TINY LITTLE THINGS by likegoodwine
Chapter 1 - Discovery
Martha and I love to linger in bed a few minutes every morning after the alarm-clock rings. After so many years, we should know better. These warm lazy extra minutes in bed must be repaid by frantic scrambling to get ready for work. A few years back the payback also included a mad dash to get the kids ready for school. Now, with our two kids gone, our lingering in bed is more frequent and so is the mad early morning rush - the one before the traffic rush.
To make matters worse, I had to leave the house a good twenty minutes earlier than usual. Martha had to work late tonight so instead of taking my car - we work not far from each other so we commute together - I decided to ride my mountain bike to work. The weather forecast was also predicting a splendid spring day.
I took a last bite of a toast, washed it down with coffee and was ready to go.
"I'm on my way Honey", I yelled toward the bathroom where Martha was still busy.
I waited for her to put her head out the door and talk to me, but I heard no reply. "See you later tonight. I love you", I added after a few seconds.
I was running late, I didn't have time to ponder this lack of response from Martha. I tossed my keys in my backpack and left.
I am Frank McKay, a 53 years old office manager for the state Department of Public Works. My wife Martha, 49, works as an administrative assistant at the head office of a manufacturing business. We are both better than average looking, but Martha is dazzling if I may say so myself. She doesn't look her age; many men glance her way when we go out.
Ten minutes later, I heard a whistle, announcing I had received a text message. A few seconds later, my phone started ringing. While biking, it is difficult enough to keep an eye on all the cars without talking on the phone. I would answer the calls at work.
I made it on time to work, but was so busy getting properly dressed for an 8:45 meeting, I left my cell phone in my backpack, forgetting all about the phone calls. Later, I followed a group of colleagues to lunch. Finally, at my afternoon coffee break, I remembered the phone calls.
I had five messages from Martha, two texts and three voicemails.
The first text message was sent at 8:10 and read: "You took the wrong keys. Call me."
The second text was sent at 8:35: "I'm waiting for your call."
I then listened to the voicemail. The first one was left at 8:11.
"Hi honey! You took the wrong set of keys when you left. Can you drop them at my work this morning? I need them. Call me." Her voice was a bit snappish and I didn't understand why. She doesn't need her keys at work. They use a state of the art keycard security system.
The second voice mail was left around 10:15. "What are you doing Dave? I've been waiting for my keys all morning. Call me. I have better things to do than just wait for you." I have known Martha for more than 25 years, 23 as husband. It was obvious to me she was royally pissed off. Anger and contempt dripped from every word.
Before listening to her last voicemail, I grabbed the keys from my backpack and put them on my desk. I listened to the final message, left at 12:55. "Where are you? I am still waiting for my keys. I don't know what you were thinking this morning but they are better be on my desk this afternoon. I need them." Martha wasn't keeping her anger in check this time; she was nearly yelling.
I was dumbfounded. Lately, I had been getting used to Martha being mad at me over nothing. Nearing 50, I had thought perhaps she was going through changes in her body that made her behave oddly. That's the explanation she gave me when I pointed out her change in behavior. She had rebuked me when I asked her to see a doctor for hormone treatments, or whatever they do with menopause. Life with Martha had become very difficult lately; our relationship was strained.
But it was stranger to witness such an outburst over a set of keys she didn't need. I was working myself up. Two can play the anger game, I guess. I decided not to call her, to simply wait for five o'clock to drop off the goddamned keys.
Shortly after five, I reached Martha's workplace. Surprise, surprise, I was just in time to see her pull out of the parking lot and head home. Despite the heavy traffic and my biker's ability to pedal through stopped traffic, I was never able to catch up. Anyway, doing so was useless as we were both going home. I knew she would soon be out of heavy traffic and pick up a speed I wouldn't be able to match, so I decided to go my normal more direct route to try to beat her home.
