February Sucks: The Father-in-Law

This story starts toward the bottom of page 2 of GeorgeAnderson's classic Lit story February Sucks. At least 50 follow on stories have appeared so far, I guess because his story fascinates so many Lit readers, including me. I couldn't resist adding my take. The first line is from GeorgeAnderson's story, the rest is my own effort.

Thank you to blackrandl1958 for her editorial assistance.

" I turned on my heel and stalked out of the club."

As I left the club, I realized I was in shock: my heart rate was up, I was having difficulty breathing, my skin felt clammy. I did manage to walk back to the hotel and went up to our room. On the bed, what had been an inviting king size bed, was the new lingerie Linda had brought to wear when we shared that bed. I sat down, held that lingerie to my face and wept. Wept like I never had before: wept for myself, for my marriage, for my children, for my parents and Linda's parents, even I think for Linda a bit. If she were thinking, she had to know our marriage was over, but in Asshole's bed she probably wasn't thinking.

Eventually, the weeping subsided. Sadness enveloped me, but inside an anger was developing that I knew would emerge at some point. I put the lingerie down, looked around the room and decided on my next steps. We had each brought an overnight bag. I repacked mine, I threw Linda's stuff into hers: her clothes, toiletries, perfumes, all the stuff women seem to need even for just one night. I left the room with both bags and left Linda's bag in the hallway on the way to the elevator. Too bad if she never got it back.

At the lobby desk I checked out. The clerk asked if something was wrong with the room.

"No, the room was fine. A personal matter came up and I need to leave." He did comp the parking and had my car pulled around. As I drove away, I realized I could not go get the kids in the middle of the night. They were staying with FIL and MIL; I had started calling my father in law FIL just after Linda and I married, and eventually called her mother MIL, just to follow along.

FIL was a hell of a guy. A Vietnam vet, he walked with just a bit of a limp, and you could see the beginnings of scars when he was not wearing sox. I asked MIL about it once, and she said he never talked about it. They had not met until a few years after he was home and out of the army, and she had learned his Vietnam experience was better left unbroached. Sometimes, he would be standing in their backyard, just standing there, like he was studying the woods behind their property. MIL told me to leave him alone, but once I did go out and asked if he were ok.

"Jim, life is good today," he said, "but I am still learning, decades later, to leave the past in the past. When bad things from the past rear up, I just have to ride them back down. Give me a few minutes, and I'll be inside to talk about grand kids and our miserable football team." I did leave him, and he did walk in a few minutes later and, just as he said, we talked about grand kids and football.

Since I didn't feel right driving to FIL's and MIL's house in the middle of the night, I drove home, parked and went inside. The house was very different than it had been a few hours ago. Then it had been happy: noisy with two kids getting ready to go to their grandparents for the night, loving with two parents looking at each other with those special, intimate looks only a loving husband and wife can give each other, in anticipation of very special times to come later that evening. But now, the house was dark, cold, sterile, no noise, no happiness. I knew I was imagining it, but even the house seemed to have some sense of foreboding.

I went upstairs to our bedroom and lay down, still in my clothes, to try to sleep, but when I closed my eyes I could see Linda and Asshole, in bed together, her moaning and making noises only I had ever heard her make. I started to cry again, but then sat up.

"Fuck this, I'm not going to sleep anyway," I said out loud. I got out of bed and went back downstairs, pulled on a coat and headed out to the backyard. As I stood there, looking up at the stars, I realized I was standing like FIL stands sometimes. And I thought about what he said: "when bad things rear up, you just have to ride them back down." What the fuck does that even mean, I wondered. It certainly doesn't mean I have to accept what Linda has done, FUCK, what she was doing right then. I'm not sure how long I stood there, feeling sorry for myself, but eventually I saw a bit of light creeping in from the east.

Still too early to go get the kids, so I decided to go for a run: burn some energy, eat up some time, take my mind off thinking mode for a while. For me, running has always been a great alternative to real life: besides being great exercise, it really does disengage my mind so my thoughts freewheel around my brain. And sometimes I even come up with helpful ideas. I changed into my winter running clothes and set off.

