got home from school; I never had to make a bed or fix a thing. Of course I was sleeping on the couch so making the beds didn't mean so much.

Time went slow at night. It was the dead of winter. Victoria was out when she wasn't doing homework, and Richard slept with us but that was about all. I guess it was inevitable sooner or later Leslie would want to talk. 

Our first real conversation about what she'd done happened about three weeks into her convalescence. Knowing I was probably fucked at work I was idly looking through some of the jobs descriptions in different states when Leslie quietly crept into the living room. She sort of tentatively came in and whispered, "Francis?"

None too warmly I whispered back, "What."

She said, "I'm sorry I have to be here. I'm trying not to be a problem."

I answered, "You're not a problem," I was lying.

She came closer, "May I sit down?'

I moved a little further down on the sofa. 

She sat down, "Francis?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we talk?"

"About what?"

"About...us...I mean me."

"What is it you want to talk about?"

"Well...I...I never said..."

"You mean what you did and why," I said.

"Yes I suppose."

I felt like being shitty, "What was it; like hey wow, I'm bored I wanted to fuck an old boyfriend?"

I watched her as she flinched, she murmured, "Maybe if I could...explain..."

I leaned back, "Sure, go ahead. It's only been a year." 

I guess I wanted to know. I thought. 'Sure, why not find out what she did and why she decided to ruin a happy marriage and family. Criminy, why not wait a whole fucking year to get around to it.'

She started, "Well you know my mother had kept me supplied with..."

I stanched that little remark right away, "You're not going to use the old, 'it was the drugs that made me do it' are you?"

She stammered back, "Oh no, no, not at all, not that. But, I mean...I was taking some...sedatives. I was feeling bad. Down, depressed, you know."

'Christ,' I thought, 'this was going to be bad.' I told her, "No I didn't know Leslie, and don't throw the old drugs and depression bullshit at me."

She cringed, "No I mean I was...I was scared. You see..."

I stopped her again, "Scared? Scared of what? Scared you weren't getting fucked enough?" I guess a tinge of bitterness showed through, but I didn't care.

She said, "Oh please...let me say," 

I sat back. I figured, 'OK, finally, this was her show. Let her dig the hole as deep as she liked.'

She added, "Can I?"

I said, "Yeah sure. I'm all ears."

"OK, well...you see I'm what they call premenopausal."

I wanted to laugh, but kept quiet.

She went on, "I'd been getting hot flashes, and I wasn't sleeping well, and I felt fat and puffy all the time, and you...you were working. You were always...out, and I...I was...oh."

I interrupted again. I had to, "Oh I get it. This is where you tell me it was my fault because you were lonely and needed attention and I was a mean and uncaring motherfucker who just ignored your emotional needs."

She held up her hand, "Oh no that wasn't it. I was so fat. I was getting more and more grey hair, and I was getting wrinkles, and I was getting a double chin, and you were at the college with all those pretty girls, and you were so handsome, so distinguished, and I...I...I felt... so old!"

I had to stop her, "So you had to fuck Richard Weatherby."

She answered, "No, not exactly. It was just...just...he came back and..."

"You wanted to fuck him."

"No, I, I mean. He showed up."

I stopped her, "Tell me Leslie. When did he show up? I mean what brought him out here? Did you call him up?"

She answered right away, "No I didn't call him." 

She stopped a second. I watched her as she rallied, "It was just a week before last year's Thanksgiving. It was a little after 2:00 and I was finishing up my shift at the library. I was shelving some DVDs when I looked up and he was there. I was surprised. I said, "Richard. What brings you here?"

He said, "I came out to see you."

"Honest Francis I never called him. I asked him, 'why are you here?' For Heaven's sake it had to have been twenty years."

And he said, "I remember, "I remember you. I missed you. I needed to see you."

I shook my head. This was unbelievable.

But she went on, "I asked him, 'What in the world for?' And he said, 'Is there someplace we can go. Someplace where we can talk?'"

With that I looked at Leslie and told her, "This is a little thick. You expect me to sit here and listen to this horse shit?" Right then I just realized I wasn't into any more of her bullshit. 

She sort of looked down and whispered, "No I guess not."

I got up, "I'm going into town. Don't be up when I get back."

She nodded and got up too.

As I walked out to my jeep I thought at least she didn't try to pull the 'drugs' thing. I might have kicked her out if she'd pulled that. The menopause thing though... I'd have to think about that. I checked my watch, it wasn't late; we hadn't had dinner yet. I went on in to town and bought a couple Time/Life magazines; something to read the next day in the office. I'd just about made up my mind since I didn't get the promotion I'd have to find something else. Meanwhile my stomach started grumbling. I figured, 'What the hell? Why not stop in at the Denny's? I wasn't killing myself over her, my job, my fucking family, not anybody, not anymore.' 

I drove on over to Denny's, got a booth, and ordered an omelet. The place was pretty empty, but I saw a few people. Over on the right were three acquaintances. One of them saw me and started over. 

'Shit', I thought, 'Weldon McCorkle; one of the few people I thoroughly disliked. There was a reason why I disliked him and as he got closer I remembered. 

McCorkle sat down across from me, smirked, and said, "You're dumping Leslie. We all know why," he leaned around and looked toward his companions.

I thought, 'Here it comes.'

McCorkle, still with a shithead smile said, "You'll have a tough time with her in court. This is Maryland you know. She'll clean you out."

McCorkle had no idea how impecunious I actually was. I nodded. I knew where he was headed.

He intoned, "You remember Winona Ruckert?"

I nodded that I did.

"If you want we'll help you out."

I kept any expression off my face, "I'll let you know."

He got back up, smiled and sort of slurred, "We're here for you buddy boy," then he walked away.

Buddy boy! What a fuck stick. I remembered Winona. Winona Ruckert had been a young women, finished high school and fresh out of college. Not very pretty so she'd never seen much action on the dating scene. She'd fallen in love with a friend of McCorkle's. I couldn't remember the guy's name. He'd knocked her up. When she told him he'd laughed her off. She tried to get him to marry her. He'd stopped her flat by getting several of his friends to spread the word they'd all fucked her. Poor Winona was crushed. She ended up leaving town.

I supposed the bastard McCorkle thought he'd get some friends to threaten to say they'd all fucked Leslie and she'd back off when it came time for a settlement. Stupid shits. They didn't know Maryland law. They didn't know Leslie. They didn't know me. I'd lost my appetite. I dropped a twenty on the table, got up, and went back home.

When I got back Leslie was waiting for me. She didn't say anything, but I saw she'd heated up some of my mom's homemade vegetable soup. Together we ate in silence. I was glad I'd skipped the omelet. It was funny. I hated to admit, but I was kind of glad I had Leslie around. 

That was the last I heard from Leslie about her 'reasons' for a while. I wasn't sure if I was all that interested or not. I did get a call from Woodrow though.

~~V~~

Woodrow Patch was dying. Long about the middle of a Sunday afternoon I got a call from Woodrow's wife. She said she and Woodrow would like to see me. He'd been back and forth to the hospital a couple times. Everybody knew he was close. She asked me to come by that afternoon. I said I would.

The Patch's lived on a farm outside of town. They'd only had the one daughter, Charlene, and she'd only had the one girl. I pulled up their drive, parked my jeep, climbed the porch and knocked on their front door. They had a big farmhouse with two big separate verandas, but their main entrance had always been the side kitchen door. 

I knocked and Mrs. Patch opened the door and let me in, she said, "Woodrow's resting in the sitting room."

I nodded and went in. He had his eyes closed. I thought he looked old, worn out. I went and sat beside his chair and tapped him on the shoulder. He opened his eyes and murmured, "Francis."

I said, "Woodrow, how you doing?"

"Not too good I'm afraid. I guess it's almost over. I'm glad you came by."

I asked, "Is there anything I can do?"

His eyes looked yellow, he looked kind of jaundiced. His hands shook. I wondered what he really had. He rested his head on the back of his chair and said, "There is."

I said, "What. You know I'll do it." He looked so weak. I felt bad.

He said, "You can forgive her. Take her back. Let her back home. She's a good..."

He must have read my thoughts because he stopped talking and leaned back just a little, then he added, "No, I guess not."

I had to say something. I might never see him again, not in this world, "Look I've been thinking about it."

He smiled, he reached for my hand and found my wrist. He squeezed it. God he was so weak! He said, "I know you'll do what's right," then he sort of leaned further back and looked off and out the window. He let go of my wrist.

Behind me I heard Mrs. Patch clear her throat. I turned. She nodded in the direction of their dining room so I got up and followed her. We sat down and she started to talk.

She sat with her hands in her lap, "He's almost gone Francis. Everything's shutting down," she dabbed her eyes with her apron, "Woodrow and I only had the one. He always thought of you as like the son he would have had if we'd had more." 

She didn't offer a reason why they never had more kids and I didn't ask. These were people like my mom and dad; they kept their personal matters to themselves.

She added, "You know we think a lot of Leslie. We only had the one, and our girl, she only had the one. If anything had happened to her...well." 

I remembered Leslie's role in their granddaughter's safety. 

She kept talking, "I'll tell you Francis things haven't always been perfect for Woodrow and me. We almost didn't make it." 

I guess she saw something in my face because she explained, "No nothing like you and Leslie, just, just fatigue I guess. We'd had plans, hopes. You know, the big house, a big family. Then there was the incident out on the highway where your Leslie...well she. It scared us, made us look at what we had I guess. Most people would've just driven by, but Leslie, well, you know...how she..."

Mrs. Patch looked like she was going to cry. I supposed someone about to lose the great love of their life was entitled. I wanted to say something; something that would ease her pain. I just couldn't think of anything. I wished there was something I could do.

She looked at me, "We really love her you know. If you could just..." 

She must have understood what I was thinking because she stopped talking. She got up and stepped back, "You do what you think's right Francis," she started for the kitchen and her back door. I followed. 

That happened on a Sunday. Woodrow went back in the hospital on Tuesday. He never came back home. The funeral was Saturday. 

~~V~~




A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 05



It was very late in the day after Mr. Patch's funeral when Leslie tried again. I was seated at the table where we ate. I'd been going through all kinds of brochures. It never occurred to me how qualified I was. There were opportunities for someone like me all over the country, and not just out west, but right near where we lived. 

I'd gotten word my new boss Mr. Freeman wanted to spend more time looking over our more western rivers. I couldn't blame him, spring was close at hand, and there'd be more fishermen plus the usual flood of rafters, canoers, and kayakers. Most people who came out this far had a healthy respect for what we had. For sure we had our problems, an occasional injury, a drowning every few years so I guess it made sense for him to leave the comforts of Cumberland and Hagerstown to come and checkup. 

The Potomac is our longest and in many ways our most treacherous river. It's not just the category five rapids at 'Great Falls'; there are several low dams, called weirs, located further up river, several pf them around Harpers Ferry. These weirs can be lethal because inexperienced people will foolishly think they can canoe over them. They'll capsize and get caught up in the continuous flow of water over the low dam. This is sometimes called a 'death wheel'; a person gets caught in it and never escapes. They'll repeatedly rise to the surface only to drawn under again until they weaken and drown. 

Others sometimes get out in early spring, capsize, and fail to expeditiously reach shore, and that can quickly lead to hypothermia. Nothing like having a fifty year old accountant with a quadruple bypass who thinks he's Daniel Boone and can paddle the length of a four hundred mile river, flip out of his canoe and try to walk to the bank in frigid swiftly flowing water. 

Well there I was; scanning brochures and dreading the appearance of our Penn State 'guru' when Leslie approached me again. She seemed to have a lot more confidence this time.

Leslie came over and sat down at the table, "Francis I need to get everything off my chest."

I sat back and thought, 'Suppose sooner or later. Might as well be now,' I said, "All right."

She squared her shoulders, "I want to tell it straight, all of it."

Looking at her I reflected, 'We'd been married twenty-two years and I loved her totally and unconditionally the whole time. She'd been gone for months, half a year, and I never stopped thinking about her and believing I loved her. But now? Oh she was as pretty as ever. We'd worked together at the office for weeks, and lately we'd shared my house. We'd been getting along. Things had been comfortable. But it hit me; did I really need or even want an explanation? Did I even love her anymore? I wasn't so sure. What did I want? Did I want her? What did I want from her? What did it matter?' I played along, "OK, go for it Leslie."

"All right," she said, "I'll begin at the start. It was last fall. You were working all day in the parks, and then twice a week you spent your evenings at the college. Two of the nights when you weren't at the college I was at the library."

I nodded, so far so good. No bull shit yet.

She went on, "I was feeling a lot of things. I still felt guilty about Victoria's accident, the money we'd lost in the crash, and that I wasn't contributing enough to the family's economy." 

That made sense to me so I kept listening.

She pushed ahead, "I was feeling depressed too. It was the fall, and you know how I can get..."

I held her off a little, "Yes, I guess."

