Dinner at the Perryville

So she got home. Wednesday night at the dinner table we were civil. I didn't think Ryan noticed anything. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday followed the same format. Monday when I was back at work I decided to give my friend a call. I knew the hospital's schedule, and made contact early Monday morning. "Hi, how's it going, I asked?

My friend responded, "I'm fine. Are you OK?"

I explained everything I'd found out, and the idea that had been forming in my brain. My friend liked my idea. When we hung up we agreed to talk again in a couple weeks.

It got to be Wednesday, and I found myself back across the street from the Perryville. They followed the same procedure; Marjory went in first, and Brandon, after a few minutes followed. That was good; it looked like they had a reliable pattern. After a short time they both left together, got in their cars, and drove quickly to the Comfort Inn, got out separately, and went in separately. I figured I had about a two hour wait so I sucked it up and squinched down in my Honda, a different rental this time. Sure enough, almost like clockwork they came out, her first, him second. Marjory drove off without looking in his direction. He got in his car and started down the highway.

This was the payoff; it would have worked too, but he had a heavy foot. I managed to follow him for the better part of a half hour, but not far from State College I lost him. Yeah, but even though I'd lost him I had a feeling I was close. What if he was a college professor? That could make sense; Marjory saw herself as something of a literary, she'd even written stuff. Sure, what if he was say a literature professor at State College? To Marjory that would make him my better wouldn't it? I'd have to wait another week to make any more headway, but next week I'd pick him up right where I lost him.

All the way back I thought, "Now I had him," but about a mile from the car rental place I got a brainstorm. Why didn't I buy a GPS? I could slip it underneath one of his fenders, and then I wouldn't have to chase him. That might work, but before doing him I figured I'd get one and attach it to Marjory's car. It would be like a test run, if it worked with her I was home free, but if it didn't I still could follow my nose.

All the while, day in and day out it seemed like I was sleep walking. It was funny in a morbid sort of way how, as I worked out the solution to my problem the pain I knew I should I feel about Marjory just didn't surface; not during the day anyway, but at night lying beside the girl I had once loved so deeply, listening to her breathe, I couldn't sleep, it was unbearable. I wanted to cry. I wanted to take my pillow and suffocate her.

OK, I'd get over it; all the pain and unhappiness I mean. Meanwhile I hit the store and bought a GPS unit, put it inside Marjory's trunk, and sure enough I was able to track her whereabouts. Next step? Come Wednesday, after Brandon goes into the restaurant I'd lodge it somewhere in his car. I'd follow his little Audi without worrying about getting lost, losing him, or being seen.

+++++

So another Wednesday arrived. I watched from across the street, this time I didn't bother renting a car, I figured Marjory wouldn't notice. So I sat there. They followed the same pattern; Marjory first, then Brandon. I walked across the street and taped the GPS to the rear of his car just above the bumper. Oh the wonder of duct tape! Shortly thereafter they came out, made their separate bee-lines to the Comfort Inn and snuggled in I guessed for another session. Like clockwork, two hours later, out they came, Marjory to her car and home, Brando to his and I hoped home.

This time, though it wasn't necessary I did still follow Brandon's vehicle, just not like the last time. The last time I recalled I tried to stay in his wake. This time I had him on a monitor.

As I watched, my bowels tightened. I admit it I'd been having trouble eating, not just eating but keeping it down. I needed to talk to my friend. We'd never talked about it, but my friend's marriage had been troubled in the past and they'd survived. So she was more than a sympathetic shoulder; I might get some credible advice, advice borne of experience.

I followed; Brandon's car had stopped. I made the turn that took me off the expressway, drove up and around a winding residential thoroughfare, and into an older development of mostly split foyers. Then... there it was... the Audi. But oh, ah, foolish me, how could I have missed it before, there resting on the lower front of his windshield was a parking permit, a State College parking permit!

I pulled across the street and looked around. There was a mailbox, a street number, and a name -Severeid. So I was looking at the lair of one Brandon Severeid. Casting about it was apparent this was a family man. There was a smallish bicycle leaning on the side of the house. The bike had that diagonal crossbar typical of a girl's bike. He had a daughter. Flowers were planted in tidy rows all across the front, mostly hostas, but quite a few other types too, certainly the work of a woman, probably a happy unsuspecting woman. A windmill sat beside the house. I bet it covered his wellhead.

