February Sucks - My Sequel

Between teardrops she sputtered, "I never called you a weakling." Then she muttered, "You said three things."

"Yes, there's the two things. You abandoned me. You threw me overboard so another man could score a touchdown. You abandoned and betrayed me in front of God and everybody, second you left me so you could go fuck someone, someone you didn't even know. You left me so you go give away something you promised was mine and mine alone. Remember - 'forsaking all others?' Not forsaking all others except for one big night, but forsaking all others till death do us part. So now there's been a death. Our marriage is dead. It's been dead since February. But our marriage isn't like Jesus; there isn't going to be any resurrection. You know when a marriage is dead Linda?"

She smirked, "No tell me... when."

"When there's a divorce. Will there be divorce Linda? Yes, but not right now, not today, but soon."

She looked at me. Finally she said, "What's the third thing?"

I pointed to her belly. I didn't have to say anything. I asked, "So why the business suit?"

She was crying when she replied, "I wanted to look nice when you came home."

I smiled, "You do. Why don't you take it down to the Morrison? Maybe you'll find someone who wants to give you another big thrill?"

She was really crying by then, "I might. I just might."

I said, "Good. Go for it. If you need money for gas or anything I'll be at my grandparents, but before you leave get a babysitter." I got up and left.

I wondered if she meant what she said. I doubted it. I figured she just wanted to win a fight. She didn't get it; the fighting was over. It had been over for some time. The game was up. I guessed today's message by me was one last "Hail Mary". Now it was time to run out the clock. When grandmom died the referee would blow the whistle and that would be it. There would be no victory formation though, just two people walking away.

And then grandmom died.

All summer and into the fall Linda and I played the happy couple in front of the kids. There was no sex and no cuddling at night. I was sure Linda knew the end was near. The builder started the new house. I was back at work. I'll say this, for a country where everyone bemoaned the dearth of reading, book sales were through the roof.

My mom and dad had everyone over for Labor Day. Stephen brought his latest girlfriend; a pretty brunette who worked at MacDonald's. On the surface Mallory was still crazy Mallory, but she kept an eye everything. Mom and dad tried to force the "one big happy family" thing down everyone's throats. Our kids were bored. Linda was a nervous wreck and started touching and hovering all over me. Granddad quietly watched grandmom gasp for every breath.

Just before Halloween grandmom died. She died at home. Everyone was there; she sat in her big chair and quietly, and I thought peacefully, counted everyone off one last time. She kissed granddad. He sat down in front of her on his chair. I held her right hand. Stephen held her left. Mom, dad, Mallory, and our kids watched. The doctor increased her morphine dosage, and, like the Arabs, she quietly packed up her tents and silently slipped away.

Granddad had everything arranged; she was laid out at the local funeral home, people from all over came to see her. Everyone talked about what a great girl, mom, wife, friend, and grandmom she was. Granddad had seen to it pictures were all over the place. No one paid any attention to one small black and white of grandmom when she was young holding a little girl in her lap. I knew who she was. I guess I teared up a little thinking how they were together again.

If was tough going out to the cemetery; the roads were wet, the narrow dirt road was a quagmire. Granddad had bought the plot years before; it was in the old cemetery in the woods. I didn't think anyone noticed the little gravestone beside grandmom's hole. The minister said a few words, and everyone dispersed. Granddad hung back. There was no post mortem, no after the funeral meal at anyone's house.

I drove a little further down the road and waited to see what granddad would do. I watched as he retrieved a small flower from Grandmom's heap and placed it in front of Heather's stone. Then we drove home in near complete silence; the kids were even quiet. Linda kept watching me; she knew the end was near.

I waited a week. It was on a Friday when I asked my parents to come over and watch he kids while Linda and I went out. They came, and we went out.

About half way down the road Linda asked me, "Where are we going?"

I told her, "Wendy's."

She didn't say anything.

We couldn't go to the same Wendy's, but there was one close by. I held her door while she got out of my vehicle. She was big, and it was awkward for her. I led her inside, we each ordered a "single", some fries, and two cokes. We found a table by a window.

Linda put a napkin in her lap, or tried, and said, "This is it isn't it?"

I answered, "Yes."

She asked, "How have you planned it?"

I told her, "You'll be served one day next week while the kids are out. We'll have to sell the house. Other than my clothes and tools you can have everything inside. I'll pay the necessary alimony, child support, and you'll stay on my health plan. You'll have to make arrangement of your own as to where you will stay. When the baby comes I'll be there. As for me, I'm staying with granddad until the house is finished. By the way, have you decided on a name?"

She asked, "Why can't we keep the house?"

I said, "I can't afford alimony, child support, and a mortgage."

She said, "I see. I wouldn't want to live there anyway, not without you. I guess I could move in with Mallory."

I asked again, "What about a name?" I know it was cruel but said, "How about Scheherazade?"

She didn't answer, but said, "Emma will have to change schools. Tommy will be all right." Linda hadn't opened her burger or touched her fries. She looked at them, and then at me, "I know why you brought me here."

"I wasn't trying to be mean," I said.

She said, "No, I know that, just end it where it began right?"

I nodded.