She nodded, "Good. Well I was feeling depressed and sorry for myself. I saw those girls you taught. They're all young. I watched them with you. They skipped around in their miniskirts, pressed up against you in their see-through blouses and bounced their perky little ponytails in your face. You enjoyed it. I saw you. I know you did. And there I was getting dye jobs, putting on face creams, buying specially constructed support bras, and staring at my cellulite every morning. Francis I couldn't compete with them."

I interrupted her, "You weren't! Christ Leslie they're just kids."

She retorted, "I didn't see it that way. I saw the 'old me' in them, while you still looked like the 'old you'. I guess I got jealous. Maybe a little mad. Mad at you for being so popular, for still looking so young, for still being a hunk. Then Richard showed up. He just appeared, like out of nowhere. He looked good too."

I was getting ready for the real shit to hit the wall, but I held my tongue. I kept quiet.

She pressed on, "I'm not making any of this up. I was wrong and I know it. He came on to me. He asked me to lunch and I went. He looked at me the way you used to. He kept telling me how great I looked. He said things. He said things like how stupid you had to be to let me off the reservation. He said if I was his he'd tie a rope around my neck and keep me under lock and key. He kept looking at me and admiring me. He paid attention to me. I'd see you at night and all you did was ask a couple questions about the kids, the laundry, your parents, and then you were off to bed."

This was bullshit and I knew it so I told her, "This is bullshit."

She interrupted me, "No it's not, and there's more. Richard's wife had kicked him out. That's when he cried, or got all weepy. He told me he had a problem. He'd gotten an infection and had to take medication for his prostrate. He said he'd had a 'procedure'. The medication and the 'procedure' rendered him impotent. He couldn't get it up, and his wife wanted more so she put him out. He got so forlorn he looked for and found me."

I stifled a yawn. This was good.

She went on, "I thought he needed me. You remember that old 1950's movie when Tony Curtis pretended he couldn't do anything and he got Marylyn Monroe to..."

'Oh shit,' I thought, her and her old movies.' I told her, "You expect me to believe..."

She interrupted me again, "I expect you to listen. I thought he really was, you know, no good...and so...

I shut her off, "So you felt you had to save him. You'd use your body and your sexual skills to restore him to his old masculine self. God Leslie; I'm not stupid. You think..."

She stopped me and continued with her little fable, "It wasn't that way at all. We drove over behind the Denny's. It was dark and he got in my car. I sort of..."

"You jerked him off," I said.

"Not exactly," she said, "I kind of massaged him from outside his pants."

"And he?'

"Well he got a little hard. He got so happy! He said I was like Annie Sullivan!"

I broke down, "He was good wasn't he? Leslie Campbell - 'Miracle Worker'!"

I watched; she tried to pull one of her old tricks. She looked down a little and nibbled the nail on her left index finger. This used to be something that would get me distracted, but I'd outgrown all her old bullshit tricks. I listened as she said, "At the time..."

"Jesus Leslie."

"Well."

"You know now he was manipulating you."

Leslie hit me with one of her patented hang dog looks, "No, actually not then. It was only later."

I was already bored, "Look Leslie," I didn't want any more of her moronic bullshit, "do me a favor. Just take a few minutes and give me the rundown."

"Rundown?"

"Yeah, just give me the timeline; you know, when, where, how long, what."

I watched her. She got a real creepy look on her face, one I hadn't seen before, she sort of mumbled, "Maybe we could talk later. I could get a paper and write it all down."

I had to chuckle. I didn't know why; I just did. She looked over at me and I could tell she didn't like it much. The clock said 5:50 p.m. I knew Victoria probably wouldn't be home for hours. There was an old black and white movie with one of Leslie's 'old favorites', a guy named Gary Cooper in something called 'The Westerner'. I smiled at her, "Skip the timeline for now. I'm going to order a pizza. There's an old western on in a few minutes. Want to watch it with me?"

A look of relief overwhelmed her. She smiled happily, "I'll go get some pillows. You veg on the couch, and I'll sit on the floor," she got up and scooted off to her bedroom to get her supplies.

I called out for a cheese pizza, and then went in and sat back on the sofa. I listened to her rummage around in the back. I wondered if I loved her anymore. I'd stopped feeling angry. I believe I knew and could recognize all her seductive little tricks. I knew I felt comfortable around her. She was still fun to look at, but I didn't get excited like I once did. It was kind of like looking at Victoria.

Victoria was a killer when it came to sex appeal; she had all the looks. I'd watched the boys go gaga over her. I went gaga too, but not in a sexual way. When I thought of my daughter I thought of an old stupid movie Leslie made me watch once called 'Sixteen Candles'. There was a scene where the girl star in that movie got groped by her grandmother. When I saw my daughter I thought of that movie and that scene. I guess Leslie was getting like that with me now; somebody I thought was pretty but not in a sexual way, not anymore. Not like before. 

~~V~~

Leslie came back in with a bunch of pillows and a couple blankets. The pizza came. She laid, then sat, then last curled up on her behind between my legs and rested her head back against my crotch with her hands on my thighs. I got a hard on. Leslie knew it too, but she didn't try anything. I didn't try anything either. I did enjoy the movie, and I enjoyed her company. I tried not to think of anything but the movie and how relaxed I felt.

~~V~~

Life kept moving on, and things kept happening all around me. One day slipped to two, then to seven; the weeks went by. Every once in a while Leslie said she was working on her timeline. I didn't push her. Winter was drawing to a blustery close.

Mrs. Bielson slipped and had a minor fall. She didn't break anything, but it sure scared her; it scared her children too. She put her Algonquin house up for sale and got several bids almost immediately. She started packing. Her oldest daughter had a big rancher just outside Romney.

Richard came in one evening and insisted he and I and Leslie have a talk. Leslie was getting around quite well; at least when I wasn't supposed to be looking. Richard corralled us in the kitchen, "Mom, dad I've come to a decision."

This was his second year of college. I half suspected he was going to announce his college major. Boy was I wrong.

Richard sat across from Leslie and me and said, "I've decided to go active."

"Active! What?" I said.

"Yeah dad," he added, "I'm volunteering for active duty. I already have two years college, and the Guard has a program. In six months I'll be an officer."

Leslie chimed in, "No. I'm not having it. You could get called to..."

He hammered back, "Our unit could get called any time. What's the difference?"

I commented, "There's more to this. Are you sure?"

He said, "Yeah dad. Whether the two of you get back or not I'm sure you'll both be all right, and I need to do this."

Leslie asked, "Does your sister know?"

He replied, "Yeah I told her last week."

Leslie and I just looked at each other. I said, 

"Well I guess if that's what you want," and that was that.

~~v~~

Two days later Victoria hit us. She had her future in her hands; her SAT scores were dynamite, she had some scholarship money, and she'd been accepted by several schools. All she needed to do was send a reply. She came in, pulled a Richard, sat us down, and announced she wanted to go to Auburn. 

"Auburn," I asked?

She said, "Yes, Auburn."

Leslie said, "That's out of state."

Leslie replied to her mom, "I know you and dad don't have the money, but granddad and grandmom have promised to help out once they've sold the cabin."

I was dumbfounded. I guess she saw it.

"Yeah," Victoria added, "Didn't granddad and grandmom tell you? They're selling the cabin and using the proceeds to buy something in Florida. Orlando I think. They want to spend their summers here, but winter over down south."

I looked at Leslie. She looked at me. This was a first for both of us. 

Then Victoria threw her last pitch, "They want Leslie to live with them from now on starting this spring, and then stay on as caretaker starting next winter."

My first thought was at last my parents had given up on the reconciliation thing, but then it hit me. Leslie would be with them all summer here and be alone just a few miles away from me all winter. I could see it pretty clearly; next winter Leslie would take care of their house while I took care of Leslie. I looked at Leslie to see how much she knew, but she looked as surprised as me. 

Leslie and I got on the phone as soon as Victoria left. My mom and dad confirmed what our daughter told us. Then Leslie dropped another sort of bomb.

"Francis," she started, "I'm well enough to move now. I'll pack up and move in with mom and dad this week."

I just sat there a second. Damn straight! I'd wanted her out. Like finally! I never wanted her with me in the first place, but then suddenly I felt somehow something was wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I just knew somehow things weren't going to work out. It was just a buzz, something in my head, call it a sixth sense, but I just knew. There was something.

A couple weeks later what I thought was the real bombshell landed, but before that happened Leslie finally worked up the courage to, once and for all, come clean. It was anti-climactic. I supposed seeing the futility of further attempts to reconcile she decided to try to get it over with.

~~V~~

It was a Sunday afternoon; right after church, just a few days till spring. Both kids were out, and I had a small fire going in the woodstove so it was pleasantly warm. Leslie came in the living room, "Francis I think we can have our talk now." 

I was feeling pretty good right about then. I thought, 'Gee, what a good time for just that.' Moreover, I'd been in contact with some people at the National Park Service, they'd seen my application and resume, and wanted to see me. This was a big deal. So I looked at Leslie and said, "Sure I guess so. Can I get you a coke or anything?"

She said she'd like a coke very much so I went and got each of us one. Then I sat down in the living room on the sofa. 

Leslie came in sat on the floor in front of me. I thought, 'Uh oh,' I said, "You being on the floor. You're not going to try to wangle me are you?"

She tidied up her blouse and slid her feet under her skirt. She looked very feminine. She batted her eyes at me and said, "You know me Francis. This might be my one last big chance," then she smiled again, "Remember Sean Bean in that, movie 'Troy', 'we play with the tools the Gods give us.'" 

I'd enjoyed that movie. We even bought it on DVD; it was still around someplace. I gave her a closer look. I just wasn't sure, she seemed pretty glib, "You're not on anything are you?"

She grinned, "No, no pills, no wine, nothing; it's just me, a truly desperate woman."

'Desperate Woman', that meant something. What movie was it? I couldn't remember. No I did; it had to be 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof', Elizabeth Taylor was Maggie the Cat. Burl Ives was Bid Daddy.' I said, "OK Leslie, no 'mendacity', I just want the truth," 

I did want the truth too. Just the same I'd just about decided there'd be no reconciliation, no return to the marriage, but I liked Leslie, she was still the mother of my kids, she'd worked hard to restore herself in church and around town. I was on her side; I just didn't think I wanted to married to her anymore. I was feeling pretty proud of myself, my willingness to forgive and forget and all, just not stay married. And I had to admit; she sure was trying.'

She squirmed up a little bit, her boobs jiggled a little, "OK. Here goes."

I sat back all ears.

"Richard came to see me. You know that. He told me his wife had kicked him out because he had a medical problem. I told you that too. OK, well we started to meet each other after I got off work at the library. It was November, the days were short. You were always out anyway. We met behind the Denny's; sometimes he'd get in my car, sometimes I'd get in his. We'd just mostly sit and talk."

She sighed, "I can't explain how I felt. I was feeling sorry for myself, and maybe a little angry with you, maybe a little jealous. You were always so busy; so filled, no tied up with important necessary things you had to get done. Me, I only had a piddling little job at the library and a few clothes to wash and iron. That was another thing. Oh I'm sorry Francis. You're such a good man, but I got so sick of green; green slacks, green shirts, even green Tee shirts and boxers. Sometimes I'd kid myself and say I was living in a Birds Eye commercial. You know, 'Ho, ho, Ho,' I'd even sing it sometimes while doing your clothes."

I shifted in my seat. What she was saying made me feel uncomfortable. For one thing I knew I didn't wear all green underwear. But the uniform; what was I supposed to do? She wasn't being fair. She must have read my mind.

"Francis I know I wasn't being fair; about the green I mean, but I just wasn't thinking clearly." 

She paused, took another breath and continued, "Anyway Richard was so different. He was needy; he acted like he needed me. He paid attention to me. I said I felt old and frumpy. I'd gained weight and some of my things were too tight. I know you saw that. My skirts and dresses sort of stretched across me. I had horizontal wrinkles, and my blouses didn't fit right around my arms. I'd been buying new clothes, sexier clothes. I bought the new clothes so you'd notice me, but you didn't. But Richard noticed. He complimented me. He told me I looked just like I did back in college." 

She gulped, "Oh Francis Richard reminisced about our senior year, the Hispanic children, my sadness. Everything he said reminded me of his warmth back then. We'd be on the back seat of his car and he'd put his arm around me. It was just like back in college. He'd take his hand and brush his fingers lightly over my nipples. I let him. I'm sorry, but I let him and I enjoyed it. I'd open his fly, pull out his penis and I'd play with it. The first couple times I just fiddled with it, but I think, no I know, it was the third time I leaned down and put my lips on it."

I watched her and thought about what was going on, 'She had her notes in front of her. She wasn't exactly reading, but she was referring to them. I guessed they were like a crutch. That was OK. She was telling me how she sucked off an old boyfriend and I didn't even get upset. I wasn't bothered by it at all. I knew why too. I was looking at a different woman. She wasn't the woman I'd married. This was somebody else, somebody I neither liked nor disliked. Shit, she was pretty. She was damn pretty. I could've fucked her, but that's just what it would have been, a fuck, just a fuck. I felt kind of good, sad maybe in a way too, but good. I was past her, beyond her. I was outside my older feelings. It wasn't that I didn't want her; it was that I knew I didn't need her, not anymore.'

