Front Window

"Chris Carpenter here."

"Chris, it's Henry Bennett. How are you doing?"

"Good, Henry. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

That line cut through me like a knife. If things went as I expected, there would be no pleasure in this for anyone.

"I was wondering if I could tempt you with a sandwich and beer for lunch?"

I could hear him chuckling. "Wow. It's hard to turn down an offer like that!"

"And while you're here, I'm thinking of expanding my shop and I'd like to see what kind of ideas you might have."

Chris thought for a moment. "Sure, I could stop by tonight and we can work over what you have for ideas."

Now came the big whopper. "Actually, my kids are talking about visiting tonight and I have everything worked out here. I was hoping you might come 'round say 11:30 or noon today?" I hated lying to him like this.

"Sure, why not! I could use a break in the routine. Okay, I'll come 'round for lunch and we can talk about the new shop."

"Great! See you then."

I felt like shit! There were a dozen ways this whole thing could go wrong starting with Chris calls his wife, Jenny and the suit don't get together today, she sees Chris' car in my driveway, and so on. I felt fairly sure I could claim ignorance either way, but doesn't that make me a coward?

Sadly for everyone, Jenny and the suit were as predictable as all my other neighbors. Chris arrived at about 11:45 and joined me in the front room. I had all my notes and drawings arranged, and after Chris got us each a beer from the fridge we settled down with sandwiches, chips, and a cold glass. It would be downhill from there.

We sat at the table by my front window and started going over my list of needs as I saw them. I showed him a drawing of my current shop and began to show him sketches of the sort of thing that I had in mind. At 12:05 Jenny pulled into her garage. Chris watched for a moment with a slightly confused but happy smile on his face and then we resumed our discussion. We were at a fairly productive point in the plans when the black BMW pulled into Chris' driveway at 12:10. Chris was speaking and stopped suddenly as the suit got out of the car and again walked through his front door like he lived there. I watched my friend without speaking and waited. He tried to return to the drawings, but to no avail. I suppose ten minutes passed with Chris trying to speak, trying to study the plans but returning to watch his house, until my friend just said, "Excuse me." Without another word he rose, walked out the front door and crossed the street to his own house. It was odd, but I could swear that this time I watched a man walk through his own front door like he no longer lived there, and I wondered if he would be my neighbor for much longer.

My window was open and moments later I could hear the commotion. There was screaming and shouts, and it sounded like furniture was being thrown. I heard glass breaking and the loud thuds of what I assumed were chairs hitting the wall. Shortly after that the suit came running out the front door half dressed, jumped in his car, and raced away. It was silent after that.

Time passed and just when I began to worry that Chris might have harmed his wife, he left his home as he had entered it and walked back across the street and into my house. He just dropped onto my sofa with that thousand-mile stare I'd heard about and said nothing. I figured my job was to wait until he was ready to speak, and in time he said, "The bitch was fucking him in our bed! Can you believe it? Jenny of all people?"

I stood and handed him the remains of his beer saying, "Here. Drink this and I'll get you a refill." He threw it down in one gulp.

Thinking he needed to let it out, I said, "You saw them?"

He just nodded.

"You're sure it was consensual?"

He spoke like he was in a daze. "I heard her. She was a willing participant."

For all my watching and planning, I didn't know what to do next. So I got Chris that second beer and sat back down to be the concerned listener that I assume he needed.

He finally started up. "A husband should never be expected to see what I saw. My wife was naked with that asshat. She had her legs wrapped around him and was making all the sounds she makes with me, only louder. She was enjoying it." Then Chris looked at me and said, "I saw him when he climbed off her. He's nothing special."

This was going to be a slow discussion and I needed to let my friend talk as much as he wanted. When he'd been silent long enough, I said, "I heard a lot of noise like glass breaking and furniture being thrown. You didn't do anything you'll regret, did you?"

"No." Then after a pause, he said, "Not unless you count marrying that cheating slut in the first place!"

It was about this time that I saw Jenny's car back slowly down the drive. It seemed to hesitate for a time, and then drove away.

"I think I just saw Jenny drive off."

"Yeah. I told her to get her cheating ass out of the house." Chris' hands were shaking, and his color looked like death.

I knew this next bit was going to go over badly, but it needed to be said. "You need time to come to terms with what just happened. It may not be the end of the world. I'm not saying it will be easy, but I do know that girl loves you. Maybe you can patch things up once you've had a little time to think about it."

The look he gave me was not encouraging.

That's when I made my big mistake. Thinking that misery loves company, I blurted out, "You're not alone. Herb Jackson is over at Sally Perkins' house every day while her husband is at work."

Chris just shook his head in disgust and muttered something under his breath. Then he turned to me. "You knew, didn't you? That's why you asked me to come over today? What is it? Does that asshat show up every day like clockwork?"

I tried to stay out of it, but Chris would not be denied.

"Well?"

With a very reluctant voice, I said, "Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays as best I can tell."

"For how long?!" Chris' rage was building.

"Last week and now this week. I don't know how long it's been going on."

For a time I stopped worrying about Jenny and started worrying about myself. Chris was showing signs of a beaten man and there was anger in his eyes. I remember thinking to myself, "That's what happens when a wife cheats on her husband. She robs him of his pride and then the anger takes over."

