57 comments/ 31841 views/ 9 favorites Rueben and Jemima Colson By: Matt Moreau I watched as she walked off with the other man. I felt as though I had died. She'd had my heart, my soul, my very being and now—nothing. I had nothing: no heart no soul, no being. I was breathing and that was all—and that was overrated. ****** Who are we, were we? I'm Rueben Colson, most recently the husband, and, as I thought, the love of Jemima Colson's life. The "most recently" referred to having been but five minutes ago. Five minutes ago, she had come to me, in the dim light of the bar and told me she had fallen for another man, and that she wanted a divorce. Stunned, disbelieving, destroyed: yeah, that was me. We'd met at the Horse's Head at her request. It was almost next door to where she worked as a receptionist at the local phone company. I had assumed she wanted to have dinner there after she got off—with me. Well, one can imagine my surprise having learned of her real reason for us to meet. As she spoke, her eyes clouded as she fully realized the devastation she had wrought upon me. And, as indicated, devastated I was. "I'm sorry, Rueben. I wish, well, I wish that there had been another way," she said. She brought her hand to her lips, touched my cheek with that same hand; then, she had risen from the little table, that separated us in the bistro, turned and left. About halfway to the exit a man had joined her. He took her hand and led her out. The other man? I had no idea, but quite obviously it was the man that she'd decided to dump me for. For my part I continued to sit and think, well, I thought that I was thinking. But, maybe not. But, I was breathing and therefore technically alive, and well, breathing; I guess there's an upside to everything. ****** One upshot of having been dumped by my wife was the undeniable truth that my life became infinitely simpler. I no longer had to worry about whether or not I'd left the kitchen clean or the bed made—that had been my job—and as well, most of my weekends were now free to do with as I pleased. Nobody to see. This last mainly because all of our friends were really her friends, and invites to anything would no longer be coming my way. I was lonely of course. I mean no close friends, no place to go except my favorite bar: The Cloister, which was near to 'my' place of employment. I did have my job. But, as the sole accountant for Peters Distributing Inc. I had no real interaction with the other nineteen employees; all of whom were engaged either in operations of, or the distribution of, the company's produce—primarily dry goods to supermarkets and dry goods outlets around the southern part of the state. Ralph Peters, my boss and the owner of the company, knew of my marital problems and was empathetic. In sympathy, he doubled my workload. Said it would help me cope. Said he'd been through it and knew the game. I had to allow that he'd been right about that, helping me cope it did. Still, I was more than gassed by each day's end his rightness notwithstanding. I think I was going blind from dealing with all of the little numbers and symbols and legalistic tripe covering the double screen of my state of the art online system. But, as to that, it may in reality have had more to do with the endlessly incipient tears clouding my vision than with the little symbols and bugs on my screens. I held up my glass for a refill by Phil, Phil Sutter, my friend and head pharmacist at the Cloister. "Need some more medicinal support big fella?" asked Phil. I nodded. "Yeah, make this my last, Phil, but make it a double. I'll drink it slow and with feeling," I said. He smirked. "Yeah, well, just don't start singing again," he said. "I don't deserve that. Okay?" "Promise," I said. He left and returned with a double shot a Beam Rye and set it down in front of me. I loved this guy. Maybe he'd marry me, I thought. At least, if "he" dumped me I wouldn't give a shit. Hey, there's an upside to everything as I kept telling myself. Problem was, I was having a whole lot of trouble identifying any upside to Jem's dumping me. I was sipping my rye and silently crying over the spilt milk of my life when Phil returned to my end of the bar. He took a phone call on the back bar and looked to be a little miffed by whatever was said on the other end of the line. Hanging up, he looked over at me sitting maybe four or five feet away. "Hey, Rueben, feel like becoming a bigger loser than you already are?" he said; he did kinda smile when he said it. "Huh? What? What are you talking about?" I said. "We need a sixth," he said. "Randy Dalton just begged off." He nodded toward the phone he'd most recently been speaking into. Huh? What? A sixth?" I said. Still not getting it. "Got a game tonight. Some old fashioned poker. Wanna play? It's a hundred dollar buyin and if you lose it all you can't refinance. It's how we manage to keep the game friendly, nobody ever loses their pink slip if you get my drift," he said. I looked up at him standing there. "What the hell, nobody's invited me to anything since Jem left me. And, a chance to become an even bigger loser than I already am? Hell yes, how can I turn down an opportunity like that. Count me in," I said. "Maybe at game's end I'll be able to interest Guinness with my credentials." "Yeah maybe," he said. "I'm off at seven; game starts at eight. You can follow me over." The venue was Cal Westly's place. It was a four bedroom, single story ranch style about a mile from the bar. We were the last to arrive except for Jim Spencer. Jim's shift at Montgomery's Grocery, where he was a clerk, ended at eight straight up. The other players, Rob Callaway, Clyde Metzler, and of course Cal's wife Angela, were already there when we arrived. Introductions made, Angela brought in a couple of trays of snacks for the assembled gambleers. One and all were profuse in their thanks to her, especially since she had one helluva rack. I wondered if maybe Angela was Cal's secret weapon in the game. For sure it was pretty darn hard to keep one's eyes focused on the cards while she was meandering around the table. Seeing Angela, and noting her devotion to her hubby, brought to my mind my soon to be ex-wife's lack of devotion to me. Okay, I was jealous. The play went on into the wee smalls. When all was said and done, I had a half dozen new friends, and a remainder of twelve dollars and seventy-five cents out of the hundred I'd started with. But, the game had been cathartic at least for the short run. A couple of the guys had stories not unlike my own. All of which did reduce the degree of pain I had been beset with since Jemima had dumped me. ****** "I think you destroyed him," said Richard—Ricky—Jones; officer jones of our local constabulary as I would later discover. She gave him a hard look, as he continued to undress. "I'd rather not dwell on it. Okay," said Jemima Colson. She mounted the bed and spread her legs wide for the man just as he kicked his underpants off to the side. "Okay, okay," he said. "I didn't mean anything by it." She snorted. "Right," she said. "Just get up here and screw me. I need you inside of me." He smiled and did as she asked. Mounting her he let his penis slap haphazardly at her slit. He laughed while her expression bespoke impatience. "Now! she said. "Okay, okay, just teasing," he said. "Sheesh! Touchy tonight." He pushed into her. "Ugh!" she said. "Good, that's good. Now screw me." He lay on top of her seesawing in and out of her for some minutes. She lay passive and submissive as he mastered her. "Faster," she gasped, she was close and he knew it. He began to pummel her fiercely. She sputtered little noises and squeaks as she came. Spittle dribbled and bubbled from the side of her mouth as she was caught in the avalanche of a shattering climax. He stiffened and loomed virtually paralyzed above her as a sea of his semen painted her insides. Finally, he collapsed on top of her, lay still for a brief moment, and rolled off to her right. Heavy breathing was all that could be heard for the next minutes. "Good?" he whispered as his breathing normalized. "Yes. Good," she said. "That's what I needed. Yes." He smiled and let his eyes close. She rolled onto her side away from him, her shapely buttocks and the pussy lips that separated their globes a mess of cum and sweat. They'd shower later and then go out to dinner. It was still early. ****** Coincidences are not something that I much believe in. But, it seems every time I think such sacrilegious thoughts, I am proven wrong. This was one of those times. I was sitting behind a pillar in the Horse's Head. The two of them had just come in but did not see me. I was blocked, visually, from them and they from me, but not from hearing them. The bathrooms were to my right and I knew that there was a back door by which I could escape without being seen, well, it was unlikely that they would see me or recognize me since I would be with my back to them as I moseyed out. I was just getting up to risk it when I heard my name mentioned. I sank back onto my seat to hear what I could hear. Might be interesting, I mean since I was likely gonna the subject to of the conversation. "I hear he comes in here sometimes to avoid his friends at the Cloister. Hear tell he's still crying in is beer about you dumping him, and it was starting to get old over there," said Richard Jones. The waitress interrupted his speech taking their orders. She, the waitress, passed me on the way to the kitchen. "Yes, well it is what it is," said my not quite yet ex-wife. "If he is crying in his beer, well, that was part of the problem I had with him." "Really?" said