Leslie went on, "We'd sit in his car, on the back seat and he'd comfort me. He was comforting me! He'd hold my hands. He'd tell me to watch the ornament he had dangling from his rear-view mirror. It was some kind of Celtic thing; it glimmered and shone. He'd hold my hands and tell me to watch the ornament and just relax. He'd say I was supposed to just relax and let all the tension ooze out of my body through my hands into his. He'd tell me to close my eyes and just relax and sleep. I did too. Sometimes I'd go right to sleep. It was like I was hypnotized, but I wasn't cause I knew no one could ever be hypnotized without knowing it. Sometimes I'd doze off for ten even fifteen minutes. I'd awaken and feel so refreshed and rested. Francis you have no idea how therapeutic it was being with Richard."




A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 05



I wasn't sure if this was the real Leslie or just some new kind of trickery. I let her go on. I asked her, "How did you end up in West Virginia?"

She responded, "Oh I don't know exactly. He said he had a rest spot, a motel room not far away. He said we should meet there. He said I needed a place where I could go and just rest and be on my own. He said he'd help me. He said we could help each other. I thought it was a good idea."

She looked away, then turned up to me, "Francis it was like I was a kid again. Richard had taken charge. He didn't make me go to West Virginia. I wanted to go. It wasn't about sex either; it was something else."

"Three times," I said. I thought it was at least three. My old friend Craig and I had looked into that.

Leslie replied, "No it was four. Three times and then you..."

"Me?"

"Now that I know let me explain. I know I went to the motel at least four times. It was a Motel Six. I didn't even remember driving down. I remembered he was always already there. He'd lead me to the room. It was a different room each time, and I remembered wondering because I thought he'd said it was just one. We'd go in, and he'd make me wait just inside the door while he walked all around. Then he'd come back to me. He'd slowly take all my clothes off. The he'd ask me to undress him. You know Francis he always had a hard on. He wasn't ever flaccid or impotent. Not even back in his car. I thought I'd saved him. He kept thanking me. He'd lead me to the bed. Sometimes I felt like I was sleep walking; it was like I was in some dream, or in Heaven. We'd do it." 

I watched her. She stopped, cried a little and wiped a tear away with the heel of her hand.

She seemed to recover, then she went on, "Francis I'm sorry. I said I'd tell you the truth. Three times we met down there. Three times we had sex. He was always bareback, no condoms, no nothing. He was so gentle, so kind, and so sweet. I felt so special." 

I was getting bored, and just about ready to get up and leave when the course of events seemed to change.

"Francis," she said, "something happened the fourth time. I can and can't explain it. He met me and took me to the room just like always."

I listened to her, but if this was the time I was there I didn't remember it exactly that way. I let her go on though.

"He led me in the room, and I waited just inside the door like always, but then he started to laugh, a real quiet sort of chuckle. He walked to the front of the bed and pulled off a pillow case. Still walking backwards he came back and covered the clock radio. Then he looked at me and put his finger to his mouth so I shouldn't say anything. He looked all around. That's when we heard a car alarm go off outside. He grabbed me and we walked to the bathroom. He turned on the water and whispered to me that someone had 'bugged' the room. He said he bet it was his wife. He told me to wait in the bathroom till he got back."

I knew what day she was talking about by then. It was the day I did the GPS.

Leslie went on, "I don't know. It was like I woke up or something. I still waited in the bathroom He came back a couple minutes later and gave me some kind of crazy spiel about his wife not trusting him and her trying to find an excuse to divorce him. He said we'd have to lay low for a while. He said he thought his wife or somebody had bugged the room? I didn't understand at first. Then he added that I should take something, a hammer or something and smash the GPS in my car. He said to take my car back to where I got it and have them look it over for 'devices.' I asked him what he meant and he said listening or other tracking devices just in case, he said 'you' might be 'on to us' too. 

I interrupted, "I was. It had been me who'd caused his car alarm to go off."

Leslie nodded, "That's when a light went on somewhere. Richard had never been impotent. He'd never come to me for help. I found out later he'd called and talked to my mother and she'd told him where I lived. The only reason he'd come to Oakland was to fuck me, no, not that, he'd come to fuck with me. I still can't say why, not even to this day I really just don't know, but it was my mother who told him. I did find out later Richard's wife had kicked him out, but for something other than philandering. I don't know what."

I wanted to laugh. This had to be bullshit. I kept a straight face, "So Richard tricked you. Then you caught on. What happened then?" I watched her. She put her papers away.

"Francis I...I had to protect myself. Richard laughed at me. He said I was on my own. He suggested if you said anything I should deny everything. He said if you had pictures just deny anyway. He said he had a good line on you. He said...he said you'd believe anything I told you."

She smiled, "You almost did. I just got impatient and thought if I went back to Baltimore you'd get scared and lonely and beg me to come back. You did too. I just made one mistake..."

I stopped her, "Yeah, I went back to Baltimore and caught you with Richard."

She sat up and then sat back down. She looked me cold in the eyes, "That's the one thing that didn't happen. Yes, I'd had a cheap dirty affair. Yes, I'd even enjoyed it, not the sex and not getting away with something, just the getting away from home and doing something nobody else knew about. What went wrong was Richard had come to Baltimore to see my father, not me. Somehow Richard's problems were connected to my father. I guessed my father fixed whatever it was. Anyway, Richard and I thought we were both in the clear. His financial troubles had been fixed, and I was sure our marriage was going to be safe. What you saw, the pictures you had; they weren't about sex or anything."

I did get a little mad at that, "I saw you and him go to a motel out on the beltway."

"Maybe," she replied, "but it had nothing to do with any affairs; it was just kind of a celebration. We never did anything. I mean it. Honest. We never did anything in Baltimore. Meanwhile I'd talked our Richard and Victoria into setting you up. It was a dirty trick, and they didn't want to do it. I knew what I had wasn't anything. I mean the pictures of you with that Venica, but I decided to use them. I knew you had a thing for her. I wanted to get her as far away from you, from us, as possible." 

I caught her up on that stupidity, "Shit Leslie. I'd told you a hundred times Venica was just a girl I knew. I'd never taken her seriously. She'd married a good guy. After he died she was desperate. She still is, but her and me, an item? Never happen."

Leslie just nodded, "I know...now."

I had to finish her off, "So you got hoodwinked into a stupid affair because you were depressed and felt sorry for yourself. That was stupid Leslie, really stupid, so stupid."

She tried to smile, "You don't suppose..."

"No sweetheart, not happening. You know Leslie I've come to like you over these last few weeks, but in a different way. You're still a nice person. You and I have two great kids. We both know Richard's opting for active duty so Victoria will have enough money for Auburn. You and I; we did a good job. But you and me as a couple? I think we'll grow to be good friends, but when the time's up, and I can get this official we're divorced. Sorry Leslie."

Leslie got up and sat beside me on the sofa. She took my hands, "You won't hate me if I keep trying?"

I brushed my fingers through her hair, "No I won't hate you. I'll never hate you." I meant it too.

She got up and started for her bedroom, then turned, "I'll be out of the house in a few days, and Francis?"

"Yes Leslie."

"Richard."

"Yeah?"

"He wasn't...I mean you're a..."

I said, "It's OK Leslie. I know."

She got to the bedroom door, opened it, stepped ahead, then she turned, "You know Francis?"

"No Leslie. What?"

"You and me it was never about the..."

"The sex? No never."

"Francis?"

"Yeah?"

"You think maybe?"

I smiled, "Yeah sure, just not now. After the decree...maybe then."

She responded, "We'll tear up the sheets then won't we."

"You bet Leslie."

She went in the bedroom and closed the door. I heard her crying. I think she cried all night. It was sad. Our lives together were over. We'd had some wonderful years together. I knew I was going to miss her. I doubted if I'd ever find another. I wasn't even looking. 

Then fate intervened...again.

~~V~~

My new boss Thurmond Freeman wasn't an asshole; he was a big asshole, and I had the shit stains to prove it.

It was the middle of April. Leslie had been out of the house less than a week when Thurmond decided we needed a 'walk through'; a tour up and down the old C&O Canal. A walk through? A fucking walk through? What he wanted to get some more poison ivy?

He had more than that in mind. He'd invited some politicians and a couple state forestry people for a visit. Thurmond wanted to show off by taking them up and down the canal. I had no problem with that until he insisted I come along.

It didn't take me long to figure things out. All but one of the politicians was black, and all but one of the foresters were black too. As we walked along 'Mr. Genius', that was Thurmond, started rattling off the types of flora and the animal signs about. Big deal? It would have been if I hadn't already gone down the trail with him pointing out what he needed to know. This was a guy who could cite page and paragraph of every comment about global warming, but he didn't know a rabbit turd about the area he was supposed to manage. 

Every wooded area. I don't care where it is develops its own unique environment, its own biome. Ours had been around quite a while and was pretty distinctive. He just didn't know enough yet. 

Worse, he'd decided to use me as a kind of 'step and fetch it'. He was playing the expert while I was expected to play 'Rochester'. Rochester I remembered was Jack Benny's sidekick in a bunch of old movies. Leslie would have been proud of me. She liked those old comedies.

We'd left the trail and were near the river. Like I said it was April and there was scant foliage about. We could easily see the Potomac. We were striding along. Thurmond was going on about something when I espied a tragedy in progress out on the river. Thank god we were close.

Some couple in a canoe had decided to go over one of the weirs. They'd capsized! Thurmond was just telling me to do something. I heard him, but I'd left the group. Luckily I had on a good pair of boots. I saw the canoe go over. I strode into the frigid water and started to half wade half swim toward them. The girl had cleared the weir, but I saw her companion; I saw his hands and arms go up and disappear. He was trapped in the wheel! I went as fast as I could. It must have been his third cycle when I got there. At least he had a life vest on. I reached over and forward, grabbed the vest, and yanked as hard as I could. Thank god we had a buoyant man! 

It was tough but I got him out. He was pretty well out of it. I grabbed him under his shoulder and by his head and again half swam half waded back to shore. I pulled him out and started in with the mouth to mouth. After a few tries he started gasping and coughing. By then his girlfriend had made it to us.

The guy wasn't too pleasant. He started half gasping and half cussing at me. His girlfriend managed to shut him up when she told him I'd most certainly save his fucking ungrateful life.

Thurmond and his entourage reached us. Thurmond looked at the others and said something like, "And that's what we do around here," then he looked at me and said, "why don't you go dry off. We'll meet you later back at my office."

He was right about one thing; the life-saving, that's what we did do every now and then. But I sure didn't see him out there. And I sure didn't hear anyone say something like 'good job, or maybe just a 'hey fuck you'. He didn't get it! I wasn't some kid. I was over forty years old! I was exhausted! It was April! I wasn't going back to any fucking office. I was going home, and then maybe to the doctor's. Intelligent people didn't play in ice cold water; not and live long.

A couple days later I got a summary of his report about 'our' visit and the 'incident' on the river. He cited what happened, but I swear it sounded like he'd been the one to rescue the man. That finished it for me. I knew, no matter what, I was out of there.

~~V~~

Leslie had moved in with mom and dad. She got a better job working at the Walmart; at least she'd get more hours and a bigger check, and maybe some health care. I went back to work getting through each day in the parks and hunting for something somewhere else. Two things happened; one was stunning, the other was tragic.

First, I got a line on a good job! The National Park Service liked what they saw. Better! They had something in the Shenandoah Valley. I wasn't just getting a job. I had a shot at the Skyline Drive! I mean it wasn't Yellowstone or Glacier National Park, but it was the plum of plums in our neck of the woods! I turned in my notice. Thurmond was sad, yeah sure. I had to clear out of the state system and get into the Federal system, but that was going to be easy. That was the stunner.

Then came the tragedy. 

Leslie was gone, out of my life. She lived with someone else, my parents, and had a new job. We seldom saw each other, and when we did it was just to say hi. Then I got a call from my mom; it was about Leslie. Of course it was too good to be true. Leslie must have come up with another gimmick. I waited a week, got a couple more calls from mom before I went over.

I got to mom and dad's house and they were there in the kitchen waiting for me. I said, "OK, what now?"

Mom was sitting down. Dad was standing behind her. He said, "She's gone."

I knew they meant Leslie. I asked anyway, "Gone? Gone where?"

When mom took over I figured it might be a little more serious, she started, "Leslie got a registered letter from some lawyer in Philadelphia. Francis she literally fainted. Her dad's dead; some kind of cancer. We think he's been dead a while."

"Oh," I said, "she's gone back to Baltimore for the funeral."

