113 comments/ 188934 views/ 31 favorites My Perfect Family By: coaster2 The phone rang sharply beside the sleeping head of Terry Gilson. He snapped awake. "What the fuck?" he growled. It rang again. He picked up the receiver. "Hullo," he managed in a gravely, low cough. "Mr. Gilson?" "Yeah." "This is Sergeant Preston of the Yukon County Police Department. May I speak to Mrs. Turvey please?" barked the authoritative voice in Gilson's ear. "Who is this?" "Mr. Gilson, please put Mrs. Turvey on. This is a police emergency." Again, a clear and demanding tone. "Minute," was Gilson's mumbled reply. He passed the phone to the groggy, naked woman lying beside him. "For you. It's the police," he said simply. "What!" She grabbed the phone from his hand. "Hello?" "Good morning my darling, faithless wife," came an overly cheerful greeting. "I hope you slept well last night after you and loverboy got through fucking." "Oh my god, Mick? Mick, is that you?" "You bet your sweet ass it is honeybunch. I just phoned to give you some information that you'll need." "Mick ... Mick! Please," she tried. "First, you can throw your house key away. It won't work any more. Oh, and I changed the code on the garage door opener too." "Mick, please ... it isn't what you think," she cried. "You don't know what I think, Sheila. But I didn't call to discuss it with you. I just called to tell you that your credit cards won't work any more, and you can pick up your clothes and toiletries in the plastic tubs behind the side gate anytime you like." The voice had turned as cold as ice. "No! No! Mick, please ... don't do this ... please," my wife pleaded desperately. "Too late, sweetbuns, I already have." "But ... where will I go?" she cried. "Well, in the immortal words of Rhett Butler ... frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." The receiver was slammed down in anger. I had started the process several weeks earlier, but this morning was the critical moment. If I hadn't been so sure she was sleeping in Gilson's room, I wouldn't even have tried this stunt. I was surprised at how easily it worked and at how empty this moment felt. A cuckold's victory, I thought. Too little, too late. I suppose it's appropriate to describe my situation. My name is Michael "Mick" Turvey. I am forty-three years old and I am employed as a sales representative for a building materials distributor. I've worked for this same company for over twenty years. I married Sheila Pratt almost exactly twenty years ago. We were to "celebrate" our twentieth anniversary next month. I thought it was a good marriage, having produced two wonderful children. Our first, Angela, my angel, was born a year and a half after we were married, while Ben, our son, was born two years later. I loved my wife and my children without reservation. They were my reason for being. No man could have been prouder of his family than I was . We lived in a modest home, but it held everything a family could want. A three bedroom split-level, it was our second home purchase and had been bought four years earlier. It wasn't new, but we had set about updating it and making it our own. A new kitchen, then a finished basement with workshop for me and a large family room that the kids could use for their entertainment. A garage that we actually parked our cars inside, followed by new furniture for the living room and dining room. I thought we had the perfect life. -0- I met Sheila when we were both high school students in grade eleven. She was a good looking blonde and had a nice body, so it wasn't hard to notice her. She had tried out for cheerleader, but was unsuccessful. I played wide receiver on the football team and I thought we might be a nice match. I asked her out on a date just after school started in the fall, and she said yes. We dated for several months and during that time Sheila matured into a really good looking young lady. Her breasts grew and the rest of her body seemed to be in sync with that. I wasn't the only one that noticed. I thought we were going steady, but I guess I'd never really confirmed that with Sheila. The next thing I knew, our quarterback, Terry Gilson, asked her out and she said yes. I couldn't understand it. I thought we were "a couple," but obviously I was mistaken. Gilson was the star of our team. He was a big, talented senior with a strong arm and a will to win that was unlike anything that I had ever encountered. As a quarterback, he was a coach's dream and a coach's nightmare. He had great talent and a fearless attitude, but he just couldn't follow orders. As the rest of the team recognized, Terry was not a team player. Terry was all about Terry. Our team finished with a winning record that season, but I wondered how much better we might have been if Terry had stuck to the coach's script instead of making it up as he went along. For all his talent, he was undisciplined and very frustrating for the rest of us who slaved in his shadow. Terry had often been heard to brag that he had fucked every cheerleader at least once. I was grateful that Sheila wasn't a cheerleader, but I wasn't sure that would protect her. There was no point in my being angry at Gilson. He was what he was, a relentless womanizer. He saw these young girls as meat on his plate and he intended to enjoy them. Nothing personal, just sex. I was upset that Sheila had fallen for him, but I knew there was nothing I could do about it. Terry would be gone next year and Sheila and I would still be here. Perhaps there was still a chance for me. It didn't happen. I began dating Marylyn Urlacher. Since seating at our school was most often alphabetical, more often than not, Marylyn was seated behind me and had me in her sights. Marylyn was a nice girl, but that wasn't what I was looking for. I wanted something more exciting, but that was asking too much of Miss Urlacher. We got along fine and I think she was impressed that a football player would be interested in her, but that was about the extent of it. I started searching around for a replacement in the spring. In the meantime, Gilson had dumped Sheila in favor of some other girl and she was available once again. I thought about it, but considering how she had abandoned me, I decided to ignore her. By the end of the year, she had found someone else and I was sitting on the outside, once again. Grade twelve was different. Roger Davidson had taken over as quarterback on our team and he proved to be everything Terry Gilson was not. He was a leader and the definitive team player. He sought us out to determine who could best do what. It ran through my thoughts more than once that this guy was coaching material in the making. He understood what it took to win, and to get the most out of what the team had to offer. The result was wonderful. I was catching passes like never before and we were winning with regularity. The huddle was silent when Roger came into it, giving the play and making sure everyone knew the snap-count. It was all new to me. I loved it. I continued avoiding Sheila, my ego still bruised from the Gilson affair. I wasn't really surprised when Roger started dating her. For all his talent and leadership, he was a quiet guy and hard not to like. In a strange way, I felt good about them. If I couldn't be with her, then Roger was my choice. I guess she felt the same way. Sheila wasn't the smartest girl in school. In fact, she scraped through with a C average and graduated like so many of her classmates, into the workforce. She never had designs on college. She must have recognized her limitations. She took a job as a bank teller in the shopping centre. I lost contact with her after graduation. I was on my way to college and already dreaming of playing football, drinking beer with the "boys," and dating only the loveliest girls who would be anxious to be with a "football hero." By Christmas, reality had set in. I was failing in three classes and while I had enjoyed every minute of my time on the football field, the rest of the campus experience was something less. There was no line-up of girls waiting to date me. The beer was downtown and expensive on my limited budget. The classes were a pain and I was having a hard time understanding that the learning process was entirely up to me. There was no one to monitor me or make sure I attended class or completed my assignments. It was a very different world. The marks posted on the board at the end of term were discouraging. I was in danger of flunking out. Well, I said to myself, no football and no girlfriends next semester. I might as well get down to it. It wasn't easy. It was a whole new way of life for me. It was a struggle. I made it, but not by much. I had a year of college under my belt and I wondered if this was what I wanted to do for the next three years. If I was asking the question, it seemed clear to me that the answer was no. I found a job in an office in the city and each morning, I got on the bus, put in my nine hours, got back on the bus and went home. Within a few months, I knew this couldn't be my future. I needed something more. I toughed it out for almost two years, but I was constantly looking for something better. If you had asked me what my career would have been when I graduated from high school, I