Richard. "Yes. He's such a wimp. If he didn't get things exactly as he thought they should be, he wouldn't fight for his cause; he'd just cry or whine. I just got fed up. No guts that's my ex. I need a man, somebody with a little intestinal fortitude; Rueben Colson ain't it," she said. "And, he can't dance!" laughed Richard. She giggled her agreement with the man's remarks. "No, he can't dance worth a lick either," she said, now breaking out in gales of laughter herself. "You're good at that kind of stuff. You could have taught him," said Richard. "Truth is I didn't want to. If I had, we'd have likely gone out more, and his social skills were less than wonderful. There was just no upside to the guy," she said. "You know, we've talked about it before, but you've never really answered me," he said. "What?' she said. "Why did you even marry the guy in the first place?" said Richard. "Come on, give?" I could hear her snicker. "Truth is I don't really know. He was okay looking I guess though maybe a little on the short side. But, he did the one thing I was looking for at the time," she said. "And that was?" he said. "He asked me. I was ready, and he asked me first. I know it sounds stupid. But, it was what it was. I was twenty and feeling old. And yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds now, but that was then," she said. The man laughed. I had to allow that she was at least partly right. I had been ready to slink out like the wimp she thought me. Now, that was no longer an option. I threw a twenty on the bar, stood, turned, and walked around to where my detractors were making fun of me. They didn't notice me immediately, staring at them, as they continued laughing. Then they did, notice me that is. "Rueben! Wha . . ." said Jemima. I remained silent, but not wimpy silent, but angry silent. "Oh what? You're going to cry," said Jemima. Her boyfriend smirked his contempt but offered no words. I shook my head slowly. "No," I said. Then, I turned and walked off and out of the place. I heard them talking animatedly as I exited. ****** The divorce was final some four months after that night at the Horse's Head. One thing that the night in question prompted me to do was to return to my regular haunt at the Cloister. She'd, they'd, been right about that. I had kinda avoided the place because of the sadness that had overwhelmed me, and it had. That and hearing the barroom regulars commiserate with me endlessly. I'd be asking them to lighten up in the future. I had a life to get back to. I did finally ask the group two nights later to lighten up. They did, and things went along okay for a while. Then, it happened: the second worst night of my life. Her asshole lover, now husband—yes, they'd gotten married about two weeks after the divorce was final—had got her pregnant. The babies name was Sadie, so I was told by some who knew the two of them as well as me. It shouldn't have, but the news that my rival, my successful rival, had fathered a child by the former love of my life, killed my heart yet again. Sadie should have been mine. I guess I'd been kidding myself: I still wasn't over her—Jemima. I began to wonder if a man could ever get over something like that, like what had happened to me. If I'd been asked at that moment, I would have said no. And then, if that had not been enough, she, my ex, had the opportunity to rub my nose in it yet again; and, she didn't hesitate. It'd been almost a year and a half since our breakup. I was in the supermarket, the same one we'd patronized while married, getting some stuff that I needed to get by for the rest of the week. I was pushing my cart around the corner of aisle fifteen when I accidentally bumped into her. "What the . . ." she started. I know my look initially must have spelled shock. But, then I started to go red in the face; I could feel it. She picked up on it. "Jesus, Rueben, are you ever going to man up and get over your insufferable 'achy breaky heart'," she said. "So we broke up. So what? It happens to a lot of people. Get a life." "I—I—I . . ." was my brilliant response. Her look said it all—utter contempt. I sputtered something; I don't remember what. I left my groceries in the aisle and walked out. No, that's not right. I all but "ran" out of the store. And, yes, I know how pathetic I must have seemed to her. I was sure that mister and missus Jones would have a big assed laugh that night, and that at my expense. Jesus! I felt low—again. It would be a long time before I saw any of them again; and, when I did, things were going to get really-really complicated. ****** "Jesus, Richard," she laughed. "I feel kinda bad for him. I all but laughed in his face when I saw him. I mean talk about a deer caught in the headlights. He actually started to cry. Then I told him to man up and to stop being such a wimp or words to that effect. He left his stuff, his groceries, just abandoned them, and ran out." "Well, he is a wimp, obviously. Lots of people get divorces and get along good afterwards. He needs to too. But, I don't blame him for wanting you. I mean I do for sure. You leaving him had to kill the guy. "Look next time we see him we're gonna be cool. Treat him with a little respect, not much, just a little," he laughed. "You know so he won't feel so bad. Okay?" "Yes, I think you're right. But, the little shit does need to man up and act like a real man and not such a pussywhipped little twerp. I mean really," she said. "Yeah, well, you've got me pussywhipped," he said smiling. "Yes, but you're different, a different kind of pussywhipped because you know I need you just as much," she said. "Yeah, I guess that's so," he said. ****** The four seasons came and went as is their habit—ten sets of them. I was thirty-five years old. Doing okay on the job. Still single. Had gotten myself a nice little two bedroom with a small yard in town. Paid my taxes. And, by most standards was doing good generally. Social life? Not much to tell. Didn't date but on rare occasions. Sex? Mostly I'd forgotten what the real thing was like. I had purchased the services of a few ladies of the evening on occasion but apart from that, pretty much nada. Put another way I was spinning my wheels at least emotionally. I was sitting in the Commodore, a small bar, a hole in the wall really, but well run. I'd been hanging out there more and more in recent times; it's sawdust atmosphere kinda suited me. Not as nice at the Cloister or the Horse's Head, but again, it suited me. Charlie Weston, the barkeep, was young but sympathetic with everyone's problems. He knew me as pretty much always in my cups and mostly in a melancholy state; ergo, he almost always threatened to take my keys if I had more than two drinks. I loved Charlie. He was caring. "This is it or you're getting a cab," said Charlie. "No problem, I'll be heading out in a few," I said. He nodded and went back to grinding glassware with his towel. I finished my third shot, threw a ten spot on the bar—the drinks were cheaper at the "C"—and headed out. ****** As I drove I commiserated with myself yet again. I wondered what she was doing, and their kid too—Sadie as I now recalled her name to be, was eleven years-old, I knew. I decided I needed some stuff for dinner for the next few days. I stopped at a convenience store that I knew of on my way; well, it was convenient. Right at that moment convenience trumped price: I was feeling the three shots of rye. "Yeah, thanks," I said as I headed out of the store. A Latino guy maybe fifteen maybe twenty, I could never tell a Latino's age worth a damn, was loading a couple of cases worth of beer into the back of his lowrider. My car was a row closer and two or three spaces to the right of his. A young girl, maybe ten years old walked between us carrying her purchases in two plastic grocery bags. I was nearing my car just as the girl passed in front of me heading to my right likely looking to make it to the crosswalk leading toward the walled subdivision of upper-middle class houses across the street from the store. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a black sedan screech hammer down around the corner and directly toward us with two arms poking out of the window: there were guns at the end of those arms. Instinctively, I rushed to grab the little girl and knock her to the ground. I succeeded, but as my body covered hers I scored the outrageously wonderful good fortune of catching three stray rounds likely intended for the Latino guy who'd hit the turf but a split second ahead of me and the girl. I was the only one hit as the gang in the sedan sped off. The Latino guy got up and checked his car and swore; it was riddled with bullet holes, and his radiator was gushing fluid. He never even thought to look over to me or the girl, but the cops in the cruiser that screeched to a stop in front of me and the girl ten seconds later did. I felt myself being rolled off of the waif beneath me and my head propped up on a jacket or something. I was conscious, but things around me were blurry. My belt was taken off of me and lashed around my upper left leg. One guy in black was ripping my shirt open and doing something to my chest or shoulder. I wondered at that; blood was all but blinding me; shouldn't the guy be taking care of my head? And then I wasn't conscious and I was glad. ****** I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. Things were still blurry, but began to come into better focus after what seemed but a minute or two. I didn't feel any pain. That had to be good news, right? I remembered the drive by and the gunshots and the Latino guy with the beer and then the cops. I surveyed my