Prologue:
I remember how much I loved my wife. She was the apple of my eye; everything I ever wanted. She was a French teacher at the high school. Her name was Emily McNair, nee Loudermilk. She stood a svelte 5’4″, weighed maybe 110 lbs., and had brown hair and brown eyes.
We’d been married four years. No kids, not yet, still in an apartment but we’d been looking. We attended the same high school in Waynesboro. She was two years year older, belonged to the F.F.A., 4H, and the National Honor Society. She was a talented dancer, sang in the school choir, was a varsity cheerleader, and loved to hunt. She graduated and went to Penn State, majored in foreign languages, education, and Global-International Studies. She was very smart!
No, she’s not dead.
Me, Daniel McNair; I got through high school, joined the U.S.A.R. while getting a job driving a truck for a local garage. I’d worked my way through high school loading and driving trucks on several local farms. That’s where I got into truck driving. Driving the big hay trucks, just like eighteen wheelers I guess, meant knowing how to back trailers into tight spaces, something I was very good at.
After I graduated, I drove tow trucks for the guy at the garage for a while; then I used my U.S.A.R. bonus money, some money from mom and dad, and my savings to buy a dump truck of my own. I used that to haul furniture and trash, then I borrowed some more money and bought a second truck.
Right now, I’ve got a small unattached office behind an old garage. My younger sister handles all my calls and keeps my accounts.
Like I said, I loved my wife, but I was afraid I was going to lose her, and I didn’t think there was much I could do about it.
Why did I feel that way? I guess to understand that we have to go to the backstory.
So, here’s the backstory. You can listen to it or not, that’s your call.
In high school Emily was what I’d call every guy’s idea of the perfect wet dream. When God put her together, he used all the best parts; she was beautiful, talented, personable, and considerate. The teachers loved her, her class-mates loved her, parents loved her, and I loved her.
My problem was the age difference; she was two years older. When I first laid eyes on her I was in the ninth grade and she was a junior. About that time my teachers realized I’d need help if I was to succeed; this was basically in the area of Language Arts. I loved math, but couldn’t read for shit. Emily didn’t need any additional service-learning credits, but she was the type who didn’t care; if she saw someone in need she stepped up, and I definitely needed someone to step up.
Emily was good. She showed up with two “book things”; one was called “The Faerie Queen” by some guy named Spencer and another one called “The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner”, by someone named Coleridge. I’d never heard of either of them. Emily said the best way to get good at Language Arts was to study something hard. She said I should choose, one or the other. I looked at the two books and decided I didn’t want to read about some fairy, so I picked the one about the sailor.
Emily had the patience of Job. The problem was me and her soft velvety blouses, those swishy tits and mini-skirts, her long luscious thighs, her big brown eyes with those incredibly long lashes, and her sweet “come make love to me” voice. After three sessions she gave up and got another person to fill in.
Emily was sweet about it, and I understood. So out went Taylor Swift and in came this skinny little flat chested stick with frizzy red hair. I thought whoa, did life throw me a curve ball! It didn’t matter after that; I worked on my reading and writing if only to get “Little Orphan Annie” off my tail and out of my parent’s house. Meanwhile Emily went back to being, by then, not just everything, but the only thing I ever wanted.
We saw each other from time to time. Of course, she was always on some guy’s arm. Now, I was no slouch. By my sophomore year I’d made varsity soccer, and she was a varsity cheerleader. Too bad, the cheerleaders worked the football games, not soccer.
I tried. I always said hi when I saw her in the hall, and she always smiled, but it was really no use. Of course, I dated other girls, and a couple really pulled on my heartstrings, but it was like every time I started to feel like getting serious Emily got back in my line of vision.
She graduated and went off to Penn State, leaving me to languish through two more years of school. I got to my senior year, checked out Penn State’s entrance requirements, took the S.A.T.s. which I bombed, thought about the military until someone mentioned Iraq, and then, at last, decided I’d find something else. My dad said I should join the U.S.A.R. He said I’d be serving my country, but I’d be in the branch that was hardly ever used, plus there was a small bonus for joining. Plus more, my mom and dad said, since I wasn’t going to college they’d set aside some money if I ever actually found anything I liked.