"No funeral," my mom said, "nothing. He died and that's it. Leslie got the letter and a cashier's check. She showed it to us. Nothing else. No explanations."

I asked, "Well where's the man being laid out? Where's he to be buried."

Dad said, "Didn't you hear your mother? No one knows anything. Like your mom said, we think he's been gone a while. That's why she went to Baltimore. She called her mother, but all she got was some secretary. Her mother's disappeared too."

I just sort of stood there. Hell I didn't know what to do.

Dad fixed that in a hurry, "You've got to go to Baltimore. You've got to find out what's what."

"Jesus dad, this is really no big deal. So the old bastard's dead. So Leslie probably got a check, probably from some old trust fund. Who knows? I mean who cares? Let's wait a few days. She'll call or something when she's ready. I'm going home. Call me when she calls or gets back."

But she didn't call, and she didn't come back. My kids started badgering me. Two weeks later I was back at my parent's house. 

Mom was right on me, "Son we didn't tell you everything before. Your dad took a couple notes. That Philadelphia lawyer? Your dad managed to jot his name down. The cashier's check. He saw it, and it was only for $210,000.00."

"So what," I said.

Dad said, "$210,000.00. A trust fund? Doesn't sound like it. No funeral? No burial? No nothing. Something's fishy. Now it's been two weeks. We've been calling. We've been calling Leslie's number. We're getting nowhere. Son you've got to do something."

I looked from my dad to my mom. My guess was Leslie had drifted off someplace with her mother. Her father had probably been buried in some odd place. Maybe Saint Helena's for all I knew. She'd probably just shut off her phone. Given up on me, us, Oakland. She was probably sitting on a hundred million somewhere. I thought that, but then I knew that was bullshit. Mom and dad were right. I had to do something.

"OK. Mom, dad. I'll go to Baltimore." They both collapsed in relief. I hadn't realized how worried they really were. That wasn't true. I knew they were worried, frantic even. I was just being a stubborn prick.

~~V~~

I had some time, close to ten weeks actually. I was out of the state system and wouldn't be expected in Virginia near the end of the summer. They were waiting for some other old guy to retire before bringing me on. I packed an overnight bag and drove to Baltimore. When I got there I made some disquieting discoveries. 

The Wells old Roland Park house had been sold. Mother and daughter were nowhere to be found. I went to the church Mrs. Wells attended. I knew she'd been a daily communicant for several years. They had to know something. They did. Mrs. Wells, once she heard of her husband's demise, had sold everything, turned it all over to the church and settled in to a sectarian retirement home for nuns. The place was just outside the city so it was easy to find. I got there and they grudgingly agreed to let me speak to Mrs. Wells. 

Mrs. Wells had changed her name and adopted the name of some long dead sister she'd known as a child. She agreed to see me, but only briefly. Our conversation was not very helpful.

Her new name was Sister Felicita and wouldn't answer to anything else. I asked her, "Sister Felicita do you know where I can find my wife?" I was officially divorced by then, but I didn't know what Mrs. Wells knew.

She sat quietly, hands folded in her lap. I thought, 'She'd finally found her place in the cosmos.' 

She replied, "My daughter has gone to the place she said she loved the most."

That was good, I asked, "Yeah? Where's that?"

She smiled one of those holier than thou shit smiles and replied, "It doesn't matter for I know she's happy now."

That got to me; it sounded like she thought Leslie was dead. I'd always had my suspicions about this woman. Now I was sure, "Sure great," I said, "Where's that?"

Her reply was disturbing, very disturbing, "Close to God."

I was getting impatient, "Look Mrs. Wells or Sister Felicita or whoever you are now I need to find Leslie. Everybody back home is worried about her. And what's up with her father? What happened to him? I heard he's dead. So where's he buried?"

She looked at me, "It's in God's hands. Best you didn't know," she started to get up. 

I was completely taken aback! I got up and grabbed her arm, "Now hold it! Where's my wife? Where's my fucking wife?"

Two younger men, apparently medical people, interns or something appeared out of nowhere; one of them looked at me, "Sorry sir. I think Sister Felicita wants to leave now."

I tried to come between them and Mrs. Wells, but they were bigger, stronger younger, and they knew martial shit or something. They very quickly and very firmly manhandled me right out of the room and all the way back outside to my jeep. One of them very politely said, "Please stay away," then they both disappeared back inside the building.

So there I stood, outside this sanatorium or whatever the hell it was, and I knew even less than when I'd started. I knew one thing though; I definitely had to find Leslie, and I definitely had to find out what the fuck was up. I also knew I needed help. I opened my cell phone and called Victoria. 

Victoria must have expected something because she answered right away, "Daddy?"

"Victoria honey I'm really worried," I was scared, but I didn't want to alarm her, "I don't know where your mother is. Someone might have done something with her. I need help. Where can we meet? Get Richard."

She responded like I was acting messed up. I guess I was, but this wasn't supposed to be happening. I just bet Leslie was hanging out someplace drinking mint juleps and getting hit on by a bunch of guys. Who was I kidding? I knew my Leslie; she wasn't the mint julep type. Victoria said to me, "Don't get upset. Where are you?"




A Simple Case of Infidelity



Venica was a nice person, pretty in a mousy sort of way; brown hair, dark brown eyes, skinny, flat chested, short, with kind of squeaky voice. Like I said before she'd married a good guy, but I didn't say they'd had a child, a girl named Tammy. Tammy was six. I'd seen Venica self-consciously visit the town's 'thrift store'. Felt kind of sorry for her I guess. She was younger than me. She'd been a ninth grader when I was a senior. I'd taken her out a couple times. I remember she needed a date for a couple dances. My parents made me take her. 

I knocked and after a few moments she opened up. She looked like she'd just awakened. Clutching her nonexistent breasts with her hands she exclaimed, "Oh Francis, come in." She opened the door and I stepped through. I remember being at her house when her parents had been alive, and I remembered stopping in the day of her husband's funeral years back, but other than that this was the first I'd been inside the place in quite a while. The front room was dark, but it was easy to see things didn't look too prosperous. 

Venica stepped back, "Here let me take your hat and coat. Sit down. I'll be just a minute. I'll fix some coffee. You like cream but no sugar right?"

I held up my hands, "No don't bother. I just stopped by for a second."

She was already halfway to the kitchen. She was one of those tiny skinny flirty types; not flirtatious, but flirty like a little bird. Honestly, I liked them big like Leslie. Venica never did it for me. She looked back, "It'll just be a second. Please, oh please sit down."

I replied, "All right, but I've only got a couple minutes."

I sat uncomfortably while I heard her dash around back and forth in her kitchen. She was back out after a couple minutes. She had two cups of coffee and a pint container of half & half on a tray. She sat the tray on her parents old scratched up coffee table. "Gee Francis, it's good to see you," she said.

I took one of the cups and added some cream. The cup was chipped and the handle had been broken off. I felt guilty. Damn I lived across the street from this? I said, "Sorry I've only got a minute. I'd like to ask you something, maybe get some help." She was sitting on a wooden stool, right on the edge like she was being interviewed. It made me feel self-conscious.

She said, "Sure anything."

I sighed, "Have you seen anything across the street. You know at my house?"

She seemed to fidget; she sure was a nervous Nellie. She replied, "No not really. Are you worried about your kids?"

"No. I mean any strange cars. Any unusual things with...my wife."

She put her cup down. She wiped her mouth. She pressed her hands against her knees. God I thought she's really scrawny. She didn't really look at me, "No...nothing." 

She was lying too. I could tell. I added, "It would be nice. I'm not asking you to spy, but if you saw anything I'd appreciate it if you let me know."

Venica looked at me with big dark eyes; eyes so big I thought they'd pop right out of her head, "I wouldn't...snoop, but if I saw anything I thought was dangerous I'd tell you."

I took another sip of coffee and got up. I started toward the door. She followed right behind me. When I got to the door I turned around. She was so close she had to step back. I almost bumped her. A bump from me, even someone as skinny as me would have knocked her down. I smiled, "I'd really appreciate it." She looked so darn helpless I reached out and touched her cheek. 

She leaned her face into my hand, then pulled back, "I'll let you know if I see anything." She was blushing.

She was so skinny, tiny. She was wearing an old wrinkled up blouse, no bra, her tits were almost nonexistent. Her hair was in a messy heap on the top of her head, and the worn sweat pants did nothing for her spindly legs. And I was getting a hard on! 

I pushed my hat on my head, nodded, and got the hell out of there. As I walked back to my jeep I glanced over at her beat up S-10 and thought, 'what a fixer upper.' I wasn't sure if I was thinking of her old car or Venica. Damn. I mean God damn. I felt like I needed to jack off!

~~v~~

The next few days were spent getting back on track at work and searching the Internet for anyone with a Lexus with the tags I'd seen. I got my work schedule back in line, but nothing on the car came up. 

I figured I better do more about what my wife was up to. Keeping track and finding out more turned out to be a piece of cake. Leslie was gone the following Tuesday. Yeah, off to West Virginia. It didn't look good either. I used the device I'd hidden and tracked her car to a Motel Six just outside Martinsburg. I needed another day off. I took it too.

That Friday I was in Martinsburg at the Motel Six at the same time of day. I'd watched a lot of crime TV, and a lot detective shows so I knew what I was supposed to do. I went up to the desk clerk, dropped a $10.00 on the top, and showed him a picture of my wife, "Ever seen her around here?"

He laughed, "Cost you more than $10.00."

I dropped him another $20.00, and thought shit this was expensive.

He smiled, "She comes in now and then with a friend of hers."

I asked, "A man?"

He smiled. I put another $10.00 on the counter.

He took the $10.00, "They come in every week or so; sometimes once, sometimes twice a week. They get a room, stay a few hours and leave."

"Any particular room," I asked?

He waited. I told him, "You got enough." 

He grinned, "You the husband?"

I grinned back, "Mighty pissed off too."

"No they aren't particular about the room. They'll take whatever I give them."

I smiled broadly. I handed him another $20.00, "Let's say I get to choose the room." 

"Any one in particular," he asked?

"I said, "I'll be back Monday. You work Monday's?"

He nodded.

I smiled, "We'll work it out then."

He grinned; God he was a real snake, "See you Monday."

On the way home I thought this was too easy. I'm no technician, but I do know my way around electronics a little bit. I stopped in at the nearest Radio Shack and bought a tiny surveillance camera and a recorder. I was surprised. Things on the market these days were pretty sophisticated and small. The guy at Radio Shack had several offerings. We picked what I thought were the best ones. He explained how they worked, and how best to install them. Thinking of the Lexus I bought another GPS