environment. Yep, I was in the fucking hospital. Man, I didn't need this. I had work to do, accounts to analyze and take carry of. Mister Peters was not going to be happy. "Doctor Cruz, he's awake," a female voice declared. Two white clad women and a man, probably doctor Cruz, were hovering over me. "Well, he's now actually alive 'and' with us," said the good doctor. "Mister Colson, can you hear me? Understand me?" he said. I nodded. I felt a little stiff, but otherwise not too bad. No pain, that was good for sure. As a matter of fact, for someone who had just been shot, I felt damn good. No doubt some medication that they must've given me. Rueben and Jemima Colson "I'm doctor Cruz," he said. "I'm going to ask you some questions; then, I will be glad to fill you in on your condition. Okay?" I nodded again. God, I felt so stiff. The questioning went on for some minutes with mostly one syllable responses from me. All such queries were relating to how I felt, or could I move such and such, or could I please do XYZ. I answered and acted accordingly. The medico sighed. "Mister Colson, we have some more tests, but I am more than hopeful that you have finally made it back among us," he said. "So, let me say first, that people, who have been in a coma as long as you, often suffer some after effects. But, in your case, I think we've gotten past that. We, he indicated his staff with a wave of his arm, have been more or less expecting you to come out of it for some days now. And, well, here we all are," he said. My look must have cued him "Mister Colson?" said the doctor. "How long?" I said. "Oh my, I didn't say did I? Three months and two days mister Colson," he said. "But, it looks like you're going to make a full recovery, given a little time of course." I could feel my mouth slowly open and close, like a fish—several times. No words came out. Not at first; then they did. "Three months!" I squealed. "Yes," he said. "But, as I said . . ." "I—I—I . . ." "Mister Colson, you're going to be fine. Please, just relax today. Tomorrow we will consider allowing a visitor or two of the several who have asked to see you and speak with you, to do so," he said. "Visitors?" I said. "Yes, but tomorrow, not today. You just came back to us, and we have to make sure you're able to deal with things. Okay?" he said. I nodded. He talked a little more letting me know the limits of my activity for the next while. There was dietary information too. I'd been fed through a tube for so long my stomach had to be reeducated was the way he phrased it. And then it was night, followed by morning of the second day. I did not receive visitors the second day as the doctor had intimated that I might, but I did on the third day. ****** It was day three, but really day one of the rest of my life. Just when I was about to get my chance to find out some more things from the doctor that were of some rather urgent importance to me, if to nobody else, we were interrupted by a nurse. She and the doctor conferred for a full minute. He nodded his okay. "Yes, miss Bradley, let them in. I'm done here for the moment," he said. It looked like it was going to be a little longer before I got my questions answered. "Mister Colson, I'm detective Wilson. This is Sergeant Jones. Might it be all right if we spoke with you for a moment?" he said. "Yes, I guess so," I said. We talked for some little time, but in the end it came down to the fact that I didn't know anything about who shot me. Detective Wilson did not look happy, but he understood. Then there was officer Jones. "You don't remember me do you?" said Sergeant Jones. I felt my brow wrinkle. "No, I don't think so," I said. "Should I?" "No, I guess not. But, at any rate, it was my daughter you saved. I was one of the officers on the scene of the shooting. It was kind of a lucky thing for me. I was coming home for dinner; it was the middle of my shift. "My wife had sent our daughter to get a couple of things at the store, and then there was you and the bad guys and others. Well anyway, you knocking my daughter down and covering her saved her life, about that there is no doubt," he said. "Okay. Good," I said. "Hope she's okay." "She's fine, a few scratches is all. But . . ." The man looked down, around, then back at me. "Huh?" I said, wondering what he seemed so nervous about. He shoved his hands in his pocket and hunched his shoulders. Something was going on, but I was going to be no help to him for damn sure. "It's okay, man," I said. "Anybody would have done the same given the same circumstances." "Actually, that's not even close to the reality. Most people would have just pulled their cells and waited around for the uniforms to show up. You did a wonderful thing for Sadie, and I'll never forget it," he said. Sadie? A policeman? This area, neighborhood? I was getting a real hinky feeling. No, not possible. It was not even remotely fucking possible! But, I had to ask the question. "Officer, can I ask, what is your wife's name?" I said. "Jemima," he said. His look spoke of nothing so much as regret. "You're welcome for everything. Now please leave," I said. I was speaking softly, but I was about to breakdown; I didn't need this. "Mister Colson, please let me say . . ." he started. "Please leave, before I embarrass myself by breaking down and acting like the wimp your wife knows me to be. Okay?" I said. "Mister Colson, Rueben, please. I need to say some things, apologize . . . I know Jemima and I . . ." "Get the hell out, officer. I have nothing to say to you! And, you have nothing to say that I want to hear!" Now I was crying. He nodded, turned, and left. ****** "He wouldn't even let you apologize?" said Jemima. "Figures. Rueben Colson is a wimp. I will go to my grave grateful to him for what he did for our baby, but unfortunately that will not do anything to change who he is." "Jemima, never again diss that man in my presence. He took four bullets for our daughter. Wimp? Try one helluva a brave man. Not too damn many like him out there either," said Richard. "And, then there is us: cheaters and heartbreakers. I don't think we come off too good in comparison to the man. So, change who he is? Why would you want to?" "Okay, okay, you're right. I wasn't thinking. And, what he did was very brave; I have to give him that. So, no more dissing him. You're right," she said. "I just wish he'd have let you talk to him. He coulda done that much." He nodded, but tendered her a sour look. "After what he heard us saying about him that day in the bar, and no I'm certain he hasn't forgotten it, who can blame him," said Richard. "Yes, I suppose you may be right about that too," she said. "Do you think they will keep him a while longer in the hospital?" "Didn't ask, but I have to think that, yes, they'll be keeping him a while longer. I mean he was out of it for three months," he said. "Rick, I'm going to go see him myself. If he spits on me, so be it. I'll thank him and ask him to do it again. I know I hurt him bad. I just didn't know how not to. I'm just going to hope that I succeed where you failed to get him to talk. Whaddya think?" she said. He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe. I'd ask the doctor. The one thing we don't want to do is upset him or be party to making things hard on him. Yeah, ask the doctor. Explain the situation to him and if he says okay; well then, go ahead," said Richard. She nodded. "Okay then," she said. ****** She watched as he slept. It was visiting hours, but he was dozing anyway. She'd told the nurse that she was his sister; they were only letting relatives and officials visit as it had only been a few days since he'd awakened, and he was still under observation though his prognosis was good. She'd never spoken to his doctor. He yawned. She smiled; she remembered that yawn; it was so Rueben. It surprised her how comfortable it made her feel. His eyes fluttered open. "Jemima! How? What?" He was clearly startled. "I'm flattered; you still remember me," she said, in an attempt to be flippant. "Remember you? How could I forget the woman who destroyed me and continued to do so even after she had no reason to," I said. "But, then, I guess putting me down has become a kind of sport for you." "Rueben, I am sorry for the past. I came here to beg forgiveness for all of that; but more . . ." "Yeah-yeah-yeah, I get it. You're welcome. Now you can leave," I said. "Rueben, I said I was sorry. What more do you want?" she said. "You gone?" I said. "Yes, that's it, you gone. That's 'What more do I want'." "I don't blame you. But, please, can I at least talk to you for a few minutes? You'd be doing me a big favor if you would," she said. I sighed and started to break up—seeing her . . . "Oh for G . . . oh my God, I was about to do it again wasn't I!" she said. "Yes, you were. Like I said, I've become your favorite sport. Rueben the wimp, Rueben the loser: the target on my heart is so big you can't miss can you Jem," I said, "or resist." She looked down. "I'm sorry, Rueben. You're right. You are absolutely right. And, it's me that's the loser, not you," she said. My tears were streaming now. She noticed and wiped them away for me with a tissue gotten from her purse. "You saved my baby's life. I will never be able to repay you for that. Never!" she said. "Yes, you can," I said. "Tell me. How? It's a done deal, I promise," she said. "Okay, never come around me again," I said. "I can't deal with it. You've been right all along about one thing: I am a wimp when it comes to you, a pussywhipped wimp. "I want you, Jem, I want you bad. I need you bad. And—I know I can't have you. The way you look, smell, it kills me