I thought about it, and decided to work for a guy who needed someone to drive his tow truck. Trucks had always come easy for me; when I worked on the various farms over the summer, I found I was just about the only kid who could handle the large hay trucks. For some reason I found backing up those big boys with their long trailers was a piece of cake.
So, I went to work for a garage guy. Pretty soon I got bored working my ass off day and night for almost no money. I figured if I had my own truck, I could set my own hours and rates. I bought my own tow truck. It worked for a while, but again, there wasn’t any money in it so I decided to buy something bigger, and that’s what I did. I got my parents to kick in and I bought a fairly decent “used” seventeen-footer. I worked out a deal with the guy who owned the garage; he had a small dilapidated building behind his business. I put my tow truck at his disposal, got to use his old building, and he’d keep everything running.
It seemed like things were looking up. I had myself, a couple other young guys, and my little sister, Priscilla, doing my accounts and keeping up with scheduling. It might not have worked, but the whole area was growing rapidly, new houses were cropping up everywhere.
I suppose that brings us to the “almost” here and now. Yeah, there’s more.
I’d been working my ass off. I was tired all the time, but I was making decent money. I was even thinking about buying another truck! I had my own small, very small, apartment I shared with Priscilla. (No, don’t go off on that.) We ate in the apartment sometimes, but mostly we went home and ate with mom and dad. Sometimes, if I was out someplace, I’d stop at a restaurant.
I remember I’d stopped in at a small local restaurant one evening to get something to eat. I really liked this restaurant; they specialized in breakfast food, and I loved eggs. I was eating some sausage, buttermilk pancakes, and three fried eggs over easy when I happened to look over and saw her. There she was — Emily, and she looked about as despondent as anyone I’d ever seen. All my old thoughts and imaginings resurfaced. I abandoned my food, got up, and went over.
She was staring into a half empty coffee cup. My first thought was somebody must have died, and I shouldn’t invade her privacy. Then I thought, ‘This might be my only chance. I’d be her knight in shining armor. I’d console her. I’d hold her hand. I’d be the man she needed. She’d fall madly in love with me. We’d get married. We’d have ten kids and live happily ever after.’
That’s when I started to really fantasize.
I dreamed how people all over the area would see me and say things like, “Look there goes Danny McNair. You remember him, that’s the wonderful man who cheered up poor Emily Loudermilk. He saved her from a lifetime of grief, and together they made half the kids who played on our high school’s baseball team. You recall the same team that won the state championship three years in a row.”
Then somebody else would say, “Oh yeah, I remember him. Isn’t he the father of the kid who went to M.I.T. and discovered that new toothpaste that everybody uses now because it instantaneously stops all tooth decay forever!”
Somebody would then add, “Sure, you remember how his youngest child graduated from Harvard and went to the Middle East where she negotiated the treaty that ended all the fighting over there for all time, and she did it without wearing a veil! Yeah, even the Taliban loved her.”
About then someone would say, “Yeah, he’s about the most wonderful man who ever lived in Pennsylvania.”
Last someone would say, “Even better than Ben Franklin?”
Another guy would say, “No contest. Daniel McNair is the best man ever! Better even than Ben Franklin.”
Emily was seated in a booth. I sat down across from her, and said, “Emily? Emily Loudermilk?”
She looked up. I could tell she didn’t recognize me so I added, “Dan, Daniel McNair. High school. You were two years ahead of me.”
She seemed to vaguely remember something. She was polite, “Oh, yes.” Then the lights went on, “Sure, I tried to tutor you.” Her face lit up, just a little, “You were so, not into Coleridge.” She was comfortable. She released a little laugh, then a tiny knowing smile, “Yes, I remember. I got somebody else to help you.”
I chuckled, “Yeah, skinny city,” then I added, “I was so in love with you.”
She smiled.
I asked, “So how’ve you been, and why are you sitting here all alone?”
She didn’t bristle or tense up, but I detected a smidgeon of change when she replied, “I was here for… a kind of goodbye.”
I was clueless when I asked, “Nobody died or anything?”
She looked down into her coffee cup, “No, nothing like that. More like a ‘Bon Voyage’.”