I was taken by surprise a few minutes later when I caught sight of her car heading toward another area of town. It was an easier route for me - I can cut through the park - but definitely not the best way for Martha. She turned onto a street lined with many two stories duplexes, parking at the curb. I was getting suspicious so I slowed, spying her from afar as she climbed a flight of stairs and rang a doorbell while texting on her phone. Even from where I stood across my bike, I heard her text message ring. She read the message, returned to her car and took off.
"What the heck had happened?" I asked myself. Martha - who was supposed to be working late - had driven to an unknown apartment. I grabbed the set of keys I held, to take a closer look. I recognized her car key and our house keys. However, there was another key I didn't recognize. I had a feeling it was the key Martha was missing so much. I went to the duplex, climbed the stairs, put the key in the front door lock and turned. The click of that latch marked the end of my marriage with Martha.
I didn't open the door. I had to think. What should I do? My growing anger made it tempting to enter the apartment of my wife's lover, wreaking havoc on his belongings. Or I could wait for him and kick the shit out of him. Or, I could simply walk to the police station, go directly to jail, not pass GO, and not collect my payday. No, blind anger was not the right answer. But I had to do something.
I looked inside the apartment. I was technically committing illegal entry, but if I hurried, I wouldn't get caught. The first thing I saw was mail neatly piled on a small table in the entryway. I grabbed a phone bill. It was addressed to Steve Mueller. I didn't have a clue who that was, but the phone bill could be handy. I put it in my pack. It was enough information for now. I didn't want to be caught snooping in a stranger's apartment so I got the hell out of there.
Instead of heading home, I pedaled my way to my neighborhood hardware store. Within minutes I had a duplicate of the key.
I was expecting Martha to be home, but her car wasn't in the driveway. I didn't know what her lover had texted her, but it had to have been a message to meet him elsewhere. I decided to toy a bit with Martha. I phoned her, but she didn't answer. I didn't leave a message but I sent her a text.
"I am running late too but I'll soon drop the keys. I should be at your office pretty soon."
It took seconds to receive the reply.
"No need. I made other arrangements. I just stepped out of my office. Just go home," was her immediate reply. In her head she probably had added . . . "and leave me alone, dumbass."
I spent a shitty evening. Martha didn't come home until ten o'clock. That gave me a good four hours to decide what to do.
First, I wanted to have proof of her cheating. With the copy I now had on my keychain, it would be a piece of cake to do what was needed. The phone bill was damning in itself. The two of them had been constantly on the phone and texting each other, even in the evening when Martha and had been together. All that time I thought she had been texting our kids.
Did I really need to know why she had decided to ditch me? No! It was now of no consequence. Our love had ebbed over the last six months. There can be only so much indifference, reproach and nagging before a man's love begins to fade. I now realized my 'loving wife' had been pulling away from our marriage, but and I never knew. This day's discovery was the final blow to a very shitty marriage. We were done.
In our state, there is nothing to gain by a proof of adultery: irreconcilable differences would be the motive and a judge would split our assets 50-50. But, as a deceived husband, I felt I had much to achieve to regain a bit of my pride. I would not allow Martha to lie her way out of the marriage. The reason would be made public to our children, parents and friends. Knowing how Martha has changed over the last few months, I wouldn't have been surprised if she had would tried to somehow make me the bad guy.
I did toy with many scenarios of revenge, but decided not to go that route. I had only a few years before early retirement and I didn't want to spoil that. Retirement would not be what I had envisioned all those years ago when I hooked up with Martha, but it beat going to jail and losing my job. Now, at least, I would enjoy my retirement the way I wished, not the way Martha wanted.
I decided to face Martha's irritation when she came back from her date, to make it work in my favor. Her anger might lead to a little fight and would excuse my icy behavior for the next few days. However, having had sex with Steve must have mollified her a bit. Now, I was paying close attention, I realized she had been averting my eyes quite a bit.
When Martha finally came home, she was surprised to see me still sitting in the living room. She dropped her spare car key in the container we keep by the door and grabbed her own set of keys I had put there earlier. Looking at the keys, she dropped them in her handbag. I was expecting some nagging but she didn't utter a single word.