that you're not mine even after all of this time. You're a tease, Jem, a goddamn tease, and it's cruel of you to do it to me even when you don't mean to. So please, I beg of you, please just stay away from me. Let me have a chance to get over you. I need to get over you," I said. "Oh my God! Rueben, I had no idea. I didn't mean to tease or—anything. I just . . ." "I know, and that makes it worse. But, please can you just go. I mean now that I've humiliated myself yet again? Please just go. Go have a laugh at my expense with your husband," I said. I turned away from her hoping she'd just leave. "Okay, I'll leave. But, I owe you big time for Sadie," she said. "And—again—I am so sorry." And then she was gone. ****** "You saw him then?" he said. She just shook her head from side to side. "Yes, and I made the little shit cry. Damn, I did it again!" she said. "Said he wants me to give him a chance to get over me—he's had ten years for chryssakes!" "What? Did what again," said Richard. "I dissed him. It's like it's a habit I can't break. I love the guy for what he did for our baby. But . . ." she said. "It's been over ten years and the guy still has the hots for me. You know, on some level, I'm flattered as can be." "I see. But, if you will, dissing him is one habit you just have to break. For one, he is not a wimp. And two, he doesn't deserve to be referred to as one even if he were!" he said. "He's the very definition of a fucking hero." "Yes, yes, I know. You know one day he has to be introduced to Sadie. Except for the briefest of moments in time, he's never met her. Now is maybe not the time, but one day . . ." she said. "Yes, I agree with you there. But the 'when' may be a ways off, I'm thinkin'." She nodded her agreement. ****** "Cal, you know some people. Any female hanging around that might be able to take our friend here's mind off of his personal tragedy?" said Phil Sutter, everyone's favorite barkeep. "You're the one with all the contacts, Phil. I mean you are a bartender. How about you coming up with a name," said Calvin Westly. "Wait a minute you guys. I'm not in the market for any woman right now. I've had enough of the female gender to last me quite a while." I said. "Shut the fuck up, Rueben," said Phil, smiling. "You're so damn needy it's embarrassing." "Yeah," said Cal. "Phil's got a point. You're so focused on your ex that you've lost perspective. There's a million gals out there just dying to make your day. But, you've gotta at least give 'em a taste." "Yeah-yeah-yeah," I said. "What woman that's actually homo sapiens wouldn't wanna give a guy like me a tumble. Get serious, okay." "Now . . ." started Cal. He'd clearly stopped in mid-thought; something had come to him. "Wait a minute. Phil, what about Clarissa. She just got done dumping old Harvey Gould. I know for a fact that she's in the market." The look he got from the barkeep was sour. "No-no-no," said Phil, "not Clarissa." "She cleans up pretty good when she wants to," said Cal. "Hell, I'd by her a steak dinner." Phil wandered off down the bar not saying anything else. "What's with Phil?" I said. "The woman dump on him?" "No, no," said Cal. "Well then?" I said, not really caring one way or the other. "Well—it's just that—well—Clarissa isn't exactly in Jemima's class, but she's a nice girl; and, well, well worth your time," said Cal. "And translated that means she's ugly but nice. Right?" I said. "Ugly, no. Plain, yes," he said. "But, super nice and—loyal. Wanna meet her?" I gave him a look. "Loyal, is she?" I said. As he'd been talking the truth that loyalty somehow trumped everything else came to me. I decided to take a flyer. "To a fault," said Cal. "She's my wife's best friend. She was my date for our senior prom in high school," he said. "I'll have Angela set it up if you're of a mind to meet her," he said. I caught myself tapping my fingers on the bar-top. "Do it," I said, before I had a chance to change my mind. ****** "Mister Colson, this is Clarissa Horton," said Angela Westly. "Nice to meet you miss," I said. Introductions and initial meet up pleasantries concluded, the four of us—Cal had arrived about fifteen minutes late—got down to some serious wine drinking. Two glasses each of a pretty good house red consumed, Cal and Angela excused themselves. "Well, that was kinda obvious of them," I said. "Yes," said Clarissa. "So do you want to take me out?" I kinda laughed, but low key. "Yes, I believe I do," I said. "You know, if nothing else you being here—and so up front and all—has made me feel more human than I've felt in years." "Well good. But human?" she said. "Uh-oh, you don't know my history do you?" I said, suddenly less sure of the situation. "No, not really. Angela told me you've been through a divorce, kind of a bad one, but not much else," she said. "Not 'kinda bad', I said "devastating. I've been in a blue funk ever since. No excuse, excerpt that I was, and probably still am, madly in love with the woman who I had thought was my life's soulmate. But, as it turned out, that was a one way street; she didn't give a rat's ass whether I lived or died. Kind of a soul 'killer' if you know what I mean," I said. "I do know what you mean. Been there done that," she said. I nodded. "So, next Saturday?" I said. "Sevenish?" "Sure," she said. "Maybe we can each help the other dump the blues for a little while." "That would be the hope," I said. ****** It was tax time. Mister Peters had seemingly been calling meetings almost daily for weeks with my division, accounting. The other divisions too had been getting calls to make sure their paperwork was up to date. Why all the angst? We were getting audited. Not unusual, we had an IRS auditor showing up every year, but usually it was just a formality. But this year we were slated to get the full treatment; hence, the boss' concern and my, my division's, long hours. I didn't see the man sitting in his car across the street from my office, and I should have. I would later learn that he'd been there off and on for the past several months. But with traffic being what it was in the area picking him out would have been difficult even if I had known. ****** "Why don't you just go up to the man and talk to him, Rick. What's he going to do, spit in your eye?" said Jemima. "I'm waiting for the right moment," said Richard Jones. "Yeah, like you're going to know what that is watching him get off from work and going home," she said. "There's always a moment," he said. "I know that from experience." "It's been almost a year. Maybe it's time for him to meet our baby," she said. He looked up from his coffee on the dinette table in front of him. "Yes, maybe it is," he said. "Yes." She gave him a look. "So?" she said. But, he was lost in thought and didn't respond to her. "Rick?" she said, trying to get his attention. "Oh—yes. Sorry. I was just thinking," he said. She sighed. "Yes, I can see that," she said. "Look, he's had time to heal and cool down from all of the excitement. Just take her to him and introduce her. Who knows, maybe it will lead somewhere. I have to think that he's curious about her; I mean he did risk his hide for her." He nodded. "Okay, I will," he said. "Yes, it is time." She nodded. ******* "You mean the guy that knocked me down and got shot?" said Sadie. "Yes, exactly," said Sgt. Richard Jones. The girl gave him a look, a quizzical look. "Okay," she said, knitting her brow. "Dad?" "Yes?" said dad. "Is there something else?" she said. "Well, kinda," said her daddy. "You see, mister Colson . . ." "Wait, that used to be mom's last name didn't it?' she said, interrupting him. "Yes, yes it was. You see, they used to be married to each other, before you were born, actually," said dad. "Really?" said Sadie. Her daddy smiled. "Yes, really," he said. "And we owe him a lot for saving you that day. He did a very brave thing." She smiled. "I know," she said. "I'm only twelve, but I'm not dumb yuh know!" "I do know. You are not dumb, not even," he said. She hugged him. She turned thoughtful. "Daddy?" she said. "Yes?" he said. "Does mister Colson like us? I mean if he and mommy . . ." she said. "He'll love you, dear. He and mommy, well, they haven't been together for a long time. Okay?" he said. She nodded. "Okay you two," said Jemima Jones, coming into the room, "what's going on?" "Hi honey," said Richard. "Sadie and I were just discussing going to see mister Colson." Jemima Jones eyes lit up. "Oh," she said. "Mom, you and mister Colson used to be married?" said Sadie. Her mom gave her dad a look. "His name cued her," he said. Jemima Jones nodded. "Yes, Sadie, we were, but that was a long time ago," she said. "Are you going to come with me and daddy to see him?" said Sadie. "I don't think so, dear. I've already gone to see him once, now it's your turn. Okay?" she said. "Okay, mom," said Sadie. ****** "So does she remember him? I mean it's been a year," said Jemima. "I don't think so, not really. She understands what he did, but remember him per se? No," said Richard. "How much did you tell her about him and me?" she said. "Nothing, just that you used to be married and that you hadn't seen each other for a long time," he said. She nodded. "Yes, well, I did try to see him, but the little . . ." "Jemima!" said Richard, interrupting her. "Okay, okay, you're right. I won't diss him anymore," she said. "Really," he said. His tone spelled exasperation. "It's just, that every time I think of the guy, I want to . . ." "Don't say it!" he said. "Okay, okay I won't," she said. "Momma?" said Sadie slipping into the room in mid-conversation. "Mister Colson?" Jemima Jones sighed. "Honey, mister Colson and I—well—we