February Sucks - Gone Girl

"Hey buddy, we got you good huh?"

What the hell? God I hated this man right now. I furiously texted back, "Fuck you asswipe. You're not funny. Like I said, don't ever contact me in any way ever again, or I'll hunt you down and kill you."

That was a little over the top, but he had it coming. Plus I was definitely not myself at the moment. I really did want to kill somebody. What kind of supposed friend rubs the worst night of your life in your face?

I checked us out of the hotel. She and Asshole could figure out how she got home. She probably wouldn't show up by checkout time, anyway. The professionally chipper young woman behind the desk looked worried as she asked if the accommodations had not been to our liking. I stared at her for a moment, trying to make sense of her question, then realized that couples who rent a mini-suite like that usually don't check out until the last possible moment.

"No, the room was fine; things have just... changed."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. Her professionally cheery demeanor returned, once she knew that her hotel was not at fault. She must have seen this sort of thing before; it didn't seem to worry her much.

Our little starter home didn't have a spare bedroom, or even a sofa big enough to lie down on. Tommy's room it was, then. I surprised myself by sleeping well, and without dreams. I'm still not sure how I did that, but it was a mercy.

I sat on Tommy's bed and planned what I needed to do. I had no idea when my cheating wife would come home; she was obviously far too busy with Asshole to text or call. I figured she wouldn't show up before noon, which would give me plenty of time to pack what I would need for a week or so and be gone before she arrived. On Monday, I would find a lawyer and get the divorce started.

My former friends -- and, I suppose, my soon to be ex-wife -- seemed to think that somehow, the one-and-done attitude we'd all had toward cheating didn't apply in this case. They were wrong. It didn't matter who was fucking her; it wasn't me, and that was that. They would just have to live with their disappointment.

I got myself breakfast ("The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast," I quoted to myself). As I was putting my dishes into the sink, my eyes fell on our refrigerator door. Tommy's crayon picture of his family was done in the typical style of a four-year-old. He'd taken the trouble to get everyone's hair and eye color right, though, even his sister's, and there was no mistaking the happiness and love felt by the artist. What would it do to him if I let his mother and the Asshole rip his family in half? And what would happen to my girl Emma?

I knew that Emma and Tommy were nowhere in Linda's thoughts at that moment. I wasn't either, and she deserved to lose us all. But to give her what she deserved, I would have to ruin the world of my two young innocents. Could I do that? And if I couldn't, then what? I had no idea, so I unpacked our suitcases, and did some Saturday chores that required at most half my brain.

A bit after noon I took a break and slumped into my living room chair. I didn't bother to turn on any lights, despite its being another dreary, grey day: the mostly-darkness suited my mood, as I tried to think of a way to end my trashed marriage with the least harm to my children. After a while, I have no idea how long, I heard

my phone chirp. Probably Linda needing a ride after the asshole dropped her like a hot rock at the hotel. Except it wasn't. It was Dee.

"Hello!" I shouted angrily.

"Jim? Why are you yelling?"

"Why do you think, homewrecker?" I snarled.

"Oh my God, Jim, you're not still pissed from last night? Geez. I'm sure you had fun. Please put Lin..."

"Fuck you bitch!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. With a deep breath, I dialed it back a bit. "You said it was just one night. You said she'd come back after her BIG night with the asshole. It shouldn't matter, you said. It wasn't a big deal unless I made it one, right? That's what you said Dee. Well its 12:23 and she's still not home, so I guess you struck out on all counts. Screw you friend. If she ever does come home, I won't care. I've got two children to worry about and care for now. Screw her and screw you too."

I clicked off as I said that. My blood was boiling now, with two friends rubbing my nose in Linda's infidelity. I still wanted to cry. Right at that moment, I couldn't imagine a time I'd ever not want to cry again, but I knew I had to clear my mind and get my head on straight. As raw as the thought was of Linda still, right now in bed with that wife stealer, I had a family. I had responsibilities. I tried to remember when Linda had told Mrs. Porter we would pick up the children. Linda had dropped them off, and I had no idea. So I washed the sweat off my face form the yard work and changed my shirt. Then I headed to the Porter's.

The Porters were a very nice older couple, probably a few years retired, if I had to guess. I'd never asked, because Linda and Jane were a bit closer to Mrs. Porter. I rang the bell.

