A Strange Car in the Driveway?

"Wow. Molly, I can't say I'm sorry for him, but I am sorry for you. I do want to tell you that you made the absolutely right decision this morning, not to look at the pictures of him and my wife. If you have any possibility of reconciling, those pictures would make it a whole lot harder."

"Yeah, he finally got home a couple of hours ago, crying and telling me how sorry he was and begging me to let him stay, at least for now. You know we have two little kids so I'm going to try to work this out. But life is not going to be easy for him. His own brother, who's a lawyer, told me I should insist on a post-nup agreement, and he said he would help with it. Plus, I'm going to be controlling our finances, at least for a while. Franklin is going to be on a pretty short leash, and I plan to jerk his collar a lot."

"Way to go, girl. I wish you all the best. And when you need the car back, just give me a call." They hung up and Max sat there, envying Molly in a way. Maybe Franklin had learned a lesson. Getting arrested and facing an assault charge for trying to hit a policeman, besides whatever had happened to him in jail, may have scared him straight. Max hoped so, for Molly's and their kids' sake.

He finally drove back to the motel where he was staying. He had one more job to do before trying to sleep: call his daughters, Jane and Joan.

"Hi Daddy," Jane, he thought, answered. They were twins, fraternal, not identical, but they might as well have been identical. They sounded alike, they went to the same, very expensive college, studying the same thing: nursing. At least they didn't look quite alike; close and obviously sisters, but not so obviously twins. Max often confessed, but only to himself, that he was happy they were not identical. They were very good at ganging up on him, and he thought it would be even worse if two identical young women were working him to get a car, permission to stay out late, money to go to Florida for spring break, whatever the "Daddy please' request of the day was. But he also confessed, again only to himself, that he loved to spoil them.

"Janey?" he responded.

"Yep, you guessed right. Of course, you had a 50/50 chance. What's up?"

"Listen, tomorrow is Saturday, and I would like to take you and your sister out to breakfast; well, let's call it brunch, maybe eleven o'clock or so? At that bistro on fourth street where we have gone before?"

"Um, that's fine with me. Hold on a sec." He could hear noises and then she was back. "And it's fine with Joan too. Can we ...?"

He quickly interrupted her, because their last brunch had included six or seven of their friends. "Let's make it just the three of us for tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure," Jane answered, "but tell me what's ..."

Again, he interrupted, not wanting to start a conversation on the phone that would be hard enough in person.

"Listen, I need to run, see you at eleven. Love you and tell your sister I love her too. Bye." And he hung up. He hoped she would not call Camille, but he couldn't have told her that. She would have then called Camille immediately. Eleven tomorrow morning would come quickly enough.

CAMILLE

After Max left the café, left her with his advice or warning or curse or whatever, to get a lawyer, Camille's tears were hard to stop. She knew she had fucked up, fucked up everything: her marriage, her family, her whole life. She knew her daughters would find out, her parents would, all her friends; she would probably lose Max's and her house. And Max, poor, poor Max. To have seen her lying in their bed, naked, probably with that goddam Franklin having a hardon. That scene must have just about killed Max, and Camille's tears continued. A waitress finally came over and asked if she needed to move to the ladies' room. Camille snuffled up her crying and managed a no thank you. She paid the bill and left, heading to the soon not-to-be-her home anymore. When she got there, she found some gin, in the totally wrong amount: not enough to make her pass out but too much to help her figure out how to get Max back. After she drank it all, it did help her fall asleep, hoping for some kind of miracle to bring back her Max.

MAX AND HIS DAUGHTERS

Max was sitting in the bistro at eleven the next morning when his daughters walked in. He had reviewed and approved the draft divorce petition early that morning, and then had driven the two hours from Charlotte, using the time to figure out how and what to tell Jane and Joan. But first, the usual: hugs and kisses, how is school, how is work, food ordered and eaten, plates cleared and then, finally, the real conversation.

"Daddy, we know something is wrong," Joan started. "You look kind of sick. Are you here to tell us you have cancer or something? And if you are, where's Mom?"

"Girls, yes, I do have bad news, but it's nothing physical, no one is going to die and ...."

"It's Mom," Jane interrupted. "She has done something horrible. Oh my god, is she running off with one of the lawyers in her firm? A young hard body that Joanie or I should be chasing." Both girls erupted in laughter, caught up in the absurdity of the idea. Until they saw that their dad was not laughing.

"Daddy, no, no, not Mom, not ...." Joan could not finish her fear out loud.

"Girls, listen to me carefully. Yes, your mom has cheated. She has cheated on me, but that doesn't mean she has cheated on you guys."

"Yes, it does, Daddy," Joan said through tears. "If her cheating is breaking up our family, then yes, she is cheating just as much on us as she is on you." Both girls were crying and then Max was crying too. The girls got up and were trying to hug their dad and hug each other at the same time.

