My Perfect Family

"It wasn't like ... an affair. It was just a stupid mistake. Don't kill our marriage over a stupid mistake," she begged.

"You must think I'm the stupidest man on the planet, Sheila. I know for a fact you've been fucking asshole Gilson for a year at least. And now I know that Francis Morissette is on your list of fuck-buddies. We have photographs and all the evidence we need. This is going to be ugly, Sheila, and you have no one to blame but yourself. I promise you, it's going to be ugly." With that, I hung up the phone and disconnected it again.

I went to work and informed Larry Coleman that I was divorcing my wife and if she called, please don't put the call through. He agreed and promptly went to see Gloria on the switchboard to inform her of our request. I returned to my office and tried to bury myself in the paperwork on my desk.

I did pretty well until about eleven that morning when my phone rang. It was George Pratt, my father-in-law.

"Good morning George. I can guess why you're calling. I apologize for not giving you and Amy a "heads-up." I said preemptively.

"I think I understand, but I'd like to hear it from you, Mick. You've always been pretty straight with me, so tell what the hell happened," he asked pointedly.

I described my warnings to Sheila about Gilson, my discovery of her affair with him, and my discovery of her other affair with Morissette. When I had finished with the abbreviated version of her activities there was a long silence on the line.

"My god," he finally said slowly and a shallow voice. "I had no idea she could do such a thing. Are you absolutely sure of this, Mick?" he asked, hoping there was some glimmer of relief.

"I'm sorry, George. I'm afraid I'm not only sure, but I have photographic evidence," I said, pitying this fine man. He deserved better from his daughter.

"She's staying here for now, Mick. Do you plan to initiate divorce proceedings?"

"Yes. The paperwork's all done. She'll be served either at work or ... well ... I'm sorry, but it may happen at your place," I apologized.

"I understand. I don't mind telling you that this isn't just going to hurt her, but her mother will be devastated as well. I know that's not your fault, but ... well ... never mind. I hope we'll still be welcome to visit the grandchildren, Mick," he finished hopefully.

"Of course. This isn't about you or Amy, George. I would never do that to you or to the kids. You are always welcome here," I said sincerely.

"Thanks, Mick. I'm sorry ... but ... thanks," he said sadly, hanging up.

I was emotionally drained when I placed the phone on its base. I expected there would be more of these kinds of moments in the coming weeks and months. I had to prepare myself for them.

I learned that Sheila had gone to work that morning and amazingly, still had a job. Gilson hadn't figured out that all this might come crashing down on his head at some point and apparently decided it was business as usual. When Lydia confirmed that my wife showed up for work on time, she sent the process server over and before she even had her morning coffee, the divorce papers were in her hand.

According to observers, she broke down immediately and ran out of the building. I assume she escaped to her parents' home. But that wasn't the fun part. Not long afterward, Terry Gilson and Knox Gilson were both served with writs declaring my intent to sue for damages on the grounds of alienation of affection and willful neglect of corporate responsibility; to wit, the failure to enforce the morals clause in specific employees' contracts. The writs specified both punitive and compensatory damages to the tune of five million dollars.

Let the circus begin!

In reconstructing the story much later on, I learned that Knox Gilson had a "showdown" with his son, Terry, and virtually cut him off. No more easy jobs, no more bailing him out of situations with angry husbands and if he didn't get his act together, no more inheritance. Knox had indulged his son for the past twenty-plus years and had finally come to the end of his rope. Sooner or later, this over-grown juvenile was going to have to stand on his own two feet.

Terry did the one thing that would be completely predictable and promptly went out and got drunk. Since he had been kicked out of the dealership, he had no place to go other than his townhouse. He disappeared into that cavern for several days.

I knew that the wheels of justice would grind slowly. Stupidly, Sheila had decided to contest the divorce until Lydia provided her lawyer with the evidence we had, including the photographs. That was all it took to drain the fight out of her. Lydia would do the best she could to limit the amount of financial punishment I would suffer, but at worst, she would get half of everything. A reward for her perfidy.