Ha! The front door opened! Yes! Yes! Out they came, the man, a woman, a very attractive woman, she was smiling, what a happy look graced that pretty face, and two children, both girls, skipping down their sidewalk. They headed toward a car parked on the street, a Rav4, obviously her car.

I wondered where they were going. Did I care, not in the least? I waited a few seconds until they pulled away. He even looked over in my direction. Even with my company's name emblazoned on the side of my truck he had no idea who I was. I turned on my ignition, put my truck in gear and slowly pulled away. My next objective, now that I had a name was to check the college records, faculty names were part of the public domain. I felt a shiver go up and down my spine; all the pieces were fitting together.

Parked on the lot of a not very busy mall I pulled up the college faculty. I was looking for Brandon Severeid. Down the roster I went, down, down, down. Boing! There he was, a college professor, no not a tenured professor, an associate professor, and in Sociology no less. Oh what good fortune!

I recalled a side remark an old Economics professor once made during one of his interminable and boring lectures. It seemed once there was this conclave of noted Social Scientists; they'd gathered to discuss the burning issues of the day, such meaningful things as the size of the birthmark on Wellington's ass, or the shape of Josephine's vagina when one of the historians got up and averred that Economics was certainly the most boring of all the Social Sciences. A hush fell over the gathering. The Economists in the room sat in stunned silence. Then one old Economist, probably a man with a living memory of Thomas Malthus stood up and replied, "Oh no. Sociology is far worse."

My wife had been seeing and fucking a Sociology teacher! How much closer to scatology could she get? This was too much. I wondered what conceivable topics were covered as they sat so comfortably at that table in the Perryville. What aspects of excrement came up after one of their rousing "timed" two hour sessions at the Comfort Inn? Had it been the social consequences of the new landfill at the college? Did they delve into the deeper meanings of the customary bullshit of the better lecturers, or perhaps the class issues associated with the types of toilet paper the bourgeoisie used juxtaposed to the rank and file proletarian? Did he tickle her rectum with his fingers after coitus? Was he a fudge packer? I opened my truck door and threw up.

I had all I needed. All the pieces were falling into place. I only wanted to make one more stop. I wanted to see and talk to my friend. I sat on that mall parking lot and called her up. She answered on the second ring. I said, "Hello Ginger?"

She said, "Yes Cullen this is she."

"When can I see you," I asked?

She replied, "Have you worked through your difficulties with Marjory yet?"

I answered, "No, but I wanted to talk about what happened to you when you and Rich had your problems. I'd really like to know more about that."

She baulked, "No Cullen, though I'd love nothing better than to unload my past misfortunes on someone I feel close to, I'd rather not."

"Why not," I asked?

"You know why. You know how I've always felt about you, but right now anything I might say could only add to your pain. Though I've always been crazy when it came to you, I need you to try to fix your marriage. I love you, but I love Marjory too. I'm convinced she's gotten herself into something she doesn't understand. If you can fix things with her I know it'll better all around, especially for that beautiful little boy of yours. Marjory loves you. You owe it to her. You owe to yourself to try to patch up whatever's gone wrong. I want you to be happy, and I believe you could never be happy if you didn't try. If I got involved in any way other than just as an outsider it would only make things worse, worse for you, for me, for Marjory, and especially for Ryan. Go try and fix things. If you can't. If things don't work out, then call me. OK?"

"Jesus Ginger I need you."

"No you don't. You need to get right with yourself. I'm going to hang up now. You know I love you. I always have. Go home and try to work things out."

She hung up on me! Now what? Fix things? There wasn't anything to fix. No, that wasn't true. There was something I had to end, then and only then could I bring my marriage to its only logical conclusion.

+++++

I didn't get home till well after 10:00 p.m. Marjory was waiting up for me, "Where have you been?"

I quietly responded, "Does it matter?"

"Yes it matters," she said, "Ryan's having problems at school. He got in a fight today. The principal said he's been acting out the past several weeks. We need to visit the school. I've set up an appointment for tomorrow. You'll have to take some time off from your - oh - so - busy schedule."

