February Sucks - My Sequel

I sat in my S-10 and thought about what Mike had said. I looked in the mirror. I wished I was different. I wished I had big biceps, was taller, was more athletic, was athletic at all, or could even just grow a beard. Hell, I had good hair, light brown, thick and shaggy. OK, the shit brown eyes weren't a good selling point, and the wire rim glasses weren't so hot, and I only made Marksman in Basic, but hey, I always had lots of friends. People liked me. In high school and college I got invited to all the parties. Then again, there was one guy I never liked who once said I only had a lot of friends because I reminded everyone there was always someone they were better than.

I felt so sad. I thought Linda loved me. I guess she didn't, probably never did. Why did she hurt me so? I wished I wasn't me. I wished I was dead.

Then there was granddad.

I had to see granddad. I knew I could count on him. I waited a couple days before going out to the old farm. I needed to get my nerves in order. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I had trouble talking to the kids, and I couldn't stand the sight of Linda. Finally, I got up the gumption and drove out to see him.

Granddad still lived in the big farmhouse. Grandmom lived there too. Grandmom wasn't well; she had emphysema and carried oxygen everywhere she went. She has a part time "helper", a nice young lady from town who comes every other day. This gives granddad some time to ride around in his pick-up, stop at the Dairy Queen, hear the latest gossip, get the news, and just generally pretend he can still do what he used to do.

When I got there he was waiting for me. He pointed to his truck and told me, "Hop in. Jim. I know what you're here for. I'm glad you came. I have a few stories to tell you. Maybe you've heard them already. I don't know, but I'm telling you anyway."

I've always been a respectful kid so I nodded and said, "Yes sir."

"First," he said as he pulled his steering wheel around with the suicide knob he had on the wheel, "Your grandmother doesn't know anything, and I want to keep it that way."

I started to say something, but he stopped me, "I read the articles in the newspapers. Grandmother didn't. I threw the papers away so she wouldn't see. Do you know about your father and mother?"

I looked over at him, "I think I heard something once."

"Let me clear it up for you," he said. "Stephen's not your full brother, he's your half-brother. Sure, you both look alike, but that's another story, and I'll get to it." He reached across to the dashboard, opened the glove compartment and pulled out a bag of Beechnut. "Don't tell your grandmother." He one handedly opened the pouch and stiffed some tobacco in his jaw. "God I love this stuff." He started chewing. "This stuff killed your great-grandfather. He used to smoke cigars and cigarettes until some doctor told him they'd give him lung cancer, so he quit smoking and started chewing. He got cancer of the larynx. That was back in '58'. I had to drive him to Baltimore for treatment. I still miss the son-of-a-bitch. He was a mean bastard. My mom said it was the war. Even though he had kids he got drafted. I heard it all when I was in high school. He served in the Thirty-fifth Infantry, the Santa Fe Division, got four battle stars, two bronze stars, a purple heart, and a presidential citation. He saw some bad stuff, he saw some of those death camps. He said they were all over Germany."

Granddad went on, "Funny thing about that old son-of-a-bitch, the war changed him. We lived in a pretty bigoted town, still do I guess. That old man kicked my ass once. I'd used the 'N' word. You know what I mean don't you?"

I nodded.

Granddad continued, "He told me he'd seen enough bigotry and hate to last ten lifetimes. He said some words like the one I'd used weren't so much profanity as they were just mean words, mean words used by mean and hateful people."

Granddad shook his head, "He was right. God damn him he was right. I still miss the old bastard. You would've liked him Jim. He would've liked you."

That was when Granddad shifted gears and started in on my dad and mom, "Back in the day, your father loved the living shit out of your mother, still does. He'd a done anything for her. I think she kind of cared for him too, but then some smooth operator got her in his gunsights. To make a long story short the 'operator' knocked your mom up. Then, with her pregnant, he skipped out. Your dad didn't care. He loved her. Even knowing she was carrying another man's baby he married her, and together they got on with their lives, for a while anyway. You know how that shit works, the smooth operator came back. He started hanging around. Your dad found out, and he and your mother had a long talk. The result was she sent 'Mr. Smooth' away. Your mom and dad moved on. You were a toddler when the 'Smoothie' came back."