She went straight to the bathroom.
"I'm tired", she said to somebody in the hallway. "I'm taking a shower and going straight to bed."
"What?" I asked. "No loving tonight?"
Her only answer was to close the bathroom door behind her and lock it. Do you know many empty nesters locking the bathroom door? I didn't notice it before, but it had often been the case when Martha returned from 'working late'. My God, I was so dumb. No wonder she is ditching me.
I watched a late show before going to bed. I was hoping Martha would be fast asleep. I swear she was still awake, sleep escaping her too.
The next morning, on the pretext of a meeting, I took off early in my own car. Instead of work I stopped by an electronic store and bought a few interesting items. It took me only a couple of hours to wire Mueller's apartment for sound and image. While in the apartment for such a long time, I had time to look around. It was very well furnished. Many items were certified antiquities. I don't know if he had a maid service, but his apartment was impeccable, not a speck of dust was anywhere in sight. I wonder if he were anal-retentive where cleanliness was concerned. It was food for thought. I hoped my little spy gear would go unnoticed for a few days, at least long enough to get some juicy footage from my wife and her lover.
I shouldn't have worried about that. Back at the office after lunch, I received another text from Martha telling me not to wait for her as she had another late meeting. I made an appointment with a lawyer for the next day.
I drove by Mueller's apartment that evening and saw Martha's car. Despite all I had been through over the last 24 hours, I still felt my hearth sink at another proof of her betrayal. Tomorrow would be a decisive day. I drove back toward the house. I was tempted to simply check in at a motel in town, but it would be ridiculous to go through such expense when I was not the one at fault.
Once home, I thought about sleeping in the guest bedroom, but again decided I wasn't the one fucking up our marriage. Let Martha sleep there. I moved all her belongings into the guest bedroom, helter-skelter. I simply grabbed whole drawers, dumped them on the bed, followed by the garments from her side of the closet, an overall very comforting activity. I felt better each armload I carried to "her" room.
When she came home that evening she looked worse than she had the previous evening. She had that just-fucked look she can have after a five hours fuck fest. Again she was surprised to see me. She didn't offer any explanation about her lateness or appearance; as if she could offer a reason. I couldn't believe I could hurt that much.
Knowing a divorce was looming over us, I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bedrooms.
"What are you doing Frank? You're hurting me," she asked.
I forced myself to sound more assertive than I felt. I knew I was a few minutes from losing it. I had to act quickly. I had to act in control.
"Shut the fuck up bitch," I loudly said.
It was so out of character for me to say such a thing, it was as if I had punched her. Suddenly, the accusing glares I had received over the last months were replaced by fear. But what fear? Fear of violence? Or fear of discovery? I had no way to know and wasn't about to ask.
I opened the guest bedroom so she could see her things piled there.
"Starting tonight bitch," I said harshly. "This is your room."
And I pushed her inside.
"We're done as husband and wife! Stay the hell away from me!" I cautioned her. "As a matter of fact, it would be best if you would just pack up and move out right away."
Martha was annoyed and angry. She fought back, trying to gain the higher ground.
"Oh no Buster! If one of us is sleeping in the guest room, it's you," she said. "I've broken my back taking care of the kids, you and the house. Show some respect or leave the house."
Did I want to argue with her? Nope!
I shoved her hard, back into the guest room, surprising us both with the violence of my action.
"I give you two choices," I snarled at her. "Either you sleep here until our divorce is final, or you go live with Steve Mueller this very moment."
His name hit her like a karate chop. Despite her behavior over the last months, Martha still knew me better than anyone. She realized I knew about her cheating and she knew I had no forgiveness in me. She knew I would never accept her back in my life, and we would not part as friends. Who wants to make friend with somebody who stabbed you in the back? I saw in her eyes she hadn't envisioned getting caught and she was unprepared for a confrontation. After a few seconds, I saw defeat written all over her face.