My first thought was Ryan must have been more aware of our problems at home than I thought. I knew it wouldn't change the final outcome, but Ryan's needs did take first priority. I replied, "All right. I'll call my secretary first thing and leave a message. She'll reschedule my day," I yawned, "Right now I'm tired and going to bed."

Marjory looked horrified, "Don't you even want to talk about this; I mean it's about Ryan?"

"No not now, I'll set the clock for 4:00 a.m. We can talk then."

Marjory stared at me a long moment and then said, "OK, 4:00 a.m."

I went upstairs, took a shower, and got to bed. I didn't sleep, and Marjory never came up. I laid there and wondered what could happen next. Ryan was a model student. He was popular, he had perfect attendance, and good grades; he was the gold standard when it came to student role models. I loved the kid, he was flesh of my flesh, heart of my heart, and there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for him, no not anything, there was one train that had left the station.

We were up the next morning. Marjory had a pot of coffee on waiting. She looked like shit, and it made my heart soar like a hawk.

"Cullen," she started, "things have got to change around here."

"Really," I responded, "like what?"

"You for one thing. You've got to make yourself more available. You're never home anymore. You're always out working, or you say you're working. I don't know what you're doing."

Taking a sip of some too strong coffee I replied, "And what about you?"

"What do you mean what about me? I'm always here. I'm the dependable one. It's you, nobody knows what you're up to."

At that moment I was almost ready to spill my guts, but I held it in. I said, "Tell you what. Let's go to school, we'll listen to the principal, hear what she has to say, and then we'll work out a plan."

She groused, "That's just like you, always thinking up some asshole plan."

I was close, so close. I answered, "I think it'll work out a lot sooner than either you or I know."

She scowled, "Know it all."

I smiled.

Ryan awakened a little after 7:00 a.m. I could tell he was scared. I wondered what he'd gotten himself into. We got all our shit together and reached the school just as the kids were going in. After the principal had finished her morning routines; handling late and absent staff, getting all the kids in homeroom, and going over her daily schedule she invited us in. Joining her was Ryan's homeroom and science teacher, and the school counselor. Ryan waited in the outer office.

The first thing that happened was the school counselor handed me and Marjory a little pamphlet. Pointing to the title page she said, "This is our county's policy on school bullying. I led the workshop that wrote it. Perhaps the two of you could look it through and share it with Ryan?"

"Gee," I thought "who'd they think my kid was, Ted Kaczynski?" I thanked her on behalf of Marjory and me and then asked, "Why can't Ryan come in?"

The counselor answered, "This is much too complicated, a child wouldn't understand."

I said, "What do you mean; it's about him?"

The principal smiled condescendingly, "We'll invite Ryan in after we've had our discussion."

There wasn't much of a discussion. Marjory and I found out how well educated the principal, the counselor, and his homeroom teacher was, where they all went to college, and how much experience they all had. Ryan's teacher went over some of his recent misbehavior. He'd been tormenting the girls, pulling their hair, writing notes, coming from lunch late, and just generally making a nuisance of himself. His homeroom teacher showed us his grades and how they dropped. Marjory and I both listened, but didn't say much. I thought I saw the hint of a smile cross her lips, but I could've been wrong.

At last I said, "Can we bring Ryan in now?"

With an unhappy shrug the principal hit her intercom and asked the secretary to send Ryan in, and in he certainly came.

Ryan stepped in and splat himself down on the last chair. He grinned and asked, "So what's up?"

"What pluck," I thought. I remembered a cartoon from an old "Playboy" magazine. There was this little squirrel and zeroing in on him was this massive eagle, claws out, sharp beak wide open, twenty foot wingspan, eyes blazing with fury. Yet in the face of certain destruction did that tiny squirrel run? Hell no! He was holding up his right paw, or whatever they call a squirrel's hands, and up high and strong was his middle finger. I was proud of that helpless squirrel, and at that moment, looking at Ryan's defiant grin, I was proud of my son.

Marjory gave him her most concerned "mother look", and murmured, "Ryan everyone's worried about you."

"Why," he asked?

The principal tried to take over, "Your grades have fallen. You've been pestering the girls. You got in a fight with a classmate, and you've been late from lunch twice."