I'd heard something, but I never guessed that. I told him, "I would have never known."

"Don't tell anyone I told you. Especially don't tell Stephen. He doesn't know," Granddad paused, "You know your dad had a brother? Our older boy."

"I think he mentioned him once or twice. I heard he got killed." I answered.

"Yeah, he did get killed," said Granddad. "He was riding a motorcycle when someone ran a red light, and killed him. It was down in South Carolina someplace. We heard about it a lot later so no one got to the funeral. I heard there wasn't much to see anyway." Granddad pulled his truck over to the side of the road, "It was your dad's brother who knocked your mother up."

I was blown away. Then granddad hit me again, "Anyway, that's most of the story. Your dad and Garrett, his brother, were two of our three children."

"What? Three," I blundered out?

Granddad told me, "Your grandmother and I had another baby. Your dad knows, but no one else does."

"You did," I gaped out.

"That's where we're going now," he said.

We drove along for several more miles till we came to an old road that led to a small cemetery hidden away in the woods. I'd driven by it I bet a hundred times and never gave it a thought. Now granddad pulled us up this bumpy old dirt road, cut the engine, and got out. "Come on," he said.

I got out and followed him. We walked to the near back of the cemetery and granddad pointed, "There."

I walked over and looked. It was a smallish stone, white marble, old fashioned. I leaned down and read it. Inscribed at the top was our last name, "Campbell," and then, "Heather, May 7, 1957-October 9, 1961."

There was another inscription too. I recognized it.

"She lived unknown,

And few could know

When Heather ceased to be,

But she's in her grave,

And oh.

The difference to me."

I turned around and looked at granddad; tears were dripping out of his eyes. "Our baby," he whispered.

I whispered, "Wordsworth."

Granddad straightened up. Snorted some snot out of his nose and said, "Been a while I guess. Doesn't seem like it. Come on," he waved me toward the truck and started walking away. I followed him.

Back inside the truck he sat for a few minutes and then said, "She was grandmother's heart and soul. It nearly broke her. She thought your mother... well she let us down, a little bit anyway. Then grandmother got to hold Mallory. She thought maybe Mallory, but you know how she is. Then you brought Linda home, and well... it was like your grandmother came back to life."

He let that one lie there. I knew what he meant. Grandmother thought the sun rose and sun on Linda. There hadn't been anything grandmom hadn't done for us, for Linda especially. Then Emma came, and grandmom had been overjoyed, unbelievably so.

I looked out the window, "You're telling me I shouldn't divorce Linda."

Granddad kept driving. He kept staring straight ahead. He sniffed, "Your grandmother's seventy-seven. She's about done for Jim. Can't hardly breathe. I know I'm going to miss her."

It was then he pulled over and turned and looked at me, "Would a year or two be too much to ask? I've got a two hundred forty-seven acre farm nobody wants. We've got money. We're really quite rich. You want it? I'll sign it all over to you today, right now. It's yours, all of it."

I felt like a dumb shit. I didn't know what to say or do. "Granddad," I said, "I swear, I'll never do anything to hurt grandmom." What else could I say? I watched granddad drive back out of the woods. I realized he'd suddenly become an old man. How was I going to handle this? I'd just made a promise I might not be able to keep. Linda had no idea how cruel the thing she'd done had become.

'Jesus,' I thought, 'I'd even contemplated suicide that terrible night. What would that have done to grandmom to the rest of the family?'

I asked granddad, "Do you have any pictures... of Heather I mean."

He hiccoughed, it wasn't a real hiccough; it was like when someone is about to cry and they stifle it. "Some," he said. "If I can find em, I'll show you."

I whispered, "I'd like that granddad.