wouldn't have had a clue. I certainly wouldn't have included the category of sales. My vision of a salesman was someone who went door to door selling brushes or kitchenware or magazines. That definitely wasn't me. I got another perspective when I saw what industrial sales was all about. It was knowing your product and showing people that it was a good, if not a better product than the one they were using, and then convincing them to buy it. More importantly, the technical side was something I could get excited about. It didn't take me long to understand that sales was about strategy. What did you have that the customer needed? Why would he want to buy it from you? I applied for a transfer to one of the operating branches and got an opportunity on the sales desk, an inside job. It was a start and the more I saw, the more I knew this was what I wanted to do. I went to work, still without a car and still living at home. When I moved to the operating branch, nothing changed. I was a rookie with a small salary and a bus ride to and from work. When I got my first paycheck, I decided to open a bank account. I had been living paycheck to paycheck up until then, and that had to change. I chose a bank near my bus stop for convenience and walked in. I went to the customer service desk and stopped in my tracks. The young woman who would soon serve me was Sheila Pratt. I was a bit flustered, but since there were a couple of people ahead of me, I had a chance to calm down and think about what I wanted to say. I hadn't seen her for three years, but as I studied her, she was just as lovely as I remembered her. It didn't take long for Sheila to look after the people in front of me, and then it was my turn. "Hi Sheila," I said as I stepped forward. She obviously didn't know I was in line and was surprised to see me in front of her. "Hi Mick," she said after a moment's pause. "Uhhhmmm ... how can I help you?" "I'd like to open an account. I need to deposit my paycheck." "Oh ... Oh, sure. Let me get one of the staff to help you," she said, smiling. "Yeah ... thanks ... good to see you again," I offered weakly. "Yeah ... good to see you too." The smile was genuine, I thought. A week later, I returned to the bank to pick up my blank printed checks and I saw Sheila again. This time she was walking about, delivering mail, I assumed. I watched her as I stood in line, wondering what was going on in her life. There was only one way to find out. As I finished picking up my box of checks at the service counter, I looked around for Sheila and saw her standing at a side desk, apparently not busy. I walked over to her. "Hi again," I said smiling. "Hi, how are you," she asked. Her smile was the one I remembered from when we dated. It was genuine and honest and very engaging. "I'm fine. I'm working at Polar Industries now. I'm on the sales desk," I offered. "Good for you. Do you like it? Does it have a good future?" she asked, seemingly interested. "Yeah. I like the company and the products they represent. I think I've lucked-out." "Good, Mick. I'm glad to hear that." "Uhhhmmm ... Sheila ... would you like to have a coffee ... or something ... with me?" I asked hesitantly. "We could catch up on what's been going on." "Sure ... that would be nice ... I get off in a few minutes. Why don't you wait for me and we can go to the coffee shop next door," she suggested. "Great," I said with what I knew was a big smile. "I'll be out front on the bench waiting." That was the start of our reconnection and within a few dates, we were back where we had been. I was twenty-one and just starting out on what I hoped would be a career and Sheila was looking for a husband. I proposed in the spring of the following year and she accepted. We would be married a year later in May and both of us were excited about our future. A year and a half after our wedding, Angela was born. She was "Daddy's girl" from the moment she arrived. When she was little, if she was upset or crying, I would pick her up and she would settle and smile at me and everything would be fine again. I always thought I wanted a son, but "Angie" was everything I could have wished for. Our son, Ben, was born two years later and I was just as happy as any father could be. Sheila was Ben's special parent, while I was Angela's. It was a perfect family, I thought. Sheila often said the same to me. She was happy and satisfied with our life, she told me. We had our moments, but they never lasted long and I knew that I was one lucky guy. I had a beautiful wife and two wonderful children. Just after Angie was born, I was given a sales territory and I was on "cloud nine." I took to it like a duck to water and within a couple of years I was earning nearly double the salary that I had started at. Success breeds success and I was now earning much more than I ever expected when I started at Polar. After five years, we were able to buy our first home. It was a small bungalow, but it was all ours. Sheila spent hours and hours scouring magazines for just the right things. Angie and Ben had their input as well, but it was Sheila who chose the decor and the colors. I just stood back in admiration at the way my family had come together. We celebrated our tenth anniversary in that same house and more than thirty people came to our anniversary party. I was proud of my accomplishments, but even more proud of my family. My children were well-behaved and doing fine in school. My wife was a model homemaker and mother. Both sets of parents thought the sun and the moon revolved around us. What more could I possibly want? When Angie reached fourteen, her menstrual periods began. At first, Sheila was happy to help Angie understand what was happening and how to deal with it. That seemed to be fine for a few weeks and then I noticed a change. Angie didn't seem to be as close to her mother as she had been. It wasn't an overt change, but to me, as close as I was to my daughter, it was noticeable. I couldn't find any reason for this shift in attitude, and discussing it with Sheila turned out to be frustrating. She didn't want to address or even acknowledge the change. She claimed it was my imagination and a male's inability to comprehend female psychology. I was still concerned, but since it didn't seem to affect the rest of the family, I let it slide. Ben always seemed to be on an even keel. He and his mother were very close and while I loved him just as much as Angie, I knew that in the event of a serious problem, he would go to his mother first for help. That didn't bother me at all. In all families, alliances are formed with parents and they were to be acknowledged and respected. I continued to rise in the sales ranks thanks to my success and while I knew that sales management was perhaps not what I was cut out for, I would have at least liked to have been considered for an opportunity. I had the most productive and profitable territory and I wondered what it took to make the next step. It eventually dawned on me that there needed to be a vacancy to be filled before that opportunity could arise. Not long after Angie entered high school, Sheila came to me and asked me if I would be OK with her going back to work. She had been a stay-at-home soccer-mom for sixteen years and felt she wanted to do something with her days besides washing, ironing and sewing. I couldn't think of any reason why not, but I asked her to make sure whatever she chose didn't interfere with the children's lives and our ability to enjoy our free time together. She assured me it wouldn't. After a couple of months looking, she found a job in a car dealership as a receptionist. It wasn't full time and that suited both of us. She would be there mornings from nine to one, Monday to Saturday. Since I played golf on Saturday morning, I thought that schedule would be fine. It didn't pay much, but we weren't starving and her extra income could be used as "vacation money." If it satisfied her, it satisfied me. Our lives went on for another couple of years until one day when Sheila came home with a disturbing announcement. "Guess what, Mick," she said, not without some trepidation. "What?" "Terry Gilson's back in town," she said, carefully watching for my reaction. "Oh ... what brings him back?" "You know his dad's a big-shot businessman. Terry is now the assistant general manager at his dad's dealership," she said, still not being as nonchalant as she would like to appear. "And what dealership would that be?" I asked, knowing full well the answer. "Uh ... ours ... I mean ... where I work, Century Ford," she stammered. "So ... what does that mean for you?" I asked, beginning to see something else creep into the picture. "Uhhhmmm ... I'm going to be ... I mean ... I've been asked to ... take the job as his assistant," she finally managed. "Wow. That's quite a step. From part-time receptionist to assistant to the assistant general manager. I didn't realize they had such a large staff." I'm sure my tone was snarky and I didn't try to disguise it. "You don't sound very happy," she ventured. "I'm not. You dated Gilson. I played with him. We both know what kind of guy he is. He used to brag about all his conquests. Is your name still on his list?" It was a cheap shot and I knew it the moment