Airstream Dreams

Authors Note: This story is pure fiction and/or fantasy. We all have dreams, and this is just one of them from my warped mind while I was trying to clean my hands after working on the lawnmower.

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Chapter 1 Getting out of Dodge

It's strange how sometimes the worst kind of crap that falls on you can turn into an opportunity for something that you might think is the best. That's just how it works now and then, and that's just how it worked for me.

Anyway you slice it, divorce is the shits. No matter how badly you want to get rid of your spouse, the whole process is set up to humiliate and aggravate, not to mention skinning you of every dime either your ex or the lawyers can extract. Looking back on it, I guess I got off better than some, but probably no better than average. I ended up being Carl McCormick, single father, living two thousand miles from my home and my two sons.

My ex-wife, Sharise, was getting more and more unhappy, and was taking it out on me and the boys. I had asked her a number of times what the problem was, but never got an answer I could understand. She was just unhappy. I asked her if I was the problem and after hemming and hawing, she admitted I was. Apparently I wasn't living up to her version of the American Dream and I was disappointing her.

Sharise and I had married when I got her pregnant after we had been dating for several months. She was supposedly on the pill, but I guess they aren't foolproof, so I was going to be a daddy. I was raised to accept my responsibilities and so I told Sharise we would be getting married. I'm not so sure she was all for the idea, but she went along with it when her parents put some pressure on.

We were both nineteen, and I was just beginning my way to earning my mechanics ticket through the apprentice program, so we weren't exactly rolling in money. We were living in her parent's basement to start with. Sharise didn't want to work since she was pregnant and I couldn't argue with her, so I started burning the candle at both ends. I was serving my apprenticeship during the day and moonlighting at a service station at night. Between the two jobs, we made enough to get by, but only just.

When Charles was born, I was a pretty happy father. I had a son and he would be my pride and joy. I spent all the spare time I had with him, helping Sharise everywhere I could. I got pretty good at changing diapers and feeding him his bottle in the middle of the night. What little sleep I got was in fits and starts.

Little Chuck wasn't a year old when Sharise found out she was pregnant again. She was not pleased, but wouldn't even consider getting rid of the baby. I was glad of that. When Lawrence was born, I had two sons and I couldn't have been any happier than if I'd won the lottery. It was a tough pregnancy for Sharise being so soon after her first one, so once again, I had to help out with both boys.

When I look back on it, I figure that's why the boys and I have always been tight. I think I must have held them, and changed them, and fed them, and read stories to them more than Sharise ever did, so it was only natural they'd be close to me. No matter how tired I was from lack of sleep or long hours at work, I would always find the energy to look after my boys.

Sharise told me straight out that she wasn't going to have sex with me any more until I got "fixed." So, against my better judgment, I got the snip job done to prevent any more accidents. I couldn't complain, really. I had two fine sons and every day that I looked at them and watched them grow I found I was more and more proud of them.

Now I don't want you getting the idea that Sharise was a poor mother. She wasn't. She was good to the boys and made sure they were fed and clothed and later on when they were in school, she'd help with their homework too. If she had one problem, it was that she wasn't a good cook. In fact, she was terrible in the kitchen, so more often than not, we would have store-bought dinners or fast-food takeout stuff. Not exactly health food, but we all survived.

I'm a pretty big guy at six-foot-two and about two hundred pounds. I work hard and don't have the time or the inclination to drink a lot of beer, so between my two jobs and looking after the boys, I stayed in pretty good shape. As I watched the boys grow, I could see they were going to be big like me and I wasn't wrong. Now at almost seventeen, Chuck was already my height, but not as heavy, and Larry was almost six foot and a bit bigger boned. They were going to be big dudes when they were full grown.

Sharise is a good looking woman. I didn't get no booby prize when I chose her. She was five-foot-six and even after giving birth to the boys, she didn't weigh much more than the one-twenty when I married her. Pretty good boobs and a nice ass. All around, she was a fine looking woman.

