"For Better or Worse!"

The backyard, her first cat, two of my dogs, all buried back there. How she cried when 'Pumpkin', her red tabby died, the damn cat was over twenty years old, she'd had it since she was a kid, nice cat, purred all the time. I remembered, I'd felt bad too. Our house, it was in both our names, too bad now I guess.

Our kids, the youngest, Claire was just fifteen. OK, so Joyce was cheating I didn't care about the cost. I'd have to put up and pay up for three years, just three years that's all. Damn it so what! I wouldn't, I couldn't stay married to a cheat. We made promises! God damn. God damn her! And God damn him too! He's got a wife and kids. Oh yeah, they'll find out. You could take that to the bank! My cell phone rang.

I looked it over. It was Joyce. I picked it up, flicked it out, I said, "Joyce. Where are you; still on the lot?"

She replied, "I am. I'm leaving now."

I finished, "OK, see you soon." It would be soon too.

She asked, "Where're you going?"

I replied, "I'm going home."

"Don't you want to wait and talk?"

"No," I said, "You can stay there with Mr. Melrose. I'm headed home." I added, "Try not to stay out too late."

She responded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

I heard her sniffle. I said, "You figure it out."

I think we both hung up about the same time. I didn't want to go home. Maybe if I just kept driving?

I did drive home. The kids would be there. So I'd found out she'd been cheating, and I'd found out who with. Now I had to decide what to do. That was a 'no brainer'. I couldn't stay married. So I was forty, almost forty-one, I had my health, I had a career, I had skills. I could farm. I could build things. I just couldn't keep a family. Shit, was it my fault? Had I done something? Had I let her down? If I had, what was it? Did it matter?

When I got home the kids were waiting. They all looked scared. I guess Joyce had already called. Claire came up to me, "Mom's on her way home. She said for you to wait."

I smiled at my little girl, "Really. Did she say anything else?"

"No. Only that you should wait till she got home."

I looked at my boys, "Tell your mother when she gets in I've gone upstairs to take a shower." I wasn't really that dirty. I'd done a little firewood earlier. I'd sharpened some blades and lubricated the wood splitter. We had a good supply for the winter, but there was some Mulberry and Maple I thought I'd cut up and split before it got too cold. Sure Maple's a trash tree, but's it's a deciduous and burned, just not quite as hot. I even burned pine. If it was well seasoned and dry it was fine. Besides our chimney is a good one. I should know I built it; tightly sealed ceramic tiles, the best concrete, braced in cinder block, thoroughly parged and then painted. I cleaned it every spring. Couldn't have the house burning down now could we? Didn't matter now; no, I guess not.

I needed a shower because I just felt dirty.

I was just getting out of the shower when Joyce walked in. She looked at me all wrapped up in a towel and the big bathrobe she'd bought me last Christmas. She said, "Wait for me. Don't get dressed or go downstairs. I want to take a shower too."

I started drying my hair, "Yeah, be sure to get all the smegma out from between your legs."

She looked stricken, "Harry don't."

I grinned ruefully, "Joyce don't."

She turned and walked in the bathroom. I continued drying. I'd more or less made up my mind. The kids were old enough. I didn't need to get proof. I had all the proof I wanted. This was going to be a slam dunk. I got dressed and went downstairs. Fuck it; I wasn't pulling any punches.

The kids were sitting around the kitchen table. We had one of those big country kitchens. I'd designed and built it the way Joyce wanted it. I didn't get it! Why'd she do this? What was I supposed to do?

I got to the kitchen and scanned the kids. They looked scared. Well time's up, "Kids your mom and I are splitting up."

Claire gave it about ten seconds before she started crying, "Oh daddy..."

Jesus it was right out of "It's a Wonderful Life".

Chad was next, "Why? I don't believe it."

Harry junior was the most cognizant, "What'd she do dad?"

I looked at the three of them, "There seems to be another man..." I didn't get any more out. Claire ran from the room. Harry followed after her. He exclaimed, "I'll get her and bring her back."

Chad looked dumbstruck, "You are kidding? Mom? This is some sick joke, right?"

I looked right at him, "Sorry, I caught her just a few minutes ago." We lost eye contact; then I found out why.

From behind I heard her, "Harry you didn't..."

I turned around and saw her; she was looking at Chad. She looked at me. I thought for a second she was going to faint; then thought better of it, not Joyce, not her.

She went over to the table and sat down. Still looking at me she said, "You couldn't wait. You had to say something to the children."