it was out of my mouth. "That's a horrible thing to say. Are you telling me you don't trust me?" she demanded. I had to scramble. "No ... I'm telling you I don't trust him." Her face went red and for the first time in a long, long while, she was very angry. "Mick, you take that back. You have no right to accuse me of anything and furthermore, you have just told me that I can't be trusted," she spat. "I made no such statement. I said I don't trust him. I said we both know what kind of snake he is. It may be twenty years later, but leopards don't change their spots." I made sure she understood I wasn't backing down one inch. "Just ask yourself this," I continued. "How does a part-time receptionist go from being in an entry-level position to assistant to the boss's son in one move? I'd like to know," I demanded. "Because I have the talent to do the job," she snapped back. "Terry said I was a natural for it. You don't think I have the ability, do you?" she challenged. "I wouldn't know. I don't work there. But one thing I do know, this whole deal smells of typical Gilson. He's setting you up and you had better be very careful, my dear." I was standing directly in front of her now. She couldn't fail to understand my concerns and my suspicions of Terry Gilson's motives. I could only hope my message had hit home. My Perfect Family "You're jealous. You don't want me to succeed because it will make you look bad. That's what this is about ... you're jealous," she taunted. The argument was going nowhere and she wasn't listening. I let out a large sigh, turned and went down to the basement to get a cold beer and do a bit of thinking. I had no illusions about Gilson's motives. He saw an attractive woman that he thought he could have with little effort. Who cared if she was married? He probably remembered me from high school and considered me no particular obstacle. I would be keeping a close eye on this situation, of that I was certain. It took a week before we were back on calm water in the household. My argument with Sheila was overheard by our children, unfortunately. It would have been hard not to hear us since we had both raised our voices. As always, when things calmed down, Angie came to see me when I was alone. "Hi Dad, you OK?" "Hi Angie ... yeah, I'm OK," I lied. "I couldn't help but hear the argument," she admitted. "Who is this guy Gilson?" "Someone your mother dated in high school. He was our quarterback and I played with him for a year. I was trying to warn your mother. He's not a nice guy and doesn't respect women very much," I said sadly. "I don't think you were telling Mom what she wanted to hear," she said softly. "No ... I suppose not. I think she sees this as a big opportunity and an important job. She'll likely be going from part-time to full time, so I suppose there's going to be some changes in our routine," I suggested. "It's OK, Dad, I can help with the meals and laundry and stuff. I guess she'll be making a lot more money now, won't she?" "I guess. We didn't get into that. I'm just going to have to wait and see, Angie. I hope this doesn't turn out to be a big mistake for your mom," I said, putting my arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. "I just hope it all turns out OK." As I suspected, it was a full-time job and the salary was more than double her previous earnings, so in that regard, she was being paid properly for her role. I had doubts about the job, however. When I carefully asked Sheila what she did all day, she was vague but what I heard made it sound very unstructured. If I was to interpret what she was telling me it would appear that she was to come running when Gilson called. As time when on, I became less and less concerned about her job. She left for work each morning just before nine and was home shortly after five in the afternoon. No overtime, no special assignments, just a routine job. As a result, we really didn't have to sacrifice a lot. My hours were longer than hers and I was often home after six, having left most mornings at seven. I was gone before anyone else was up and so my family time was confined to evenings and weekends. Our sex life had never been what I would describe as "red hot." That just wasn't Sheila. We had sex, a couple of times a week usually, but it was plain vanilla stuff. She wouldn't give me oral sex, although she said she enjoyed it when I gave her that treat. She didn't particularly care for doggy-style, so that wasn't a regular feature. By and large, it was me giving her oral stimulation to get things going and then her on top until we were almost done and I would flip her over and finish. It wasn't terrible, but a little variety can go a long way. I tried to get her interested in some role playing and other things that were a bit different, but she just wasn't interested. Since we were having sex twice a week, I really couldn't complain. After Gilson arrived on the scene, I was careful to note any changes in our sex life, but there was nothing out of the ordinary at all. It was pretty much what we had been doing all along. I've always tried to get along with the neighbors. Life's a lot easier that way. The McDonalds on the one side of us were quiet people and quite a bit older. Their children were grown and gone and we didn't have much in common with them. We were polite and we helped each other if needed, but otherwise we weren't close. The Romanos on our other side were quite different. Their children were younger and Angie often babysat for them the first few years we were there. We really got along well with them and we often had backyard barbeques and card parties at each other's house. Jimmy and Felicia were probably our best friends. Jimmy was an accountant and worked at the big GM dealer in town. I had forgotten that, but when he brought home a loaner van with the dealership's name all over the side of it, I was reminded. Late one Sunday morning, Jimmy was out trimming the lawn before cutting it and I strolled over to talk to him for a minute. "Hey Jimmy, how's it goin'," I began. "Aw ... you know ... usual stuff. OK I guess," he grinned. "Yeah ... same here. Say, I had a question for you." I was trying to make it sound casual. "Shoot." "You work in a big dealership. Does the general manager usually have an assistant? I mean like an assistant general manager?" "Yeah, in a bigger dealership there's usually someone designated to back up the boss when he isn't around." "Would that assistant have an assistant, like say, a 'girl friday'?" He looked at me kind of strangely and then I saw some lights go on. His face went funny and he looked very uncomfortable. "Uhhhmmm ... not usually," he finally said. "I didn't think so," I said with a nod. "Thanks, Jimmy." I turned and headed back to the house. Suspicions confirmed. "Mick," he called after me. I stopped and turned around as he walked toward me. "I know what you're thinking. I know some people there. Let me see what I can find out on the Q.T." he said in a quiet voice. I looked at him for what seemed to be a long time and then nodded. "Thanks again." I'm not really sure why, after all this time, I had asked Jimmy that question. Maybe I was afraid of the answer. There wasn't a hint of anything going on, but I suppose it had been nagging at me, and for that matter it still was. Jimmy knew who Sheila worked for and what her job title was, but he never said a word about it to either of us. I had just put him on the spot, and he had responded as I expected a good friend would. Despite the fact that Sheila no longer worked on Saturday morning, I continued to play golf early. The Saturday following my talk with Jimmy dawned cool and windy, but at least it wasn't raining. I played with our usual foursome and none of us played very well. The wind intensified the cold and none of us was very comfortable. We were universally happy to finish the round and get to the clubhouse. As we usually did, we met at the 19th Hole after changing, and the winners would have a drink on the losers. My partner and I were buying today. As I walked into the lounge, I saw Jimmy Romano sitting by himself at a table near the TV. He was nursing a drink and I walked over to see him. "I didn't know you played golf," I said with a smile. "I don't ... you know me better than that," he laughed. "What brings you here?" I asked, almost guessing the answer. "I wanted to talk to you ... in private," he said, suddenly serious. I nodded. I was pretty sure what this was about. "Give me a minute to settle up with the winners and I'll be right back," I promised. It didn't take long to buy a drink for the boys and explain I had to beg off to see someone. I was back at Jimmy's table within five minutes. "So, I can only assume you've heard something about my question the other day," I said as I leaned back in my chair. "Yeah. I wish it was better news, Mick. I really do," he said sadly, having a hard time looking me in the eye. "Give it to me straight, Jimmy. I can handle it," I said with more confidence than I felt at that moment. "Well, Gilson must be the most unpopular guy in that dealership. The people I talked to consider him to be a leech on the side of the business and completely useless. He walks around and general pisses-off everyone