Me, the big dummy said, “Saying goodbye to someone.” Before she answered I commented, “You haven’t eaten anything. Can I get you something?” I saw her readiness to say no so I added, “My stuff’s cold now.” I pointed to my old seat across the room and added, “I could use something. Let me buy. What’ll you have?”
She looked at where I’d been sitting. She looked profoundly disconsolate. She said so softly I almost didn’t hear her, “Maybe a salad.”
I exclaimed, “All right!” I got the waitress’s attention, she came over, and we both got a salad. I never liked salads much, but if she liked em I did too. We each got another cup of coffee and fresh glasses of water. I could tell she was unhappy so I tried to steer the conversation in directions I thought she’d like. I asked her about what she did, and she told me about Penn State and teaching French. I made sure she saw how impressed I was. She asked me what I’d been doing and I told her about my trucking business. Then we talked about some things from high school, but I could tell something was troubling her about that so I got her into what else she’d done. It seemed she’d been to French Canada and France. She talked endlessly about how beautiful Paris was and how much she loved the south of France and the Riviera. I listened to every word. I had little to offer or add, but I was sure to ask her a lot of questions, and that kept her going.
We sat for a lot longer than I thought. Finally, she said she had to go. I walked her to her car, a Lexus. Before she got in, I wangled her telephone number and a promise she’d go out with me if I called.
I was on my way!!!!
We started dating. At first, she was “cool” about it, not cool as in neat, no, cool as in cautious and controlled, but I slowly got her out of whatever her funk was in. I never asked her what her difficulty was; I didn’t want to go there. I did slowly, almost step by step maneuver her toward me and what it might be like if she were to spend more time with me.
It took a while, but finally I sprung it on her. I got down on one knee one night in front of her apartment, got out a ring, only a quarter carat, and asked her to marry me. She said no that first time, but after three more tries she finally succumbed.
I was so happy. I got my dream girl! I’d found that pot of gold! I’d won the lottery!
She was Catholic. I was a Methodist so me changing was a “no brainer”. I even went to classes.
Marrying Emily was the happiest day of my life. We looked around and found a small apartment and rented it. She kept teaching, and I kept loading and hauling trucks. I managed to raise enough money, and with more help from my parents, I bought still another truck. My parents and Priscilla loved my wife, and, though her parents were skeptical at first, I thought I brought them around.
Sometimes, when I was out on a job I used to laugh. I’d been so smart I managed to talk myself right into Emily’s heart. King of the world; I was King of the world! For four years I was in Valhalla. By our fourth year we’d started talking about buying a house. We even started looking. She wanted to have children, and go back to France, and get more education. I was all for it. Anything she wanted I wanted.
Then things, or something, began to change. Emily seemed to change. I wasn’t aware at first, but then I noticed, she started staying later at school. Then there were late night professional meetings. At home she seemed distant. We’d be talking and it was like she’d drift off, like she stopped listening. I didn’t suspect anything. In fact, I thought something might be wrong. She’d been on the “pill”, and I supposed there might be some side effects. I’d heard they could cause problems if they were taken too long.
Then it happened. I was a truck driver. My job took me all over western Pennsylvania. It was hard work, but with three, soon to be four trucks and with good reliable drivers and workers I was doing quite well. Sometimes I’d drive from place to place just keeping up with the trucks and the leads that came in that Priscilla passed along.
Emily said she’d been given two professional days to attend a seminar in Harrisburg. I was good with that. Anything that furthered her career made me happy.
Emily was in Harrisburg, and I was in Bedford, just off of I76, about a hundred miles west or an hour and a half drive from Harrisburg. I was there because we’d secured a large job. An old widower had finally cashed in, and his children wanted to empty the farmhouse before thieves got to it. I was driving along with two big trucks. I was in my pick-up, because the children were antsy about a few things like the silverware and some very old vases and two Eighteenth Century spinning wheels. I was to bring that stuff back in my truck.
On the way I stopped off at a Turkey Hill to get a coffee. Across the street, behind a pizzeria was a small parking lot. I didn’t think about it at first, but one of the cars parked back there looked awfully familiar. I got my coffee and a gas refill and drove across the street. I was totally befuddled. What was my wife’s Lexus doing just outside Bedford? I even got out of my truck to walk around it to make sure.