had some problems. He's a good man I mean he saved you, honey. So he gets credit for . . ." "Credit? Huh? Mom? Is mister Colson and bad man?" said Sadie. "No, no, no," said Jemima. "No, not a bad man. It's just—well—it's hard to explain. Someday maybe you'll understand. Okay?" The look on mister Jones face was beyond describing. "In point of fact, Sadie, mister Colson is a very good man. And we all love him. Right, honey?" he said, looking at his wife. His wife's smile was—something, maybe forced. ****** I've never been here before. But, everyone seems to know you," said Clarissa. "My hangout after work on Fridays," I said. "And, other times." She snickered. "Other times?" said Clarissa. "Yeah, well, I did a lot of my whining and crying here after my wife and I broke up," I said. She nodded. Rueben and Jemima Colson For the next two hours my new friend and I got to know each other rather well. It turned out that she could dance, and with her leading I didn't do too badly. "You show promise," she said. "Promise?" I said. "As a dance partner. I love to dance and I might just honor you by choosing you to fill that particular, currently empty, slot on my social register," she said. "And, it would be an honor," I said. "I mean if you really think that I'm not a complete loser." "Heck no you're not," said Clarissa. "I won't kid you; it's going to take some work, but time-wise it won't be all that long before you're doing the leading." The drive to her place was mostly silent. Silent, but pregnant with promise. She had let her hand come to rest on my thigh. I pulled up in front of her house. I let her out and walked her to the door. She looked me in the eye and waited, an expectant smile creasing her mouth. I swallowed hard, like a teenager on his first date. I leaned in hopefully and kissed her lightly. "That the best you've got big boy?" she said. "Hell no!" I said, as I planted a scorcher on her lips. "Better," she said. She took me by the hand and led me inside. The sex during the next three and a half hours could only have been described as desperate, and that, on the parts of the both of us. For me free pussy had been a tragedy of not-happening-ness. In her case it was more that she hadn't been treated well in the happening. She was doing her best to remind me of how to ride the proverbial bicycle. I, on the other hand, was at pains to do right by her for having mercy on me. We made out on the couch for a solid hour before we started stripping each other. I took her doggy and missionary. She beat me off twice causing me to spasm wildly in the doing both times. Oral? No, no oral this time around. It just didn't come up. What we did is what we did and it worked for us, well, for me for sure. I hoped for her too. ***** "So today's the day," said Jemima, more to herself than to either of the other two seated across from her at the breakfast table. Richard snickered. "Yes, yes it is," he said. "Kind of our last chance to do something right by the guy." "Huh?" said Sadie. "What? I mean—who—right—who?" Her mother smiled. "Honey, when Rueben Colson and I broke up . . . " "You mean when you and I destroyed him," said Richard, fully aware that his young daughter was less than three feet away. He got a hard look from his wife. "Honey, what your daddy means is that, well, mister Colson was kinda bad hurt when I—well—when I asked him for a divorce to marry your dad. In those days, well, in those days . . ." "In those days," said Richard, "he was kind of unforgiving. He loved your momma too. So anyway, Now you know. "Sadie, I told you this now because there is a possibility that us going to see him today might not go well." The girl child nodded. "But, he saved me," said Sadie. "Yes, and I'm sure he would have done that for anyone in a situation like that," said Jemima. "But, he did not know it was you, I mean that you were my child, mine and your daddy's. "Your daddy and I have both gone to see him, but he kinda sent us away. He didn't want to talk to us. He's still hurt over me divorcing him and everything. Can you understand that?" "Not really," said Sadie. "I mean you breaking up with him, divorcing him, had to have been a long time ago. I mean I'm twelve years old already." "Yes, it was a long time ago, but Rueben, mister Colson, has never gotten over it. He's still hurt and maybe a little angry too," said Jemima. "In all honesty, well, I wasn't very nice to him—some of the things I said . . . "Anyway, honey, that's why your mom said that this might be our last try to get him to accept our apologies and thanks for saving you. "Sadie, dear heart, I'm going to ask you to follow instructions to the letter when we get there today. Please do exactly as I say. I don't even know what might happen or how, I mean we may need to leave immediately if he . . ." said Richard. "Okay dad. I think I understand. I'll do as you say," said Sadie. ****** Sometimes the days can be long. We'd finally gotten our records all settled for the fiscal year and everyone: accounting, operations, distribution was breathing easier and settling in for a long winter's nap—figuratively speaking. Thanksgiving was but a month away and I would be spending it with my now girlfriend and future wife—I hoped—Clarissa Horton. We'd become an item and she had almost totally resurrected my shattered psyche. Jesus, a good woman could absolutely rebuild a man every bit as easily as a not so good woman could tear him down. I didn't used to believe in lucky stars but now I did. Go figure. It was Friday. We, Clarissa and I, planned an evening of fine dining and dancing at the Flame Tree night club. That to be followed by a night cap or two at the Cloister, once again my sometime hangout, before adjourning to her place for the weekend. I was happy again; she had made me happy again. I looked up at the clock, one more hour to go and I could hit the bricks. "Mister Colson," came Sally's voice over the intercom, "you have visitors, sir." I'd been thinking about taking off a bit early, so I decided to just see who was visiting. I grabbed my coat and went out of my office and into the reception area. Sally gave me a look and let her gaze float to the visitors. I could feel my face flush. I knew who the man was of course; it hadn't been that long. And the girl? I knew who she was too. I guess I should have expected this. Hell, I was surprised that it had taken this long to bring out their big guns. "Mister Jones, officer Jones, I mean," I said. "Mister Colson—Rueben. This is . . ." he started. "This is Sadie," I said. "Yes, we met under less than optimal circumstances some time ago. Nice to meet you formally." I was being perhaps a little overly formal, but it's how I felt and it seemed to fit the situation. "I was just leaving," I said. "What can I do for you?" My look and my tone should have indicated to the elder Jones that I didn't want to go through some long drawn out scene, but he evidently decided that he needed to proceed. "A few minutes of your time, sir, if we may," he said. I stared at him for a long moment. If it hadn't been for the presence of the girl, I would have blown him off, but the girl was there. I nodded and motioned them to follow me back into my office. A moment later we were all seated, me behind and them in front of my desk. "Mister Jones, we've had this conversation," I said. "With all due respect, mister Colson, we really haven't. I'm hoping that today, well maybe . . .," he said. A moment of silence ensued. I was waiting for him to say his piece so I could have my go; but then, it occurred to me that for whatever reason he was waiting for me to go first. So I did. "I have to say I am not greatly surprised that you brought your baby here today. I'm sure you know what my reaction would have been had it been just you, or, you and Jemima," I said. And, yes I was well aware of the fact that the little girl was seated in our midst and that she was going to be made privy to a lot of things that maybe little girls didn't need to be made privy to. But I intended to put an end to this—what—harassment born of latent guilt trips that the two cheaters were doubtless possessed of. And yes, yes, I could accept that they felt "boundless" gratitude for my having saved Sadie; but I thought, considered, that to be but a secondary element in their motivations. "Rueben, believe me Jemima and I only wish to express our gratitude to you and to assure you of our respect for you as a person and a very brave man," he said. I did my best not to snicker when he said that. Smiling I asked him, "Would it be all right with you, mister Jones, if Sadie waited for you in the foyer while we talked a little bit." "Sure of course!" he said, almost too excitedly. "Sadie please go out and wait in the reception area. Please." "Yes, daddy," said Sadie. We waited for the door to close behind her. "I am so glad you are willing to discuss things with me, Rueben," he said. "Actually discussion is not exactly what I had in mind, mister Jones," I said. "Rich or Richard, please," he corrected me. "I'll stick with mister Jones if you don't mind," I said. His expression morphed from hopeful to concerned. "Okay, as you wish," he said. "Please get this mister Jones. I know that my ex-wife holds me in abject contempt. I know from experience that the both of you laugh at me behind my back, and that probably regularly. I'm not a fool no matter what else she may think me. "I know that when you leave here and go home today, you'll breathe a sigh of relief that that's over with and tell each other how wonderful it is that you're done with me. You will tell yourselves that you have successfully salved