that he comes in contact with. He doesn't have anything to do because no one wants him to do anything. He'd just screw it up, as apparently he's already demonstrated on more than one occasion." Jimmy stopped and took a pull on his drink. "No surprise, I guess," I said, still trying to remain calm. "So where does Sheila fit in?" He looked at me with the most hang-dog look I can ever remember seeing on him. He really didn't want to tell me what he was about to tell me. "Sheila sits around his office most of the day, types a letter now and then and gets him coffee. The only time she moves quickly is when Gilson's old man shows up and she quickly disappears into the parts department or the employee lounge. When the old man leaves, things go back to normal," Jimmy related. "Sounds like old man Gilson doesn't know about Sheila and her mystery job," I said sullenly. Jimmy just nodded. He paused then and I could tell there was more. "Spit it out Jimmy. I won't bite," I promised. "The two of them go out to lunch about twice a week. They leave just before noon and don't get back until two or two-thirty." "Since she's been there?" I said, finally jolted. "No. It started after a few months" he suggested. "One of their smart-aleck sales guys followed them one day. They went to the Carlton Inn over on Banner Road. "That's a long way to go for lunch," I suggested. "Mick ... the Carlton doesn't have a restaurant," he said in almost a whisper. I felt everything inside me contract. I was locked in place with no ability to move. I heard my breath exhaust as I worked to gain some sense of order in my thoughts. Even though I had suspected this might be happening, I wasn't ready for it. I can't think how long it took before I could form a coherent thought. "I'm sorry Mick. I really didn't want to be the guy who ..." he trailed off. "I know," I managed in a strangled croak. "I didn't want to hear it either." I had another drink with Jimmy and we reminisced about the good times our families had enjoyed together. There were a lot of happy memories, but it felt like we were saying goodbye to each other in some way. I think we both now knew that things would never be the same again. I felt that pain in my gut, and it hurt. I started to drive home, steeling myself to face Sheila and wondering how I would deal with this revelation. I had been strangely calm with Jimmy and it felt odd that I would be able to cope with this devastating news. I tried to think of any scenario that would make their noon visits to the Carlton something other than sexual, but I knew that wasn't remotely likely. What it appeared to be on the surface was what it was. I didn't really start to get angry until I was half-way home from the golf club. I had been dealing with a thousand random thoughts all at once and my emotions were in turmoil before it all began to distill down to one ugly fact. She had cheated on me and she had cheated many, many times. I was a fool, even though I knew the possibility was there. She had made me a fool and she didn't even blink an eye or feel the slightest twinge of guilt. Day after day, she made me a cuckold. It was then, with that understanding that the anger began to build. I pride myself in being a rational thinker and not one prone to reckless action. I pulled over to the curb a few blocks from home because I knew I was in no fit condition to walk into my house and confront Sheila. Moreover, that might not be the smartest thing to do. In fact, I was pretty sure it wasn't. If I thought this was just a one-time fling, I might be able to get past it and we could go on with our lives. But it wasn't. I had been going on for a year by the sound of things. All the while, Sheila was playing the part of the happy housewife with her loving family. It was a very high order of deceit. As I sat in my idling car, I decided that it called for a very high order of payback. I would act as normally as I could manage, but on Monday I would begin a process to end this charade and exact my revenge. I was determined I was going to do as much damage as I could to Terry Gilson and Sheila Pratt Turvey. I would do this by the book and legally, but I would do everything possible to destroy both of them. The rest of the weekend was an exercise in excruciating politeness on my part. I was tightly wound, not allowing my anger and frustration to spill out over my family. Time enough for that when I had all the pieces of the puzzle in place. I was counting the hours until Monday morning. When Monday finally came, I arose earlier than usual and was out of the house well before seven. I knew I had several hours before I could begin the process of dealing with my problem, but I wanted out of our house that morning as soon as possible. I knew my sales manager, Larry Coleman, would be in the office already and I needed to talk to him about taking some time to look after my "problem." Our conversation took over a half hour. I knew he had figured out what might be going on in my family life when I explained what I wanted in terms of leave, and happily he was understanding and agreed. He was a good guy and I liked working with him. Just after nine that morning, I phoned David Mournay, our family lawyer and asked for his advice on a "family matter." I knew that wasn't his expertise and I wasn't surprised when he steered me to Lydia Pancratz. I had met Lydia in passing once or twice and I had heard that she was a very good divorce lawyer. She would be expensive, but right now, the cost was the last thing on my mind. I got an appointment with Lydia late that afternoon. I knew I would be late, so I called home to leave a message. Angie picked up the phone and that surprised me. "Hey Angie, what you doin' home?" "Teacher Development Day," she said with a hint of derision. "Ever notice how they are always on Fridays or Mondays?" "Yeah, I noticed. Listen, I have an appointment late this afternoon and I won't be home until about seven I'm guessing. Let Mom know, OK?" "Sure, Dad. Say ... you OK?" she asked in a curious voice. "Yeah, sure ... why do you ask?" "I dunno ... you didn't seem yourself this weekend. You're not sick or something, are you?" "Nope," I lied, "I'm fine. Must be that over-active imagination of yours," I laughed. We signed off and I hung up, wondering if Sheila had noticed my unusual behavior as well. She hadn't said anything, but maybe she was being cagey. I'd have to watch that. I didn't want to tip my hand too soon. The meeting with Lydia was a shock in many ways. To begin with, no matter what the reason, in a divorce, Sheila would get half of everything; the house, the cars, everything. The only good news was that her income was such that I probably wouldn't have to pay alimony if I could prove infidelity. Based on her reckless behavior, I doubted that I would have too much trouble getting proof. As far as the children were concerned, I would have to prove abuse or neglect or some other heinous crime to obtain custody. In this jurisdiction, the children were almost always awarded to the mother. Angie was eighteen, so she could make her own decision, but Ben was only sixteen and he would have to be with his mother for almost two years. I didn't feel good about that, but Lydia said I probably wouldn't be able to change it. It's just the way the system worked. That's when things got interesting. Lydia knew my overriding desire was to punish both Sheila and Gilson and she said she could help. Since Gilson was her boss, I could sue both him and the company he worked for as co-respondents in the divorce. In other words, since so many people knew about their little game and did nothing to stop or report it, we could sue them for some very large dollars. Better yet, none of that money would go to Sheila. Lydia said she would do some research on Century Ford and start the paperwork for divorce proceedings. At this point, the reason for the divorce was left open. It was my decision whether it would be Irreconcilable Differences or Infidelity. Lydia suggested that since their liaisons were so predictable, it wouldn't be too difficult or expensive to get some photographic evidence to cement the case. I told her I'd think about it. When I arrived home that evening, I was greeted by a happy Sheila, telling me my dinner was in the oven and she had poured a glass of wine for me. I was immediately suspicious. This wasn't normal behavior for her. I went upstairs and changed, washed and came down for my meal. As I sat down at the table, Sheila sat as well, also with a glass of wine. "I have some interesting news, Mick," she began with a big smile. "Oh?" "I've been invited to the regional dealer convention next month in Marysville," she said proudly. "Really? Just you?" I asked, almost knowing the answer before I asked it. "Well ... no ... Terry and Kurt Jenkins will be going too," she said with some nervousness. "Oh ... I see. And how long is this convention?" "Uhhhmmm ... three days. Thursday, Friday and Saturday. I would be back on Sunday." The nervousness was now fully apparent. "Hummph ... sounds like you're looking forward to it," I baited. "Yes ... it will be my very first convention. I'm sure I'll learn a lot." She had changed in an instant. She was now back to the happy enthusiasm