She backed into the bedroom, pushed her clothing away and sat on the bed. Tears inched down her cheeks. She said something I didn't hear.
"What?" I snapped.
"I'm sorry," she said a bit louder. "I have been so stupid. Please don't hate me."
"You know me Martha," I said. "I will not hate you after a while, but I sure won't love you either. Hell, I don't know if I could like you."
I began to close the door but I wanted to hurt her a bit more.
"I would prefer to do it quickly," I said flatly. "I would appreciate if you would move out as soon as possible. Just sign the divorce papers you'll soon receive and we will not have to meet ever again."
I closed the door, the last time I would talk to Martha until the court hearing. The last sound I heard was her sobbing.
The next day, I recovered my spying gear from Mueller's apartment. Next stop was my lawyer. As my request was straightforward, he assured me divorce papers could be delivered within two days. I paid his retainer and left. I tried to go back to work but I was more than useless. I finally explained my predicament to my supervisor who told me to take a few days off.
I went home but when I arrived, I saw Martha in the process of moving, so I parked down the street. From the video I had watched at my lawyer office, I recognized Steve Mueller helping her. I had an urge to deck him but the three inches and forty pounds he had on me made it more wishful thinking than a possibility. I drove away.
Later that evening, I felt for the first time the real impact of Martha's betrayal. My anger faded, replaced by such loneliness, as I had never experienced. Divorce would have been traumatic if our kids were still living with us. What was a blessing was also a curse, as I had nobody to turn to for solace. My parents were gone; my brother and sister were living across the country. I decided to contact my two daughters.
I was surprised to learn Martha hadn't contacted them yet. She had been constantly phoning and texting them at college. I guess she found it easier to lie to me than to her kids.
A few weeks ago, if somebody had asked me about the proper behavior toward a cheating spouse, I would have advocated discretion, to keep the peace, and respect for 23 years of devotion as a mother and wife. Now, hurting, desperate for love or, at least, sympathy, I told my two daughters, Mandy and Tess, everything. I felt good knowing neither of them doubted me when I told them their mother was cheating on me, had left me for another man. I though for a moment they might have known about their mother, but they were quite upset at the news and I discarded that thought. My barely controlled sobbing also helped convince them. Their acceptance was a great consolation to me.
I made a big mistake that day. By the time I was finished phoning the kids, I had already drunk one full bottle of wine. I am not a heavy drinker. Martha and I might drink one or two bottles of wine in a week or sometimes a six-pack of beer. The mistake wasn't the drinking. It was the alcohol-induced self-pity.
When faced with failure, a man must accept responsibility for such failure, but, hard as I tried, I could not fathom what I had done to push Martha away. My work had never been an impediment to my family life. I didn't have to travel, maybe once every five years for a training session. My overtime was limited to a few fixed periods of the year.
I might have let myself go a bit over the last few years, since I hit 50, to be truthful. But I was in no way fat or out of shape. Though I sure was no spring chicken, from what I had seen earlier, Mueller didn't seem much younger or in better shape than I.
I was wondering if he were a better lover, an area where my knowledge was rather thin. I had not had many experiences before I met Martha, only four girlfriends from age 18 to 28, and Martha and I had much to learn together after we met.
I don't think Martha was ditching me for social status either. His apartment didn't seem outlandish. His tasty pieces of furniture showed more that he wasn't a father than anything else. We were probably in the same revenue bracket.
As I curled into a foetal position for the night, it came to me that there was no good reason she was leaving; only that I was who I am. Can you fight being you? Could I cease to exist so everything would be all right?
Chapter 2 - Moving on
My wake-up call the next morning came around ten o'clock. I picked up the phone without looking at the caller ID.
"You son-of-a-bitch," yelled Martha. "You didn't have to be so gross with Mandy and Tess."
For a second I thought to simply hang up but part of me wanted the confrontation, to put this entire nightmare behind me.