my bruised and battered psyche. And, you will no doubt convince yourselves as to what wonderful people you are," I said. "Not true, sir!" he said. "Not true." I snickered. "Not true? When Jemima told me she was getting rid of me for another man, you; she essentially told me to deal with it and get on with my life. When I bumped into you at the Horse's Head you were both heaping insults on my absent self and no doubt holding your sides you were laughing so hard. Then, there was the occasion of me accidentally bumping into her in the market where she scored me for not being able to forget her even after ten years. Oh, and lets not forget her coming to see me after the events at the convenience store. When I wasn't reacting as she thought most appropriate, she started to put me down yet again; but, on that occasion she did catch herself and make a halfhearted apology for doing so. "So, no, mister Jones; I do not believe for a New York minute that Jemima Jones respects me, not even." "Look, Rueben, you've got it all wrong. She does . . ." said Richard. "I'll make you a deal, mister Jones," I said interrupting him, "You play straight with me while we're here today, be honest with me, and we'll call everything even. You'll be able to tell the woman that I forgive everything, if not actually forget it all, and that if we ever bump into each other again we'll be civil and even friendly. How about it," I said. "Okay, yes," he said. "Okay then. After she visited me that day in the hospital, did she go home and to you insult me?" I said. He looked away. "Okay, so far so good," I said. "Now has she ever, I mean ever, mister Jones, begun a conversation with you, and your friends, where I was the topic of that conversation without her insulting me?" "No," he said. "She always bites her tongue afterwards, I hasten to say, but no; she is hard on you and the memory of you." "Thank you. Your honesty, if not the message per se, is refreshing," I said. "Reuben, I should say that her big thing as regards you is that she doesn't understand why you don't find another woman and get on with living your life. Frankly, I am persuaded that if you did that she would stop her dissing and what all," he said. "Actually, I think that half of her negative attitude is related to guilt for leaving you with no way, as she sees things, to recover. She worries over it, and it's easy to blame you, instead of herself, for being slow to get on with things." "In point of fact, mister Jones, my love life is none of her goddamn business. But, that said, you'll be happy to learn that I have found me another woman. Okay Rich? And, yes, I will call you by your nickname now if you still so prefer," I said. "Thank you, and I do so prefer," he said. "My new love is a much better woman than Jemima ever was or could be. She is honest and loyal and loving and will never betray me. And, I will say, Rich, that you'd be hard pressed to claim as much about Jemima," I said. "Look, Reuben, I can't guarantee that Jemima will clean up her thinking. What I can guarantee you is that I have; and that is also the truth, sir. I swear it." I nodded. "I believe you, Richard. Go home and tell your woman, the woman that used to be my woman, that all hatchets are buried. Tell her you found me content with my new situation and that I no longer hold any grudges. Okay?" "Sir, yes. But, can I ask you one small favor?" he said. "Sadie?" I said. "Yes, if you can convince her, my selling Jemima on the truth of what I will be telling her will be a damn sight easier," he said. I nodded. We recalled Sadie to the office and my new acquaintance, if not actual friend, and I got along famously in front of her and for her benefit. And, then they were gone. ****** "You're kidding," said Kimberly. "I mean . . ." "No, I'm not kidding. It wasn't easy, the sailing wasn't smooth, but somewhere along the line he decided to take a flyer," said Richard. "A flyer?" said Kimberly. "He asked if it would be all right for Sadie to leave us alone for a few minutes, him and me," he said. "Okay?" said Kimberly. "Well, I said okay, and Sadie went out into the foyer closing the door behind her," he said. "Okay?" she said. "Well, he laid it on me. Told me he knew you and I held him in contempt and that if it weren't for Sadie being there at that moment that he would have kicked my ass out without the slightest hesitation. "I tried to convince him that he was wrong, that we, you and I, did not hold him in contempt our previous behavior notwithstanding." He said. "But . . ." "But?" she said. "He was having none of it. He laid out his experiences since you'd asked him for a divorce, and made the case that it would be impossible for him to ever imagine that we, but especially you, could ever respect him even as a person let alone a man. "Naturally I tried to object, but he shut me down again. But then . . . well . . . he seemed to get an idea," he said. "An idea? What idea?" she said. She saw him hesitate as if not wanting to say whatever it was. "He asked if it might be possible, even remotely possible, for me to be straight with him for the next minutes." Honestly, I considered lying to him, trying to sell him on the idea that he was totally off base. But then . . ." he said. "Well, what did you say?" she said. "At first nothing. I just stared at him. But, I finally realized that a lie would not fly. He'd see through it in an instant. I decided to be straight with him. I don't mind telling you I was shaking in my boots. I had visions of his boot being lodged quite firmly four feet up my ass." "And, did he buy it, what you told him?" she said. "Buy it? There was nothing to buy. I told him the truth. I told him that the both of us were hypocrites, that we did talk about him behind his back, insult him regularly and that he was right that for a long time we had indeed held him in contempt . . . especially . . ." "Especially?" she said. "Especially you," he said. "What the fuck!" she said. "Kim, I wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. All of the things you'd said to him. That he'd overheard that day at the Horse's Head, all of it. He knew the truth and he wanted to hear it from me. So he did," he said. "So what? Now he totally hates me if he didn't already?" she said. "Not exactly," he said. "Huh?" "I kinda made him a deal, after the fact," said Richard. "I needed Sadie to know that all of the bad stuff we said and thought would not diminish Rueben's feelings toward her. I didn't want her thinking that he hated her because she was part of us." "So?" she said. "So, we put on an act. We talked to her and made it seem that he and I had buried the hatchet and were now good. She bought it, the act, as you heard, when we got back and she told you what she told you," he said. "So, why would I have any reason to believe that he doesn't still hate me?" she said. "I kinda made a deal with him. I told him we needed to really and truly bury the hatchet. It'd been long enough. I told him that your contempt for him was actually based in his apparent inability to move on from his feelings for you, to find another love and get on with life." "Well, you weren't far off in saying that," she said. "If the guy would only get that life . . ." "He has," he said. "He's got a new love, one he says is better than you. One who is true and loyal and would never betray him as you had, as you and I had," He said. He watched as her face flushed and then paled. "He said that?" she said. "Yes," he said. She began to cry. "Well, that pretty much lets me know what he thinks of me, doesn't it," she said, still sobbing. He remained silent. "So what now?" she said. "Nothing. We'll likely run into each other in the future, but maybe not. But he has forgiven us, his words, for everything. I guess you could say all of the hard feelings of the past are, well, past," he said. "I sure would like to have one more shot at him," she said, mostly to herself. "Not impossible, but not now. For now he gets on with his life as you have more than once advised him to do. We get on with ours. And maybe, someday the twain shall again meet," he said. "And Sadie?" she said. "I have to believe that there will come a time when the two of them will get together, but there are no current plans for that to happen. The future will be what it will be and that's the long and the short of it," he said. She nodded. ****** Clarissa: ten years later. After the "final meeting" between himself and that man, and the little girl of course, he seemed to settle down. My Rueben finally settled down. It was time. He'd lived quite long enough with the baggage he'd been saddled with since his divorce—and because of his divorce. I'd had my own baggage of course as well. Mister Gould had pretty much destroyed me. The difference was that I was able to get my licks in on that cheating bastard; Rueben's situation was the diametrical opposite: he was screwed, blued, and tattooed by his ex. That he'd been in a position to save the love child of the cheaters changed the game, and change it it did, but even that did little to salve his hurt soul. And his very soul was hurt. But, then the lucky bastard had the good fortune to meet me! I wasn't the pretty pink dolly his ex was, but I was what he needed; and oh, yes, I admit it; he was what I needed. These past ten years have seen us get on just fine thank you very much. We've got our home—paid for—two cars, and we are planning a trip to Italy—my dream vacation. He's due home any minute. Dinner's ready. And, after dinner, well, I'm going to be ready. Yes, ready to have him poke that average sex engine of his inside of me. I need it and he