I wasn’t stupid. I opened my cell phone and activated the application on hers that would ascertain where my wife might be. She should be in Harrisburg. Maybe her car had been stolen? My phone told me otherwise. My wife was just a few miles away!
What was I supposed to do? First, I took my truck and followed the GPS tracker to the end. I reached a small bungalow on a side street on the outskirts of Napier, another small town just beyond Bedford. Wherever she was and whoever she was with it wasn’t where she said she was going to be.
I pulled in front of the house. There was no garage, only a car in the driveway, a late model Toyota. I got out and walked up to the car, looked in, saw no clear identifying information except a baseball hat with the letters ATF. I went back to my truck, obtained a pencil and scrap of paper and wrote down the license plate. It was a Pennsylvania tag; I didn’t know if that meant anything or if it would help me. I thought about going up to the front door and knocking, but decided against it.
I felt sick. My stomach was rolled up and turned into a tight knot. Whatever it was, no matter; I knew my wife was in there, and possibly with a man. Oh, I wanted to do a lot of things. I wanted to get out a tire iron and bash that car’s windshield. I thought about breaking down the door and bashing in my wife’s head and anyone else in there. That’s what I wanted to do. I didn’t. I got back in my truck and drove to the farmhouse to get the materials I was there for. I might be some kind of marital loser, a cuckold, but I still had a business to run.
I got the stuff. Talked with Sam, the guy who was responsible for loading the farmhouse furniture, and then I started back toward Waynesboro. On the way I periodically checked on my wife’s location. After two checks I stopped; it was only tearing me apart.
I dropped off the materials I’d loaded, collected payment for the entire load, and went back to the office to see Priscilla. It was late in the day, she’d already gone home, but she left me a note saying she’d see me the next morning so I went home too.
Back home I checked on my wife again. She still hadn’t left so I called Priscilla and told her I’d be taking the next day off. I took a shower and went to bed. Did I sleep? No, but I didn’t whine, or cry, or get angry. I’d done all that already. Besides, I’d known something had been wrong. I got up around 4:00 a.m. and checked the calendar. I wanted to figure out roughly when the wheels had started to go off the cart. Looking at the calendar, the dates and times of appointments Emily posted, like the things that had and not happened over the past weeks. It enabled me to narrow it down to about six weeks back.
One thing annoyed me, the God damned ATF hat. Who did I know, or rather we know who had anything to do with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms? I couldn’t think of anybody. Later that morning I started making a few calls. I called Priscilla and asked her, but she didn’t know anybody. I called Sam, the guy who worked for me. I called my father and mother. I called several other people I knew; no one had an answer. As a last resort I called Emily’s parents. They told me something I never knew. Emily’s old boyfriend from high school and college was a person named Gary Larson; he’d gone to college and from there had joined the ATF.
I got out my old high school yearbooks. I remembered I’d almost decided to never buy them, but I had. Incredibly, I found his picture in my Freshman Yearbook. He’d graduated a year ahead of Emily. Was that who she was seeing? Had that been her old high school, and perhaps college boyfriend?
It dawned on me; like a rock falling from the sky, I realized what must have happened. Her old boyfriend had come home, and they’d hooked up again. I was stuck! I wanted to grab my fishing gear and get lost, but I couldn’t do that, I had a business to run.
Around 11:00 a.m. I went back to my office. Priscilla was there. I told her what I’d found out. She was, at first in disbelief, but once I laid it out she grew sympathetic. She asked me what I planned to do. I told her I planned on confronting Emily when she got home that evening. I told my sister I was afraid this might be the end of my marriage. She thought I was being hasty. Priscilla loved Emily; she believed there might be some other explanation. I told her I hoped there was.
I went back home to our apartment again and checked Emily’s cell phone GPS. She was on I76. I figured if she took the most reasonable route, she’d be home in a few hours. Though it was Friday I knew I’d be going in to work the next morning.