of a minute ago. "Yes ... I'm sure you will," I replied with just a hint of sarcasm. As my mind caught up with my emotions, I began to recognize that this might be the opportunity that I was looking for. She was almost setting herself up to be caught. "Then ... it's OK with you?" she asked tentatively. "Yes, dear. It's OK with me. I trust you. I know you wouldn't do anything ... improper," I said with as straight a face as I could manage. I saw the flush on her face for just a moment before she rose, leaned over the table, kissed me. "Thank you, Mick." I finished my meal in silence as Sheila went back to the living room and some mindless TV show. I found it odd that I wasn't upset or angry or anything. I was numb. I had just granted my wife permission to leave town for three days and fuck some asshole that I hated, and I felt nothing. The next two days were OK ... just OK. I functioned in my job, but my mind was a jumble of thoughts, wondering how all this was going to turn out. I had begun to obsess about Ben and Angie. What would they think? How would they react? When I went about destroying their mother, would they hate me? I couldn't think of any way to protect them from what I was about to do other than to call the whole thing off and just let Sheila go on with what she had been doing. I knew, deep down, that I would never allow that. On Thursday morning, Lydia called me at the office and asked me to meet with her that afternoon. We set the time for three and I was early. I wanted to bring her up to date and I wanted to get the process rolling. I had made a couple of decisions. "Lydia, something interesting happened on Monday. Sheila told me that she had been invited to attend the regional Ford dealer convention in Marysville in three weeks. It won't surprise you to know that she is going with Terry Gilson and another guy from their office." I paused, waiting for her reaction. "You're right. No surprise. My sources tell me that this has been set up for some time. I guess she finally got up the nerve to tell you on Monday," she said calmly. "Yeah ... Monday. How did you know?" I asked with a smile. "Well, that's a trade secret ... but let's just say she's not as smart as she thinks she is," Lydia grinned. "I've decided that we should try and get some pictures. Will that allow us to file for infidelity?" I asked. "Yes, definitely. We know now that they use the same room in the same hotel every time. Talk about stupid. My ... friend ... will get some photographic evidence this week and that should be enough to cement the case. But there's more," she grinned. My Perfect Family I looked at her smile of satisfaction and waited for the next bit of news. "Century Ford is owned by Terry Gilson's father, Knox Gilson, as you probably knew. I have it on good authority that there is a morals clause in each employee contract and that's going to make our supplemental lawsuit that much easier. In fact, it's going to be a 'piece of cake,'" she smiled wickedly. "How much do you think we can take them for?" I asked, my mean streak now showing. "Well, we might get between a half-million and a million, but of course we'll ask for a lot more. Goodness knows, Terry's father can afford it," she laughed. "I like the sound of this a lot. I guess the only bad part is the kids. I can protect Angie, but I can't do anything for Ben," I said, suddenly realizing how rapidly events were proceeding. "I know, and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. Unless we get a judge that thinks Sheila is the scum of the earth, we'll just have to live with it. I'm sorry, I wish it wasn't so," she said with genuine pity. "OK, Lydia. Thanks for the spade work. I'll let you know when and where the convention is and which hotel she's staying at just in case your guy can't get anything between now and then. " I was tired. This whole charade had taken a lot out of me. I wanted to go home and go to bed for a week or three, just hoping it would be all over by then. I knew it wouldn't be, of course. There was a long way to go yet. I managed to get myself through the next three weeks without apparently arousing suspicion in Sheila. Maybe she wasn't paying attention or maybe she was just so confident that she didn't worry about it. On the eve of her departure, she had packed and moved her suitcase and travel tote to the front door in preparation for her morning departure. She had no idea what awaited her that weekend. When I got up on Thursday morning at my usual time, Sheila was already up and having breakfast. She was definitely anxious to go and was flitting about the kitchen very nervously. "You're up early," I remarked coolly. "Yes ... I just wanted to make sure everything was looked after before I left." "Don't worry about it. Angie will look after the housework and I'll help her on the weekend. I take it you'll be home Sunday morning?" I suggested. "I'm not sure if it will be morning or afternoon. I'll have to wait and see. It's Terry's car, so ... I'll let you know," she said hesitantly. She was avoiding my eyes. She knew what she was going to be doing and she didn't want to face me and have to admit it to herself. She couldn't know there was to be no escape from this weekend. "Well, have a good time and behave yourself," I said with no little amount of sarcasm. She looked at me briefly and then continued her uncoordinated activities. I couldn't remember seeing her this jumpy. Perhaps she had sensed my change in attitude and was frightened that I might know or suspect something. I couldn't tell. I downed my coffee, kissed her lightly on the cheek and left for the office. It would nag at me all day wondering if she thought I knew something. It might ruin my surprise and that would be very frustrating for me. I hadn't told Lydia or anyone what I planned for early Sunday morning. When I got to the office, I called Lydia and she came on the line promptly. "Lydia, can you confirm that we have photographs of Gilson and Sheila in the act?" I asked quickly. "Yes ... we have them. I don't think you want to see them, though. Maybe after this is all over ... but right now ... just let us handle this, OK?" She was speaking in a subdued voice and there was no mistaking the unhappiness in her tone. I had to assume that the pictures would be very damning. The only good thing about that is it wouldn't matter if my little stunt on Sunday morning worked or not. The issue was now settled. "Are the divorce papers all prepared?" "Yes. We can have her served whenever you say." "I've got a little surprise for her on Sunday morning, so my thinking is we can serve her at her parent's house on Monday morning. Can I confirm that to you on Sunday?" I asked. "Yes ... but ... Mick ... you're not planning on doing anything silly, are you?" She sounded worried. "No ... absolutely not. I won't do anything to mess this up. I promise." I hoped my declaration was reassuring to this dynamic lady. I didn't want anything to screw up my plans. "Good, I'm glad to hear that. Take care, Mick. I know these are tough times for you, but they'll pass and you'll go on, I know," she said sincerely. "Lydia, I couldn't do this without your help. The only tough part left is to tell the kids on Saturday what's happening. I'm not looking forward to that," I confessed. "I'm sure you're not. Good luck. If you need anything, call me or David, OK?" "Thanks," I signed off, quietly hanging up the receiver. I debated telling the kids that night, but changed my mind. One of them might decide to call their mother and warn her. I wanted to minimize that risk. Sheila called that evening about eight o'clock and she sounded very up. She was enjoying the convention and all the various booths. She had a nice room and the restaurant served very good food. She talked to me briefly, but spent more time on the phone with Angie and Ben. She gave us her room number, 1228. When the kids had gone to bed at their usual hour, ten o'clock, I waited until I was sure they were asleep and then called the hotel and asked for room 1228. If Sheila answered, I'd just wish her goodnight and say something nice. The phone rang at least seven or eight times with no answer. I hung up. Sheila called Friday night, again at about the same time. As before, we had a short conversation and then she talked to Angie and Ben. She sounded different. Perhaps the thrill of the convention was wearing off or perhaps ... something else? Saturday, she phoned earlier ... just before six. Fortunately, we were all home. Again, our conversation was short and not very personal. She was going out to dinner with a large group and wouldn't be home until late, she said. I wasn't unhappy. It made it easier for me. When Angie, Ben and I sat down for dinner, it was a very quiet table. We all seemed to be absorbed in own thoughts. At last, I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. We cleared the table, put the dishes in the dishwasher and I turned to them both. "Kids, I have some things I need to talk to you about," I began. Ben and Angie looked at me and I sensed that they had an idea what this might be about. "There's no easy way to say this, so ... I'm just going to tell you what's going to happen." I reached in my pocket and pulled out two shiny