Back out on the parking lot I called my supervisor, and told him I'd need Monday and probably two more days off the next week. While I waited on the phone he checked his calendar. He got back on and said every day but Friday looked clear. I thanked him and hung up. 

~~~v~~~

That weekend was spent doing a lot things. The first thing I did was stop off at the grocery and buy several bags of food. I dropped them off at Venica's. Richard had something doing at school Saturday afternoon so I made Victoria go with me to that. Leslie made a roast beef for Sunday. She and I went to church Sunday morning. We stopped making the kids go a couple years back. Leslie and I both figured they'd been sufficiently rooted. When the time came they'd be OK.

Saturday night Richard had a date, and we dropped Victoria off at a girlfriend's for a sleep over. That left the whole house for just Leslie and me. I kept thinking about the black Lexus, but decided to hold off. I wanted something else to happen Saturday night.

I took a shower, shaved, slipped into a pair of boxers and a Tee shirt, started a fire in the wood-stove and curled up on the sofa. Leslie must have had the same thing in mind. I heard her upstairs, first in the shower, then in the bedroom. 

Our cabin had four bedrooms upstairs. Their doors were all exposed along a second floor balcony. Cosmetically the cabin looked terrific, but it was a nightmare to heat. The high vaulted ceiling was where all the heat ended up so downstairs was always cold. We have friends with the same problem. They solved it by keeping five dogs. In the cold wintertime they snuggle under blankets with their dogs. I said something to Leslie but she killed it; too much hair, too many fleas, and too much shit in the yard. 

I could see our bedroom door from the sofa. About twenty minutes later I watched as Leslie stepped from our bedroom. She had on a navy blue long sleeved and full length cotton pajama set. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Even with the dim lighting I could see she was wearing makeup and her new shiny hooped earrings. She looked breathtaking. I watched as she floated down the upstairs aisle to the stairs and down the steps. 

Her breasts slowly undulated as she walked. She had big ones, and even at forty-one they still hadn't shown any signs of sag. Beneath those loose fitting folds of cloth I knew was hidden the body of Aphrodite. I held my breath as she crossed the living room floor toward me. She slithered in beside me on the sofa. She was wearing some new kind of perfume; she smelled terrific!

We curled up together on the sofa. Slowly, one button at a time, I undid of her pajama top; her thick round breasts with their magically brown aureole peaked out at me. I leaned forward and kissed each succulent nipple. 

Faintly I sense the aroma of her vaginal juices. In my mind's eye I caught the visage of her engorged labia. I saw the soft sheen of her woman's moisture as it slowly seeped from between her nether lips. Her vagina I knew was hot, aglow with anticipation. 

My manhood started to come to life. In the semi-darkness of our living room I felt Leslie's fingers as they found the crease in my boxers and reached in to lightly caress my rapidly growing shaft. 

Our lips touched; hers, like always, full and moist. She had her fingers wrapped around my penis. I reached down to pull her bottoms off. 

The front doorbell rang.

I leaned back and muttered, "Shit. Who could that be?"

Leslie groaned, "Go see and send them away."

I trudged over to the door and opened it a crack. There in front of me was an irate Venica. She had at her feet the cardboard box filled with groceries I'd bought. Politely but firmly she said, "No thank you."

I let the door spill open a little further, "Venica, come on."

From behind Leslie called out, "Who is it honey?"

I yelled back, "It's Venica from across the street."

More harshly Leslie exclaimed, "What does she want? Send her away."

I looked at Venica, "Come on, I know you probably need it."

She used her foot and tried to push the too heavy box in the door, "Sorry Francis; I don't want or need your charity." 

Leslie yelled back again from across the room, "What does she want. Get rid of her."

Venica heard my wife. She turned to go. I reached out to stop her, "Come Venica; just this once, please?"

By then Leslie was at the door. She looked down at the box, "What's this?"

I turned to my wife, "I stopped in at Venica's the other day. I thought I'd..."

I didn't know why but Leslie went over the top, "What are you buying groceries for that little spider for? After all these years you've still got it going for her?" 

By then Venica had walked out of earshot. I turned to my wife, "Jesus Leslie, she's had it pretty rough since her husband died. I just thought..."

"Oh you did? You just thought. Well think again," Angrily she turned and walked back across the living room to the stairs and up to our bedroom. She slammed the door so loud I bet they heard it in Cumberland.

I thought, 'So much for my night of hot steamy sex.' I looked around. I hadn't thought about it for a long time, but I remembered I'd grown up almost right across the street from Venica. My log cabin actually wasn't mine at all. Mom and dad had built it back in the late 1970's. Dad worked for the railroad, and mom had been a dental hygienist so between them they made good money. Shortly after Richard was born they decided the cabin was too much for them. They didn't give it to us, but they've let us live in it rent free ever since they moved. They'd bought a small Cape Cod closer to town. 

Well so much for the 'great weekend'. That night I slept in Victoria's room. Sunday Leslie and I went to church. Honestly, though it never made sense, I should have known better, Leslie had always been a little jealous of Venica. Come to think of it; Leslie was jealous of most of the people I knew. 

~~v~~

Monday came and I was off to Martinsburg with my goodies. Together me and the clerk settled on a room my wife and someone might have used once or twice before. I thanked the clerk and went about hiding the camera and the audio equipment. The clerk agreed he'd keep the room vacant if he could. He assured me it wouldn't be a problem during the week. I went back home.

Monday night we were all back at the table. Leslie fixed up some fried eggs, pancakes, and scrapple. She seemed to have recovered from her snit. Richard was his usual preoccupied self, and Victoria well, she was who she was. Anybody with teenage daughters knows exactly what that means. She might be the sweetest kid in the world, but 'don't talk to me' meant back off!

No one knew I'd taken that Monday off. Tuesday morning I went in to work, but didn't stay long. Around 9:00 I checked the GPS in Leslie's car. Yeah, she was on the move. I went to see my boss and told him I needed the rest of the day, but most likely this would be the end of it. He agreed, and I split. I was headed for Martinsburg.

It didn't take long. I bet I got to the Motel Six not more than a few minutes behind Leslie. Her car was already parked. I saw the black Lexus. I sat back and watched as the two of them walked out of the motel office and went straight to the room I'd wired. I turned on the machinery, waited a couple minutes and slipped over to the Lexus. I thought I'd hide the GPS where the gas tank opened out. Damn; as soon as I started to fiddle with the thing the car alarm started to go off. Shit I hated technology. I scooted around back behind the motel dumpster. 

Lucky me, the guy who owned the car came out, went to his car, checked it, and went right back. I thought it over. I bet he'd turned the alarm system off. I took a second shot. Yes he had. Not to be fooled a second time I knelt down on the passenger's side and pried the damn GPS in and up between the boot of the front wheel. There was more than a good chance the thing would fall out once he started moving, but then I thought, 'so what, I was already here. I could simply follow him.'

I re-crossed to my jeep, pulled down the street, of course on the distant side from the way Leslie would leave, I sat back but stayed in sight of the Lexus and waited, and waited, and waited. Of course I wasn't stupid. In my line of work there were occasions when I'd be out, in need of a piss, and not have the facilities nearby. It happened that day too. I was ready. I just pulled out a rubber, slipped the thing over my hog, and let her, him, it rip. Once I was done I tied it off and carefully laid the thing on the floor behind my seat. I felt pretty sure of myself. 

A little after 1:00 first the man, and then Leslie came out. I got a really good look at him; it was a daunting look too. Nothing prepared me for what I saw. The guy had to be 6'4". He had blond hair. Even from where I was I could see the guy looked like a god. And his suit; it was a suit too. Jesus I bet it cost $1,000.00. And Leslie? I never saw that dress before; it was a brilliant black. I mean it shimmered as she walked away. Looking at him and then at her; I never felt so inadequate.

I thought back on Leslie; where she came from, where she grew up, her experiences before me. She'd gone to one of the most exclusive private high schools in Baltimore. She'd lived in that section of north Baltimore where money, breeding, and family was assumed. She'd been a debutante. She'd hadn't gone to some state school, not her she'd gone a small exclusive private college just outside the city. 

Me growing up; I vacationed at Deep Creek Lake. I swam at Myrtle Beach. Not Leslie, it had been Hawaii, San Tropez, Switzerland for her. I bought my clothes at Walmart. For Leslie growing up everything she got was personally tailored. I know. I saw.

Well I guess I'd had my time; twenty years wasn't too bad. I suppose she just got tired of flannel shirts and jeans. I couldn't blame her. I just didn't measure up. 

OK, they'd gone. I went to the desk clerk, got the key, went in and grabbed the video and audio equipment. I didn't even bother to check it. Not that it mattered; I knew it had what I wanted. I examined the GPS on the rich guy's car; it was still attached. I thought, 'What the hell. Let's follow and see where it takes us.' 

I followed; and it sure didn't take me to another Motel Six, not this time. The guy went straight to a Hampton. Well where else? Did it matter? My guess was he was some old boyfriend; they'd reconnected, she liked what she saw, and now she was making plans. I read there were several kinds of extramarital affairs; one was called the 'exit affair'. Somehow I got the impression that's where we were headed.

So this might be an exit affair. Oh I was down. I felt defeated. No way could I beat out a guy like that. I was what; a nobody. I was a scarecrow in a green suit, lace up boots, and a funny hat. I chased drunken hunters, trapped overly aggressive chipmunks, pulled overconfident canoers out of too cold streams. That guy most likely has his own plane, his own yacht, he probably had an apartment off Central Park in New York. How could I compete with that? I flew kites; he probably went sky diving. Oh I had two boats. Yeah a seventeen foot Grumman canoe and a somewhat larger runabout that I used to do rooster tails on the Potomac on hot summer days. Big deal! And yes, I had two weather proof outbuildings in the woods; one for birdwatchers, and another for deer hunters. Ain't I special? When I think of the way she looks, her body, the opportunities she's had, the resources, the connections? Why did she ever marry me? It had to be on a bet!

OK, I found him. I didn't even try to get his name. I packed up my kit gear and drove on back home. I was done, finished, beaten. 

Yet the further I drove, the closer I got to home, the angrier I got. It kept running through my mind; she had married me, we'd made two babies together, we'd built something. We both stood up in church and made promises. Damn it, I might be the lowliest smelly skunk in the forest, but she'd made a commitment, she'd pledged. I was no wimp. No coward me! Shit, it was dumb farmers like me who stood up to the British back in 1775. Guys like me stormed the Bastille! I could've been at the Alamo, Belleau Wood, Bastogne! What she'd been doing was wrong! I had a right damn it! I had a right! I'd get my day. I would, I swore I would. I had the goods. God damn it I was going to use them too. I'd start tonight.

~~v~~

When I got home the kids were there, but Leslie hadn't showed up yet. I went inside and put on some coffee. About ten minutes later a car pulled up and Leslie got out; it wasn't her car. 

I stepped out on the front veranda, "What happened? Where's your car. You all right?"

Leslie came up and gave me an inexplicable look and a peck on the cheek, "No there was some kind of electrical problem so I dropped my car off at the dealership. They looked at it while I waited and said there was something out of whack with the GPS you installed. They took it out. They're going to replace it with another."

'That was unusual,' I thought.

She asked, "You made coffee? Mm good I could go for some. What's for dinner?"

I was steamed. I replied, "Trouble. Come inside. We need to talk." 

I couldn't believe her; she smiled, "Sure sugar. Mind if I get a shower and get changed first. This dress is killing me. I need to get in my flannels."

As she walked in and upstairs I thought, 'That was a deliberate dig.' It didn't occur to me to ask her where the dress came from and why she was wearing anything so expensive in the middle of the afternoon. Oh but I'd get her later though! 




A Simple Case of Infidelity



I followed her inside. Once inside I turned to the kids. I dropped two $20.00 on Richard, "You and Victoria disappear for a few hours."

He took the money, grinned, and yanked at his sister, "Come on." That pissed me off a little; we'd spent a ton of money and countless hours getting her back on her feet again. I didn't feel like watching big brother doing that. I didn't say anything though. I just wanted them out of the house.

Leslie came back downstairs wearing a long flannel nighty and a pair of fuzzy slippers. "So, she said, "what's up?"

I told her, "Sit down. I've got something to show you," I took out the flash drive I had from the video and pushed it in my lap top. I hadn't checked it yet, but I knew what was there. I turned the thing on. Guess what, nothing was there. 'Damn it,' I thought, 'the guy at Radio Shack said...' Shit I knew I should have bought the newer more expensive device.

Leslie sat back comfortably sipping her coffee, "Any time."

I kept fiddling with the thing, but nothing was happening. Shit, I got the audio thing out, and turned that on. I didn't hear anything. I looked back at my wife. Damn! She knew! I never saw such a shit eating grin!

She smiled, "Well?"

"God damn it Leslie you know what I had on this!"

She gave me that sweet innocent look she's always been so good at. She fluttered her eye lashes and cooed, "No honey pie I really don't."

"Yes you do," I said, "I know where you've been today. I know what you've doing!"

She kept smiling. She did a little snap with her head that made her hair flip out and away from her face. She put her left index finger to her lips. Her tongue delicately caressed the tip of her finger. Eyelids lazily drooping she whispered, "You do? I can't imagine..."

I was so pissed off. I interrupted her. "Look you were down in Martinsburg with some old boyfriend. You and he were shacked up in a Motel Six. I know what you did! And where'd you get that dress?"

I didn't break through, not for a second. I was spitting into the wind. She sat there, all smiles, smug, confident, too confident. 