For a time, Chris' rage seemed to dissipate as my friend dropped his face into his hands and wept. I had all kinds of regret at this point and again I wondered if I should have just turned a blind eye and let things happen as they were destined to happen, but those idiots were parking his car right in front of the house where all the neighbors could see it! What did they expect would happen? At least Herb tries to be a little discreet, not that I respect him any more for it.

It was a long, and largely quiet hour after that as Chris nursed his second and eventually his third beer. I tried to find ways to assure him that he was justified in whatever he did while reminding him that she did love him even if it didn't seem it now. I don't know how much of it got through.

His cell phone range, Chris told his office that he was out for the day, and eventually he headed home after I invited him to stay as long as he wanted. He just shook his head saying, "I need to face this sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner." He left his car in my driveway and walked back to his house a broken man.

An hour later he was back, and I poured him another beer. He said, "I cleaned up most of the mess. There's probably still part of that broken mirror in the carpet."

When I asked how the mirror wound up broken, he smiled. "Son-of-a-bitch ducked. The chair missed him and hit the mirror."

In a silly attempt at support, I said, "I was surprised he was able to leave under his own power."

"Yeah. I regret that."

"Just as well. You don't want to go behind bars for that asshat."

He just shrugged and shook his head as if he wasn't sure.

We sat and drank well into the evening. I heated some leftover pot roast in a failed attempt at sobriety while Jenny never came home that night. Then long after dark Chris made the lonely journey back to his own place.

Thursday morning Chris' car was still in my driveway, so I called his house after a suitable time in the hope that he might be up and sober. He didn't answer the first time, but he did a half hour later. He'd been in the shower when I first called.

I asked him, "Are you interested in getting some breakfast? I can cook, or you can drive us out someplace."

"Why don't I drive?"

"Are you okay to drive?"

He just gave me a sad laugh and said, "Yeah. I can drive. I'll be over in ten."

Good to his word, he was at my door ten minutes later. We hit a diner in town where I figured it was again my job just to listen if he wanted to talk. There were other people around us, so we kept it quiet. Jenny had called late the night before in an effort to apologize. She talked through her tears and to Chris' credit he kept his temper in check. He wasn't ready to see her, so she said that she would be at her sister's house when he was ready.

I didn't hear much about their struggles after that. Chris would come by once or twice every week, and we would drink a few beers while he would ask vague, and largely introspective questions about marriage. I got the distinct impression that things were not going well. That impression was confirmed when the For Sale sign went up in the front yard. He told me they were divorcing, and he was thankful that they had no kids as yet.

The most telling thing he ever said about the whole matter was that Jenny had admitted in therapy that she was very good at "compartmentalizing" her life and that her lover had nothing to do with their marriage. Chris just shook his head and muttered "fuckin' psychopath" and that was the end of our discussion. He did learn that the affair had gone on for longer than he could forgive.

It was sad to see their marriage end and I asked myself many times if I should have simply turned a blind eye in the hope that Jenny would wise up and Chris would never learn of it. Inevitably, I would then ask myself how I would feel if I were in Chris' position, and every time I decided that I would hate the "friend" who kept that secret from me.

Jenny and Chris divorced and went their separate ways. It was years before Chris would trust another woman, but when he did, he seemed to choose well. He met a widow his age with young kids and she knew the value of fidelity. Chris had always wanted kids and took to fatherhood like a duck to water. We remained friends and he did build the addition on the side of my shop.

As for me, I never remarried. I told you that my wife died two years before my knee surgery. She was everything I ever wanted in a partner, and I miss her to this day. I figure one was my limit and never tempted fate again. However, I have a few girlfriends who place no claims on me, cannot get pregnant no matter how hard we try, and still like to sleep with a man from time to time. Yes, menopause is our friend! I have a good job, great kids, and company when I want it. Life is good.

However, life is not so good for one Herbert Jackson. It was about two weeks after Chris discovered his wife with that suit. I was sitting by my front window. By then I was getting around pretty well with a cane and dividing my time between the office and my home. I wasn't quite ready for the shop floor just yet, but I was slowly getting there. I was looking through some drawings for some kitchen remodeling jobs and working up some quotes when I heard the familiar sound of glass breaking and furniture hitting the wall. I looked over at the Perkins' house in time to see a naked Herb Jackson come running out the front door and down the street with his pants in his hand followed close behind by Jim Perkins swinging a baseball bat.

I said to myself, "Caught another one." Jim looked highly motivated, and I placed Herb's chances of getting home at no better than 50/50. I never did find out who tipped off Jim Perkins, but I suspect it might have been a very angry carpenter who lived nearby.

A week after that I was finally back on the shop floor, working late, and thanking providence that I was no longer sitting in my front window watching the lives of my neighbors in my very own Peyton Place.

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Characters often say the wrong thing in a moment of hurt or anger, so I should note that Jenny was probably not a psychopath as Chris charged in anger. That's a common slur. Sociopath or narcissist might apply, but selfish and deceptive certainly do.

I know some readers will look for the revenge. That works fine in fiction, but reality seldom has any real measure of revenge. It isn't fair, but it is reality.