I honestly didn’t know what to expect. Would she lie? Would she offer some plausible explanation? Would she come completely clean? Would she bail out on our marriage? I just didn’t know. I did know a few things though; for one, I was determined not to get emotional. I’d already crashed, I’d already broken down in sobs and tears the previous day. Second, I was for certain not going to get angry, or become weak and beg. If she wasn’t happy, if she wanted out, then I’d give her what she wanted. Third, though I wasn’t very familiar with Pennsylvania divorce law, the money we’d put in my business aside, Emily actually made almost as much as I did. Worse, or better I didn’t know, our health care was through Emily’s public-school program, and that could make a difference. Then last, other than my business and Emily’s pension fund there wasn’t anything to divide or to fight over. Sure, we had furniture, but if it came to divorce, I knew I wouldn’t want any of it.
I checked my watch. I still had time so I got out the vacuum cleaner and cleaned the place up. I emptied the dishwasher, changed the sheets on the bed, and scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom floors. Last, I took a shower and went in the living room, sat down, and got out a book, a book of poems, one of the poems was Coleridge’s “The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner”. Why I got that out I didn’t really know, except that way back in high school that was one of the things “Emily the tutor” had used to help me with my Language Arts, that was before she changed her mind and got a nerd to replace her.
So I sat and waited.
Emily got home a little after 9:00 p.m. I put down my book and asked, “Hi Em. How did the professional meetings go?”
She gave me an awkward look and replied, “Oh, the usual. This person, then that person, they all had to make their presentations.”
I started to ask her something else, but she interrupted me, “Look sweetie I’m really tired. Would it be all right if we skipped the usual banter? What I need is a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.”
I smiled and said, “See what I’m reading?”
She looked at the book and said, “Mm, Coleridge. That’s nice.” She started for the back of the apartment and the shower. I got up and followed asking, “Remember when you used Coleridge to tutor me?”
She kept walking, “No honey.” She did turn though, “Look baby. I told you I was tired so just leave me alone. OK?”
I kept following. I asked, “Emily do you love me?”
She turned around again, “That’s a stupid question. You know I love you.” She turned and continued on her march to the bathroom and the shower.
I continued to follow, I asked, “No Emily. I mean do you really love me?”
She turned again, “You know I do. Now leave me alone.”
I didn’t, I said, “I love you Em. You know I do, and you know I’d never do anything to hurt you.”
She stopped, turned, and a little bit disgustedly asked, “Ok, what exactly is all this about?”
This was it. I said, “I know you didn’t go to Harrisburg.”
She looked stunned, but she didn’t say anything so I went one step further, “I was in Bedford and then Napier yesterday.”
I had her. She’d been carrying her purse and overnight bag. She put them both down. She said, “I guess you want an explanation.”
I nodded.
She asked, “Can I take a shower first?”
I asked her, “If I said yes, and let you go in the bedroom, would you use your phone and call Mr. Larson?”
She didn’t move. We were both standing there in the hallway. She said, “You know about Gary?”
I nodded.
She asked, “So what are you going to do?”
I said, “Get a divorce I guess.”
She paled. Suddenly she looked very small and very weak. She said, “Can I get a shower first. Then we can go in the kitchen and talk.”
I pointed to the bedroom and said, “You’re going to call him when you go in there aren’t you.”
Her faced got all contorted, “No, I won’t.”
I replied, “OK, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
She turned to the bedroom, and I turned to go in the kitchen. I went in and using the Keurig fixed myself a cup of coffee, then I sat down and waited. I wanted to cry. I couldn’t think of anything else, I just wanted to cry. I felt so… sad.
Emily came in a few minutes later. She was wearing a pair of pajamas I’d not seen before. I asked, “You got them for him?”
She nodded, then she said, “Dan you don’t understand.”
I was holding it in. I said, “You want to explain?”
“Dan,” she said, “Gary was my high school sweetheart. I knew and loved him years before I really met you. We were going to get married, but he said he was going into the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. He said it would be dangerous, and he didn’t want me to become a widow.”
I said, “So he left you.”
She said, “Remember that time when you came over to me at the restaurant?”
I nodded.
She said, “It was that evening. He’d left me just before you came over.”
My eyes were starting to drip. I shrugged, “So I got you on the rebound.”
She reached across and took my hand, “At first I guess, but later, after we got married, after we started to make plans, things changed. I started to fall in love with you. The things we said; things about buying a house, having children. I meant them Dan. I do love you. You’ve got to believe that.”
My eyes were dribbling tears. I hiccoughed back a sob and said, “I get it. You love me, you’re just not in love with me. That’s Larson’s department.”