"What is gross, honey?" I asked. "Is it you cheating on me for months or you moving out to be with your lover? Or is it all of the above?"
There was only silence. I hate silence.
"Martha, there is a part of me that still loves you," I said. "I won't say if it is my feminine part or my masculine part, perhaps my stupid part. But there is one thing I will never do, lie to our family."
"You wouldn't dare", she pleaded. "Not Dad, please."
"Watch me," I said and I hung up.
My finger was hovering over the speed dial button for Martha's Dad, but I didn't push it. Harvey had been miserable since his wife had passed away from breast cancer two years previously. He was a very good man, but at 80 his health was a bit fragile. I think his will to live was a bit tenuous. Today, I could certainly relate. And he was a good man. I might as well let him die peacefully instead of wrecking his life over his daughter's behavior. My anger was receding. I decided to let Martha know my decision.
I picked up Mueller's phone bill and dialed the phone number on it. A man's voice answered. I did hesitate for a second.
"Martha McKay please," I asked.
There was a moment of silence over the phone. I could hear somebody crying in the background, obviously Martha.
"And who's asking?" asked Mueller.
"Her father, you fuckin' piece of garbage," I lied, unable to resist a surge of resentment. "Oh, and forget about talking to her. Just tell my daughter not to call me, to forget I exist and to let my granddaughters, my son-in-law, and I alone. Bye Jerk!"
Less than a minute later, a bit remorseful, I dialed Martha's cell phone number. She answered almost right away but didn't say anything. She was still hiccupping from crying.
"Hi Martha!" I broke the silence with. "Having a great day?"
"Frank, why?" she asked. "Why did you tell my Dad? It will destroy him. He's been in such poor health lately. You knew it."
"Aw, keep your pants on, bitch!" I said, the insult being hard to come out. "It wasn't your Dad on the phone with boy toy earlier, it was me. I love your Dad and know you would have killed him with your fucking around. I want to make a point here. Are you listening?"
"Yes," she said. "I am listening."
"Never let that guy between me and my girls or your Dad will learn everything about you. All the gross details as you rightly put it," I told her. "Don't think I am joking. I trusted you most of my adult life. I didn't know it was possible, but you broke that trust. I am repeating myself, but I have to fight with myself not to simply shoot you where you stand. I have a lot of hate for you in my heart and this is what defines me at the moment. Got it?"
"Yes!" she finally said between sobs.
"Mark?" she asked. "I'm sorry. I never wanted that."
"Me neither," I answered. And I hung up.
Six months later I received the official papers, sealing the fate of my marriage. I had bounced back from my bout of depression but there was still something missing in my life; I couldn't figure out what.
I had dated a few women without getting far. I guess they found out I was carrying a lot of baggage. I had a one-night stand with an acquaintance from work - a divorcee like me. The sex felt empty without love or affection. We were just two adults desperate for relief, but it left me with a feeling of loneliness worse than before.
One evening coming back from work I finally had an epiphany. After getting in my new apartment - we had sold the house to divide the proceeds - I greeted a new friend who had appeared two weeks earlier.
"Hi Jack!" I said looking behind the door.
I was reverting to my days as a single man: giving names to the dust bunnies gathering all over my place, mostly behind doors and under the bed. Jack was the one at the entrance door, while Roger and Bugs were living under the bed. I was almost ready to pick up the vacuum in the closet, embarrassed as I was by the thought Mueller would never had left his apartment go like that. I realized I still had it for the guy. I also realized what was missing in my life was a little getting even with him and Martha. Sure I thought for a while a good beating was in order but prison had no appeal to me. I realized I would never be able to move on if I didn't find a small measure of revenge.
I spent the evening cleaning up the apartment and thinking of revenge. Jack being sucked in by the vacuum was a revelation. I had my plan.
The next Friday, I followed Martha and Mueller to a pub. While they were inside, I put a gps tracker on his car. They sat at a table and I sat on a stool from which I was able to keep an eye on Martha in the mirror behind the bar. After a few minutes she noticed me and said something to Mueller. He looked my way. I put a bill on the counter and left the bar, seemingly unaware of their presence. I am pretty sure boy toy would recognize me now.
