End Around

"No," she said. "What are you getting at?"

"I'm telling you she's been thinking about this for a while," I said. "Did she say anything to me? She didn't say a word. Did she give me a chance to plan some exciting... shit for us to do together? She didn't. She wants her excitement with someone else, and if I sort of extorted her into not doing what she wants, she'll resent me for it. Do you understand?"

"I do," Beck said.

"So do I," Silvia added. "Dad, if she went to a therapist, got counseling, changed her mind about how she feels, do you think you can work it out?"

I shook my head. "Silvia, she thought she could do an end-around on me. She could just announce she was going out on a date and I'd be okay with that. Do you know how disrespectful that is?"

She kind of slumped down in her chair. "Yeah, I do, Dad. I'm sorry. What if she was sorry?"

"Do you think she is?" I asked. "She told me she was sorry she didn't manage telling me better, not that she was sorry she was doing it."

"I'm going to talk to her," Silvia said. "Beck, will you help me? If I get her to agree, will you give her a referral for a good therapist?"

"I will," Beck said. "If she asks for help, I'm there, Sil. I'm not going to be interfering in her life unless she asks me. She has to want it, not be forced into accepting it."

Silvia left a very unhappy girl. I hated that, but she did hug us, tell both of us that she loved us and she'd be back all the time.

Beck did maintain some sort of frosty relationship with Collins, but she rarely mentioned her as the weeks passed. I got regular blow-by-blow accounts from Silvia. Collins rebuffed all thought of therapy, although she mentioned she was open to the notion of couples counseling. I asked Beck what she thought, and she thought it was useless. She believed unless the underlying root of Collins' dissatisfaction was addressed, all counseling would accomplish was her masking her feelings or trying to reconcile me to accepting what she wanted.

"Are you willing to do that?" Beck asked me.

"No. I have no interest in other women, and even less in sharing her with other men," I said.

Silvia was there, and she asked an interesting question. "Are you sure, Dad? What if you just regarded it as a little vacation from being married and hooked up with some hot chicks for a while. Once Mom gets over whatever bug is up her ass, you could go back to normal."

"Could I?" I asked. "What if in two years, or five, or ten, she gets to feeling bored again? Besides, I don't know any 'hot chicks' to hook up with, even if I wanted to, which I don't. You see any hot chicks waiting outside? Should I go check?"

They both laughed. "Unless you work with them or they're burglars and break in, you aren't going to meet any," Beck said.

"You are a seriously good-looking guy your age, Dad," Silvia said. "If you looked, I doubt you'd have any trouble."

"I'm not interested," I said. "No, Silvia, I just can't. I don't have that in me. Are you disappointed?"

"In one way, yes," she said. "I hate you and Mom not being together. In another way, I have to respect you. You know yourself; you have morals about it and you're sticking to them. Props for that."

Two months later, with no discernable change, I'd had enough. I filed for divorce. That got me an immediate phone call.

"This has gone too far, Barnes," Collins said on the phone. "You're divorcing me? You have no cause. What are you going to tell the judge?"

"I don't have to tell him anything," I said. "That's the definition of "no-fault" divorce."

"What will you tell other people?" she asked. "We had a disagreement and you divorced me?"

"I won't tell them anything," I said. "It's none of their business."

"I'm coming over," she said. "We need to talk about this before it's too late."

"Want me to make dinner Friday night?" I asked.

"Yes, that would be perfect," she said.

*****

I was putting the final touches on dinner when I heard the door open. I was a little aggravated that she would just walk in. Of course, we both owned the lake house, but I hadn't been back to our house in town and just walked in when she was there. I had gone to get more of my stuff when she was at work, but that's it. Oh well.

She looked as good as she always did. She still had the ability to make my pulse quicken, even as wary of her as I was. She dropped her purse on a chair and came to me. She wanted a hug, which turned into her wanting a kiss. The hug I could do, the kiss was beyond me, given the circumstances. She looked hurt, but so be it. So was I, and I had a reason to be.

"Can I help?" she asked.

"All done," I said. "You can set the table while I bring the dishes, if you want."

We dished up our food, poured the wine and she got started. "I don't want a divorce, Barnes."

"See, that's what I don't understand," I said. "Why not?"

"Because I love you and want to spend our lives together," she said.