The week passed agonizingly slowly. I went to work, but I couldn't pretend that I was effective. Larry was very understanding and patient, but I knew this couldn't go on forever. I had to think about my future as a single man and a single parent. It was a daunting prospect.

On Saturday, I was cutting the lawn in the back when I heard a commotion in the driveway. A car door slammed and within seconds, I could hear someone pounding on my front door. Neither Angie nor Ben were home, so I walked around the side and ran headlong into Terry Gilson. He looked like he'd been dragged behind a farm tractor for a few miles. He was a mess, but one look at his face and I knew this wasn't good. It was the last thing I remember before he hammered me with his big right fist.

The next thing I recalled was waking up in the hospital. Well, not really waking up, but beginning to have minor episodes of consciousness. I was flat on my back and I could feel a numbing pain from the top of my head to my groin. It apparently took me more than a day to finally begin to come around. I was swimming in and out of awareness, just barely catching pieces of the here and now.

At some point, I realized that someone was with me. I could feel the hand, but I couldn't open my eyes, or at least, I didn't want to. They felt like two marbles rolling around in the bottom of a tin can. I heard the odd voice, but although familiar, I wasn't putting the sound together with a memory to capture who it might be. I tried to remember what might have put me in the place and after some time, I remembered Gilson's face and then his fist.

A day or so later, I discovered that my mother and Angie had been at my bedside for almost every moment that I had been in I.C.U. I tried to smile at them, but it hurt and I hoped they understood how grateful I was to have them near. I think I heard Angie tell me that Ben would be along after school and again, I tried to smile. Just thinking about it hurt.

It took over a week before I was alert enough to have a conversation with my doctor. He literally began at the top. I had a concussion, the result of hitting the wooden frame of my garage door when Gilson clobbered me. I had a dislocated right shoulder and severe bruising to my right upper arm. I had three and possibly four cracked ribs. I had a severe bruising of the kidneys and further severe bruising of other internal organs. My testicles were swollen badly and there was concern I may lose one or both. Finally, they had removed my spleen when it was discovered that it had been ruptured.

My injuries were the result of one punch by an enraged Terry Gilson, followed by a systematic kicking when I was unconscious on the ground. I was saved when Felicia Romano, who had witnessed almost the whole encounter, screamed bloody murder out her kitchen window, causing Gilson to look up and realize that he had been observed. He took off back to his car and raced out of our driveway in reverse and burned rubber all the way down the block.

Felicia had the presence of mind to call 911 and that was how I ended up in the hospital. Gilson was identified by both Felicia and another neighbor who got his license plate number when he rocketed down our street, narrowly missing a mother pushing a baby-laden stroller. There aren't a lot of white, 1964 Ford Galaxy convertibles in our town and within a couple of hours, Gilson was spotted coming out of a bar and driving off in an erratic manner.

In a fitting end to the whole miserable business, Gilson was arrested for D.U.I. and resisting arrest. He just didn't know when to quit. When they threw him in the holding cell, they matched up the assault complaint filed by Mrs. Felicia Romano and my admission to the hospital. After interviewing Felicia, they charged Gilson with aggravated assault, assault with intent, and criminal trespass. He was in shit up to his eyeballs and it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

When he phoned his father from jail, Knox Gilson wouldn't take the call. I wish I could have been there, but I was unconscious and on the operating table having my spleen removed.

Two days after I began to have consistent lucid moments, a plain clothes officer visited me and asked for a statement. I told him what I remembered and that wasn't much. An angry red face and a big fist. He asked me what would have precipitated the assault and I filled him in on Terry's adventures with my wife, the divorce, and the law suits. He nodded a couple of times and thanked me before leaving.

Epilogue:

The divorce court property settlement wasn't very kind to Sheila. I will be buying her share of our home. They gave her the absolute minimum and no alimony, plus a strong lecture about her contribution to my injuries. Knox had fired both Terry and Sheila. She was out looking for a job when our divorce became final. Her name was poison in some circles and I wondered if she would ever find a decent job in our town.