She sighed and added, "Jim I'm so sorry. I wish I had never left with that football player. I honestly don't know why I did it. I didn't know what I was doing. And you're right, it was sordid, but Dee thought it was such a good idea. She called it a great adventure. Maybe at the time it was, or seemed like it. If I had known how it would turn out I swear I would've run back to our table. I would have crushed you in my arms. I would never have left you."

I had one last thing to ask, "Tell me Linda. Why did you ever marry me?"

Her eyes turned to water, she sat silently for a moment, and then, "I loved you Jim. I love you now. Oh you weren't some big strapping guy. Guys like that were a dime a dozen. I never gave them a..." She stopped talking, turned away and, I thought more to herself than to me she murmured, "I guess I thought I had to have one."

There was another long moment of silence; then, placing her hands in her lap she sat up and looked at me, "You were different, different in ways that are hard to explain. You were kind. You never ridiculed or made other people look small. People admired and respected your... dignity. I guess that's what it was. You listened to people. People liked being with you. No one ever got left out when you were around. If someone made a mean or cutting remark, you had a way of deflecting it without making anyone angry. I enjoyed just being in your presence. You were smart. You told interesting stories. It's stupid I guess, but I liked it when you held my hand. You were always such a gentleman, at least until I ruined it." She sniffed and wiped her nose with her napkin, and almost inaudibly added, "And you know you're very handsome."

I listened. I never thought of myself as being anything like what she said.

She seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but then..., "Jim that man you mentioned at the bar..."

"The bar," I asked?

"The Windy Mill, or whatever it was called. The guy you said had. You know... I never did anything like that. There was never... I never even thought about it."

I had nothing to say. I didn't want to admit I'd made up the story about the guy at the bar. It was too late anyway, but I was proud of her. As for the moment; I'd just run out of things to say.

At last she said, "Jim, isn't there any way?"

I said, "Let's not go into it. Will you agree to the settlement I've proposed?"

She whispered, "You won't forget me? You'll still see me?"

I wanted to hold her hand but just couldn't reach across the table. I said, "We have the children."

She murmured, "You won't get married again? Promise me you won't. I know I won't."

"I don't know," I answered. I got up, held out my hand, she took it, and we walked back to my S-10. I helped her in, went around to my side, and got in.

She sniffed and said, "I'm going to miss this old truck."

I took her to our home, and dropped her off. I'd been staying with granddad. As I drove away I realized she still hadn't told me the baby's name.

Denouement:

The divorce went through without any serious difficulties. LW offered to help handle it, but I told him to fuck off. Linda stored all our furniture and moved in with Mallory. I moved in with granddad; he seemed to do better with grandmom gone. Mallory and Stephen each got a piece of the farm. We started implementing all the plans we'd made. Thanksgiving came and went; shortly after that Linda delivered. I was there like I promised. Linda, with a lot of help from my mom and Mallory set up Christmas for everyone at Mallory's. I stayed Christmas Eve and Christmas day.

January came and went, and February rolled around. In early March Mallory came to see me; she said she was worried about Linda. She said Linda never went anywhere; she just stayed in her house nursing the baby and moping. She said she hardly ate. I'd been doing my regular visitations, but I went over a few extra times for dinner. The kids were pleased, Linda looked as tired and as lonely as I felt.

My new house was ready in early April. I asked Linda to come over and look at it. When she got there I asked her if she wouldn't help me furnish it. She suggested we could use some of our old furniture. I thought it was a good idea. We furnished it and I moved in. Linda set it up so there were rooms for the kids, and a guest room. She put a crib in it. She stayed over a couple nights.

Near the end of May Linda suggested she bring over a few clothes she could store in the guest room. I didn't see anything wrong with it. By the end of June she'd moved in completely. I kept my mouth shut. We weren't married, but we were back to having sex occasionally.

She took good care of the baby. I tried to stay out of the way. Linda was supposed to set up adoption procedures, but she kept putting it off.

We never talked about our "situation", but we did talk about other things. Linda said she'd be moving Emma to the school district that included the new house. We talked about an "in ground" pool. After a while she stopped sleeping in the guest room altogether. We set up an electronic surveillance system like we'd had at the old house. We moved the baby's crib in the bedroom where we slept. Granddad played with the baby all the time. He seemed younger than eighty-one. Linda thought we should get a dog. She said she always liked Labs. She said she'd forego the alimony and child support if I gave her an allowance. I reopened a joint checking account and put her back on my credit card. I secretly looked through her bureau; the gold cosmetic kit was gone. I'd had to move Heaven and Hell to get great- granddad's old revolver away from the police, but they finally relented. I gave it to Stephen. Every now and then I'd catch Linda crying. I asked her why once. She said she was just happy. I never got that reverse vasectomy. I never bought that single cemetery plot. Linda threw the '83' jersey I'd bought her away. Marc Lavaliere made "all pro" that year. Linda had named the baby Heather. I didn't ask her where she got it. She is an adorable little thing; pretty blond hair, blue eyes, fits comfortably in my arms.

Does it ever really end? I recalled a line in a song by Journey, "The movie, it goes on and on and on."

The end.

One last thing. Thank you George!

Carvohi (FirstBorn374)