"But why?" I asked. "You've been married to me nearly all our adult lives, and you weren't satisfied, remember?"

"I never said I wasn't satisfied," she said.

"You may not have used that exact word," I said. "Don't play semantic games with me, Collins. You managed to convey your dissatisfaction quite clearly."

"You misunderstood me, then," she said. "I am quite satisfied, I just wanted to add to our mutual satisfaction."

"Okay, but what you wanted to add was banging other men," I said. "That made me very dissatisfied. The answer seems simple to me. We divorce, you can bang other men to your heart's content and I won't be dissatisfied."

"I don't understand that. Either way, I'm 'banging' other men, as you so crudely put it."

"Well, it's a pretty crude thing to do," I said. "The difference is, I won't be married to you while you bang them. You can get on with the banging, and I can get on with my life. Maybe I'll find someone who doesn't want to bang other men. Perfect solution: you get what you want and I get what I want."

"That's not what I want," she said. "Why does it have to be a choice between you and the occasional date with other men? If it's a choice, I want to be married to you."

"I get that, and the girls, well, Silvia, told me that's your position. The problem with that is I don't want to be married to a woman who wants to bang other men, whether she does it or not."

We had finished our dinner, and moved to the sofa. "So that's it?" she asked. "Even though I love you, I'd give up the idea and choose you; you don't want to be married to me?"

"Yes, Collins, that's it."

"Look at me, Barnes," she said.

I looked. The next thing I knew, she was in my lap, her juicy lips devouring mine, kissing all over my face, her arms around me like boa constrictors and her hot body glued to mine. I lost myself to the sensation for a minute, then I regained my senses and stopped moving. She continued for a minute, but my lack of response was noticeable and she slowed to a stop.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Collins, have you been dating?" I asked her. I already knew the answer.

I could see the doubt in her eyes. I guess she decided to be honest. "Yes, Barnes, I have."

"Did you fuck them?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, two of them."

"That's what's wrong," I told her.

"Jesus, Barnes, I fucked half a dozen guys before we even met," she said. "You fucked other girls, too."

"There are some key words there," I said. "'Before we met' is pretty key. I have never had sex with anyone besides you since we've been married. I haven't even been inappropriate. You can no longer say the same."

"So fuck some women," she said. "I said you were free to do that. Fuck them, come back and tell me about it. Fuck me. I'll be hot."

"I know that's what you want," I said. "I don't."

"Are you going to date?" she asked.

"Likely, eventually," I said. "I like being married, Collins. I don't think it's boring."

She sighed. "Can I be one of the women you date?"

"Maybe," I said. "I doubt I could do that. I don't feel the same about you. Maybe I'll get over being pissed about the way you treated me. Maybe I won't think about the other guys you're with. I wouldn't hold my breath."

She was mad, sad, and she stood, went over and grabbed her purse. "Let me know when you change your mind," she said. She was gone.

The divorce wound its way through the courts, and her attorney asked the judge to order counseling. That was a surprise, and the judge explained that he was required, by law, to order it if one party requested it.

"I'm not doing it," I told my attorney. "It's none of the judge's fucking business, or the state's business. Hell no."

"He could hold you in contempt," he said.

"You're the expert," I said. "Figure it out."

"I can't," he said. "That's the way the law is written."

I sat there for a minute. "What if we withdraw the divorce filing? Could he still order it?"

He was stunned. "No, I don't suppose he could. Is that what you want to do?"

"Yes. Do it," I said.

That seemed to stun everyone involved, and Collins had a pretty smug look in her face. After the proceedings were dismissed, I walked over.

"The reason I dropped the filing was I'm not going to be forced to do shit," I told her. "Until you decide you get off your bullshit, this is the last time I'm going to speak to you. Don't call, text or send a telegram. I'll never speak to you again if that's the way you want it."

Her jaw dropped and she started to say something, but I just walked away. She tried to talk to me for two months. She tried sneaky shit like giving me messages through Silvia. Beck's relationship with her mother had deteriorated to the point they weren't even speaking, and that caused some tension between Beck and Silvia, as well.

She tried to come to the lake house, three times, but I had the sense to change the locks and keep all the doors locked. I just ignored her. She even came to my business once, and I had to have her trespassed. After two months, she gave up and told Silvia she was no longer going to ask for counseling if I wanted to file.