We drove back to his big farm house, the house where he'd raised two boys and lost a little girl. It really was a beautiful old home; it had three entrances, two with porches, one even screened in. Inside there was a sun room, a kitchen, a breakfast room, a parlor, and a dead room, that room being the place where in earlier times the deceased were laid out, today it would be the living room. The place had two bathrooms, both among the first indoor facilities in the county and now largely inadequate for the needs of the modern more upscale younger people. There were two entrances to the downstairs bathroom; one led from a small downstairs bedroom and the other led out to another small sitting room. Upstairs there was the aforementioned bathroom, as well as four bedrooms, and a back stairway that led to a spaciously floored attic. I'd been in the attic as a child a few times; I'd even rummaged around the place. I recalled some old newspapers, one had a headline about a woman I didn't recognize at the time, the name was Amelia Earhart. There were relics from a more militant past; an old World War One helmet and a gas mask, and a United States Civil War battle flag replete with the Maryland emblem used to identify the unit as a Union brigade from our state. I recall wondering who the men might have been. I think back now; I bet granddad knows who they were. I wondered about the woman, it had to be a woman, who had saved the article about Earhart. Yes, the house was beautiful in an archaic way; a house filled with memories, memories I didn't have.

I got out of his truck, an old model with the pins in the axles where you had to get out of the cab and turn if you wanted to go into four wheel drive. I thanked him, He thanked me back. I got in my old S-10 and drove off.

Finding More Things Out.

So I'd made a promise, a promise I didn't think I could keep. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was a promise I didn't want to keep. Linda's betrayal was revealing too many far reaching consequences, and I didn't like any of it.

Still, there was more I felt like I had to do. Somebody might have agreed to a non-disclosure agreement, and that meant somebody might have obtained financial advantage from my wife's infidelity, and at my emotional expense. I had to find out, and I believed the best place to start, or person in this matter, would be with Dee.

Dee had been the woman who'd intercepted me that night at the restaurant. She'd been the one who'd helped Linda sneak out the back. I felt Dee was the first logical place to try. The prime question was, would Dee be of any help. I thought she would. I thought she would because I believed she wanted to see Linda and I stay together.

I called her up on my cell phone, "Dee," I implored, "I need to see you."

I could sense a sigh, perhaps of pleasure, perhaps an eagerness to help. She answered, "I'm so glad you called. When and where do you want to meet?"

I answered, "How about your house when your husband Dave isn't home?"

"Tomorrow," she asked?

This was too easy. I answered, "Say 10:00 a.m.?"

"I'll have a pot of coffee on," was her answer.

I got there at ten sharp, rang the bell, and she answered. I was surprised, she was dressed in a very attractive short-sleeved, low cut, bra-dress that came up about mid-thigh. I thought I might be in for a seduction. Why she would want to do that made no sense at first, but then I considered, what if she planned on taping something? Dee was a close friend to Linda; certainly a plan of blackmail was a possibility. Damn it, suspicion goes with the territory. I knew I had to keep my head. I had my own goals.

I stepped inside, found a seat in her living room and started to cry. It was faked, but I believed it would deflect Dee from any plans she might have, plus it made me appear more vulnerable. I believe it did; she responded in a compassionate manner, "My dear Jim. You are certainly out of sorts."

I coughed, and pretended to recover, "I've lost my wife, my self-respect, and my life. How am I supposed to behave?" I then proceeded to tell her of my night of misery, that very same night Linda had her night of joyous sex. I told her of my contemplated suicide. I could tell my confessions had the appropriate effect. Dee lost any interest in seduction. Then again, I might have been fantasizing.

At last she asked, "OK, I want to help. What can I do?"

I had a plan, and I had three objectives: first I wanted to see if Dee had any more detail about Linda's night of sex, second, I wanted to know if she could be any help regarding the N.D.A., and third there was something that had to do with a story I once read.

That story had to do with another case of infidelity described in an article by a well-known sociologist named Francis MacComber. According to MacComber it seemed there was this female police detective who'd gone undercover to find a corrupt businessman. In the process she met and fell in love with one of the men, an innocent man, who worked where she was conducting her investigation. They'd engaged in sex, but near the end she confessed that she was married. In his grief the fellow adulterer had given her a present, a simple necklace, explaining to her, that though they were to be parted, the necklace might always be a reminder to her of their star-crossed love affair. Well, as it happened this self-same adulterous businessman had enjoyed a luncheon with that very woman's husband, a one-time friend. Not knowing his lunch companion was the husband of the woman with whom he'd had the affair he described the affair and the amulet he'd given to the woman in great detail. Later that very day the loyal husband met his wife. She told him her current investigative work was done and she intended to resign so they could start that family they'd planned. The husband saw the amulet his friend had described and realized his wife had been the woman his friend had fornicated with. His wife, fingering the amulet, had unknowingly betrayed her husband with one of his old friends. His heart was broken; he knew his once happy marriage was at an end.