That really hit me; no denial, no attempt to lie, no remorse, nothing, just a 'you couldn't wait'. I told her, "We need to get this over with..."

Joyce turned completely white, "No...no. You don't mean...you can't. It's not, it wasn't..."

I interrupted her, "Wasn't what? Looked like it to me. Jesus Joyce I've suspected for weeks; him and his faggotty perfume. You think I'm stupid?"

By then Harry junior had found Claire and with his arm around her was helping her back in. He asked, "Perfume? Guy? What guy?"

I looked at my oldest son, my first born. For a fleeting second I wondered, 'Was he mine?' I said, "The new man at church," I looked at Joyce, "Kevin Melrose isn't that his name?"

She looked at our kids, then back at me, but not in the eye, "Yes. Please. Let me explain."

I looked our kids over; they were in worse shape than either of their parents, "You kids go in the living room. I'll call you when we're through."

Harry junior got up and started to herd his younger siblings into the living room. I slipped into a seat across from my wife. My mouth was so dry I wanted to get something to drink, but I was determined not to show any sign of weakness. I looked at her. God I wanted to strangle her. I felt myself involuntarily shaking. Tears were rolling down my cheeks, but I couldn't stop. She looked so forlorn. I wanted to hug her and comfort her. I hated her. I loved her. I wanted to cry out. I wanted to yell. I wanted to cuss and holler and break everything in the house. I needed to take a piss. I never felt so helpless, so feeble. My insides were twisted in a million knots. I felt the bile rise up from my stomach. I tried hard and managed to swallow it back. I felt cold, but I was sweating. Joyce looked worse. After what seemed like an eternity but was only a few seconds I said, "Well."

She opened her mouth to start to talk, but nothing seemed to come out. She said, "Harry I ... Harry... Harry I don't feel so good..."

She started wavering in her chair. I hollered back to the living room, "Junior, Chad! Get in here!"

They must have been right at the portal. They were in almost instantly.

I looked at Harry junior, "I don't know..."

I was feeling funky myself. I kept gasping for breath. I looked back at Joyce, then again at Junior. He was already at his mother's side, "Chad," he exclaimed, "go start your car," He had his arm around his mother, "Come on mom," He looked at me, "I don't know what's wrong. I'm taking her to the hospital. You don't look so good either. Maybe you should go too?"

I felt bad, but not as bad as Joyce looked, "No you go ahead. I'll stay here with Claire."

He already had his mother wrapped in a coat and was half carrying and walking her out the door. I spun around and threw up all over the floor. There wasn't anything in there, just bile. I fell to my hands and knees and just kept throwing up, dry heaves.

Over my shoulder I saw Claire, "Call your grandmother and tell her to get to the hospital. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right." Claire ran to her purse to get her cell phone. I stayed on my hands and knees until I stopped heaving. Then while I was recovering, my cell phone rang.

It was Chad. He'd gone with Junior, "Dad, mom's doing better. Looks like she just hyperventilated, but we're still taking her to the hospital. She still doesn't look good."

I replied, "Good, stay with your mother."

I managed to get myself back together. I even got a drink of tap water. Claire was a mess; I told her, "Claire honey just hang out in the living room for a while, just till we sort this out."

She started crying again, "Dad I don't want you and mom to...please dad...Can't you...you know? Oh gosh dad what'd she?"

What could I say? My little girl, my angel, I said, "We'll see," that seemed to quiet her down. I guess I shouldn't have said anything to the kids without clearing everything with Joyce first. It was too much for everybody. That thought stuck in my throat. Clear it with Joyce? How stupid! It didn't change anything, if anything, it made me more determined.

Junior, Chad, and Joyce weren't gone all that long. Chad came back in first, "We got to the Emergency Room, but the place was so crowded mom said we should just come back. She was a lot better by then anyway. It was just hyperventilation."

The back door reopened and in walked Joyce's mom, "I saw everybody coming out of the emergency room; thought I'd follow and see if I could help."

Junior was helping his mother back in a chair. Joyce was still kind of weepy, she glanced over but didn't look her mother in the eye, she said, "Hi mom," then she looked at me, "Can we talk tomorrow. I need to get some rest."

This was Saturday. We, or she, had church in the morning; the thought triggered the anger in me all over again. I said, "Oh yeah, tomorrow's Sunday, church. Don't you have a solo or something?" Her solo was actually part of the offertory. She had a short piece; she'd be singing a verse or two of "Amazing Grace" while a couple others would be doing "El Shaddai". One of the other singers I suspected would be Melrose. 'How appropriate,' I thought.