I got my HDM ticket when Chuck was six and just starting school. I was finally able to quit my second job and get a regular night's sleep. I did work some overtime, but not so much that it cut into our family life. We could now go out to the movies, or to a proper restaurant for a meal once in a while. As time went on and I started earning more money, things got better again.

Sharise didn't want to work, but I didn't mind since that would mean she was home with the boys and looking after them full time. She did want a car to get around in, though. I had my truck, but I needed that for my work, so I went looking for something to buy that wouldn't break the bank and still make my wife happy. I found a nice, clean Honda Accord that I thought was perfect for her and took her down to see it.

She didn't want any part of that car. She said it was an "old ladies car" and flat out refused to drive it. Well, she took a walk around the lot and wouldn't you know, she spotted a Ford Explorer that struck her fancy. I knew right off that it was going to be a couple of thousand more than I wanted to spend, but I couldn't get her off the idea. She said that it wasn't just a car, but a practical necessity. In the end, you guys know who wins those arguments, don't you. She drove the Explorer home with me following behind. I'd be working some weeks of overtime to pay for this one.

Our life went along pretty good, I thought. When Chuck was in grade four, me and Sharise had been married ten years and we had a little celebration with our family and went down to Disney World. I knew Sharise wanted to go there, so it was an easy choice. It was the first proper vacation we'd ever had outside of visiting my parents in Ohio each summer. They live on a farm and the boys always liked going there in the summer. Sharise wasn't all that thrilled, but didn't have any better ideas at the time.

After Disney World, she started in about proper vacations every year. I was making pretty good money with my overtime; usually over fifty thousand per. We owned a small three bedroom house just on the outside of town and my wife had the freedom to get around in her SUV when she wanted to. She joined the fitness center and started going there twice a week in the evenings. I guess she met up with some other women there, and once in a while, they'd go out and have a drink or two before coming home.

A couple of years ago, I noticed she was getting a bit later getting home and I talked to her about it. I was worried that she might be drinking too much and driving and she didn't need a DUI on her record. She took my words to heart and said she wouldn't drink more than one before changing to soda or coffee. I felt better about that.

Well, I guess I was being played for a fool for some time. The boys got wind of it first. They spotted her riding around town in her Explorer with another guy in the front seat. When they asked her who he was, she got all fussed about it, and wouldn't tell them, just that he was someone she was giving a ride to. They didn't make a big deal of it with her, and they didn't tell me either.

A couple of weeks later Chuck saw their mother and the same guy in a restaurant, looking quite friendly. He was on his way to work at the grocery store when he walked by the window of the restaurant, he saw them in there and waved. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with Sharise that evening, but she was upset about something. When Chuck got in from work just after seven, she got even jumpier.

Sometime later, I guess she got with Chuck and let him know there was nothing going on with her and that fellow she saw her with. They were just having a coffee and talking and please don't mention it to your father. Well, Chuck isn't stupid and he figured something was up, so naturally he came to the one person he could trust to give him advice -- me.

I told him to leave it with me and not say anything to Larry, but I was too late for that. He'd already mentioned it to his brother, so I talked to both of them and said I would handle it and not to say anything to their mother. I had a sick feeling about what might be going on, but I wanted to know for sure. When I thought about it, the only time Sharise could "entertain" a boyfriend was when the boys were in school and I was at work. I decided to do a little detective work on my own.

It was only about fifteen minutes from the shop to home and it was easy for me to take off at lunch and drive home to see if there was anything suspicious going on. The first couple of days there was no sign that things weren't normal. I could peek in the side window and see through to the kitchen and I could see Sharise having her lunch by herself, so I assumed everything was okay. I parked in the back lane so she wouldn't know I was around, and once I was sure she was by herself, I went back to work.

After three days I'd come to the conclusion that if she was fooling around, she was doing it after the boys left for school, or after lunch. Either way, she had a couple of hours free and clear. When I thought about it some more, I figured I needed a couple more clues to help me out, but I was damned if I knew what they would be. Then, one clue fell out of the mailbox.