Perhaps not the best idea, because my mind really did disengage. Good news: I guess I had a really great run, because I didn't think about Linda and Asshole for at least an hour. Bad news: I was at least an hour away from home, exhausted, no money and no cell phone. I did see that I was close to a 24-hour convenience store. I went in and begged use of the clerk's cell phone. Understandably, she did not let me even touch her phone, but she did call a taxi for me. The taxi arrived, drove me home and I ran inside to get some money to pay the driver. By the time I had a shower, it was still early morning, but not too early to go get my kids.

I drove over to FIL and MIL's, about a 30-minute drive. Of course, they were all up when I arrived, and I realized they were getting ready to go to church. I guess I just stared at them, and FIL pulled me aside to ask what was going on, where was Linda? I just looked at him, and then, god dammit, I started crying again. He wrapped me up in a hug and sat me down.

"Jim, is Linda okay? Has there been an accident? Tell me what's going on." I took a deep breath, and thought about making up some story, but instead the whole horrible night came spilling out of me. FIL was shaking his head, I think partly in disbelief that his daughter could do what Linda had done and was still doing with Asshole.

"Jim, go to church with us this morning. I know you don't usually go, and I'm not suggesting God is going to give you an answer, but just sitting with us, with your two kids, in a calming, serene place, I think it would be good for you." I had no reason not to go with them, no real reason to take the kids home early, so I pulled myself together and walked outside with them. Thankfully, we weren't going in FIL's truck. He drives a giant Ford F250 HD with a snowplow attachment on the front and extra weights on the back to give it more traction in snow and ice. One of his parttime jobs in retirement is snowplowing. I think he just likes doing it, because he doesn't charge much. Anyway, we got into MIL's SUV. The kids sat in the back with me, one on each side. They could tell something was wrong and just held my hands.

Church was okay. FIL was right: no message from God, but sitting with my kids and listening to the music and the singing were comforting. Afterward, we drove back to their house and MIL fixed lunch for all of us. Then it was time for me to take the kids home and face Linda and whatever future we might have.

"Jim, I talked with MIL." He stopped what he was saying and chuckled a bit. "Hell, you even have me calling her MIL. Anyway, she and I both think you could use some support when you go home, so I'm going to follow you in my truck just, you know, to be there for you. And if I need to bring my daughter back here, because you throw her out, well, I can do that."

"FIL...." I started to object, but I realized FIL, as a father, might have more moral authority over Linda than I would as her husband. "Thanks, FIL, I'll move the car seats to my car and we'll be ready to go." Moving the seats and getting the kids loaded took a few minutes and FIL had left a bit ahead of me. His F250 might be big and heavy, but fast it is not. I caught up to him just as he turned onto our street.

Our street is a pretty short cul-de-sac and our house is the fourth house on the right, just before the circle of the cul-de-sac. I noticed FIL swinging to the left instead of the right and also saw quite a few neighbors outside, looking toward our house. I looked that way too and saw an exotic, hyper expensive looking sports car sitting in our driveway. I knew it had to belong to Asshole and knew he had to be inside MY OWN FUCKING HOUSE FUCKING MY CHEATING SLUT OF A WIFE.

In seconds, chaos erupted in my driveway. FIL had swung to the left to line up behind the sports car, which turned out to be a Lamborghini Aventador, that had to cost maybe a half a million dollars. FIL slowed down a bit, but not much, and his F250 crashed into the back of that car. Its V-12 engine was in the back and FIL's collision, with all the mass and momentum of his truck, caused three explosions: the Lamborghini engine made a noise like some big dying animal and smoke erupted at the back of the car. Simultaneously, two airbags exploded in the car, and I saw Linda and Asshole struggling to get their car doors open and get out.

I pulled over in front of our house and just watched for a moment. Alarms were blaring from FIL's truck and Asshole's Lamborghini, two neighbors were running toward the scene with fire extinguishers, and I could already hear sirens in the distance. Just then the nice young couple from across the street tapped on my car window.

"This is a bit of excitement for our little street," the wife said, in the most understated way. "Would you like us to take your kids for a little while, until things calm down?" I have never been so thankful.

"Yes, thank you, that would be great." I got out and handed the kids out to the couple. They hurried back across the street, and I was relieved that my kids were spared for a bit longer from the tragedy their mother was causing.