will not be allowed to be too tired or otherwise occupied. Oh no, he's going to be real busy making me scream! The good news is, he is not going to be all that hard to convince; he is a horny little toad for sure. ****** "Dinner was good, honey. I do love chicken adobo. That friend of yours taught you well," I said. "Well, thank you, sir. But, there is a price," she said. "A price?" I said—well sometimes I'm a little slow on the uptake. Her smile clued me. "Oh, that," I said. "Excuse me?" she said. "This is prime pussy over here. You could be a little more enthusiastic if you please!" Now I laughed. "Trust me, if enthusiasm is what you're looking for, you need look no farther. I'm your guy," I said. ****** The clinic was busy-busy-busy! The young woman was standing and furtively pacing in front of her chair in the waiting room. She'd been seated for some minutes, but she had finally had enough of that and was now doing what she was doing—furtively pacing. The nurse at the station nodded toward the pacing woman. Her co-worker got the signal and went over to the lady. Rueben and Jemima Colson "Yes, miss?" said fifty year old nurse Clarissa Colson. "Missus Colson?" said Sadie Jones. "Yes, can I help you with something?" said Clarissa. "It is good to meet you ma'am," said Sadie. "Meet me? Should I—am I missing something here?" said Clarissa. The young woman smiled. "Ma'am, I'm Sadie Jones," she said. The nurse was clearly surprised. The younger woman resisted the impulse to smile more broadly; it would not have been appropriate. "Oh," said Clarissa. "You know who I am," said Sadie. "Yes, yes I do," she said. "Is there a place where we could talk?" said Sadie. The older woman eyed her. "I guess so, sure," said Clarissa. Nurse Clarissa gazed across the small intervening table that separated the ingénue from her. She spread her hands in a "what?" gesture. "I'm sure you know my story," said Sadie. "Yes," said Clarissa, "but not why you're here." "Uh-yes. Mister Colson, your husband, my mother's ex-husband, saved my life. My dad tried to make things right with him, things that even now I only know about in general terms. What I do know for certain is that my mom hurt him real bad when she divorced him," said Sadie. "Okay, all that's true," said Clarissa. "So, that was twenty years ago?" "Well, what you do not know is that my mom and dad have had their problems at least partly related to those days too," said Sadie. The older woman was mildly surprised. "Really? Well okay, but what does that have to do with you coming to see me," said Clarissa. "Over these last ten years, so I have come to learn, my mom and dad have never quite gotten over the fact that mister Colson, your husband, saved my life. There have been a lot of conversations about that, and, somewhere along the line they began to grow apart. As I got older, I became more and more aware of it. "Then, something happened, dad caught my mom—well—in flagrante with another man. I guess it was partly the result of the growing rift between them over mister Colson. For what it's worth, it killed my dad's heart. Well, and since then it's become my job, kinda, to comfort him and hold his hand. "My mom has moved in with her new guy. Do you know, he's a minister of all darn things! And, he's okay, but not welcome around our house, mine and my dad's. Well, you can imagine why," she said. Clarissa nodded. "You've met the man then?" she said. "Yes, mom has had me over to her new place for dinner a few times. Been to his church too, but just once so far. I mean divorces sometimes happen and carrying around a suitcase full of hate or anger is not productive. "My mom and I will have our relationship, she is my mother, and I will be polite to the new guy; but, that will pretty much be the totality of it, for the foreseeable future at any rate," said Sadie. "Okay, but again, all of this is very interesting, but why are you here? What does all of this, and it is interesting, have to do with me and my husband?" said Clarissa. "Like I said, my dad especially never really felt good about how things came together after mister Colson saved me. He'd like to meet with him again if he will allow," said Sadie. "Really? And may I ask why that would be," said Clarissa. "Yes really," said Sadie. "But, to answer your question, and this may sound strange, but my dad feels a kind of connection to mister Colson. I asked him what he meant when he told me that, but he just said he wasn't sure himself. Anyway, it's almost thanksgiving." Nurse Clarissa nodded. "Okay?" said Clarissa. "But, I hear a but in there somewhere" "Well, mom and her new guy came up with an idea that my dad said he would consider if you did, you and mister Colson," said Sadie. "Huh?" Said Clarissa, "What idea?" "My dad would like it very much if you and your husband would come to Thanksgiving dinner. I mean if you don't have any other plans," said Sadie, she appeared nervous . "And . . ." The older woman leaned back in her seat. "And?" said Clarissa. "Well, and mom and her guy would be there too," said Sadie. "My dad thinks that avoiding the bitterness and anger and everything, well, is everything." "But, your dad? . . . he got dumped? . . . and the divorce? . . ." "He's already begun a relationship that may go somewhere. Anyway, that's what he told me; she'll be there too." "You've stopped me," said Clarissa. I tell you what, leave me your number. I'll talk to my husband. I will let you know, but at this point that's all I can promise. "I will say this: a Thanksgiving like the one you're talking about might be a first and that for darn sure," said Clarissa. ****** "I don't know, Rueben. But, the girl seemed sincere," said Clarissa, "and definitely not crazy—thoughts to the contrary notwithstanding." "And, you say that the guy, Richard, and my ex are divorced," said Rueben, "and that he and Sadie have invited his now ex and her new guy to the party!" "Harrumph," said Rueben. "Some things never change, nor do the people who do the some things." She smirked. "We might regret not going to something like what they are proposing—I mean . . ." "Yes, seems so," she said. "And, that's pretty much what I said." He nodded. ****** "How is the kid doing," said Marvin Garvey, age 38, minister, and current new husband and love of Jemima Garvey's life. "She's okay. She miffed that Richard and I couldn't get it together and stay together. But, she's twenty-one, and an adult; she'll get by it. You and I will be having dinner with her on Friday here," she said. "Good, you need that, I know," he said. "I see how you are after each time you've seen her, I mean since the divorce. You need to stay connected, for real." "Yes, for real," she said. "Marv, I'm so glad that you've been so understanding. I mean . . ." "Not a problem," he said. "It'll be my business to make sure you're content and happy. And, as a matter of fact, I think I should do a little something in that direction right now. What do you think?" She smiled. "Why, I think you may have something there," she said, letting her gaze float to the zipper on his dockers. She pulled it down exposing him as his cock extruded through the front of his black boxers. She, on her knees, played with it. "God that feels good," he said. "I know," she said. "But, don't you dare cum, not yet," she said. He struggled to follow her orders and was barely able to succeed, but succeed he did. Take the rest of your clothes off," she said. She mirrored his efforts as he undressed. Soon there were two of them naked and staring. "I never get enough of seeing your . . ." he started. "My slit?" she said, interrupting him. He smiled. "Yes," he said. She lay back on the floor and spread herself wide for him. "Well, come on, big boy, it's time to screw me," she said. He positioned himself between her legs and lowered himself into her. She was already somewhat lubricated; he slid in easily bottoming out. He began fucking her. Her expression became serious as he filled her. He panted animalistically above her as he slowly but inexorably drove in and out of her. For her part she grunted in unison with his down-stroke while gasping each time he pulled back. "Oh my oh my oh my!" she whimpered as she felt the waves of a major orgasm sweep over her. He collapsed on top of her. "Jesus, Marv, that's the best I've ever had," she said. "He smiled the smile of a conqueror. "I glad," he said. "Oh yeah." They lay for some little time catching their breath. They'd go again, but for the moment they lay passive and content. "You still thinking that we should spend Thanksgiving with your ex and his new squeeze?" said Marvin. "Yes, I think so. Why, you getting cold feet?" she said. "No, no, I mean you do have a daughter together. I'm still, well, just a little surprised that he even asked you, and more, that you accepted," he said. "I don't want a repeat of what happened with my first hubby and me, and neither does Richard. Richard is very civilized. If I hadn't met you, well, I'd still be with him and doing okay," she said. "But, we did meet. And, I noticed that it didn't take 'him' all that long to find himself a new squeeze. You think he might have been playing all along?" he said. "No, no, I don't think so. He's become kinda staid over the years. Playing wasn't his bag." She said. "But, I repeat, it didn't take him long to get himself another woman," he said. "No, and I think it's his old partner on the force: Melba Curry, I think is her name. I think she always had a thing for him; I met her several times in the early years. ****** The Cloister was almost empty, just a guy at the bar sipping something medicinal, and myself holding