new house keys. "These are your new keys to this house. The only other person who has one is me. Your mother will not be returning to our home," I finally forced myself to say. Angie gasped and Ben's eyes grew wide and his mouth opened. "Over the past year, your mother has been carrying on an affair with her boss, Terry Gilson. She has betrayed me and you and her marriage vows. I can no longer live with her and I will not allow her in this house," I paused. "Oh, Dad ... Oh no!" Angie cried. "Why did she do it? "I don't know, but to be perfectly honest, it isn't the most important thing on my mind right now. I know this is going to hurt you. I can't help it. She has ... been with Mr. Gilson at least twice a week for the last year. That's over one hundred times!" My anger was beginning to show and I could see Ben cower slightly. "This convention that's she's attending. It's nothing more than a smokescreen so that they can be together for the weekend. Well, they aren't fooling anyone," I spat. "Dad, what's going to happen?" Ben asked, still shocked at my statements. "I have filed for divorce and your mother will be served with the papers as soon as she's back in town. There are some other things that are going to happen to Mr. Gilson, but you don't need to worry about them right now. I'll let you know as they happen." I stopped again. I'm sure they must have been reeling from my comments in the last five minutes. "Does this mean I'll never see Mom again?" Ben asked, on the verge of tears. "No ... I wouldn't do that to you, Ben. I know how important she is to you and I wouldn't do that. You'll probably be living with her to start with. When you're eighteen, like Angie, you'll be able to see both of us any time you want. Angie, you can make your own decision on where you want to live. It will be your choice," I said, looking into the sad eyes of my daughter. "That sucks, Dad. It splits the family up. That sucks!" she said in tears. "Yeah ... I know. Unfortunately, the courts make these decisions, not me. I thought long and hard about this. I suppose I could have told your mother what I knew and then just carried on with our lives, but I couldn't handle that. I admit I'm very, very angry at your mother. She cheated us. She lied to us. I don't think I can just turn the other cheek," I admitted. Ben turned and walked quietly up the steps to his room and closed the door behind him. He was in shock, I thought. I would go up and sit with him in a while after he'd had time to absorb what was going to happen. I turned to Angela and she looked at me sorrowfully before stepping to me and embracing me. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I know how this must hurt. I can't believe she'd do this again," she cried. I pulled my head back and stared at my daughter. "Again?" Angie nodded, her eyes downcast. "Tell me ... please," I said softly. "It was four years ago. I was just getting my periods and I was having some trouble with them. I had a bad case of cramps one morning when I was in class. I went to the nurse's office and she sent me home with a note for mom, telling her what to get for me. When I walked in the front door ... she ... she and Mr. Morissette were on the couch. Mom ... mom had her blouse half off and her bra and panties were on the floor. Mr. Morissette had his ... thing ... out of his pants and mom was holding it. "I guess I screamed and ran upstairs to my room. I could hear them talking and moving around and then the door slamming. A few minutes later, Mom came into my room." At that point, Angie broke down and the tears began to flow in earnest. "What happened then?" I had to be patient. I had to let Angie tell me in her own fashion. "Mom said that if I told you or anyone, you'd get a divorce and I'd never see you again. She said the courts always gave moms custody and she said you'd be so angry at her that you'd probably move away and I wouldn't see you at all." She looked up at me, shaking her head. "I was scared Dad. I believed her. I couldn't lose you. Not then, not ever. I guess I must have promised Mom I'd never tell anyone. Except for Ben, I never did 'til now." I put my arm around her again and pulled her to me. That devious bitch had used Angie's love for me against her and blackmailed her into silence. So Gilson wasn't the first and only. I began to wonder how many there might have been. How could I have been such a fool? How did she pull this off without my suspecting anything? Was I that stupid that I didn't notice what was going on? Or ... was she more clever than I gave her credit for? "Angie, I don't know what to say to you other than I love you. I will do everything I can to be a good dad, no matter what happens in the future. You're old enough to make your own decisions now, and I want you to know that whatever decision you make I will support you, and it will not change my love for you." I didn't think there was anything else I could say. "Thank you, Dad. I know that and I know I want to be here with you. You need someone, and I guess you're stuck with me," she smiled through her tears. We hugged again. "I guess I'd better go up and talk to Ben. I'm sure he's really going to have a tough time with this. You said you told him about Mr. Morissette?" "Yes ... about a month after it happened. Ben said she was acting funny and he noticed Mom and I were kind of avoiding each other. I told him what I saw." "How did he react?" I asked. "Funny. Like, it wasn't a big surprise or maybe he suspected something," Angie replied thoughtfully. "I was sure he'd think I was lying, but he didn't say much at all. He just clammed-up and kept it to himself." I nodded and rose, moving toward the stairs and Ben's room. I knocked softly before turning the knob and carefully pushing to door open. Ben was sitting on his bed, a vacant look in his eyes as he stared out the window. It took him a few seconds to acknowledge me, but still he said nothing. "I'm sorry, Ben. You know I wouldn't hurt you if I could help it. I hope you understand, I couldn't let things go on the way they were," I said quietly. He nodded and turned to me. "I'm sorry too, Dad. Mom's really hurt a lot of people, hasn't she?" he said, barely above a whisper. "Yes ... yes she has. I don't know what will come of all this, but I'm sure your grandparents will be pretty upset with her," I answered. "Why, Dad? Why?" "I have no idea, Ben. She never gave me a hint she was unhappy or unsatisfied with her life. Not one hint," I repeated. "I hate her!" he suddenly blurted. "No ... no ... don't do that, Ben. She loves you, you can be sure. It's something else, something I don't understand. Maybe she doesn't either. But don't let your anger consume you. I know you love her. Maybe, in time, you can forgive her. I know she would never want to hurt you or Angie. Not ever," I said in as positive a tone as I could. He turned again to me with a crestfallen look. I put my hand on his shoulder in reassurance. After a few moments, I rose and left his room, closing the door behind me. After my wake-up call on Sunday morning, all hell broke loose. Sheila was trying to phone the house, but I had taken Angie and Ben and we had gone out for breakfast. We might not have had much of an appetite, but we needed to get out of the house. I had also turned off my cell and I asked Angie to do the same with hers. I didn't want Sheila harassing her on top of everything. I told the kids what I had done with the early morning phone call and Angie actually laughed. Ben smiled and I knew they approved. Why didn't I feel better then? After breakfast, we drove over to the park by the river and the three of us went for a walk. I think in some strange way, we were all feeling better. Perhaps because all the tension and anticipation of what was to come was released. Angie and Ben knew what was coming and they knew when it would be happening. For myself, I had a knot in my stomach that just would not release. I had initiated a process that would end in the dissolution of my marriage and the break-up of my family. I had yet to talk to my parents, but that was one of two important things on my agenda today. I would also phone Lydia, of course, and tell her what I had done. I dreaded talking to George and Amy Pratt, Sheila's parents. We were close and they adored their grandchildren. I wasn't sure how they would take the news and which side they would fall on. I chose to leave it until Sheila forced the issue. She had to have some place to live and I suspected she would run for home. I called Lydia Pancratz first. I described my little stunt and she too laughed at my chutzpah. "Now there's a wake-up call I'd never want to get," she chuckled. "I hope it felt good, Mick." "Not really. Cheap revenge, I guess. But now she knows and she knows some of the consequences," I said, recognizing a touch of anger in my voice. "How about the kids, Mick?" "I talked to them last night and I think everything is stable. They aren't happy, as you can imagine, but they understand and I guess we'll have to wait and see what the long-term consequences for them are," I said. "But I got another surprise, too." "What?" Lydia was taken aback for a moment. "Angie told me that she had walked in on her mother and another man