"Well hello Jim!" Mrs. Porter said quite convivially. "How was the big night out? Linda said all of you were very excited to get out on the town." She peered around the door jamb towards our car. "Where's Linda, Jim?"

"Uh, she's at home," I lied, not wanting the older woman in our business. "Not feeling so well today. I think she had a few too many, if you know what I mean."

"Oh," was all she said as she seemed to be lost in thought. "Well, let me get the kids' stuff together, come on in."

The kids ran up to me, hugging and talking about the cookies they'd made last night under Mrs. Porter's watchful eye. Then they asked, "Where's Mommy?"

"She's home," I lied again, not wanting to make eye contact with our sitter, but doing so anyway. "She's got a sick tummy, and is probably lying down," I added. Mrs. Porter gave me another odd look, and I couldn't help wonder how much she might know about Linda's real whereabouts. Could Linda be so brazen as to tell the older woman that she was away committing adultery? I sure hoped not. This was embarrassing enough for me as it was.

Driving towards home, I decided I didn't want to deal with Linda yet. "Hey kids, how about we go to the park?" I asked them, already knowing the answer. "YEAH! Park Daddy, park!" they shouted. "The one with the pirate ship."

We had two parks close to home, but Emma and Tommy favored the 'Pirate Ship Park,' as we referred to it. The ship had slides coming out where the cannons may have once been, and it had a rope pulley, they could hang from and glide out into the sand.

After an hour or so, I decided to take them to Chuck E. Cheese. That would tire them out along with the park, and it would mean they'd be extra sleepy tonight, so that I could sit and have it out with my soon-to- be ex-wife. I stopped at the bank ATM on the way, and on a whim pulled out the allowed daily limit of $1200.00. I'd probably need some cash. If my talk with Linda went anything like my talk with Dee and our so-called friends, she might push back hard, and try to lock me out of my own bank account. It was terrible to think I'd trusted this woman with my life just 24 hours previously, and now I was suspecting her of possibly having known Marc the Asshole before last night. Maybe this was her grand plan to dump me: putting me so far off-balance that, I wouldn't be thinking straight. Maybe, when we got home from Chuck E. Cheese, there would be a process server waiting for me instead of Linda.

As hard as I tried to put that thought far out of my mind, it came right back when the kids and I walked into a dark, empty house. The good news, if you want to call it that, was that there was no process server, no note, no anything to indicate Linda had been home yet. Tommy ran to our bedroom and came back confused. "Where's Mommy, Daddy?" I could only say that she must have gone to the store. I got the kids their baths and put on Frozen for them, and then I started to worry.

Where the hell was she? I tried her cell, and it went straight to voicemail. I texted her "Where ARE you?" Nothing. As much as my heart kept breaking over her blatant disrespect, a part of me was telling me something was wrong. Even Linda wouldn't stay away from Emma and Tommy this long, regardless of her feelings for me. Linda, my wife, the person I knew... well thought I knew, best in the whole world.

I took the kids up to bed around 8:00, and sat down to read them a story. Emma, then Tommy asked for Mommy, and my heart was breaking all over again. I didn't want to see them cry. Running on adrenaline for nearly 24 hours, can be a good thing, until you start coming down. With fatigue setting in, I realized what an absolute mess I was just then. Hurt and anger were beginning to mix with hopelessness, as well as fear. What if she didn't come home tonight? Would she really stay with the asshole for a second night of sex? What if she didn't return tomorrow? Or ever? When could I file a missing person's report? I watched enough TV to know that that would be tomorrow, Sunday night, 48 hours after she had last been seen. Or was it 24 hours? Maybe, it didn't work that way in real life. I couldn't see her leaving her children, yet before last night I could never see her leaving me either - not like that.

The kids did not go to sleep as easily as I'd predicted. I think they could sense my anxiousness and maybe my sadness. They were obviously waiting for Mommy to arrive home from the store. Finally, about at 8:45 they fell into a fitful slumber.

I went to my liquor cabinet and did a visual inventory. Linda and I aren't big drinkers; 'light weight' is the term I think our friends called us. Our friends. Unbelievable sadness overwhelmed me at that point, and I was again bawling my eyes out, as I searched for something strong, like a good bourbon or scotch. Well, shit; I guessed Seagram's was going to be about as good as it got.