"DADDY, Oh my god, Daddy, what are you doing here?" Linda had stumbled around the Lamborghini and was standing next to Asshole, holding her beautiful blue dress together, when she saw her father. He had gotten out of his truck just as a police car screeched to a stop behind the truck. Two cops came out of the police car: a short, older woman cop and a tall, young guy cop. The woman was clearly in charge as she walked up the driveway to survey the damage at the back of the Lamborghini.

"That's your old man?" Asshole was yelling at Linda.

Linda was wailing, "No, Daddy, no." Asshole took that for confirmation and yelled at FIL:

"Motherfucker, you have just destroyed a $500,000 car. This piece of shit slut was so not worth it, she can't even give good head. I'm going to...." No idea what he was going to do, because Linda did not respond well to the insult, although it wasn't clear whether she was objecting to the insult to her or to her father. In any case she aimed a roundhouse punch at Asshole who turned and dodged it just as the woman cop turned. Linda's punch connected with the cop's left eye and the cop dropped like a dead cat, complete with a bit of a dead cat bounce when she hit the concrete driveway.

Her partner, the young guy cop, jumped to her defense, with his radio out, yelling, "Officer down, need assistance." He had no stripes on his sleeve, so he had to be pretty inexperienced, but he had just seen Linda attack his partner. He pulled out his taser, thankfully not his sidearm, and pointed it at Linda. She reached her arms out to him, I think to keep him away, but he must have seen her action as threatening because he shot her with the taser. She flopped down on the driveway, just like the lady cop, even with the same dead cat bounce, although that might have been her jerking a bit from the effect of the taser. The cop looked around, with his hand at his sidearm, but he did not draw it. I was thankful I had my car between me and him, and Asshole and FIL both backed away with their hands up in the air. The cop was obviously nervous, and no one wanted to make him more nervous. Then Linda stirred a bit and the cop tasered her again. FIL twitched toward the cop but stopped when the cop looked at him.

The tableau remained frozen for what seemed like a long time, but in reality two more cop cars screeched to a halt behind FIL's truck within a matter of minutes, followed a few minutes later by one TV van and then another. Four cops jumped out with weapons drawn and surrounded Linda and the first two cops. The tension finally started to ease when all the cops holstered their weapons. One of them pulled Linda to her feet, handcuffed her and put her in the back of one of the cop cars. Then an ambulance arrived and the EMT's started tending to the lady cop. They tried to put her on a stretcher, but she got to her feet on her own and started barking orders at all the cops. Asshole started yelling at FIL again about all the damage to the Lamborghini and the lady cop told him to shut up or he would find himself in the back of a cop car.

I walked over to FIL and we just looked at each other. The cops were talking to the neighbors at first and then the lady cop came over to FIL and me.

"That's your wife, who slugged me?" She asked me.

"I'm afraid so, but I think she was really trying to hit Asshole. Uh, his real name is...."

"I know who he is. What was he doing with your wife in his car in your driveway?"

"Uhhh, well..."

"Listen, Mr. __, off the record, you're right to be calling him an asshole; he totally is. And this is not the first time we've had to intervene when he got caught with someone's wife. I'm not trying to embarrass you, or your wife. But I need to know what the situation is here."

"Okay, last night, Linda and I were at a club with some friends, and he . . . he asked her to spend the night with him. She sneaked away with him, and I guess he was bringing her home when my father-in-law arrived. That's his truck that smashed into Asshole's car."

"Okay, that's enough information for my report." She turned to FIL: "I assume you are the father-in-law?"

"Yep," FIL responded, "and I am proud to say I have no insurance on the truck. I don't even own it. I work for the company that owns it. And that company's only asset is that truck."

"Whoa charlie," lady cop said. "I think I should inform Mr. Asshole instead of you. He might get a bit upset." She walked over to where Asshole was talking with a TV reporter. "Mr. Assh. . . Mr. LaValliere, I have just been informed by the driver of the truck that it is not covered by insurance. And it is the only asset of the company that owns it. That means, I'm afraid, you might have some difficulty collecting for the damages to your car." She said all that with a straight face, but I could hear the underlying smirk in her voice. Asshole went crazy, jumping up and down and yelling and cursing at FIL about his "half-a-million-dollar car," all recorded by the TV cameras. I thought the cops were going to taser him. He did finally calm down and a car showed up, a plain sedan, to collect him and they drove off.