Over the next few weeks, I paid a few visits to Mueller's apartment while keeping tabs on his movements. He normally ate a quick lunch at a restaurant near his work. One day I went there with a friend who had been briefed on what to say. We sat at a table next to Mueller.
We ordered lunch and started chatting.
"So," asked my friend Terry on my cue. "How's single life? Miss the ex?"
"Well, it was hard at the beginning," I answered. "Martha really took me by surprise. She always was a good liar for all our life together, but she really put the wool over my eyes on that one."
"What do you mean by a good liar?" asked my friend. "She lied a lot?"
"Well not a lot, but often enough to recognize it as a personality flaw," I said. "For instance, three years ago, her car was dirty so she borrowed my car to attend a meeting. She came back in the evening with a big dent on the driver's door. She argued with me it had been like that in the morning when she took it. I had washed the car the previous day and knew well it wasn't so. However, after 25 years, you learn to let such thing slide with a wife."
"And how's love life?" asked Terry.
"This is one of the good thing about being rid of the bitch," I said. "I have two friends with benefits, no string attached, and at least ten years younger than Martha. I am sure glad to be rid of her. You know the saying: once a cheater, always a cheater. But let's talk about something else. What do you think about the Seahawks?"
We finished our lunch analyzing the chances of the Seahawks to make it to the Super bowl.
The next day, at one pm again, I stopped by Mueller's apartment. I started to take a late lunch nowadays. I took my checklist and read the remaining items.
Leave a faucet dripping: check
Leave the washroom ceiling fan running: check
Move forks, spoons and knives around in their drawer: check
Move some pots and pans: check
Take red toothbrush (Martha's color all these years) and leave it on the sink: check
I took a cup, passed it under the running tap to soak it good. I then took the cup and left it on the pristine coffee table in the living room. After a few minutes, I was sure it had left an imprint on his antique table.
Another day, I turned on the coffee pot, then another run of the ceiling fan while I sprinkled a bit of cigarette ashes at the base of the toilet bowl. I also took a porcelain trinket in the living room, broke it in a paper bag and left a small little shard of ceramic on the floor.
Everything was done over a period of one month. I wished I had still my spying gear in the apartment to see how things were between the lovers.
However, my kids kept in touch with their mother. I never asked them about her, but they would sometimes let a tidbit of info out. It was Mandy who first informed me the relationship was a bit strained between her Martha and Mueller.
It was time to turn up the heat a bit on the two lovers.
One day, a friend tripped when walking past Mueller, 'inadvertently' leaving trace of lipstick on his shirt and blonde hair on his shoulder. Martha's hair is as dark as it comes.
The next week, I went to Mueller apartment and left a pair of underwear among his underwear. We wear very different styles.
I knew I had him when one day he left work at lunchtime. I followed him to his apartment. He stopped, climbed the stairs surreptitiously and entered his apartment. He was out in a minute, going back to his workplace.
"Gotcha!"
The next day, I tore a corner of a condom wrapper and left it on the floor by the bedside. I pulled the blankets, jumped a bit in the middle of the bed to disturb the sheets and put the blankets back almost the same way they were. I also left the imprints of two glasses on the coffee table, some ashes in the washroom and the ceiling fan running. I took another porcelain trinket, broke it, and left it in the garbage can. I grabbed a rare bottle of wine from a rack, choosing the one with the most dust, opened it, poured it down the drain and left the empty in the recycle bin. That was my grand finale.
That evening my phone rang. It was my youngest, Tess.
"Dad, Dad, you must do something," she was yelling.
"Anything for you Sweetie!" I said.