"Dad, let's get out of here," Jane said. "There's a park about two blocks away and we'll have more privacy there." People were staring a bit, so Max quickly paid the bill and they walked to the park, a girl on each side of him, all of them holding on to each other.

"Tell us Daddy," Jane said after they found a bench to share. "We deserve to hear how bad this is."

"She's right, you know," Joan chimed in. "We're pretty grown up and we can handle it."

"On my way driving over here, I wrestled with what I would tell you," Max started. "I agree, you are both grown and yes, you're right, your mom did cheat on all of us. I'm afraid I found your mom in our bed at home with another man, and she later confessed that there had been other men before him.

"I think I'm still in some shock, but I know your mom and I cannot come back from this. I have already talked to a divorce lawyer and your mom is going to be served with a divorce petition later today." More tears from all of them, and then, finally, silence, as they all thought about the news and about what their futures would be.

"Girls, as bad as this is, you need to put yourselves and your schoolwork first. There is plenty of money to cover your senior year here at Duke. And if either or both of you want to do graduate work, I suspect I can find some money to cover that also. But, there's a quid pro quo here." They both looked at him: what did he mean?

"I am happy to pay for your education, but I expect hard work and good grades from you. Yes, what your mom has done makes concentrating on school harder, but you told me you are grown-ups, and real grown-ups, mature, disciplined people, can handle adversity like this. Right?" They looked at each other, and started crying and hugging him again.

"Yes, yes, Daddy, you're the best, and we will absolutely, positively, not let you down." Joan was giving him the reassurance he needed to hear, while Jane was looking thoughtful.

"Daddy, Joan's right, we will not let you down. But what about you? Are you going to be okay? What are you going to do?"

"Well, you can get a lot of thinking done during a two-hour drive. First, I want both of you to know that what you have said doesn't surprise me one bit. I know you will continue to do well in school, and I will continue to be proud of you. As for me, what your mom has done has beaten me up pretty badly. I could crawl in a hole and just, you know, suffer, feel sorry for myself, try to figure out a way to reconcile with your mom. But I figured out, that is not taking care of me.

"All my adult life, I have been taking care of other people. Starting to work at your grandparents' company, I was taking care of them, and then, after they were gone, taking care of my sisters since they owned their interests in the company, and then taking care of your mom, and taking care of you guys. It sounds like I'm complaining, but not really. The company will be sold soon and that gets me off the hook for my sisters. Camille is gone. And you guys: I promise I am happy to take care of you, to help you get started on your adult lives. So that's what? Two homeruns out of three in terms of women in my life. Not bad at all.

"That leaves me. And you know what? I am looking at this whole cheating and divorce thing, not as the worst thing in my life, but as a chance for a new life. A whole new life devoted to taking care of one person: me. Okay?"

"Dad, really? I mean, if you really mean what you're saying, that's great," said Joan. Jane was a little more skeptical.

"Dad, what does all that really mean? A 'new life'? What, working for another pharma company? Buying a farm? What?"

"Good question, and I actually have a good answer. No specifics yet, but this new life is going to be physical: I'm going to run marathons, climb mountains, sail across the Atlantic, hike the Alps, go on safaris. There're a million things for me to do. And you know what? While I'm doing these things, I might meet a pretty woman, doing the same things, and who knows?"

"Damn, Dad, that's ... that's amazing." Both girls looked at him with their mouths hanging open. This was their dad, not some adventuresome stud. "Did you really come up with all this driving over from Charlotte?" Jane asked.

"Well, yes, partly, but also, I haven't slept much, and my mind has been spinning around, coming up with different ideas. I mean, I could start drinking and feeling sorry for myself, but instead I'm going to make the best of this mess. Trust me, I'm going to be okay." Max left his girls, with more hugs and kisses, and a few more tears, to drive back to Charlotte. Still in the gold Mercedes.

CAMILLE AND THE DAUGHTERS

As soon as Max left, the girls were on the phone to their mother.

"Hello," a scratchy voice answered the phone at the Tronders' residence. Joan put her phone on speaker.

"Mom, it's Joan and Jane. We just had brunch with Daddy, and he told us some awful news."

"What, uh, what did he tell you?"

"Well, divorce was the big word, and your cheating was the cause. Dad gave us a little more detail, but that's basically it. Is it true?"

"Ohh, girls, it's complicated. You father and I have been married a long time, and this, this, uh, well, this, um mistake... Yes, I've made a big mistake, well, more than one actually, but I'm sure we can get past this. I just need to give your dad some time to...."

"Mom," Joan interrupted, "listen. Dad said divorce. He wasn't talking about fixing a mistake. Mom, he was talking about cheating."