She crooned, "Honey where'd you get an idea like that. I just went for a drive. I like driving my 'new prior owned' Avalon. I know it's winter, but I enjoy the scenery. You know what I like best? I like seeing through the dead and barren trees. I get to see all the old abandoned homes and the ramshackle shacks where the poor farmers live. I think about the peoples' lives that might have been changed in some of those old crumbling down places. It stirs my imagination. I think about people like Loretta Lynn and places like Butcher's Holler. I see those rusty old pick-up trucks on cinder blocks and it makes me nostalgic about what it must have been like to live in 'Old Appalachia'. I mean like 'The Walton's and John Boy, and stills, and corn liquor, and dirty baseball caps, and patched and ragged overalls, and faded old house dresses. Plus, I went over to Lavalle, then on to Cumberland. You know Richard's thinking about Frostburg. Gosh; it's a pretty good public college. And the dress; I bought that for work. It was so pretty I thought I'd wear it. Actually I wanted to make sure it fit properly so I could wear it if we went out this weekend." 

Who was she kidding? I never heard such bullshit! I knew damn well where she went and what she'd been doing. She knew too. She knew I knew. I bet her and that guy discovered my surveillance stuff. Yeah, they messed it up. Smart assed bitch! 

Her voice sounded syrupy, but it reeked of venom and selfish superiority. These weren't the words of the woman I'd married. They were somebody else's words. They belonged to another person; a person I didn't know.

I was positively apoplectic, "I can't believe you think I'd believe this bullshit you're tossing. I saw. I saw you go in that room! I saw you two come out. Leslie you're cheating on me. You broke our marriage vows. You're an adulterous bitch! Oh Christ! I give up. I saw the bastard! I can't compete with somebody like that."

Leslie was just sitting, smiling, sipping her coffee, her little finger sticking out; she was playing the dainty lady. She was her mother; a self-righteous over-weaning under-weight old cow who lived in a vine wrapped old mansion in Baltimore with an over-bearing stuffed shirt husband. What had happened to my wife? Where had she gone? Thanksgiving had been so wonderful, warm, sharing, so familial. Now...this?

She sweetly admonished, her voice had the lyrical quality, the gently trained purr of a cat playing with a helpless mouse, "Francis, Francis, Francis you're overtired. You're overworked. You're imagining things," 

She got up and sexually, one hip at a time, sidled, no slithered, toward me. She put her hands on the collar of my shirt. She caressed my neck under my chin and around my ears. She let them drift slowly, oh so slowly, down to my crotch. I heard my zipper as she leisurely pulled it lower and lower. Her finger tips were inside my pants, they found the flap that led inside my boxers to my Johnson, her fingers lightly brushed the head of my flaccid penis. The traitorous little bastard started to respond.

I said, "Leslie you..."

She closed her lips on my mouth, "Mm you taste good." She very deliberately allowed herself to drift down between my legs. 

I looked down and watched.

Leslie had her fingers on my rapidly engorging phallus. Keeping her face toward my dick; with her eyes she peered up at me. She had that innocent beseeching look one only sees on porn sites when the whore pretends to be some guileless unsullied virgin about to surrender herself. 

Looking at me, fingers on my shaft, she opened her mouth and licked me. 'Oh God, Oh Jesus', I thought, 'this is so unfucking fair!' She started sliding her tongue up and down the shaft of my rigid, steel hard manhood. Another few seconds of this and I'd be spewing semen all over the place. I recognized that smile, that lascivious look; that was exactly what she wanted. I knew the dialogue; she'd said it before, I'd heard it a thousand times.

"Oh," she spooned, "my little Smokey's hot little hose is so full of his aluminum oxide, and mama's fires are burning so hot." 

Leslie, with one hand holding my rigid rod, she used her other hand to pull her flannel up and away revealing her nearly hairless camel toe. Leaning back, me standing helplessly beside her, she reached down to her hugely engorged labial crease and used her long polished fingernails to stroke and caress her sacred woman's canyon. The white polish on her exquisitely long nails served only to further focus my attention of the moisture seeping out between that most revered, most consecrated gorge. Almost inaudibly she murmured, "Come put out Leslie's hot fire my great big wonderful man."

Oh for the love of god I almost...but then I had a second of lucidity! I leaped back, "No!"

Leslie was completely taken aback, "Francis!"

"No I won't do it. You can't make me. I'm not going down there. I won't put my face down there. You can't force me to go down there and suck out some other man's filthy semen. I won't! I tell you I won't!"

Oh for heaven's sake, another two seconds and I'd have been there. I'd have been down there slurping up some other man's leavings! I turned and ran for the door. I grabbed my keys and made a mad dash for my jeep. Oh Jesus she almost had me!

Leslie was right behind me. I heard her crying out, "Francis no, come back. You're wrong. I...cleaned..."

I was in my jeep and halfway down the drive. I needed to get out of there. I needed to cool off. I fucking needed to go someplace and jerk off! 

Hauling ass for all I was worth I drove back deep in the forest. Jumped from my jeep and ran to a nearby blind. Got way back inside and gave myself a thoroughly 'Dishonorable Discharge.' Then I did it again. 

Much of our married lives had been filled with some pretty damn unusual things. It's been Leslie, not me. When we were first married I couldn't begin to say how many times I'd come home; exhausted, totally wiped, and she'd be lying in wait. She'd ambush me. If people only knew back then. Oh the things. Leslie had her little 'toy box'; it was filled with things like blindfolds, handcuffs, collars, leg irons. They weren't for her; oh no, they were for me! Inwardly I hated it; outwardly I played along. People would never believe the humiliating degrading things she put me through. 

I'd come home tired, completely worn out. The kids were young and usually in bed. I'd slip in the door. I always tried to be on guard; it never mattered. It was like an old Peter Sellers movie I'd seen once on the late show. She sneak up, she'd tackle me. Before I knew it I'd be on my back, handcuffed under the table or on the sofa. She'd make me eat her out. Sometimes she'd covered herself in whipped cream, sometimes chocolate, once powdered sugar. She wouldn't let me up until she was thoroughly cleaned out and totally exhausted. Oh God; sometimes it would go on for hours. 

After the first few years I knew I had to put a stop to it. One afternoon she came home; she was still working at school, part-time. She went to find her 'treasure chest', that's what she called it. She came out and commented, "Honey, I can't find my things."

I told her, "Yeah, I threw them out." She went ballistic, she was totally off the wall. She hollered and yelled. She started to throw things. She must have called me forty-seven different kinds of mother-fucker! She went after me.

Leslie's has always been a strong girl; almost as strong as me. Add to that the fact she didn't care how hard she hit, or how hard she threw things, while I was careful not to get too rough, she always had the advantage. That afternoon I cared but didn't care; I had to stand up for myself.

Well she came at me fists a flying. She corked me a good one right on the left eye; Leslie's left handed. I grabbed her, threw her on the old couch we had back then, and like totally ripped all her clothes off. I got her! I got her hands over her head and used her torn panties to tie them together. God did she cuss and scream. I got her and I rolled her over. I thought today's the day; today's the day I finally assert myself. I had her on her stomach. She was struggling, trying to get up, but managed only to reach her knees. I wasn't kidding around, not anymore. I jammed. I mean I rammed it in! Guess what!

I missed. That's right I missed her puss and I nailed her right in the ass. Thank God she'd already taken a shit or we'd have a fudge bar. Wow she was free and clear, free and clear and tight! It was electrifying! I'd never experienced anything like it.

At first she fought and kicked and screamed and cried, but I was on top. I was in control. Jesus, two, three times in and she was right with me. It was the most exciting, the most exhilarating the most unbelievable experience of my life, and guess what? It was for her too. 

After that the 'toy box' became ancient history. We had a new game. I'd get home from work and Leslie would be there with her enema bag or a couple suppositories. That's a fetish I guess we have, 'anal' is a better word. We're into 'clean.' Neither of us wanted a lot of feces interfering with our love lives. A clean ass is a happy ass I guess. So we added anal to our repertoire of oral and traditional activities, and the chains and cuffs just fell off the horizon. 

There've been times I'd be downstairs reading or watching TV. The kids would be in bed or out someplace for an all-nighter and Leslie would slip downstairs wearing nothing but a flannel shirt. She'd get on her hands and knees and crawl in my direction. She get in front, back around and start making noises. She say, "Ruff, Ruff," that was always my signal; time to play 'Kennel Club'. 

She even bought a dog collar and a leash; not for me, for her. Sometimes I had to walk her around the living room like she was a real dog. She'd pant, and squirm around till she found my crotch; then she'd sniff me up until I pulled my pants down. After that all bets were off.

So there I sat in my jeep reflecting on my wife, our happier times, our exciting times, and how she thrown it all away, and she wouldn't even admit it. She wouldn't admit anything even though she knew I had her dead to rights. I'd caught her in action, in 'cold blood'. What was I ever going to do?

~~v~~

I cleaned up. I had goo all over my shirt. I took it off, and wiped up what I could. Then I took a long drive. The only thing I could think of was to go back home and try to work things out. I had to get her to admit to what she's done. If I accomplished that then maybe we could move on. My guess was she'd be leaving me one day soon. As I drove around I tried to figure up just what we owned; it wasn't much. Two pick-up trucks, two cars, her newer Avalon, my old jeep. We had some furniture, my 403B, maybe $15,000.00 in the bank, an empty lot on a country road where we thought we might build something of our own someday, and I guess that was about it. Everything else, what there was of it, was tied up in the kids. We didn't live in a 'no-fault' state. I found that out from a friend; but a divorce still could be pretty painless, it just took longer. 

Did I want a divorce? I guess I was supposed to. I mean if I was a man wasn't I supposed to kick the bitch to the curb? I wondered, how could I kick her to the curb if she wouldn't even admit to be deserving of being kicked? I had to find a way to wangle a confession out of her; that was it, get a confession and well...do what I had to do. I gathered my thoughts and my nerve and drove on back home.

Back home, when I got there, the kids were in the living room. Leslie was back in her 'private' place. The bulk of the first floor was given over to the family, but Leslie and I each had our own little cubby holes. They were both small, measuring 10'x10' each. Leslie used hers for sewing and such. Mine was filled with junk, mostly stuffed animals and extra deer heads, things I'd killed.

Richard saw me first, "Dad, mom's in a bad way. Did you two have a fight?"

"Not exactly a fight Richard. We're trying to work what through your mom's been up to the last few weeks. She just won't come clean." 

Victoria looked at me reprovingly, "You weren't mean to her."

"No honey, but both of you told me how you suspected something." Amazingly I watched the two of them as they looked back and forth at each other. 

Richard spoke up first, "I never said anything."

Victoria piped in, "Me neither, mom's been fine, at least until you..."

'What the...,' I thought, I said, "Hey the two of you both told me your mom was up to something." I watched them; 'Oh shit,' I thought, 'she's gotten to them.' How could she have done that so fast? I added, "You two told me your mom was seeing someone behind my back."

Victoria glared at me, "Mom? You crazy?"

Richard added, "Dad you better get your head on straight. Mom's in there, and she thinks you're going to leave us."

'Us,' I thought, he said, 'us.' The bitch has struck again! Now they're all against me. Jesus H. Christ! I smiled, "I better go see your mom," I went back to her sewing niche.

When I went in I saw her; she was sitting in an old rocker her mom had given us a while back. It was supposed to be an antique. She was looking out the window at the foliage. She was just rocking back and forth. I walked over and put my hand on her shoulder, "You want to tell me now?"

She looked up; oh the phony sincerity, the innocent beguiling smile, the soft cheeked sweet flash of too large eyes on a beautiful heart shaped face, hooped earrings seductively dancing beneath delicate lobes, "I'm sorry. I wish you'd tell me what I did." 

I knelt beside her, "Honey you know what you did. I saw you. You've been having an affair."

She broke into tears, "Oh Francis. How could you say that? You know I love you. I could never do that."

Angrily I replied, "Look damn it. I know what I saw."

She took a kerchief, she blew her nose, she wiped her eyes, "It couldn't have been me. It had to have been someone else."

"Leslie," I said, "Why don't you just admit it. Admit it and we'll go from there." 

She sneezed into her kerchief and gave me another one of her soulful looks, "You're doing this just to hurt me. You want to leave me. It's that...it's that Venica isn't it?"

"Damn Leslie no it isn't Venica. I never..."

"It's someone else then isn't? Who is it Francis. I'll try...I'll try to understand. If you need this I won't try to stop you. I understand. Men sometimes..."

"Leslie don't try to turn this around. You're the one, not me..." She got up and ran from the room. I heard her as she cried all the way upstairs to our bedroom. I followed her out. Richard and Victoria were waiting for me.

Victoria was first, "Mom loves you dad. I don't know how you could do this to her, to us."

Richard followed, "You always told me a man's duty was to his family. Why're you doing this?"

I held up my hands, "I'm not doing anything. It's your mother..." 

Both of my kids got up and stood facing me. Somehow she'd persuaded them to think it was me and not her. 

I stopped and stood stark still. I looked squarely and intently at my kids. I got it. The looks on their faces told it all. Mom had certainly been trying to maneuver them, but I saw the truth. They knew their mom had been 'bad'; I could sense it, but they wanted to keep the family. They were afraid of a break up. I couldn't blame them; we'd all seen what it had done to other families. My kids were afraid, and they wanted me to find a way to fix things. Damn, the weight of her infidelity was falling on my shoulders.

~~v~~

The next few weeks were a quiet cold war. Leslie avoided me like the plague. My kids refused to talk to me when their mom was around. Dinner times were the worst. Leslie fixed all my favorite foods, but she never spoke, and if she made any movement to communicate it was only with Richard and Victoria.