Joyce started sniffling again, "I can't go to church, not now."

I wasn't having it, "Oh yes you can. You're going to church. You're singing in the choir. You're singing your little piece, and I expect you to be just as affectatious as you always are."

Joyce had a habit of over doing it when she was singing or reading before the congregation. Yeah, I forgot, our little Miss Joyce was a regular ham when it came to church, a real showman little Joyce was, she'd been that way since she was a child. The old folks and the children loved her. I wondered how much love there'd be after they found out why we split up; what with poor little Joyce being given the air by her backsliding slacker husband Harry?

I could almost hear the excuses, but gee Mr. McDermott it was only adultery. I mean like what; it's only seventh on the 'things not to do list'. It wasn't like it was number one. Can't you find it in your heart to...you know? No I wouldn't find it in my heart, not me, not good ole loyal, faithful, dumb ass me. I wasn't Jesus. No sir. I'd have that 'first stone' ready and waiting!

Joyce whined, "Harry, no please. I just can't, not now."

The kids were watching. Their grand-mom was watching. I quietly said, "You can and you will. You will sing. You will smile. You will sway your hips, you will praise the Lord. But the four of us," I waved my right arm about to include the kids, "we won't be there. You can stand in front of the whole congregation and look at the empty pew where we used to sit. It'll remind you of what you threw away."

Joyce looked from Claire, to Chad, to Junior, to her mom, and then to me, "This isn't..."

I interrupted her, "What? Fair? Bullshit," I pointed to the stairs, "Go to bed."

She gave up. Shoulders slumped in defeat Joyce trudged up the steps. About halfway up she turned and looked at me, "Are you coming up?"

I smirked, "It's my bed too; wouldn't miss it for the world."

After a quick glimpse at her mom, groping the banister, she climbed the last few steps, turned and went off to bed. It was like watching someone stagger down the last mile on 'death row'. I loved and hated every second of it.

Once she was out of sight Chad turned to me, "She told us what she did. She admitted she'd been a little out of hand, but she said, other than a little kissing and inappropriate touching, nothing happened."

I listened. Chad and Junior acted like they wanted to believe it. I wished I could too, but I knew I couldn't. It was more, a lot more, than just a grope and a kiss. Besides, what difference did it make? In for a penny, in for a pound. If nothing heavy had happened; it was most likely because they hadn't worked up to it yet. I looked at Junior; he seemed the most determined, I said, "What does the Bible say? 'To lust after someone in your heart is the same as doing it.'" I remembered I'd heard my dad tell me President Carter said that once, "Junior, you can look at me all you want, but she's already done it; just not officially yet. I'm sorry."

Junior dropped his eyes, "I get it, but its mom dad."

I finished his sentence, "But its dad son."

Claire was weeping again. Junior just hung his head. Chad whispered, "Let her stay home tomorrow; us kids will go. You and mom stay and talk it out," He looked from me to Claire, to grand-mom, to Junior, then back at me, "We'll abide by whatever you decide."

Claire beseeched her grandmother, "Grand-mom?"

Grand-mom held her arms at her sides, "This is your father's call."

'Thank God', I thought, then I looked at my kids. I could see any resistance had been crushed. I said, "Ok." And that was that. I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall, a clock with kittens on it Joyce wanted and I'd bought from a catalogue right about the time we knew Pumpkin was dying. Everywhere I looked I saw memories, mementos of something she'd killed. It broke my heart. What an asshole, what a stupid bitch. I reached out and took Claire's hand, "You guys go to church. Mom and dad will stay and talk things over. And Claire, like I said earlier, 'we'll see.'"

Claire didn't say anything; she pressed herself against me. I said, "All right all of you - upstairs. I'll stay here. I need some time." The kids looked at each other and at me, I expostulated, "Go on, scoot!" That got them going.

My mind was still made up. I'd give Joyce a chance. There was still grand-mom, I said, "I guess you want an explanation."

She sighed, 'There've been rumors. You don't need to tell me anything; remember her dad and I are here for our daughter and for you. We trust you. It might hurt, but we know you'll do the right thing."

That gave me an idea, I said, "Thanks mom. Can I call you tomorrow?"

She came over and kissed me on the cheek, "Of course," then she turned and left.

After a few minutes I went upstairs to the bedroom and my one-time wife.