Our phone bill always showed the numbers called and the number calling. Sharise always paid the bill promptly and I don't know what she did with the statement, but it wasn't lying around. I waited until she went out shopping on Saturday before I started to look. I found her stack of statements for gas, electric, water, and telephone in the back of her side of the closet. They were all put away neatly in a shoe box. I pulled out the last four phone statements and sat down to look at them.

I knew some of the numbers by heart, of course. The boys' cell phones, her cell phone, my cell phone, the home number, the shop number, and a couple of her friends. There were four other numbers I didn't recognize, so I copied them down and put the statements back where I found them. I figured the simplest way to find out who those numbers belonged to was to call them.

The first number I dialed was the drug store. No problem, I just hung up telling them it was a wrong number. The second number turned out to be the exercise place. Again, wrong number and I hung up. The third number didn't answer, but the voice mail picked up.

"Hello, this is the Phillipson residence. I can't take your call right now, so please leave a number and I'll call you back."

I hung up. I didn't know anyone named Phillipson and I don't ever recall Sharise mentioning that name either. Suspect number one!

I dialed the fourth number and it turned out to be our doctor. I can't remember Sharise or the boys having a doctor's appointment, but if she did, my medical insurance statement would show it. The call had been made two months ago. I took a chance and called the doctor's office back.

"Hello, this is Carl McCormick calling. I've just been going over my Health Insurance statement and I found a charge I couldn't remember what for. Can you help me?"

"What is your insurance number, Mr. McCormick?"

I read it off to her and told her the date of the phone call.

"We don't have any charge for that date, but there was one for Mrs. McCormick a few days later."

"Can you tell me what it was for?"

"Certainly. It was for a gynecological examination for fitting an I.U.D."

"I see. Well, that clears it up. Thanks for all your help," I said, hanging up.

I should know what an I.U.D. was, but I wasn't sure. Easy enough to find out. I went to our computer and "googled" it. That's when I knew I was in trouble. It was a birth control device, and since I'd already had a vasectomy, she wasn't worried about me getting her pregnant. It was for someone else.

I sat in the living room for a while, feeling sick and defeated. There wasn't much doubt now that she was having an affair. It was a matter of where and when and who with. I wouldn't be satisfied until I knew the answers to all those questions, so I got up and went out to my truck and took off for town.

I stopped at a Radio Shack and talked to a guy about recording telephone calls and how hard it was to hook something up. Turns out it wasn't hard at all, and the machine wasn't that expensive either. I bought it and took it home and installed it in the basement. We only had one phone line, but there was an extension in the basement and I used that to hook up the recorder. Sharise never went near my workshop for fear of getting dirty, so I wasn't worried about her discovering it.

I had a hell of a time acting normal around my wife. I knew, or at least I was pretty sure that she was cheating on me. The I.U.D. was the most damning evidence, but I was hoping the rest of the unanswered questions would be looked after by the telephone recorder. It wasn't a perfect plan since she had a cell phone, but it was a start.

I didn't get a chance to check the recorder on Monday night, so I waited until she went to her exercise class on Tuesday before I got to it. It didn't take me long to have my worst fears confirmed. His name was Soren Phillipson and he worked at the exercise place. As far as I could tell, they had been meeting about twice a week during the afternoons and this had been going on for about two months. What I didn't know was where they met.

I looked up Phillipson in the phone book and found only one S. Phillipson listed, with an address that I copied down. It looked like an apartment number, but I thought I would drive over there and find out. Sure enough, it was one of those cheap, three storey wood frame buildings with about twelve apartments. I couldn't see any sign of Sharise's Explorer in the parking lot, so I walked into the lobby and checked the mail boxes. S. Phillipson was in apartment 303, which I assumed was the top floor.

I was about to leave when an older gentleman came out of the elevator and walked to the mail boxes.

"Excuse me, Sir," I said politely. "Do you know if a Mrs. Jane Phillipson is the wife of S. Phillipson? I have a delivery for her."

"You must have the wrong address, Mister. Soren lives by himself. There is no Mrs. Phillipson as far as I know."