We did, went before the same judge and the divorce was uncontested. I could tell he was unhappy, but it was all settled between the two of us and he couldn't order shit. She kept the house in town and I got the lake house. That was what I wanted, anyway. There was an equitable distribution of assets, she kept her business and I kept mine. There was no spousal support and we both kept our retirements. The usual divorce things, all boring, tedious and annoying.

I started shopping the business. It didn't take long, and my retirement began. I fished, learned how to water ski and the girls and I practically lived on the boat all summer. By the time it turned chilly in October, I was ready. I had applied for a visa to become a resident of Mexico. I could stay 180 days, just as a tourist, and I figured I would have a pretty good idea of what I wanted to do by then. I winterized the house, traded my Chevy half ton for an F-350 with the diesel engine, bought me an Eagle Cap Luxury 1200 camper, hooked up the boat, and headed south. Lake Baccarac, in Sinaloa, Mexico, was going to be my new home for the next 180 days.

Both girls were a little unhappy with me, but they'd get used to it. After I bought them both open plane tickets to Guadalajara, promising them all the beach time they wanted, they became positively enthusiastic.

The first week I was there, I found a five-acre piece of land about a mile from the lake, bought it, got utilities run, and by the end of the month, I was a native. The second time I fished the lake, I caught a 14-pound largemouth bass, and I was hooked (pun intended).

Silvia flew down in January, and I picked her up at the airport. We drove to Puerto Vallarta, and I gave her the option of parking down by the beach and staying with me, or we'd get a hotel. She picked the hotel. It was a very nice place, full service and we had a blast. She stayed a week, and her last day, we were sitting in loungers, looking out at the ocean.

"You're not coming back, are you, Dad?" she asked.

"I haven't made up my mind, for sure," I told her. "I'm leaning heavily toward staying. You girls are the only thing that would make me come back, and I'll fly you down here any time you want to come. I'll come back several times a year to see you, too."

"What about Mom?" she asked.

I grimaced. "Is she doing okay?"

"I guess," she said. "She mostly works. I know she is regretting everything."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Well, she hasn't said so in so many words, but she seems... I don't know, subdued? She isn't the bubbly energetic personality she used to be. I think she's sad. I don't think she found the dating scene quite as wonderful as she thought she would."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "If it's all the same to you, Silvia, I'd just as soon not talk about her, okay?"

She gave me a sad little smile. "I know. I just..."

I held her hand. "I know."

We shook off the bad vibes and partied that night. I dropped her back at the airport and with many hugs and a few tears, she was gone, promising to come back soon.

Beck flew in in February, and it was pretty much the same, except she wanted to stay with me in the camper. We spent three days on the beach. The afternoon of the third day, she said, "Where do you actually live, Dad?"

I told her, and she wanted to go there. We pushed in the slide outs and hit the road. It was a pretty good drive, and we had a great road trip. When we pulled up, she saw the view down over then lake, the two sheds I'd built, the property and she loved it all.

"I can't believe you have this beautiful place, the cute little house/truck and you actually live here," she said.

"I'm a lucky guy," I said. "The only thing better would be if you lived here."

She looked at me speculatively. "I have no idea how I'd earn a living. I'd like to use my degree."

"Do you know what my degree is?" I asked her.

"I'm sure you've told me. I don't remember. I just know you have one."

"It's agribusiness," I said.

She laughed, "Farming? What does machine tools have to do with that?"

"I got into machine tools because I was working at a farm implement dealership," I said. "We kept getting combines in with this sheared pin. I got the idea to start making harder pins. It snowballed from there."

"I had no idea," she said.

"Well, what I'm saying is, there are ways to use your degree, then there are ways."

"Explain that."

"You're a psychologist. What do you do, mostly?"

"Listen to people's problems," she said.

"Bartenders do a lot of that," I told her.

She laughed. "Yeah, I guess they do."

She had two weeks, and then she flew back. I missed her badly for a few weeks, then got back to my sybaritic lifestyle.

Six months later, she called me. "I need a favor," she said.

"If I can do it, I will," I said.

"I need a loan."

"Are we talking big loan, or you just running short?"

"Big loan," she said.

"Can I ask what it's for?"