She’d started crying too, “No Dan, it’s not that way, not that way at all. It’s just that, well, Gary and I… we had something.”
I interrupted, “Sure, you had something, something so special I could never be a part of it. I could never replace it. I could never be what he was.”
Emily sobbed and shook her head, “Oh Dan, you just don’t understand.”
I said, “No. I do.”
She was crying.
I said, “I’ll leave tonight, right now. Tomorrow I’ll stop by and pick up my clothes. I know its Saturday, but I’ll find a lawyer. We can do this and be done with it.” I got up, found the keys to my truck and walked out of the kitchen, out the door to my truck, and out of her life. The last thing I saw that night was her sitting at the kitchen table crying.
After that night the whole thing went pretty smoothly. I did find a lawyer, just on Monday, not Saturday. If any divorce can be amicable ours was. I agreed not to touch anything of hers, and she settled on only ten percent of my business. I got another apartment. She sold all the furniture and moved to Napier to be with Gary. Once the divorce became final, she and Gary got married. I guessed that would be about it. I had a business to run. I bought another truck, and hired some more people. Priscilla let her lease expire and moved in with me. We lived together, but there wasn’t anything wrong with it. Priscilla had a boyfriend, and I had my business.
As they say, life goes on, but sometimes not in the direction we expect.
It was a little over a year later. I remembered it was a Tuesday night. Priscilla was out with her boyfriend when I heard someone knocking on our front door. I opened it, and it was Emily. I was stunned. I thought I’d seen the last of her. The weather was warm, not a cloud in the sky, but she looked pretty ragged. I said, “Emily, what are you doing here?”
She looked a little scared when she asked, “Can I come in?”
I stepped back and she stepped in. I asked, “What’s wrong Em?”
She fell into my arms. I let her at first, but then guided her to a chair. She started crying, she sobbed, “Oh Dan…”
I was seriously worried. Was she sick? Was she in some kind of trouble? Had something happened to her husband? When I thought that I had to admit to myself something bad happening to him wouldn’t be so bad.
She kept crying and sobbing. Finally, she got out, “Dan I made a terrible mistake.”
I sort of knew. We’d had mutual friends, and it seemed like every damned one of them wanted to keep me informed about my ex-wife. I wasn’t about to let on so I deflected by asking her, “Can I get you a coffee. I have some cake. Would you like a piece?”
She stopped sobbing long enough to nod her head and say, “Yes please.”
We went back in my kitchen. I fixed myself and Emily a cup of coffee. I’d stopped using the Keurig thing and had gone back to making full pots. I had a fresh cake I’d bought that day, a simple pound cake. I made and poured her a cup of coffee, and cut off a big slice of cake. She started to eat. I watched her; she was always so fastidious about such things. I remembered that was one of the things I’d enjoyed about her.
I waited, and about the time she was putting in the last bite of cake I asked, “So what’s the matter?”
She started to whimper. I took her hand and said, “Now come on.” Funny thing, I remembered about a year before she’d taken my hand in almost the same way.
She said, “I married Gary, and we bought a small house just outside Greencastle.”
Greencastle was a town just west of Waynesboro.
She continued, “At first I thought I’d done the right thing. I remembered all the fun we’d had when we were high school, and all the times we’d gotten together when I was at Penn State and he was at Slippery Rock.”
I asked, “So why are you here?”
She hiccoughed, “You know. I guess you know, sometimes the things we remember aren’t always exactly the way they actually were. In high school Gary played football. He was very macho. Back then I thought… well, I thought it was a good thing. He went to college, and then joined the ATF. Dan, the ATF is kind of a paramilitary thing. Gary lifts weights. He uses special chemicals that make his muscles bigger. You know, steroids, I think. I’m not sure. He knows all about martial arts. He knows Karate. He says he needs that stuff for his job. Dan, he’s a good man, but he has a terrible temper. He’s pretty honest, and he works very hard, but he’s… he’s… he’s very authoritative. When we go out, I’m not allowed to… you know, argue or even just disagree. If I do, he yells at me when we get home.”
I sat up at that.
She noticed and said, “Oh he’s never hit me but…”
I said, “But what.”