If that was all I suppose time would have healed things, or at least put a band aid on my anger, but that wasn't all that happened. Leslie had more moves than a checkerboard.

Somehow our marital tensions leaked out. All our neighbors, my colleagues at work, even my supervisor had gotten on the Leslie bandwagon. I'd become the mean son-of-a-bitch guilty of mental cruelty, the monster trying to break up a happy home, the two timing bastard who wouldn't stop till he got what he wanted. Damn it! It hadn't been me!

Leslie was at her finest. She was a beautiful woman anyway; from the day of our sewing room altercation forward she pulled out all the stops. 

I suppose every man has his foibles, his secret fetishes. I always thought Leslie looked extra pretty when she all pert and sassy. I kind of liked the little school girl, high spirited jaunty, vivacious coed. Well Leslie poured it on. Saddle shoes, white socks, knee highs, pretty plaid miniskirts, snappy little blouses, peter pan collars, brushed woolen sweaters buttoned only at the top. Christ she even wore a Virgin Pin sometimes.

Hair? Hair! Ponytails, pig tails, barrettes, damn it she even cut her hair in front so she had bangs!

And makeup; gone was the sultry Venus. Suddenly it was soft eye shadow, pale pink lipstick with hints of lip-gloss, a pinch of pink on the cheeks. She even affected a lighter, higher pitch to her voice. 

My middle aged forty-one year old wife had turned into every high school boy's idea of a wet dream! It wasn't funny either. I dare not go near her, but she came near me. She'd get up real close at dinner time, later in the evening when we watched TV she'd brush up against me, she played 'booby rub.' I'd be watching TV and she'd bring me a plate of candy. She'd lean over so I had to see her breasts. She'd sort of wiggle waggle those magnificent orbs back and forth in front of me. She'd take a candy and put it in her mouth; pucker up those gorgeous lips, bat those big round eyes all innocent and pretty, and then she'd prance around me, "Want a candy?" I spent many a sleepless night on the sofa trying to keep from jerking off. Hey, I was a middle aged man. Middle aged men weren't supposed to have to whack off! God I hated her!




A Simple Case of Infidelity



~~v~~

Finally one day it all came to head. I'd been home maybe an hour. The kids were in their rooms. It was almost time for dinner. Leslie came out of our bedroom and down the stairs carrying an overnight bag. She walked over and stood in front of me, "Francis I'm going home to my mom and dad's for a while."

I stared at her. This was it. She made up her mind. She was finally leaving me. I hadn't checked her phone, or tried to follow her around. She must have been seeing the black Lexus guy; I guessed they'd made a decision.

I guess I gulped, "So I guess this is goodbye."

She breathed a deep sigh, a little too deep I thought, she sort of mumbled, "I need my mom and dad. I need to go home. Call me if you need anything, if you want me back." Her eyes were brimming over with tears, "I love you Francis."

I heard movement from the balcony. I looked up. There on the balcony were my kids; the looks they gave Leslie made my blood run cold. I'd been right; they'd known. I didn't know what to do. I did figure this was it. I didn't get up. Why bother? I told Leslie, "Call when you get there."

She sobbed, picked up her bag, and walked out the door, and I thought out of my life forever. I wanted to cry. I really needed to have a good cry. I was losing the one great love of my life. I'd failed. 

Was I an asshole? I should have known better.

~~v~~

So Leslie left. She took her little travel bag, her purse, her car keys, and she drove off into the sunset. Well really not the sunset; only as far as Baltimore. I got word as soon as she got there; her mom called, "Francis what's wrong. Leslie's here and she's crying her eyes out."

What could I say, "Gee Mrs. Wells. I don't know exactly what to say. Leslie's been having some trouble lately. She said she needed some time with you guys."

Mrs. Wells responded, "You've been...good to her I know."

"Come on Mrs. Wells you know how I feel about Leslie."

The Wells family were well respected around Maryland; not exactly Ark and Dove famous, but certainly well known. They were 'old money'; icons in that rarified atmosphere of very upscale, traditional, and I might say a little bit staid, Maryland. In fact in 1814 it was a Wells boy, Daniel Wells who, along with another boy named Thomas McComas shot and killed General Robert Ross, the British commander of the invading army just east of old Baltimore. They say there's a statue dedicated to the two young men down at the foot of Broadway in the city. 

Leslie and I got married in Baltimore at the Cathedral of Mary Our Queen; it's like this landmark church in Baltimore and in Maryland. There's this folk tale about that church. In 1904 there'd been a horrific fire that engulfed huge parts of the city. Countless city blocks were gutted. The fire seemed unstoppable, and it was headed right for this old department store owned and operated by a guy name Thomas O'Neill. Word was he got down on his knees and prayed that if the fire spared his store he'd bequeath a fortune to the 'Church'. They say that just as the flames started to lick up around the south side of his store the wind changed and his store was saved. In gratitude he bequeathed the money that was used to build the cathedral. That's where we got married.

Me, I'm a Presbyterian, and when we moved to western Maryland Leslie agreed to go to my parent's church. She didn't convert, and I'm pretty sure some day, if we stayed married I'd switch over for her. Her agreeing to go to my parent's church was a pretty big concession for her. I guess that doesn't matter much anymore. 

~~v~~

The next several weeks were horrible. I'd never been so sad. We went through Lent, Palm Sunday, and Easter without her. I knew, I just knew Leslie was planning on divorcing me. No one called from Baltimore. I figured she'd reconnected with the black Lexus guy. I bet she'd gone and been back from Europe once already. Her parents were rich. I just trudged on one day to the next. 

My kids avoided me; not because they were angry at me, but because they were so heartbroken. Every now and then Victoria would find me and just curl up in my lap. A couple time Richard hit me on the arm and nodded. I think they talked to their mom, but they never told me anything. That didn't hardly seem fair. It was partly, well a little bit anyway, what they said that originally got me suspicious. Since then they acted like they'd never said anything. I understood why, but it still wasn't right.

The only person who still took any interest in me was skinny little Venica from across the road. She started visiting. She took up the jobs Leslie used to do. Venica cleaned and ironed my clothes. She prepared a lot of our meals. She was an OK cook. She cleaned, made the beds, and sometimes at night she'd let her little girl stay up and we'd all watch TV together. I really liked Tammy. She reminded me of Victoria at that age.

I was so lonely, and the only person who cared was Venica. I guess it sort of led to something. Nothing really happened, but it almost did. Venica and I were watching TV. Her little girl was upstairs in bed with my Victoria. Richard was out someplace. 

Venica decided I needed a back rub. This used to be something Leslie did. I admit it; I was tired and sore. It was springtime and the idiots were out all up and down the Potomac trying to figure out ways to drown. 

People didn't seem to get it; a person can drown in six inches of water. It happens all the time. Rivers have a continuous current. Even it's only say five miles an hour, if a bather or canoer slips and falls in backwards and tries to get up and gets their foot trapped in a rock and they fall back again. They could be lying there with the air they need just an inch or two above their noses. I keep telling people. If you fall out of your canoe or raft don't try to stand up and walk; just let the current take you to the bank. It's fun, it's easy, and it's a whole lot safer.

There are a couple of these low waterfalls too. They're called weirs. I warn people, don't try to go over them. Paddle to the bank and pottage your canoe around it. If they try to go over and capsize they could get caught in a 'death wheel'. The water keeps flowing, and the person doesn't get out. They just keep popping up every couple seconds; long enough to catch 'not quite enough' air. Eventually they drown. It happens to someone every year.

I was exhausted, and Venica started rubbing my back. One thing led to another and we found ourselves lying side by side on the sofa cuddling and kissing. I wasn't trying to get anything. In fact all I could think about was how much I missed Leslie. We'd been holding each other and kind of cuddling for about ten minutes when I got religion. I sat up and said, "Venica we can't do this."

She wiped her mouth and said, "You're right Francis. I'm sorry." 

We spent the rest of the evening sitting on opposite corners of the couch, not saying anything, and pretending to watch whatever it was that was on. I was sure glad none of our kids saw us. I mean it looked awfully incriminating. I felt really guilty. Venica did too.

~~v~~

So here's what happened next.

The incident with Venica happened on a Thursday night. On Saturday I got a call from Leslie. Was I ever surprised? I picked up my cell phone and saw who it was. When I heard her voice my heart soared. I said, "Yes? Is that you Leslie?"

She replied, "It is Francis, and I've decided to come home."

I was joyous. I almost forgot why we'd been having trouble. I started to get nasty in my head, but held it back. I said to her, "I think that would be a good idea."

She responded, "Yes, I think we should have that talk now. I think we should clear the air."

Was I ever excited! She sounded so relaxed and happy, like the 'old Leslie'. She was going to come home! She was going to confess! I almost felt like forgiving her. Almost. 

She said she'd be home the next day, Sunday. I sat around all night Saturday night and all Sunday morning thinking about how I'd listen. I'd be fair. I wouldn't rush to judgment. I'd let her tell her story. I figured if she was suitably remorseful I'd think about forgiving her. Of course there'd be a period of adjustment, a time of probation. Yes, I'd listen. I'd be objective. Maybe we could get on with our lives.

She showed up a little after 2:00 p.m. Sunday afternoon. It was the Sunday after Easter. She waited outside till I came and opened the door to let her in. I thought, 'how contrite, how repentant to wait for permission to come in.' I'd already sent the kids over to my parents so we pretty much had the whole afternoon. I ushered her in, took her coat, purse, and scarf and walked her to the sofa. She had on an aqua colored dress with spaghetti straps, and empire waist. The hem came to just above her knees. 'Very demure,' I thought.

She had her hair in a French bun. I thought she looked pretty, very prim. She wasn't wearing a lot of makeup, but what she had on accentuated her natural beauty. She had on what looked like two inch heels so she'd still be taller than me if we decided to go out later. Nice skin toned nylons matched the dress and the pallid tone of her off-white shoes magnificently augmented the rest of her attire. 

She looked like someone who was contrite and ready to confess, but my goodness; she looked radiant. I was pleased; then maybe not.

I sat beside her. I was dressed casually in a pair of khaki slacks and a light blue button down. I felt relaxed and for the first time in a long time in control. I smiled at her, "Now what have you got to say?"

She smiled back oh so sweetly, "May I see your lap top for a moment please?"

I felt gracious; maybe she'd preplanned her confession and had it recorded. I went and got my laptop. "Here honey," I said.

She accepted the computer, sat it on the table, crossed the room to her purse, retrieved a flash drive and came back. She smiled again, sweetly, "I'm a little nervous."

I smiled back, "It's OK honey. I understand."

She opened the laptop, turned it on, and once it was booted up she inserted the flash drive. She smiled again, "This will only be a moment." 

I waited. The laptop was running. She used her fingertips and pulled up the appropriate drive. It started to play. What I saw was a somewhat darkened scene of me and Venica lying prone on our couch. We were kissing. 

Leslie smiled softly and asked, "Do you have anything you want to tell me?"

To say the least I was a little flustered. I asked, "Where did that come from. Where did you get that?"

She wasn't smiling anymore, "Obviously it came from this house, my house. It seems to have taken place on this sofa, and it looks like you and Venica are engaged in something you shouldn't have been doing. I believe our children were upstairs. Shouldn't you be just a little ashamed?" she turned the computer off, "so tell me, what have you got to say for yourself?"

I taken aback, "That was nothing. Nothing happened. We were there...on the...we felt guilty and we stopped."

She frowned, "Want to see it again? It looks like you two were pretty much into something."

How could this be happening? She was supposed to be here to confess, to apologize to me. I blurted out, "Nothing went on! Honest. Look at it again. Nothing happened."

She'd already put the laptop away, "It doesn't matter. What matters to me now is I was gone just a few weeks. I was feeling alone, left out, and in the short time I was gone you started hitting on our next door neighbor, a woman I might add who loves you and would willingly do anything for you. This is pretty crass Francis," She wasn't looking very happy, not happy at all, she repeated, "Now tell me what have you got to say for yourself?" 

"Jesus Leslie this is crazy. Where did you get the tape?"

She glared at me, "Does it matter where the tape came from? It's there, it's here!" She pointed to the flash drive, "You betrayed me Francis. You betrayed my love for you. You betrayed our marriage."

I jumped up, "I did not! It was you. It was you and that man in the Lexus. This is a joke, a sham! You, you, you're just doing this...to."

She pointed to the sofa, "Sit down."

I sat down.

"First there was never any man in any Lexus. It's all in your head. Your assertions that there was something going on in West Virginia are the imaginings of a confused, muddled, suspicious mind. It's all in your head!" 

I was head over heels. I know what I blundered back, "It's not in my head! I saw it!"

She shouted at me, "Yeah? Well prove it!"

I couldn't think of anything to say, "I uh..."

She asked, "I know you had the intelligence to go to this Motel where you claimed you saw me. I know you asked for a copy of their surveillance tapes."

I hadn't, "No I..."

She declared, "I thought not. Well I did! Too bad," she smiled, "The clerk lost them."

The fog was lifting. I smelled a rat, "They have a backup somewhere."

She scorned me, "How would you know? I checked. Seems the clerk lost everything. There's nothing, nada, for the whole week, and the week before."

'Damn,' I thought, 'Wells money,' I responded, "Your parents must have..."

She tried to slap me, but I grabbed her hand before she hit pay dirt. She exclaimed, "You think I'd drag my parent's into this, this mental nonsense of yours? This sordid little tryst?"

I knew damn well she had. In fact I bet even now they or she had the tape recordings, and at some future time they'd be returned. If I wanted to prove anything I was just plain out of luck. I sat back, "So you think you have something that incriminates me. Let's say you do. What do you plan to do with it?"