"FIL," I had to ask, "what do you mean, you don't own your truck?"

"Jim, when I started snowplowing a few years ago I realized there was a fair amount of potential liability, so I created a limited liability company and transferred title to the truck to the company. And then I found out that insurance costs are astronomical for snowplow trucks, so I just let the insurance lapse. Today it looks like I did the right thing. Who knows, maybe this will give Asshole a stroke or a heart attack."

"Wow, I don't know what else to say: just wow."

"Yeah, well, I need to head on back home and let Marie know about all the excitement here. Let me know if we can do anything else, even if it's just to talk or take care of the kids or, you know, anything we can do."

"Thanks, FIL, you were great today." The excitement did seem to be over. The cops were leaving, with Linda in a cop car's backseat, a truck had arrived to haul off Asshole's no-longer-quite-so-fancy Lamborghini, the TV vans were pulling away and the neighbors were heading back to their homes. I went over and got the kids and thanked the neighbors profusely. They were kind enough not to ask any questions, just looked at me sympathetically. They did volunteer to look after the kids again if I needed that, and I thanked them again and walked home with the kids.

The kids and I had an early dinner, they settled in to finish their weekend homework, and I turned on the TV to see the evening news. And, yes, the little excitement on our street made the evening news. Asshole was the star, with shots of him screaming at FIL while the camera focused on the ruined Lamborghini. I guess Linda, in handcuffs, had the supporting role, with the camera filming her being picked up from the driveway and frog marched to the backseat of a cop car. Because she was handcuffed and her beautiful blue dress was partly open, the TV audience was treated to shots of her underwear or, rather, lack thereof. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. And I did wonder how she would get out of jail. FIL got an interview too. I wondered if other viewers could see the sarcasm dripping from his voice as he described "accidentally" running into the back of Asshole's Lamborghini. And how sorry he was that the car was probably totaled. I loved it.

The next morning, Monday, I dropped the kids off at school and headed to work. The kids seemed fine; I told them Mom was staying with a friend for a while. I was actually productive at work; it was a relief to having something straightforward to deal with. It didn't last.

At about 11 my phone rang. "Jim Peterson," I answered.

"Mr. Peterson, this is Rodney Fornier. I'm an attorney in the Public Defender office downtown. We just finished with your wife's arraignment. She pleaded not guilty to aggravated assault and battery and a few other charges and I'm calling to tell you what you need to do to arrange bail for her."

"Mr. Fornier, is it?"

"Yes, as I said, I'm. . . ."

"Yeah, I heard the rest. You should update your records. I no longer have a wife. She left me for another man." And I hung up the phone. It rang again, almost immediately, but I ignored it.

And for the first time since Saturday night in the club, when I found out that Linda had indeed left me, even if only for one night, I felt strong again, in control of my life. I felt like yelling to the world: "Jim is back, and he is not going to take any shit from anybody anymore." In reality, I went back to work, and left in time to pick up the kids from school. I hadn't thought about dinner for us, so we stopped at their favorite golden arches and we all had a not-so-nutritious dinner. And then it was time to go home.

When we walked in the house, Linda was sitting in the dark, just sitting there. One of the kids turned on the lights and they both saw her. "Mommy, Mommy," they yelled and ran to give her hugs. She looked like she needed hugs, lots of them. She looked at least a decade older than she looked just two days ago. Her face was scratched, maybe from hitting the driveway or maybe from some altercation during her overnight in jail. Her hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a few days. She sat there hugging the kids and finally looked up at me. She didn't say anything, she just started sobbing. I pulled the kids away from her, told them Mommy would be okay and that they needed to start their homework. Reluctantly, they headed off to their rooms.

"Jim," Linda finally managed to say, "I am so sorry, so very, very sorry."

"You look pretty sorry now, but I'll bet you weren't sorry Saturday night or Sunday morning. How was jail, by the way? And how did you manage to get out?"