about four years ago. They were obviously in the middle of having sex. Sheila threatened Angie. She told her that I would divorce her and she would get custody of them and they would never see me again. She blackmailed her into silence," I concluded. "My god ... she would do that?" Lydia asked in amazement. "I thought I knew her. I was wrong. I don't know her at all. She is one nasty woman," I said with more regret than anger. Lydia must have been wondering what next, I suppose. After a few moments silence, she spoke again. "Stay close to Angie and Ben, Mick. They're going to need you to be there. It's going to be hell on them for a while. Stay close to them," she concluded. "Thanks again for all your help, Lydia. As soon as I know where Sheila ends up, I'll let you know and you can have her served." We signed off and I snapped my cell phone shut. Calling my parents was going to be a good deal more difficult. The conversation with my parents was mercifully short. I described the situation and their first reaction was a concern for Angie and Ben. I described my conversations with them last night and the fact that they were seemingly OK today. That seemed to mollify my mother and both said they would talk to us later when "things settled down." I wondered myself when that would be. I shut the cell phone off again. It was beeping to tell me that there was a call waiting and I was fairly sure it would be Sheila. She wasn't on my list for conversation today. Angie, Ben and I sat at a picnic bench in the park and I explained that I didn't want to be around our house for the next few hours. I expected their mother would come racing home to try and gain entry. Finding her key useless, she would probably cause a ruckus. I suggested we go for a drive in the country and just stay away until well after the supper hour and then return. They agreed and we discussed where we might go. There was an open-air fair in a small town a few miles to the south and we decided to see what it was all about. The fair was very interesting and fun. We had some hot dogs to keep us going until supper time and generally enjoyed ourselves at an old-fashioned country fair. It took our minds off our troubles and allowed us to think of something else. We didn't get back to town until almost seven and stopped at a nice restaurant for dinner. We knew that sooner or later we were going to have to face up to the changes in our lives, but for this last day, we could escape all that and find a bit of peace and quiet. It was nearly nine when we arrived home. There was no sign of Sheila and the house was dark. I parked the car in the garage and we entered, switching on the lights as we went. There was no sign of any change since we had left for breakfast earlier that morning. The kids went to their room and prepared themselves for bed. I flicked on the TV, but there was nothing to hold my interest and I too headed for bed. It was a restless night for me, uncertain of what tomorrow would bring. I knew there would be repercussions from my phone call and the serving of the divorce papers. It was just a matter of time. I plugged the phones back in when I got up on Monday morning. I didn't expect to hear from Sheila quite this early. I was wrong. Almost immediately, the phone began to ring. We didn't have caller I.D., so I had no idea who would be calling this early. I decided to tempt fate. "Hello?" It was a cautious greeting on my part. "Mick? Mick ... please ... we have to talk." I was Sheila of course. "What's there to talk about?" I asked in a low voice, trying not to disturb the kids. "Oh God, Mick. You know what. I can explain. It isn't what you think," she moaned. "That's the second time you've said that. What do you think I think?" I challenged. My Perfect Family "It wasn't like ... an affair. It was just a stupid mistake. Don't kill our marriage over a stupid mistake," she begged. "You must think I'm the stupidest man on the planet, Sheila. I know for a fact you've been fucking asshole Gilson for a year at least. And now I know that Francis Morissette is on your list of fuck-buddies. We have photographs and all the evidence we need. This is going to be ugly, Sheila, and you have no one to blame but yourself. I promise you, it's going to be ugly." With that, I hung up the phone and disconnected it again. I went to work and informed Larry Coleman that I was divorcing my wife and if she called, please don't put the call through. He agreed and promptly went to see Gloria on the switchboard to inform her of our request. I returned to my office and tried to bury myself in the paperwork on my desk. I did pretty well until about eleven that morning when my phone rang. It was George Pratt, my father. "Good morning George. I can guess why you're calling. I apologize for not giving you and Amy a "heads-up." I said preemptively. "I think I understand, but I'd like to hear it from you, Mick. You've always been pretty straight with me, so tell what the hell happened," he asked pointedly. I described my warnings to Sheila about Gilson, my discovery of her affair with him, and my discovery of her other affair with Morissette. When I had finished with the abbreviated version of her activities there was a long silence on the line. "My god," he finally said slowly and a shallow voice. "I had no idea she could do such a thing. Are you absolutely sure of this, Mick?" he asked, hoping there was some glimmer of relief. "I'm sorry, George. I'm afraid I'm not only sure, but I have photographic evidence," I said, pitying this fine man. He deserved better from his daughter. "She's staying here for now, Mick. Do you plan to initiate divorce proceedings?" "Yes. The paperwork's all done. She'll be served either at work or ... well ... I'm sorry, but it may happen at your place," I apologized. "I understand. I don't mind telling you that this isn't just going to hurt her, but her mother will be devastated as well. I know that's not your fault, but ... well ... never mind. I hope we'll still be welcome to visit the grandchildren, Mick," he finished hopefully. "Of course. This isn't about you or Amy, George. I would never do that to you or to the kids. You are always welcome here," I said sincerely. "Thanks, Mick. I'm sorry ... but ... thanks," he said sadly, hanging up. I was emotionally drained when I placed the phone on its base. I expected there would be more of these kinds of moments in the coming weeks and months. I had to prepare myself for them. I learned that Sheila had gone to work that morning and amazingly, still had a job. Gilson hadn't figured out that all this might come crashing down on his head at some point and apparently decided it was business as usual. When Lydia confirmed that my wife showed up for work on time, she sent the process server over and before she even had her morning coffee, the divorce papers were in her hand. According to observers, she broke down immediately and ran out of the building. I assume she escaped to her parents' home. But that wasn't the fun part. Not long afterward, Terry Gilson and Knox Gilson were both served with writs declaring my intent to sue for damages on the grounds of alienation of affection and willful neglect of corporate responsibility; to wit, the failure to enforce the morals clause in specific employees' contracts. The writs specified both punitive and compensatory damages to the tune of five million dollars. Let the circus begin! In reconstructing the story much later on, I learned that Knox Gilson had a "showdown" with his son, Terry, and virtually cut him off. No more easy jobs, no more bailing him out of situations with angry husbands and if he didn't get his act together, no more inheritance. Knox had indulged his son for the past twenty-plus years and had finally come to the end of his rope. Sooner or later, this over-grown juvenile was going to have to stand on his own two feet. Terry did the one thing that would be completely predictable and promptly went out and got drunk. Since he had been kicked out of the dealership, he had no place to go other than his townhouse. He disappeared into that cavern for several days. I knew that the wheels of justice would grind slowly. Stupidly, Sheila had decided to contest the divorce until Lydia provided her lawyer with the evidence we had, including the photographs. That was all it took to drain the fight out of her. Lydia would do the best she could to limit the amount of financial punishment I would suffer, but at worst, she would get half of everything. A reward for her perfidy. The week passed agonizingly slowly. I went to work, but I couldn't pretend that I was effective. Larry was very understanding and patient, but I knew this couldn't go on forever. I had to think about my future as a single man and a single parent. It was a daunting prospect. On Saturday, I was cutting the lawn in the back when I heard a commotion in the driveway. A car door slammed and within seconds, I could hear someone pounding on my front door. Neither Angie nor Ben were home, so I walked around the side and ran headlong into Terry Gilson. He looked like he'd been dragged behind a farm tractor for a few miles. He was a mess, but one look at his face and I knew this wasn't good. It was the last thing I