Pouring my second full glass, I was startled by the doorbell. As much as I loathed my wife right now, I ran almost tripping to the door. I glanced out front, and saw a car I couldn't identify parked in front of the house. It was just some sort of plain black sedan. As I looked I saw Dee, Phil, Dave and finally Jane walking up the driveway. I peeked through the lookout hole and saw a man and woman I'd never seen.

"Go away!" I exclaimed loudly enough to be heard through the door, but not so loudly as to alert my children. "Get away from me. I told you I never want to see any of you again. Can't you get that through your heads?"

"Mr. Carlson, open the door. Police." Geez, what was wrong with these people? They help destroy my marriage, and now they're trying to destroy me. I flung the door open, screamed, "GET OUT!" and then closed it to within a couple inches.

"Mr. Carlson, please open the door. I'm Lt. Detective Westin and this is Detective Hathaway. We need to speak to you."

"Let me see you badges." I said.

Detective Pierce Westin and Detective Molly Hathaway: that's what the badges said. I slowly opened the door, without moving to invite them in.

"Mr. Carlson, may we please speak to your wife Linda?" Westin asked.

I looked over the detectives shoulder and saw four former friends all with smug looks on their faces. "She's not here. Why don't you ask them where she's at? That one," I pointed at Dee, "said she'd be home this morning. I've tried calling her and texting, and she won't respond. Why don't you drive over to that ass hole Marc LaValliere's house? That's the most likely place you'll find her."

The detective's gave each other a puzzled, determined look. "May we come in, please?" Hathaway asked.

"No. Look, I don't know what kind of sick game you're all playing here. My wife, well, ex-wife soon enough, broke my heart last night as she cruelly humiliated me in front of these morons and about 200 strangers. She's not home. She hasn't come home, and the last I saw of her was walking to the bathroom in that club, but certainly, if you were really cops, these four would have already told you that." I was getting louder, as the anger once again rose in me.

"My kids just went down for the night after a very distressing day, not knowing where their mother was or when she was coming home."

At this point Westin imposed himself between me and the point where the door would close. He created enough space and then nodded at Jane, who quickly entered my home and made her way through the living room, down the hall and up the stairs.

There was plenty I wanted to say, but I was stunned at the events that were unfolding in my own doorway. Jane came down, and Westin questioned her with his eyes rather than words.

"The kids are in bed asleep, but no Linda," she said. I found it odd that she stayed on the other side of the living room, near the hallway.

"Mr. Carlson, can you step out onto the porch please?" I don't know why I did, my brain said not to, but my feet seemed to move all on their own.

"Mr. Carlson, put your hands behind your back please." Hathaway demanded.

"I'm...I'm under arrest?" I asked perplexed.

"No" Westin said. "But on a wellness check, protocol allows us to detain a person or persons for questioning. At the moment, we're just going to the station for a chat."

"My children!" I suddenly blurted out. "I can't...you can't just leave them here! What the hell is wrong with you people?"

Hathaway spoke, "can your friends remain here, until you or your wife return?"

"They are not my friends! My wife left with Marc Lavelliere, the pro football player, from a club we were all at last night. Actually, she snuck out with him, and all of these former friends helped her."

Jane came forward, standing very close to me and in a subdued voice said, "Jim, I'll stay ad babysit while you talk to the officers. Nobody else. We're all worried about Linda, Jim. I'll stay, just me, until you finish talking to these officers. Is that Okay?"

I still wasn't sure. I found myself slowly walking myself backwards into the safety of my home. Looking at Westin, I said, "don't you people need a warrant or something?"

"Mr. Carlson," Westin said firmly, "we need to have a word with you, at the station. Now. Your children will be looked after. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can return home. Please do not resist."

Westin had stepped back out of arms reach from me, and I suddenly didn't like my chances furthering this argument. I sighed and placed my hands behind my back. For the first time since answering the door, I stared at each of my former friends. They all wore a look of uncertainty, and was that...elation?