"Oh. Looks like there's been a screw-up. I better go back to the office and see if I can get it straightened out. Thanks for your help."

I walked back to the car. So Soren was a single guy. One more piece of information. I was now guessing that they were meeting at this apartment, and I would stake it out the next time they planned to meet. I was sure I'd get that information off the phone recorder, and I was right. They had their next session set up for Thursday afternoon.

I had no problem getting Thursday afternoon off for a doctor's appointment. I was surprised that I wasn't raging mad at my wife for her cheating ways. I felt more sad than anything. I had already decided I was going to divorce her; that was for certain now. I wasn't going to let her get away with this without letting her know I knew.

I waited until a little after two before I drove to Phillipson's apartment building and walked up the stairs to the third floor. A quick look told me that there was no one in the hallway and I parked myself across from the door to 303. I had what seemed like a long wait. I didn't hear anyone inside until almost three-thirty when it sounded like someone was coming near the door.

I moved along the hallway just off the knob side of the door. I wanted my surprise to be complete. The door opened and there was my wife in a lip-lock with some guy I'd never seen before. He had his hands on her ass and was squeezing her cheeks pretty good before they broke apart. Sharise kissed him once more, then turned to walk down the hall and ran straight into me.

"Oh, fuck!" she said, startled at seeing me appear out of nowhere.

I saw Phillipson standing in the doorway, wondering what the hell was going on.

"Who are you?" he said, trying to be a tough guy.

"I'm this slut's husband for the time being. You can have her back when I'm done with her."

"Carl, what are you talking about? I wasn't doing anything wrong."

"Based on what I saw just now between you and your pal Soren, I'd say you were doing everything wrong, Sharise. And don't try and tell me nothing was happening in his apartment for the last two hours. I know better."

I got the impression Soren had sized me up and decided I was far too big to pick an argument with, so he just stood there in the doorway to see what was going to happen next.

I took Sharise's purse from her and grabbed her keys. I removed the house key and then handed them back to her with the purse.

"Don't come home, Sharise. You aren't welcome there. Get yourself a lawyer. You're going to need one. If you want your shit, it'll be in the garage. Your opener will still work until I change the code tomorrow at six o'clock. Don't phone me or the boys. Oh ... by the way. It was the boys who busted you. How does that make you feel?"

I'm not one for denial. I had to accept that the marriage was dead, so I got ahold of a lawyer and he filed the papers on Sharise, citing irreconcilable differences to get it over and done with as soon as possible. Sharise never tried to talk to me and must have pretty well figured out I wasn't the forgiving kind.

As usual in a no-fault state, there are no winners -- only losers. Sharise never worked a day in her life as far as I knew. I made good money and she spent as much or more of it as she could. I was working overtime just to keep up with her. Now, she was going to need to get herself a job and it was going to be a big shock to her.

When we got to family court, that's when I got screwed, having to pay her alimony and letting her back in the house. The child support was no problem, but she wouldn't be handling it and she could damn well whistle for alimony. I kind of knew the lay of the land when it came to family court, so I wasn't caught by surprise.

In my case, she got half my retirement, half the house, half our savings, and half of our cars. Throw in the child support and alimony, and needless to say, I came out the loser financially, despite the fact that she cheated and freely admitted it. When all was said and done, she must have gotten some satisfaction for a couple of weeks until I quit my job and left town.

They don't put out all points bulletins for runaway exs, not even me. That's what I've become, a runaway ex. Sharise made a big stink about looking after our boys, Chuck and Larry, even though at sixteen and fifteen they pretty much look after themselves. If they're lucky, she won't poison them with her cooking. So when she figures out that I've taken my truck, my share of the savings and checking account, and left town without a goodbye, not to mention no alimony or child support check for her, she'll know how it feels to be really screwed.

I didn't worry about the house. The mortgage isn't big, but there isn't enough equity to amount to anything, so it's all hers, complete with payments and my blessing. The boys can look after themselves as long as she feeds them and gives them a bed to sleep in. I reckon they'll give Sharise a hard time for a while. As far as they were concerned, I was a great dad.