“He goes away a lot. Sometimes he’s gone for days on end.” She hesitated, took a deep breath and went on, “You know when we were married, near the end, how I sometimes would sneak away to see him.”
I interrupted, “You mean when you cheated.”
She sort of gulped, “Yes, I guess so.” She looked at me with pleading eyes and said, “You hate me don’t you.”
I couldn’t look at her. I still loved her. I looked away and whispered, “No.”
She drew courage from that, and went on, “He doesn’t trust me. He’s accused me of cheating on him. I didn’t exactly know what to say.” She smiled a little, “He was right, I guess. I wanted to come back and see you. I missed you. You were kind. We hardly ever argued, and when we did, I always got my way. Dan, I knew I’d made a mistake almost right away. Even before I married him, I knew. I was so wrong. I had everything when I was with you. I had a man who loved me, who paid attention to me, who always gave me my way, and with you I had someone who knew what it was like to make love. Making love with you had been so very satisfying.”
I mumbled, “That’s gratifying… I suppose.”
She turned grey, “Gary, I hate him. He doesn’t make love. He uses me. Once he even said I was just a receptacle for his sperm. He doesn’t want children. One time when I refused to have sex with him he went in the bathroom and masturbated in a sock. Then he came out and threw it at me. He masturbated in a cup one time and tried to make me drink it.”
She took a deep breath, “Real men don’t do that sort of thing,” she paused again and added, “And he cheats too.”
I asked, “So what do you want me to do?”
She reached across and grabbed both my hands, “I want to come back home, to be with you again. This is where I really belong.”
I shivered. There was a time when all I ever wanted was to hear her tell me how much she loved me, how she always wanted to be with me. Back a year ago, when we going through the divorce if she’d said that I would’ve dropped everything to get her back. Even now I still loved her. I probably loved her as much now as ever, but I couldn’t explain it. Something was missing. I whispered, “Emily, I love you. I mean I don’t just love you, I’m still in love with you. I mean if you needed a kidney, a slice of liver, a lung, or an eye or something I’d want to be first in line, but Emily it’s different now.”
She was going to cry again.
I said as calmly and as reassuringly as I could, “Emily do you remember how angry you got when I left skid marks on the toilet? Remember how much I cussed? How I sometimes picked my teeth after a meal when we were out in public. Don’t you recall how angry it made you that I was always so sweaty and dirty after work? Oh, I love you so much, but Em I’m afraid you’re looking back at us the same way you looked back at Gary. I’m afraid I’ve become just another fantasy.”
She started shaking her head no.
I insisted, “Emily you’re like a dog with two homes. You need to pull yourself together. If you can’t stand it with Gary, you’ve got to move on, but coming back here, back to me isn’t the answer.”
She put her hand over her mouth and burped, “What do you want me to do. I can’t go back to him. He frightens me.”
I had an answer, “Here’s what you can do. If you’re that afraid, move out and get a divorce. Find a new place to live. Settle in. Then maybe after a few months you could call me. We could talk some more.”
She looked so forlorn when she asked, “Do you think there’s a chance. Could you ever take me back?”
I took her hands then, “Emily we’re both still young. Since we broke up, I haven’t found anyone. When I think of children I still think of you as their mother. I guess I’ve never gotten over you, but you scare me Em. What if we did get back, how do I know if it would last?”
She looked at me and smiled, “If I did all those things. If I left Gary, if I got a divorce, if I got an apartment, if I proved to you I was still in love with you, do you think you’d take me back?”
I smiled and nodded, but what I really thought was that if I took her back, she’d eventually go back to Larson. I figured what she would probably do now was go back to Larson, talk things over, and stay where she was.
The epilogue:
So how did things turn out? Did Emily and I get back together and have a dozen kids? No. Here’s what actually happened.
First, I was right about Emily. She did go back to Mr. Gary Larson. They worked things out. They never had any kids. In public she never gets a chance to express an opinion, and he continues to never trust her. I saw them once; he was decked out in some fancy uniform with medals and all sorts of official accoutrements. People really fawned over the guy. As for Emily, she was the dutiful little giggler who was standing obsequiously beside him with this adoring, puppy-like, smile. I heard he still doesn’t trust her. I was told he sometimes even locks her in their cellar when he goes out. I’m glad for her; she got what she wanted and deserved.