Something was definitely not right here. In the car I decided to keep my mouth shut. Why did the cops want to talk to me? What the hell did I do other than be the faithful, loving husband? I didn't do anything. But they thought I did, it seemed. Why were my friends with the cops? Did the ass hole's house burn to the ground with Linda in it, and they suspected me of foul play? No. That couldn't be it, or they wouldn't have come to me as they did. Did the ass hole do something to her, and they thought it was me? What the hell was a 'wellness check' anyway? Dozens of simultaneous thoughts flew through my brain, and yet I kept hearing the voice of reason. "Focus. Now's the time to focus."

So I tried to put all the thoughts and questions out of my mind. Hathaway led me into what I knew was an interrogation room. Yes, they did look just like the movies and TV shows, except this one was very small. Just two chairs and a small desk, decorated the room. A camera looked down upon us from each of the four corners of the ceiling. Where was the two-way mirror? She undid my handcuffs and I rubbed my wrists as she offered me a coffee or soda.

Westin returned a few seconds before she entered the room with a Coke. "Alright Mr. Carlson" he said sitting across from me, "Jim...may we call you Jim? My name is Pierce and this is Molly." I nodded.

"Jim..." I couldn't take it anymore and interrupted.

"Why am I here? What the hell is this about?"

"Jim, easy. Let's start with my questions. Can you tell us about last night? At the restaurant, and then at the club? Can you tell us about your evening from the beginning?"

I looked at Westin incredulously. "Why am I here?" I demanded flatly.

"We'll get to that. Please answer my question."

I took a deep breath before proceeding. "My wife Linda and I had a planned night out with our...friends, including those four who you left at my home. We all got rooms at the Madison, had a nice dinner, and there's a club the next block over. They have some kind of deal with the Madison, where if you show your dinner receipt there's no cover charge. They had a live band and we were going to dance and drink a little, before going back to our rooms. For my wife and me it was supposed to be a special night since...since our Valentine's Day was snowed out." My eyes and tears betrayed me, much like Linda had as I recalled the event.

"Some half hour or so into our evening, that asshole jock, Marc LaValliere came into the club with a couple other teammates, I guess. Everyone at our table was goo-goo-gaga over him. Then he got up and came over to our table. He asked Linda to dance, as if I wasn't even there. She just turned her back on me and took his hand, dismissing me much like he did, and they walked onto the dance floor."

Westin cut in, "And how did that make you feel Jim? It must have angered you, with all your friends watching."

"Of course it made me angry! What kind of stupid question is that?" I yelled. Then I took another breath, realizing this was a bad place to lose my temper.

"Yes, I was angry. It's not polite for any man to ask a female to dance when she's with a companion, without asking his permission. Linda feels...felt...well I thought she felt the same. Obviously I was wrong."

"Did you try to intercede?" Molly asked.

"No, not at first. I think I was too shocked. Too stunned. I think it was Dee who said something like, it's just a dance, Jim. I believe she told me to relax, and even invited me to dance with her. Something told me she was only trying to distract me, so I declined. After two fast dances, the slow dances started."

"Westin interjected, "Was Jack... LaValliere doing anything inappropriate? The way he danced with her, or touched her?"

What? Who's Jack?, I thought. "No, that was strange. He was a good dancer, I guess if I had to rate him, probably excellent. I didn't see anything inappropriate. When the slow dances started, she seemed to melt into him, like they fit together. That's when I got upset and went to cut in. Jane I remember, she took hold of my arm firmly and said, 'Don't Jim, let her have this'"

"And that pissed you off, didn't it?" Molly assuaged. That earned her a dirty look from Westin.

"Yes. A little. It seemed my friends were star-struck or something. Like we were all watching that Disney movie, what is it? Oh, Beauty and the Beast. My kids only watch Frozen."

The detectives looked quizzically at each other.

"Sorry. I mean, they all seemed to be ignoring me as if I wasn't there. All of them, my wife, my friends and the football ass hole."

"Then what?" asked Westin.

"They finally came back to the table. Linda looked very nervous. Or maybe anxious, I don't know, maybe both. Dee quickly excused herself to the restroom, asking Linda to accompany her. You know women. Then Dee came back alone. I asked about my wife and Dee, then the others razzed me about being overly protective of Linda. About five minutes later the little hairs on my neck stood up and I went to the bar asking for someone to check the ladies room. That's when Dee came up alongside me, explaining that Linda had snuck out the back door with the asshole, and they were spending the night together."