"Well, yes, technically, he's right. But that doesn't mean we can't fix this. I told him I would do anything ...."

"Mom," it was Jane's turn to interrupt. "I think you are being delusional. He told us he has already seen a divorce lawyer. He really sounds like there is no way back for the two of you. Joan and I don't want to take sides, but you need to be realistic." Tortured breathing on the other end of the line. Joan and Jane looked at each other. Did they need to drive to Charlotte?

Finally, Camille spoke, in not much more than a whisper, "I know. I know. I know I have screwed up, ruined my marriage. I think your dad hates me, and he's right. I have done hateful things. Your dad told me to get a lawyer, and he's right about that too. I'm sorry, girls. I know this is awful for you too."

"Mom, don't worry about us," Joan said. "We'll be okay, and I know Dad is doing the best he can. You need to take care of yourself. Getting a lawyer sounds like a good idea. Jane and I can drive over to Charlotte if you need us to."

"Thank you, girls, that's sweet. I'll be okay. I just need some time to adjust to what I have done." They hung up, the girls still not sure what to do.

"You know," said Joan, "it's funny, in a not-funny way, we're more worried about Mom, who caused this whole mess, than we are about Daddy." They talked some more, finally deciding not to go home, but to let the 'rents deal with each other without daughters chiming in.

Camille sat in the house in Charlotte, a little hung over from her gin the night before and more than a little depressed after talking with her daughters. She knew she should get up, get dressed and get out of the house. Do something, she thought. The doorbell rang as her thoughts drifted toward maybe going to get some more gin.

A young woman was standing on the doorstep when Camille opened the door. She appeared to be chewing gum.

"May I help you?" Camille asked.

"Yes ma'am. Are you Camille Tronder, wife of Max Tronder?"

"Why yes I am, why do you ask?"

"Ma'am, you have been served," said the woman as she handed Camille a folder full of documents and snapped her photo.

"What? What?" Camille was asking as the woman walked back to her car. Camille walked back inside and sat down at the kitchen table to look at the mysterious folder. When saw the title of the first document, she almost fainted: Petition for Divorce. She recalled Max's last words to her: get a lawyer. Sitting there, looking at the familiar kitchen she had enjoyed with Max, she knew they weren't coming back from what she had done.

THE FUTURE

Camille was right: she and Max did not come back from her cheating. Six years later, sitting in the ballroom of an expensive hotel, watching Jane dance with her new husband, Camille's mind was mired in the past. When the girls had been teenagers, she thought life was horrible: full of too many activities, too much teenage angst because too many boys were either being too mean or, from Camille's perspective, too nice to the girls, Max too busy, her paralegal work too boring. Back then, life had been overwhelming but now she missed it tremendously. She still worked at the same law firm, doing the same kind of boring paperwork. She wished....

"Camille, here is your wine." Camille looked up at her date, a perfectly nice, middle-aged, paunchy, balding lawyer who was accompanying her to Janey's wedding and reception. "Your daughter looks lovely, just like her mother."

"Thank you, Carl, you're sweet, and thank you for the wine also." He was a sweet man, and she could see herself settling into marriage with him if he was that interested. But he certainly wasn't Max. She couldn't help looking across the room at Max. He had just returned from a climbing trip in Nepal, and to Camille he looked like one of those bronze statues of a Greek god: tanned, incredibly fit looking, even more handsome than she remembered. Right now, he was smiling and laughing with Joan and her boyfriend, while he was holding hands with a woman, beautiful and just as fit looking as Max. Joan had told her that Max had met this woman on another climbing trip, somewhere in South America, and they had been travelling and sailing and climbing together for months. It made Camille sick just to think about it.

"Camille!!" Carl was trying to get her attention.

"Yes, Carl?"

"Camille, I think we should leave. You've done your duties as mother of the bride, and your staying here, drooling over your ex-husband, is not doing you any good. And, I dare say, it's not good for whatever relationship you and I are developing."

"Carl, you are sweet, and you're absolutely right. Let me go say good-by to my daughters and we're out of here." Camille hugged and kissed her daughters, wished the newly married couple all the best and, as hard as it was for her, she ignored Max and his too-cute girlfriend.

Max did see Camille as she was leaving the ballroom and had just a ping of sadness for their old times together. As he watched her, Joan was asking him a question.

"Sorry, Joanie, what were you saying?"

"Daddy, remember that weird looking gold Mercedes you were driving when you and Jane and I had brunch that morning when you drove over to see us at Duke? Whatever happened to that car?"

"Ah Joanie, that's quite a story, which I will not bore you with. I'll just say I had borrowed that strange gold Mercedes from a friend and eventually gave it back to her. I think she sold it. It was really a bad luck car." And Max turned back to his climbing girlfriend to talk about their next mountain climbing trip.

End.