down a table in the back. I saw him come in, survey the place, see me, and come to join me. "Glad you agreed to come," said Richard. "I've wanted to talk to you for some time." "Really?" I said. The new arrival didn't quite snicker. "Yes, really," he said, finally. Richard Jones took on a serious aspect. "It's been what now? Twenty years, more?" said Richard. "Almost twenty-two," I said. "Yeah, sounds right," said Richard. "Divorce sucks. I know you know what I mean. Heck more, I know you agree with me." "Can't deny it," I said. "You come all this way across town to tell me that?" "No, no, I came to make you an offer of a charter membership in a new club," he said. "Huh? What?" I said, really not getting it. "Yes, The Husbands Who Hate Divorce Society," he said. "Funny," I said. "How about you join my club instead," I said. He looked me askance. "Yeah, The Hopeless and Lost Husbands of America," I said. "Touché," he said. "You still hopeless and lost?" he said. "I mean because of Jemima?" "I think about her a lot. Can't help it. The irony, mostly it's about how angry I still am that she did me like she did and that so many times," I said. Richard nodded. "Yeah, well, I'm on the other side of that stick myself now," he said. "The good news is that I think I've found a woman I can trust to be my soulmate. "You know, like you did." "Yeah—yeah, I did," I said. "That said, again, I still think about my ex. You know, all I ever wanted was a family and love and the chance to show them how much I loved them, the members of my family. "Yeah, I can dig it," he said. Me too." "For sure," I said.- Seems like you and me are on the same page," he said. "People, us, live, make mistakes, do each other wrong or react wrongly: it's the human condition, a searching for greener pastures. When we don't find perfection, which by definition is virtually impossible to find, we can't believe it so we try something or someone new only to founder yet again." "I guess. And, you thought that you'd found greener pastures, then, when you took Jemima from me those twenty plus years ago?" I said. "Yes. I didn't think that deeply at the time. I—we—even you—all of us were young. We were still playing musical hormones," he said. "No, and I I never cheated on her, hormones or not. I didn't. Nor, did I have anything to do with wanting a divorce," I said. "No, your sin was the way you wasted so many years of your life crying over something that wasn't your fault. You needed not to do that. Like I said, I'm in a place now almost exactly the same as you were then. The difference, I guess that I'm older, I've been able to see things a little more objectively. I refuse to feel sorry for myself or let Jemima destroy me as you let her destroy you. "Frankly, Rueben, I'm the one who's come out the winner in our situation: Sadie supports me in all of this, our divorce. She'll maintain a relationship with Jemima, and, I'm encouraging her to do so. That salient fact is certain to have Jemima wringing her hands when no one's around, believe it," he said. "Maybe," I said. "Can I ask? You say she and her new guy will be coming to dinner? Is that for sure?" "She said they would. Sadie's holding her feet to the fire in this one. Jemima and I do still share the reality of Sadie. I don't think Jemima will have the huevos to bail on us," he said. "No, she'll be there and so will her new hubby, nervous but there. And, we will treat the two of them with all due cordiality. Frankly, I can't wait." "You know, neither can I," I said. We talked for some considerable length of time, and then we shook and parted to our respective women. ****** The question of where to have Thanksgiving dinner had not actually been decided until the last minute. Early on, Richard and Melba, had proposed different restaurants as possible sites; they'd be neutral territory was the reasoning. But, Richard, who'd been the principal organizer of the event, had ultimately asked me if it might be all right to have it at our house, mine and Clarissa's. At first, I'd been reluctant; and, I hadn't been sure why. But, in the end, Clarissa had smiled and given my onetime cuckolder the okay. The reasoning? "Because it would be easier to talk and interact and get our messages heard and understood in the less formal atmosphere of one of our homes. Richard was still occupying the home he'd shared with Jemima for over twenty-years, and which had once been mine and Jemima's common abode to boot. It was his thought that there were just too many ghosts at that particular venue to make it a very attractive choice for a meeting like the one proposed. And, holding it at Jemima's and her new man's place, where they had been residing since her most recent skedaddle, would give her too much a sense of control. No, it had to be our place mine and Clarissa's. Marvin and Jemima arrived first and a little early; it was but 1:00PM. Dinner was scheduled for 4:00PM. Richard and Melba arrived at the more appropriate 3:00PM. Clarissa had mixed what I was sure was a year's supply of Margarita's. I of course had loaded a case of premium lager into the mini-frig in the den. We were set. The greetings and niceties and not quite forced good will had been seen to by dinner time. By 4:00PM the women including Sadie were near done with their culinary efforts, and the house smelled wonderful. "Dinner's on," announced Clarissa, a bit louder than was required. Her smile was broad. Dinner was animated and the topics of conversation—by design—revolved around current, and only current, events in the lives of the attendees. Dinner over everyone adjourned to the patio. It was still light out and the day was unseasonably warm. Everyone had a drink in his or her hand and was floating around speaking to this or that other person about nothing all that controversial. Jemima had been talking to Sadie and I somehow backed into her. "Oops! Sorry about that," I said. "Oh—no problem, Rueben. It's really nice to see you today," she said. Sadie smiled and, apologizing, headed off to talk with someone else. "So how are you and your new man doing?" I said, and no I didn't snicker or saying anything untoward. She gave me a hard look. "We're fine," she said. "Starting over is kind of a challenge at my age, but . . ." "Hmm, yes, I'm familiar," I said. I got that look again. "Look, Rueben, if you've got something to say . . ." My turn to tender her a look. "Okay. I do have one question. I don't know how meaningful it would be to you . . ." "A question?" she said. "Yes. I was wondering, actually, I have long wondered . . . I paused. "Can I ask, Jem, have you ever regretted breaking up with me. I mean I know what you've said about me and all, but . . ." She paused, smiled. "On a rare occasion," she said. "I was happy with Richard, in love with him, so I didn't think about the old days too much. But to answer you, yes, I guess I did." "Hmm," I said. "Rueben, I need to say that all of those things I've said about you, some of which you actually overheard; well, they were just words to make me feel better about how bad a person I'd been toward you. Kind of a way to make excuses for myself. A way to excuse my behavior. I know that now; I didn't before. "But, how about you if I may ask? You ever get to a place where you didn't actually hate me for what I did. I mean I know we're here today, talking, getting along, but . . ." "Truthfully, not until recently. Oddly, Richard was the catalyst for that. He's a good guy. If your new guy is anywhere as good as him, well . . ." I said. "Marvin? He's a good guy too, but different than Rich, or you either if it comes to that," she said. I nodded. "Can I ask, why did you leave Rich?" I said. "Malaise, I guess," she said. "We were kinda just treading water. You know me; I need more than that just to get along." "Yeah, I guess," I said. Laughter over by the oak tree caught our attention. Everyone else was there. "Probably laughing at us," I quipped. Jemima snickered. "Yes, maybe," she said. "Uh—maybe we should join them." I nodded and we headed over to them. Sadie had become the center of attention. "Glad you could join us, dear," said Marvin. "Sadie was just saying how weird it seemed to her that the three adult males in her life were at the same place at the same time with nobody getting mad at anybody." "Yes," added Melba. "We have the guy who is married to her mother, the man who saved her life, and her father all here and nobody's acting badly." "Yeah, well the evening is young," I said, but I said it smiling. Dinner eaten, much alcohol consumed, and tentative acquaintanceships even friendships formed we all said our goodnights and goodbyes with a lot to think about. Still, with all such said and done, there was one act in this little drama yet to play out and it was Sadie who instigated it. ****** Marvin Garvey stood formally, no, solemnly on the dais, slightly in front of the groom, Steven Costly. He watched as the bride, Sadie Jones, marched slowly up the aisle in step with the music. She was on the arm of her father, Richard Jones. The best man, Rueben Colson, seemed nervous but no more so than the mother of bride seated in the first row. A hundred friends and relatives half-filled the smallish Unitarian church where reverend Garvey, most recent husband of the bride's mother, presided on Sundays. There had been a day when such a scene would have been more than unlikely. But, today, Sadie's day, it seemed almost natural. The reception would be more than unusual at the least. Would there be a universal happily ever after? As unlikely as statistics would likely predict, the chances on this day seemed good. Heckuva note.