Ben is living with Sheila, but I gather from Angie that their relationship isn't what it once was. I see Ben every week on the weekends. We got a break from the judge on that one. He seems to be bearing up, but he's not the same kid I remember from better days.

Angie is Angie. She's my girl and she's keeping me on the straight and narrow. She runs the house, my diet and my exercise program. If I didn't know better, she could be my mother. My folks have been a rock and have been there for us when they were needed. They have no idea how important that was in the past weeks. I just didn't need more pressure.

George and Amy have remained friends, thank goodness. They are deeply disappointed in Sheila, but she is their only child and they feel obligated to support her in her time of need. To have Ben there is a big plus for them. They spoil him in some ways, but I'm OK with that. I just want Ben to survive all this and come out of it whole. Angie drops by to visit them. She and her mother are speaking to each other again, but I get the impression it's an awkward relationship at best.

The lawsuits will never get to court, of course. Knox Gilson won't let that happen, according to my lawyer friends, Dave and Lydia. We will settle for a very large number and I will be set for many years to come, even after paying taxes and legal fees. I already know I can look after Angie and Ben's college education and provide them with a car. At least some good will come from all this mess.

Physically, I have recovered as much as I ever will. I lost my spleen, but my kidneys, ribs and shoulder have pretty much healed. I'm going to physio three times a week and will continue to for some time. I still have aches and pains that come and go on a daily basis.

My doctor thinks my testicles are probably eighty-percent functional, but I haven't had an opportunity to test them out. I really don't have much enthusiasm for the opposite sex right now.

When my money comes through from the legal settlement, I intend to buy Jimmy and Felicia something really special. Jimmy was there for me when I needed him and Felicia probably saved my life. Nothing would be too extravagant for those two.

What comes next, I ask myself regularly. I'm still pretty broken up about what Sheila did to us, but I suppose in time, I'll get over the worst of it. I resigned from Polar Industries; or at least I tried to. Larry wouldn't hear of it and told me he was giving me an indefinite leave-of-absence. I'll have a shit-load of money one day soon and I've been trying to decide what I want to do with it. I think I know.

Frank Kley, one of my best customers, and an old friend from when I first started in sales, wants to retire and sell his building supply business. It's a good business with a nicely balanced trade between retail and construction customers. He belongs to a buying group, Build-Rite, and that helps him compete with the big box stores. Dave Mournay and I are going to sit down with old Frank and see if we can make it happen.

Ben was the first person in line looking for a job on weekends and during the summer when he heard about my plan. That's a no-brainer. I want to keep him close and make sure he's OK while he goes through the next few years. Teenage times are tough enough as it is without a broken family to deal with. I look at Knox and Terry Gilson and know that's what happens when you aren't involved enough or close enough to your children.

I've had a lot of time to think about what happened to me and our family. I'll be the first to admit I took it personally and I wanted a full measure of revenge. I still feel the same way. Perhaps if I had just had to deal with Gilson, it might be different. I suppose I can imagine how he would sway and fascinate someone like Sheila. But when I found out about Morissette and her blackmailing our daughter to shut her up, all thoughts of compassion were gone.

Dave says Terry will spend two to four years in prison for his attack on me. We talked about a civil suit as well, but there wouldn't be anything left to sue. His father has disowned him; he has no job, no skills and no prospects. When he gets out of jail, he will be about fifty years old with a bleak future. There's nothing more we can do to hurt him.

Surprisingly, Knox Gilson came to see me when I was rehabilitating. He apologized for everything that had happened and for his wastrel son. I accepted his apology as genuine. He understood very well the emotional damage that went along with the physical damage his son had inflicted on me. We shook hands and I raised my opinion of Mr. Gilson Sr. a couple of pegs.

So there you are. A sad story to be sure. I thought I had the perfect family. Hell, I was sure I had the perfect family. I can look back on the good times we had together or I can look back in anger. Maybe one day I'll be able to do the former, since right now I'm still dealing with the latter.

As always, my thanks to ErikThread for his skilled and helpful editing. Any errors or omissions are entirely mine.