"You don't trust me?"

"No, I do. I'll loan you whatever you need."

"I was just roasting you," she said. "I wanna buy a lodge."

"Okay, well, that sounds interesting," I said. "Is this an existing lodge? Does it make money? Can I look at it on the internet, or something?"

"You could," she said. "I was hoping you'd drive over there."

I was confused. "Where? How far is it?"

"Like 10 miles," she said. "It's on Lake Baccarac."

"Really? Are you roasting me again?"

"I'm not," she said. "I've been over their books with an accountant. They make good money. They have a bar so I could listen to people's problems."

She had a fit of giggles about that, and I laughed with her. "Oh my God, sweetheart. That would be a dream come true for me. How much do you need?"

She gave me a staggering figure. "Jesus, Beck, you swing for the fences, huh?"

"Go big or stay home," she said. "Will that leave you short?"

"Not if you pay me back," I said.

"I'll set up a payment plan," she said. "This should be fairly short term. Once I own the business and can show I'm making a profit, I'll get bank financing. I'm sort of in the position of having no credit rating."

"I understand," I said. "This is so cool, Beck. I can't believe you're doing this. God, it's going to be so good having you here. I'll take a look and let you know what I think, but you should come and look for yourself."

She did, three weeks later, and we toured the place. It catered to fishermen, mostly from the US, and it was a very good investment, I thought. Another six months and my daughter was a business owner, she was running it well and things were going great. Davey became a minor celebrity. He was spoiled constantly, and he was in dog heaven. Beck and I spent a lot of time together, and I hung out there all the time at the bar. Beck did sometimes tend bar, and it was amusing watching her ply her psychology.

She had a first-class restaurant, and the locals ate there quite a bit. It was always packed, but she had a table in the kitchen, and they always found me a place. I was there on a Friday night, in the kitchen, and the head chef asked me if I minded if he seated another guest with me. I wasn't thrilled, but what the hell. "Sure," I said.

He went away, and when he came back, he had a woman with him. My jaw hit the floor. God, she was gorgeous. She was elegantly dressed, a yellow number that made her dusky complexion pop, with one shoulder bare, hitting her just below the knee, but there was a slit up one side, and when she walked, there was a flash of gorgeous brown leg showing. Her hair was a mane of glossy black curls, a stray of auburn here and there. Her forehead was high and broad, her huge eyes so dark they looked black. She had high cheekbones, classically beautiful, full puffy lips and a little pointed chin, giving her face a heart shape.

He held her chair, and when she sat, he introduced us. "Ms. Valiente, this is Mr. Barton. He is the father of the owner here."

I had stood as she was seated. I sat and offered her my hand. "Barnes, please. No "Mr." over dinner."

She laughed, a low musical sound, and I wanted to hear it again. "You may call me Nita," she said, her delightfully accented English impeccable. Her voice was low for a woman, and a little husky, but smooth as velvet.

Evidently, she had already ordered, because a server brought her a glass of what looked like sangria.

I was struggling to find something to say. This beauty had rocked me. "It's pretty crowded out there," I said. "Lucky they have this table."

"Yes. I did not have a reservation," she said. "Tomás will usually find me a place, but I did not wish to sit at the bar tonight. There is someone there I wish to avoid."

"I see." I didn't, but it didn't matter. I was glad whoever it might be was there, because it meant I got to look at Nita, hear her speak. "Well, you're safe with me. My mission in life is to keep obnoxious guests away from beautiful ladies."

She actually blushed, a peach tint stealing into her cheeks. "I am very pleased to have a gallant defender." She laughed again and it gave me goosebumps. "Do you eat here often?"

"I do," I said. "As Tomás said, my daughter owns the place, and while I can cook, it's just me, so I come here."

"Ah, the lovely Beck," she said. "I like her very much. We are becoming friends, she and I."

"Really? Well, I'm glad to hear she's making friends," I said. "Do you live around here?"

"I do," she said. "I have a home over on the Sinaloa River. I live there most of the time, but also in Los Mochis. You obviously live nearby?"

I laughed. "Well, yes. I'm pretty mobile, Nita. I have five acres nearby with a couple of buildings, but I have a truck and a camper. I have wandering feet at the moment, and I like being able to go anywhere at any time."