I wasn't going to surrender my right to my side of the bed. I went upstairs, took yet another shower, I still felt dirty, dried off, slipped on some underwear, something I seldom wore in bed, lay down, and curled my head in my pillow. It didn't take her long.

Within minutes of my lying down I felt her head on my shoulder, her right hand was around my waist, "Harry," she whispered.

I unwrapped myself from my pillow, "What."

"I'm sorry."

I responded, "Yeah me too." I rolled back over.

Joyce wasn't having it; she slid over as close as she could get. She pulled and tugged till she got me on my back. I let her. She rested her head on my chest. Her lips lightly kissed me. She rested her right hand on my stomach, it drifted down around my lower abdomen, she let her fingers lightly run over the flesh around my pelvis; she was at that erogenous landscape just above my genitalia where the hair from my groin met my lower stomach, it had the desired effect. I felt myself slowly grow.

Though she wasn't touching me, the fabric of my boxers against my penis coupled with her soft fingers just above resulted in a growing turgidity, a tumescence, then a vigorous hard-on.

She lowered her head further down my chest to my stomach. She reached inside my boxers, she found my penis, she released him by pulling him through the flap normally used for urination. Her fingers lightly touched my manhood; they felt soft, she caressed my scrotum. I rested my right hand on the back of her head. I felt and smelt her hair, her long, thick, luscious brown hair. I smelled the soap she used when she showered. I wanted her, God, how I wanted her.

In that instant I thought of another fragrance. I could almost smell it, the aroma of lavender. I used my hand and pulled her head back and away, "No, not tonight," I said. I rolled back over on my side.

I first felt then listened as she turned back and away. I heard her quiet sobbing. My mind's eye produced another scene; I saw her kneeling on the floor, Kevin Melrose was seated on the sofa in the church comfort room. My wife was taking his penis in her hands. She was closing her lips around the head of his cock. No, I hadn't actually seen it, but it didn't matter, if not then, that afternoon, then soon. My wife, the mother of my kids, my life-mate had been readying herself, persuading herself, preparing to give everything we had away, away to another man. I thought, 'To look at another with lust in your heart is to have already committed the act'. I didn't sleep well that night.

The next morning Joyce and I both helped the kids get ready for church. We played it light; like it was no big deal, it was a big deal though. Joyce pretended she should go, but I know she felt differently, she kept saying "I should go. I have my Sunday school. I'm helping with communion this morning. There's my song...I hope they can."

"No," I admonished, "the church can get by one Sunday without you." She faked a grimace, but I knew she was relieved.

The kids got off and the two of us sat down at the table.

I started, "Well you have something to say." Things seemed clearer, more lucid in the light of the morning sun. I recalled how I read most scholars believed the end of the world wouldn't come at night; it would come at dawn. 'Well', I thought, 'here we were.'

Joyce started, "First I want to say I'm sorry, but the truth is, nothing really happened." She pause d like she was waiting for me to say something.

I did, "Something was happening. Something did happen." Though I knew our marriage was over, I never felt so calm.

Joyce added, "I don't know where to begin. Tell me what I'm supposed to say."

"You could tell me how it started. Maybe a little bit of the why. I'd like to know why."

She coughed; then she got up and got a glass of water. She was visibly nervous; she should be. She looked exhausted too; I knew she hadn't slept well.

Sitting back down she gulped and then went into her story, "Harry I don't know exactly how it began. Kevin's such a nice man. He's bigger than you," she paused, "No I don't mean that way. I don't even know about that. I mean he's taller, broader shoulders. He very handsome; not that his appearance means anything. He has big hands. He's always so earnest; he's got such a warm smile, a sweet, genuine personality. His hands are...well, they cover my whole hand when he lays them on mine. His hands are soft, his fingers so smooth. He's a tender person. Everybody likes him."

I thought about my hands; they're calloused, I've had several broken fingers, it goes with the job. I didn't say anything though. I just listened.

"Harry he's a caring person. He's gentle, and he's so sincere. Oh you're gentle too sometimes, but he's like that all the time. When you talk you're gruff. His voice; it's melodious, soothing, his every word is like a song. He says things, nice things, he's interesting. He tells me stories about the places he's been. He tells me I'm pretty. He says how young I look. He likes my hair. He says my eyes tell him things, like I'm young and pretty. He said I had a mischievous nature," she seemed to smile inwardly at that, like it was some private joke, "He's a good kind man Harry."