That's when the Leslie I knew, I really knew, the concupiscent voluptuous woman I knew took over. First she reached around and pulled the flash drive from the lap top. She dropped it on the floor and crunched it under her heeled foot. I sensed more was coming. I was right.

Leslie leaned back. As she arched back she took her hands and helped the spaghetti straps to her dress fall down around her shoulders. I was pretty confident there wasn't a bra under that dress; now I knew for sure. I watched as the dress slipped down around her waist. There weren't any panties either, and the nylons were thigh highs probably held up with some kind of adhesive. My wife stood up in front of me. Naked except for her thigh high nylons and her high heeled shoes. She smiled at me; it was a sexually provocative half smile, like something a prostitute would do, she purred, "What am I going to do with you?" She reached down and pulled me to my feet, she gave me one of those leering half smirks I'd seen so many times, she whispered, "Momma's hot Francis; she's on fire, and she needs your big hose to cool her off."

She already had my slacks zipper open and her fingers were clawing inside looking for the opening to my boxers. The stage was being set.

I was done for, literally about to be fucked. If things went true to form these were the games we'd play.

We'd play fireman and burning bush, an old game. I had the hose. It was my job to put out the fire. Of course it was Leslie's bush. We'd do that a while then, if the script ran true we'd take a break. Leslie and I would lay side by side and fiddle with each other. I tickle her crevice while she'd fondle my Johnson.

After we'd rested we might play transcontinental railroad; that was usually done doggy fashion. I'd be Leland Stanford. I'd drive my golden spike up and in as far as it would go. Then we'd go to an old one. We'd probably play 'little red wagon'. Everybody knows that one. Leslie'd misplaced her wagon. She'd roll back over. I'd to take my big high powered flashlight and search way up her pussy cave till I found it. 

That was often followed by another rest period. It wasn't really a rest period at all; at least not for Leslie. She'd get out her enema kit and she'd flush. She might use a small suppository up her ass till it dissolved. She'd flush out her ass and pussy real good.

Then it was Yogi Bear time; me being Yogi Bear and her being Bobba Louie. I had to find a way to keep Bobba Louie happy and comfortable. That meant me lying on my back while Bobba Louie got on top and slid back and forth and up and down with her pussy over my mouth. I'll say this; Leslie's always had a hell of a set of lips. It gave her a great thrill, and it gave me added time to recharge. Then it was time to drive the hammer home.

Leslie would get on her hands and knees again, while Yogi, that was always me, would climb on her back and ram my rod deep in her asshole. I'd go back and forth till Leslie was either too sore, I was too tired, or we both delivered another orgasm. 

Always by the time we got done playing Yogi and Bobba we were both so exhausted we couldn't move. Leslie would stay home and rest in bed the next day. I'd go to work but be so sore I could hardly walk.

~~v~~

That was the usual arrangement. Sorry, it didn't happen that way.

~~v~~

Back in February, right before Valentine's Day Leslie had gone home to mother, and she'd stayed throughout the entire Lenten season. Her mom had called and told me Leslie was home and feeling down. Mrs. Well told me how she and Leslie were spending a lot of time together in church. 

Mrs. Wells was an older lady and her religious activities had become the center of many of the things she did. She explained how Leslie felt sad about her many past mistakes. Mrs. Wells and she had been spending a lot of time in prayer.

I believed Mrs. Wells; she'd never given me cause to doubt her. Mr. Wells was another matter. I always felt that he looked down on me; like I wasn't quite good enough for his daughter. No one could blame him; who was I? Who was she? 

Back in late February and March I'd been so lonely I almost gave in. In fact at one point it got so bad I'd decided to go to Baltimore and beg Leslie to come home. I did go to Baltimore. What I saw changed everything.

I went to Baltimore the Sunday before Palm Sunday. I had a dozen roses and a box of candy. Shit I had a chocolate bunny and a coconut Easter egg. I had it all planned out. I'd see her. We'd talk. I pretend like I never saw anything. I'd ask her to forgive me! I was that despondent!

I pulled down her parent's street and parked my jeep. I started to get out when I saw it; the black Lexus with the Virginia plates. I'd just had lunch at a nice restaurant. My stomach started to clench. I leaned over the side and left the lasagna, the salad, and the garlic bread there on the side of the road. 

I slowly backed my jeep up the narrow street. I admit it; I was crying. I backed up, but not before I got a good picture of the Lexus. I backed away, pulled out of that neighborhood, drove out to the Interstate, and found a nice Holiday Inn.

I threw myself on the bed and cried almost all night. The trips to Martinsburg had been real. Leslie's decision to go home wasn't out of despair or guilt; she wanted to continue whatever it was she'd been doing with Mr. Black Lexus in an environment free and clear of possible discovery, and obviously she had her parents complicity. Yeah pull one over on the dumb hick from western Maryland. What did he know?

Well he, I knew a lot. I knew people who worked in state government. I had friends on the state police force. I wasn't rich. I wasn't well connected, but I wasn't totally without resources.

First I called my dad. He'd worked for the railroad. He had friends too, He got in touch with an old pal who was good friends with our State Senator. I knew the man too, just not that well. 

Meanwhile I went back to work on what to do about my wife. I drove back to her parent's neighborhood. The place was a confused pattern of narrow streets; it was easy to find a place to park, get out and walk around without being noticed. 




A Simple Case of Infidelity



It didn't take long; the following Wednesday I was out on the sidewalk when the Lexus pulled up, and the guy got out. It was him; shaggy blond hair, tall, well built, the same man. I watched him walk up and ring the doorbell. I saw Leslie come to the door. She kissed him on the cheek. He took her arm and walked her to his car. She was wearing a light weight suede coat I'd never seen before. She looked good. She was laughing and smiling. She was happy. I got several pictures. I had all I needed.

~~v~~

So Leslie and I were seated there on 'our' sofa. She and I nearly completely unclothed. Her ready for a raucous time. Me something else. I kissed her one long last time, "Darling can you wait just one second?"

She squeezed my penis, "Just a second now."

I smiled, "I have to get something," I quickly rose, slipped to the stairs, and dashed up to what used to be our bedroom. I found the white envelope with the pictures I'd downloaded, and went back. I sat back down and dropped the envelope on her lap. I could already see the moisture oozing from her nether lips.

She took it and held it, "What's this?"

I said, "A present. Open it."

She did. There were only three pictures; one of the Lexus clearly parked in front of her parent's house, another of her walking to his car, and a last showing her giving him that little kiss. 

Leslie didn't say anything. She put the pictures back in the envelope. She turned and looked at me. I knew the look. I wasn't buying it anymore. She said, "I can explain..."

I interrupted her, "His name is Richard Weatherby. You knew him before you met me. You'd just stopped dating him before you moved to Western Maryland. In fact I have a hunch you moved away to get away; he'd broken things off with you."

Leslie looked stupefied; no she looked guilty. She had the look of someone who knew they'd been caught and knew they couldn't get around it. I went on, "While you were in college he was too. You and he dated off and on all through college. He went to Wake Forest, then he got a job selling insurance. I was told his first wife was the daughter of one of the partners. That marriage lasted a few years. They divorced, he remarried, but his second marriage went down the tubes last September."

I summoned my courage, "When did you start acting differently Leslie; wasn't it shortly after Thanksgiving. I guess that was about how long it took him to find you. Is that how long it's been going on? Since Thanksgiving? Makes sense to me. Richard and Victoria see it that way too.

Leslie why is my son named Richard? Why isn't he named after me? It was your idea. Remember? 

You know what happened. When our son, my son, found this out he almost broke down. He and I got a DNA report. He is my son Leslie. Were you still seeing Weatherby after we were married? Had you named him Richard because you thought maybe...well you were wrong."

All her sexiness was gone, she said, "No Francis. That's not..." 

I said, "It doesn't matter," I got up and went to where her coat and purse were hanging, "You better get dressed Leslie. I have to go to my parents. They're all expecting me. We're having dinner, my mom and dad and my son and my daughter." 

She got up as she redressed, "I'm sorry Francis. Can't we get past this? I love you."

I was heartbroken. I really loved her, "I love you too Leslie, but no we can't. You have to leave now," I handed her the coat and purse she'd brought. I'd never seen either of them before this day.

She took her apparel, "Francis...I"

"You're sorry, I know. I'm sorry too. Go home Francis. Your mom and dad love you. They'll take care of you. They'll understand. They never approved of me anyway. Go find Richard Weatherby. Give it a go."

She stepped to the door, "What about you? My children? What am I supposed to do?"

I smiled, "It's all right Leslie. Wait a few weeks before you call the kids. They'll forgive you. They'll get past this. Me? I'll be all right. I'll find someone."

She turned dark and started to say something, so I stopped her, "Not Venica. She's never been more than a friend. There'll be someone though. I'm only forty-five. People know me."

Leslie broke into tears; they were real tears this time, no subterfuge, no sexy innuendo. I felt sorry for her. I thought she'd been happy. I believed she'd had a happy life, a happy home. She threw it all away. Through the tears she murmured, "Oh can't it be me? I'll be good to you."

I just shook my head no.

I watched as she trudged down to her Avalon. She looked back twice, shoulders stooped, she was crying. She got in her car and left. I cried a little after she left, but I got past it. I had to. I went inside, pulled my clothes back on, went out and got in my jeep. I had two kids to take care of. I had to get on with my life.

Leslie's last departure happened in April. The kids admitted they'd rigged the camera that caught me with Venica. I guess they really did want to get things back to the way they'd been. They even left the camera running after I'd showed them the pictures of their mom with Weatherby. Hope against hope I guess.

I guess I let her run on a little longer than I should have when she came back armed with her little DVD of me and Venica. I already had the goods on her; it was me I suppose just trying to exact a little pay back, maybe I let her go on so I could see what new subterfuge she'd try. She was really good; she played out the string like a pro. 

What Leslie never understood and nobody else got was the affect my second discovery had on me. My first awakening back in the wintertime; the chasing around Martinsburg, buying little gadgets at Radio Shack, arguing with motel clerks, and following a black Lexus around West Virginia had this surreal quality that lent the whole thing a dreamlike deniability. But standing on the sidewalk on the same street as Leslie's parent's and watching him pull up, go to their door, get that peck on the cheek, and seeing her delightedly skip down to his car like some carefree schoolgirl was like having someone plunge a knife in my chest and just reach in and tear out my heart. 

That second sighting; the whole thing in front of her parent's, right in Baltimore, just blocks from where we were married, in the bright sunlight of a vivid spring day gave the whole thing a heartrending new clarity.

Leslie really had left me. I saw all the posturing, play acting, and denying back in Oakland for what it really was; a tawdry sham, a cynical trick a rich city girl was playing on her stupid trusting husband so she could continue to see and keep 'getting it on' with her old boyfriend.

All the questions, the unmentioned insecurities either surfaced or resurfaced. Was I really that inadequate? Had our lives together been that unfulfilling? Were my children even mine? Had she been seeing him, and others, all along? Had her prior trips to see her parent's been deceitful excursions, escapes back to the life she really preferred. Was I really that stupid? That blind? Was I that naive? 

I couldn't trust myself. I began to doubt my worth as a father, as a husband, as a man. Leslie had destroyed me. 

The epilogue:

Richard was a senior and would graduate the end of May. When the time came we sent his mom a card and a ticket. She did come, but there was no reserved seating so she ended up in another part of the auditorium. She found us after the ceremony. She was dressed very prettify in a beige suit and extremely low cut heels. I thought she looked beautiful; a little subdued, but beautiful just the same. We were all polite, but it was very awkward. No one asked what she'd been doing, and she didn't volunteer. 

Leslie was invited back to my parents for the graduation party. She declined. That was the last I saw of her. The kids hear from her every now and then. They tell me she's dating, but there's no one in particular. They tell me they're afraid she's getting in over her head. I don't even know what that means. There'd been a time that would have led me to rush to her side. I just don't know anymore. I do know Weatherby went back to Richmond alone. He was nobody really. If it hadn't been him it would have some-one or some-thing else. Leslie had just...I don't know. It doesn't matter, not now, not anymore.

Do I hate her? I want to. I want to blame her for what she did, but it isn't easy. I know her parents never approved of me. They never really accepted me. I tried to include her mom and dad in everything we did. I wish I could say the same for them. I remember taking her dad hunting. We went canoeing once and I know he had a great time. Her dad and his friends used to hunt down on the Eastern Shore. He had a boat. He never invited me to go hunting, not once, and I never stepped one foot on his boat. I know he invited some of Leslie's old beaus, just never me. I know they talked with Leslie all the time. I guess they wore her down. That's not an excuse, but they could've...well.

I do miss her terribly. I haven't taken any pictures down. I can still smell her perfume. I've been to see a lawyer, had the paperwork drawn up, but nothing's been submitted. 

Would I ever take her back? If she ever came back I just don't know what I'd do. It's hard letting go. 

It hasn't been that long, only a few months. The anniversary of her bee sting is coming up. My friends...they say...I just wish. I mean why? Was it me? Was there something I could have done? Was there anything I could have done differently? She never said.

I do know this; when it comes to something like this...it's sad...no one wins. I just feel so bad.

~~~~v~~~~

At last...

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