Thinking of that story I'd made a determination to find out if the football player might have given Linda some similar piece of jewelry; a piece that would be a constant reminder to Linda of her night of bliss and my night of misery . That was my third objective.

So I sat with Dee and opened the conversation in the only way I thought might work. I knew Dee was an intelligent person, and any dissembling would be immediately recognized. I asked her forthrightly, "Did Linda ever tell you about what she and Marc did on the night they were together." I deliberately used the football play's first name so as to give the conversation a certain level of informality.

Dee laughed and said, "I'll say. Do you want to hear it?"

I didn't think Dee knew I had Linda's letter so I played dumb, "Yes please, and don't spare the details."

"Well I'll tell you," she said. "Linda came over the Tuesday after her big night. She said you were asleep in the hospital. All we girls were here. I was here, Janey was here, Katherine, Joe's wife was here, and even Olivia showed up. I say Olivia because ever since that night she's been a little perturbed." Dee giggled, "You see it was only Dave and I who knew Linda was actually going to sneak out with the football player. All the others thought it was a prank; a mean one maybe, but still only a prank."

I was angry, but hid it. I smiled and nodded.

Dee went into the details of Linda's night, "First off Jim. Linda was really excited about telling us. She told us she

was completely taken in right from the start. She told us he kept saying things she hadn't heard in years. He told

her how perfect she, how perfectly their bodies fit as they danced. He told her how he felt so overwhelmed; that

her hair was so thick and wavy, and it had an incredibly wholesome aroma. He told her he thought her skin was

smooth and perfect. He told her he loved the perfume she was wearing, it was so perfect for her."

I thought about the perfume. It was "Chanel Chance", and I'd bought it for her.

Dee kept talking, "He told her he felt like he was losing his equilibrium. I tell you Jim, the way she told it he was more sophisticated than the greatest Casanova. She was more than intrigued, she said she was overawed. She said after the first slow dance he started to plead with her to come away with him just for the night, just for one night. He said he believed they had such an extraordinary connection they'd have an experience that would stay with them as long as they lived."

I listened and was heartbroken. I couldn't begin to count the times I'd told Linda those very same things.

Dee poured it on, "That's when Linda protested. She told him she was happily married, but she said he oh so soothingly interrupted, he begged her again. He told her he believed any husband of hers would understand the specialness of one evening, it was, after all, just one evening. He assured her if her husband really loved her, really cared about her happiness, he would forgive her. He said her husband most likely would love her even more, knowing so many men saw how beautiful she was."

I said, "And she believed him?"

"Lock stock, and barrel," was Dee's answer.

I asked, "Did she say anything about what they did at his house?"

"Yes," replied Dee, "but are you sure you want to hear that?"

"Yes," I said, "It might help me later... be a better husband I mean."

Dee fell for it. She said, "Well I'll tell you he didn't waste any time. He got her in his living room, stripped her down, and they did it right there on this big sofa he has. She told us how he took off each piece of apparel, and how his hands smoothed over her body. She said it gave her chills all over. Then she said he sat on the sofa, and she sat on his lap facing him while he lifted her up and down with his penis inside her. She said it was the most beautiful sexual experience she'd ever had, something she'd never imagined before, the most incredible experience of her life. They were stroking up and down, and all the while he was kissing her breasts and rubbing her hips and thighs. She said she'd never felt so hot. She said he went in really deep."

Dee paused, "You sure you want to hear this?"

I exclaimed, "Wow! Yes!" I remembered, we'd done that!

"Anyway," she went on, "They had simultaneous orgasms. She said he shot way up inside her. Then he kissed her and left her on the sofa. He disappeared in a bathroom she hadn't seen and came right back out. He'd wiped himself off, down there," Dee pointed to her crotch, "you know. Anyway he sat back down, and pushed her to her knees on the floor. He asked her to help him get it back by loving and caressing him. Linda said she knew what he meant, and for the next several minutes she lavished her mouth and tongue all over his penis. She told us it was very exciting watching it go from soft and flaccid to hard again. She also said, and I'm sorry Jim, but she said you never ever got so hard again as fast as he did."