"Help Mom," she said, barely able to contain her sobs. "She is at the police station. That guy hit her and she called the cops. She has nowhere to go, she doesn't want to go back there anymore. He has been getting quite abusive lately and she said. . . "
"Hold on, Sweetie!" I interrupted her. "I am not the right person to help your mother. I hate her guts and I must admit I enjoy a lot what is happening to her, not the beating, but the whole fiasco with her boy toy. What goes around. . . "
"Daaad!" implored Tess. "She's my mom and she needs help."
"OK, Ok! It's only because you are asking," I said. "Don't expect me to do more than just pick her up and drive her around."
"Thanks Dad!"
A few minutes later I was at the police station. She was still being interviewed so I had to wait a bit, but I sent her a note saying I was waiting for her. I must admit I felt terrible one hour later when I saw Martha with a shiner on her left eye. She broke into tears when she saw me, walking toward me with open arms. I fought with myself but was able to reach out my arms to hold her off - well, at arms' length.
"Hey, I am here because my daughter asked me to come," I said. "Don't ever think we are becoming friends. I'll give you a ride wherever you want, that's it."
I left the police station, not looking back to see if she was following, her sobs the only indication she was close behind.
Once in the car, I asked: "Where do you want to go?"
"Home," she answered.
Without a word, I drove toward my destination. Martha reacted only when I turned on Mueller's street and parked in front of the apartment.
"I don't want to go there," she said, repressing more tears.
"Well, and here you are," I answered. "Look, Mueller is in jail for the time being. That leaves you enough time to get your stuff and beat it."
She looked at me for a few seconds then got out of the car and went to the apartment. Soon she began to carry out garbage bags containing her clothes. She hadn't taken much when she left me, so she was done quickly.
As soon as she was done, we took off. After a few minutes she asked where we were going. I could hear the fear in her voice.
"We're going to your dad," I told her. "You said you wanted to go home. You don't have any other home."
We drove in silence a few more minutes. Her father lives far in the suburb.
"I never had a chance to apologize to you," said Martha, breaking the silence. "I am sorry for what I did. I was stupid and you caught me cheating. I accept that. But I never stopped loving you. I just forgot what it meant for a while. I didn't even want to go live with Steve. We didn't have much in common. I want to tell you I am sorry for the hurt I caused you."
I didn't reply. There was nothing to say. Could I say, "No harm done?" Absolutely not! Could I tell her I forgive her? That would be a lie, as I still resented the way she had broken our marriage. I shut up. I think my silence hurt her more than any rant I could have mustered to let her understand how much she had hurt me. I still couldn't understand how a person could swear her love for a man, then wound him so seriously.
Close to her father's place Martha looked toward me.
"What will I tell my Dad?" she asked.
That left me speechless. What the fuck? We had been apart a few months shy of a full year and she hadn't told her father?
"You must be kidding," I said. "Harvey doesn't know we are divorced?"
"Well I only told him we were having trouble," said Martha.
"You sure are in trouble now," I answered. "Find a good reason, but just don't make me the bad guy or I will hear about it and tell him the truth."
It was getting late, but I didn't offer to help Martha move her things inside her father's house. For one, I was enjoying myself a bit at her misery. But I also didn't want to talk to Harvey.
The next day saw me parked across the street from Mueller's place. He arrived home shortly before noon. Time to put the last nail in their dalliance coffin. I grabbed a cheap bottle of Chilean wine I had bought on the way - a $10 investment - and went up the stairs. Mueller opened the door and was surprise when he recognized me.
"Hi!" I said. "We have never met but I am Frank McKay, the ex-husband of Martha Sharp."
I offered him the bottle of wine, and he took it.
"Here take that so you know that I am not a free-loader. It will replace the other bottle of wine I drank," I said. I then reached in my pocket and extracted a key, his apartment key. I gave it to him. "Oh, and I won't need that either. Martha moved out last night."
I was smiling all the way to my car, my heart uplifted, knowing Mueller will have more regret at losing his $900 bottle of Chateau Montelena than at losing Martha. I had a spring in my step. Revenge can be so sweet...
I think I can move on now.