My sister Priscilla and her boyfriend finally got married. Her boyfriend is a real work of art. I mean that in the most positive sense; he’s a dairy farmer, works like a Trojan, and he’s filthy rich. Priscilla quit working for me and started making babies for her farmer. I’ve been happy for the both of them.
And me. Well, I never had much luck with the girls. I remember I was at Priscilla’s wedding, sitting at my parents table minding my own business when that awful gnawing in my stomach overtook me. It’d become a regular problem since our separation and divorce. I knew I needed to eat, but the idea of one more greasy meatball, one more slab soggy roast, or one more starchy overcooked and over-breaded piece of deep-fried chicken was just more than I believed my poor digestive system could handle. I turned to my mom and dad, clutched my stomach, and politely begged off the rest of the reception. They said they understood and would tell Priscilla how I felt, I thanked them and left.
Outside I got in my truck and knew, though I had the queasies something awful, I still needed to eat something. My last best hope was to find a place that served good breakfast food. There was only one place that I knew would have what I needed. It wasn’t far. I drove over.
I got there, went inside, a waitress came over and asked me what I’d like. I told her a coffee, some pancakes, sausage, and three fried eggs over easy. She said she’d be back with the coffee and left.
That waitress was good; she had my coffee there in no time. I drank about half of it. I didn’t feel much better, but at least I knew where I was.
I felt bad, not achingly sick like the flu, I just felt sad, sad as in self-pity sad. I stared down into my half empty cup and thought, ‘This is what my life has become, a half empty cup of cooling coffee.’
‘
Just then, at that precise moment, this gorgeous little red head walked up. I looked over at her; she was short and thin, but she looked incredibly sexy. The tailored suit she was wearing looked like she’d been poured into it. God what a figure. Her face looked so pretty, like a doll’s face, only alive and full of energy. Vivacious, she looked vivacious!
She looked down at me, she laughed and said, “Tell me did you ever get through Samuel Taylor Coleridge?”
I took another look and thought, ‘Oh my. This can’t be happening.’
She grinned and said, “You don’t remember me do you.”
I said, “Weren’t you that skinny red head with the freckles Emily Loudermilk pushed on me so I’d get some Language Arts?”
She laughed and said, “I knew you weren’t a complete moron.”
I said, “I bet you’re married now with six or eight kids.”
She put her hands on her hips and in what seemed more like an exhortation than a comment said, “Oh I got married all right. He turned out to be a real asshole, lazy, no pride, and a work ethic that died with the dinosaurs.” She smirked, “I know about you too. What a dumb shit you turned out to be; you married the high school whore.”
I blushed.
Then she blushed. “Oh,” she said, “you didn’t know.”
I didn’t say anything.
She said, “Sorry.”
I recovered and said, “So now you’re just some little ‘sheesh- ka-boob’ who teaches near do wells Coleridge.”
She laughed, “You still don’t know your Language Arts do you.”
I laughed and thought, ‘This couldn’t be the squirrely little nerd Emily had gotten to help me in high school. This is so unreal.’ After a brief pause, I added, “So neither one of us found Mr. or Miss ‘Right’.”
She slid into my booth, sat down, and said, “I found out there’s no such thing as that ‘perfect person’. I found out what we should do is try to find someone who fits what we think we want and then work hard to make it go.”
I asked, “Have you ever found that ‘one special person’?”
She gave me a stare that would’ve killed a weaker man and said, “I thought I did once, but he went and married the high school whore.”
I said, “You don’t say.”
She just stared at me.
I realized I was looking at that one person I’d been dreaming about. I added, “Ever think about trying again?”
She said, “Maybe.”
I knew a winner when I saw one. I’d completely forgotten my stomach problems. At that moment someone must’ve put a coin in the juke box, because an old slow song started to play. I asked, “Care to dance?”
She got up.
I got up.
We fit together.
Six months later I had her coming down the aisle on her father’s arm. Funny thing about that; she turned out to be a Methodist so I changed back. That was six years ago. Right now, we have three kids, and I’m happier than a pig in mud. I finally got it right, and to think I had Emily to thank for it. Go figure.
The end.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. Vote if you’re inclined. I really like fives.
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