The fight seemed most important so I asked, "What was the fight about son?"

"Matthew Jameson called Glenda a bad name," he answered.

The principal started to say something but I waved her off, "What'd he call her?"

"He called her a cunt."

"Do you know what that means," I asked?

"It's a dirty word for her privates."

"So you hit him?"

"In the nose."

The principal jutted in, "That was a wrong doing Ryan. You should have reported what he said to your teacher."

I thought, "Jesus, a 'wrong doing'." Talk about politically correct.

"I did," he said, "but she didn't do anything, so I hit him."

The principal looked questioningly at the teacher. The teacher murmured, "I spoke to Matthew about it, and he said he didn't say it."

Ryan spoke back at her, "Yes he did. I heard him, and so did Glenda. Glenda doesn't know what it means though."

The principal admonished my son, "Don't be rude to your teacher Ryan," then she added, "If Glenda didn't know what it meant what could it hurt?"

He flipped back at her, "I knew what it meant, and Glenda knew it was a bad word."

The counselor looked at me and Marjory and said, "You see how disrespectful he is?"

I hit right back, "I don't think he's being disrespectful. I think he was taking up for a girl he likes." Marjory smiled and nodded her head in agreement. I went on, "Whose hair did you pull son?"

"Glenda's," he said.

"Why'd you do that," I asked?

"Because I like her dad."

"You've been writing her notes too haven't you?"

"Yeah," he mumbled.

"What'd you write?"

He blushed furiously and barely audibly replied, "I asked her to marry me."

The principal started to say something, but this was too good. I stopped her. I asked, "What'd she say?"

"She said she would but not till after we finished school. She said she wanted to grow up and become a teacher first."

The professionals in the room looked shell shocked, and I couldn't see any reason for it, "Why have you been late from lunch?"

He looked scared, "I wait for Glenda so I can carry her books for her when she goes to her after lunch class; that makes me late."

"You two are in love..."

He looked like he'd just swallowed a fish, "Mm," he sort of shrugged, "I think so."

I was still thinking about the hair, "You pulled her hair didn't you. What was the real reason," I asked?

"She had grass in it, but I still like her."

This was too good to be true. I had one more question, "Have you ever kissed her?"

He was really on the "hot seat", "Yes, but dad she kissed me back."

I had this one figured out, "Son I want you to promise me something."

"Sure, what dad?"

"Well a couple things; first no kissing in public, second tell Glenda she'll have to carry her own books after lunch, third get your grades back up, and last, try not to hit anybody. Can you do all that?"

"Well I'll try."

I reached over and held out my hand, "Shake on it? Man to man."

He reached across and we shook hands. I turned to the professionals, "I think, thanks to your help, we've worked this out, don't you?"

They all nodded their agreement. The counselor smiled professionally at Ryan, "Remember, my door is always open."

Ryan ignored her.

Marjory was grinning at me. I ignored her. We all got up; Ryan to go to class, the professionals to all congratulate each other, Marjory and I to go back to our own purgatory.

Marjory and I said nothing all the way home, but I did get a glimpse of some pretty worshipful looks. We were home and in the kitchen. I planned on being gone as quickly as I could, but Marjory had other plans, she looked at me and said, "I think we need to talk."

From what I'd been reading "on line" any other time, any other place, those would have frightening words, but not anymore, not for me. I answered, "Not now, not today. I've got something planned for us for Wednesday night."

She looked surprised, then I didn't know what, stricken?

"Wednesday," she inquired?

"Yes, Wednesday night. Mark it on your calendar."

She looked at the calendar, "Wednesday... OK."

I left for work.

+++++

Wednesday came. This was the day of reckoning, and the last time I'd get a rental. I parked right on the Perryville lot, but not where I could easily be seen. It was near lunchtime, and just as expected Marjory showed up first. She looked nonchalantly around the lot, she didn't see me, but saw him. She turned and stepped inside the restaurant.

I got out of my rental, a Kia, and started for the front door. Brandon Severeid was getting out of his Audi. Just before he reached the door I interposed myself, "Stop right there mister."

He was too surprised to move, I went on, "My name is Cullen Culverson, Marjory's husband and you're toast if you go in there."

He was stunned, and I could tell he was scared, "What do you mean?"