remember before he hammered me with his big right fist. The next thing I recalled was waking up in the hospital. Well, not really waking up, but beginning to have minor episodes of consciousness. I was flat on my back and I could feel a numbing pain from the top of my head to my groin. It apparently took me more than a day to finally begin to come around. I was swimming in and out of awareness, just barely catching pieces of the here and now. At some point, I realized that someone was with me. I could feel the hand, but I couldn't open my eyes, or at least, I didn't want to. They felt like two marbles rolling around in the bottom of a tin can. I heard the odd voice, but although familiar, I wasn't putting the sound together with a memory to capture who it might be. I tried to remember what might have put me in the place and after some time, I remembered Gilson's face and then his fist. A day or so later, I discovered that my mother and Angie had been at my bedside for almost every moment that I had been in I.C.U. I tried to smile at them, but it hurt and I hoped they understood how grateful I was to have them near. I think I heard Angie tell me that Ben would be along after school and again, I tried to smile. Just thinking about it hurt. It took over a week before I was alert enough to have a conversation with my doctor. He literally began at the top. I had a concussion, the result of hitting the wooden frame of my garage door when Gilson clobbered me. I had a dislocated right shoulder and severe bruising to my right upper arm. I had three and possibly four cracked ribs. I had a severe bruising of the kidneys and further severe bruising of other internal organs. My testicles were swollen badly and there was concern I may lose one or both. Finally, they had removed my spleen when it was discovered that it had been ruptured. My injuries were the result of one punch by an enraged Terry Gilson, followed by a systematic kicking when I was unconscious on the ground. I was saved when Felicia Romano, who had witnessed almost the whole encounter, screamed bloody murder out her kitchen window, causing Gilson to look up and realize that he had been observed. He took off back to his car and raced out of our driveway in reverse and burned rubber all the way down the block. Felicia had the presence of mind to call 911 and that was how I ended up in the hospital. Gilson was identified by both Felicia and another neighbor who got his license plate number when he rocketed down our street, narrowly missing a mother pushing a baby-laden stroller. There aren't a lot of white, 1964 Ford Galaxy convertibles in our town and within a couple of hours, Gilson was spotted coming out of a bar and driving off in an erratic manner. In a fitting end to the whole miserable business, Gilson was arrested for D.U.I. and resisting arrest. He just didn't know when to quit. When they threw him in the holding cell, they matched up the assault complaint filed by Mrs. Felicia Romano and my admission to the hospital. After interviewing Felicia, they charged Gilson with aggravated assault, assault with intent, and criminal trespass. He was in shit up to his eyeballs and it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. When he phoned his father from jail, Knox Gilson wouldn't take the call. I wish I could have been there, but I was unconscious and on the operating table having my spleen removed. Two days after I began to have consistent lucid moments, a plain clothes officer visited me and asked for a statement. I told him what I remembered and that wasn't much. An angry red face and a big fist. He asked me what would have precipitated the assault and I filled him in on Terry's adventures with my wife, the divorce, and the law suits. He nodded a couple of times and thanked me before leaving. Epilogue: The divorce court property settlement wasn't very kind to Sheila. I will be buying her share of our home. They gave her the absolute minimum and no alimony, plus a strong lecture about her contribution to my injuries. Knox had fired both Terry and Sheila. She was out looking for a job when our divorce became final. Her name was poison in some circles and I wondered if she would ever find a decent job in our town. Ben is living with Sheila, but I gather from Angie that their relationship isn't what it once was. I see Ben every week on the weekends. We got a break from the judge on that one. He seems to be bearing up, but he's not the same kid I remember from better days. Angie is Angie. She's my girl and she's keeping me on the straight and narrow. She runs the house, my diet and my exercise program. If I didn't know better, she could be my mother. My folks have been a rock and have been there for us when they were needed. They have no idea how important that was in the past weeks. I just didn't need more pressure. George and Amy have remained friends, thank goodness. They are deeply disappointed in Sheila, but she is their only child and they feel obligated to support her in her time of need. To have Ben there is a big plus for them. They spoil him in some ways, but I'm OK with that. I just want Ben to survive all this and come out of it whole. Angie drops by to visit them. She and her mother are speaking to each other again, but I get the impression it's an awkward relationship at best. The lawsuits will never get to court, of course. Knox Gilson won't let that happen, according to my lawyer friends, Dave and Lydia. We will settle for a very large number and I will be set for many years to come, even after paying taxes and legal fees. I already know I can look after Angie and Ben's college education and provide them with a car. At least some good will come from all this mess. Physically, I have recovered as much as I ever will. I lost my spleen, but my kidneys, ribs and shoulder have pretty much healed. I'm going to physio three times a week and will continue to for some time. I still have aches and pains that come and go on a daily basis. My doctor thinks my testicles are probably eighty-percent functional, but I haven't had an opportunity to test them out. I really don't have much enthusiasm for the opposite sex right now. When my money comes through from the legal settlement, I intend to buy Jimmy and Felicia something really special. Jimmy was there for me when I needed him and Felicia probably saved my life. Nothing would be too extravagant for those two. What comes next, I ask myself regularly. I'm still pretty broken up about what Sheila did to us, but I suppose in time, I'll get over the worst of it. I resigned from Polar Industries; or at least I tried to. Larry wouldn't hear of it and told me he was giving me an indefinite leave-of-absence. I'll have a shit-load of money one day soon and I've been trying to decide what I want to do with it. I think I know. Frank Kley, one of my best customers, and an old friend from when I first started in sales, wants to retire and sell his building supply business. It's a good business with a nicely balanced trade between retail and construction customers. He belongs to a buying group, Build-Rite, and that helps him compete with the big box stores. Dave Mournay and I are going to sit down with old Frank and see if we can make it happen. Ben was the first person in line looking for a job on weekends and during the summer when he heard about my plan. That's a no-brainer. I want to keep him close and make sure he's OK while he goes through the next few years. Teenage times are tough enough as it is without a broken family to deal with. I look at Knox and Terry Gilson and know that's what happens when you aren't involved enough or close enough to your children. I've had a lot of time to think about what happened to me and our family. I'll be the first to admit I took it personally and I wanted a full measure of revenge. I still feel the same way. Perhaps if I had just had to deal with Gilson, it might be different. I suppose I can imagine how he would sway and fascinate someone like Sheila. But when I found out about Morissette and her blackmailing our daughter to shut her up, all thoughts of compassion were gone. Dave says Terry will spend two to four years in prison for his attack on me. We talked about a civil suit as well, but there wouldn't be anything left to sue. His father has disowned him; he has no job, no skills and no prospects. When he gets out of jail, he will be about fifty years old with a bleak future. There's nothing more we can do to hurt him. Surprisingly, Knox Gilson came to see me when I was rehabilitating. He apologized for everything that had happened and for his wastrel son. I accepted his apology as genuine. He understood very well the emotional damage that went along with the physical damage his son had inflicted on me. We shook hands and I raised my opinion of Mr. Gilson Sr. a couple of pegs. So there you are. A sad story to be sure. I thought I had the perfect family. Hell, I was sure I had the perfect family. I can look back on the good times we had together or I can look back in anger. Maybe one day I'll be able to do the former, since right now I'm still dealing with the latter. As always, my thanks to ErikThread for his skilled and helpful editing. Any errors or omissions are entirely mine.