Happy is He Who Understands the Meaning of Things

Your prompt attention to both of these matters would be appreciated.

Signed,

Christopher Wickander

I dropped in the mail box that evening when I was out walking the dog. We must have really good mail service. Two days later, Karen came home in a fury.

"How dare you write that letter to my employer, without telling me. Christ, you've fucked up big time!"

"Gee Love, is it the property damage or the overtime they won't pay? They really do owe..."

"Everybody thinks I'm screwing Rabert! That's what they think! That god damn letter is all over the dealership, and people are snickering when I walk by."

"You said only a pervert would think that, remember? If they're a bunch of perverts, maybe you need to change employers."

She gave me the middle finger "Fuck you! You bastard"

Raising her fist; "Fuck your horse!"

And raising her little finger, "and Fuck your dog! I'm going visit my mother for a while, You son of a bitch!"

I guess this meant I'd have to pick up our daughter.

She left with an overnight bag.

On the way to the nursery school, I called her mother, Gert, to give her a heads up, and to see that she really was going there. Gert tried to pump me for details, but I told her Karen would say whatever she wanted to say. I followed her with the tracking device, and she did stop at her mom's, then to a local pub for about an hour then back to her mom's, and at 11PM, she walked in the door.

"I'm still mad at you, you can sleep on the couch!"

This was getting to be a habit, trying to banish me from the bedroom.

"I will not! Arguments end at the bedroom door, either we both sleep on the couch, or we both slept in the bed. I did what I did because I perceived a threat to our marriage, and I love you too much to risk jeopardizing it. If it pissed you off, give me credit for doing it for a good reason! I was acting out of love."

The rage tuned from grumbling as she got into bed, to a sigh of resignation we both cuddled for a while.

On Wednesday, I caller ID said from Car Deals, a woman's voice telling me my wife and Red Raberts went out for lunch at noon, and came back at two PM. I asked if they knew what restaurant, and was told the Hart and Hound. I thanked the caller, and hung up.

"When she got home, over supper I asked:

Any good gossip at lunch?"

"Oh it was a haul to get through the workload. I ate a bagel at my desk, and didn't get a break all day!"

So somebody was lying. After supper, which she only picked at, I got bathed Karen and put her to bed. I poured us both a glass of wine, and sat her down in the living room.

"Love, remember long ago, before we got married, we had a discussion about what was and was not appropriate behavior for married couples?"

"Oh jesus, not this lecture again! She straightened up, plastered a neutral expression on her face and replied,

"Why do you ask?"

"Well it's about openness and honesty in our relationships. Rabert is a note worthy cocksman, so when you are alone with a person like that, it is fertile grounds for comment. You should have told me that he was coming over later in the evening, the day his car burned. You lied to me. You called me after he called you."

"That's all ancient history, so..."

"Stop! Let me finish, they you can have a go here. That's in the past, and not my main point. I appreciate that you and I have every right to go out to lunch or whatever, with other people. You needn't ask my permission, but you do need to tell me later. Skip the lies, and tell me again about lunch to day."

"I'm sorry, your right. I had lunch with Red. I was afraid you would go off the handle again."

"Continue"

"That's it, it was just lunch!"

"Ok, you're telling me you took separate cars went to Mc Donald's, each got a happy family meal, sat at different tables not speaking, and fifteen minutes later back to work."

"Don't be silly!"

"Then don't patronize me. Tell me about lunch. What did you talk about, who said what, were you went, how long you were there, what you ate and drank. Talk to me!"

"I resent the inquisition!"

"So do I! It shouldn't be this way. Usually we like to tell each other about our day, you know, filling in all the little details? Had you mentioned this earlier, they would be idyll questions, willingly answered. A long lunch with your boss should evoke more than "left work, ate, and got back!" Don't you think?"

"Yes I suppose it does deserve more. We went to the pub up there on the Durham road, I forget the name of the place, something about dogs...I had a plowman's lunch and two pints of Killkenny Ale. I about fell asleep at work. Satisfied?"

"No. What did you talk about and when did you get back?"

"Oh I don't know, 1:30, or so, maybe a little later. Actually he probably was making an indirect pass at me, telling me about his marriage, how unhappy he was. His thinks wife is a real shrew. He was considerate and polite to me, so I treated it at face value."

"What did you say about your marriage?"

"Well, it didn't come up."

"Of course it did. Any woman would have had to talk about her marriage to make the other person feel less like they were the only one baring their soul. What did you tell him about our marriage, and did you believe what you were telling him?"

"Chris, you don't have to worry. I love you,I only have the normal gripes that come from raising a child, working and living life. He put his hand on mine, and I pointedly withdrew mine. He said I was getting a promotion at the end of the month, and a $5,000 a year raise. I wish you could be happy for me...for us."

"I don't have to worry, but you never said what you told him about our marriage, but at this point, you're in damage control mode, I wouldn't believe you.

Of course I am happy for you, but I get scared when you feel you have to lie to me. The old proverb, the guilty flee where none pursue? He is a bastard. I don't believe he's you're friend, and I don't believe he has your best interest at heart. Obviously lots of virtuous women work for his dealerships, and you are still one of them...but I do worry."

The next weekend, she was leaving work at noon, and driving about four hours to her sister's house, and coming back Sunday. She has two sisters, and they all get together twice a year. The year we bought our house, and Karen was eight months pregnant, they came to our house. The estrogen fumes were so bad, no man would want to be home for that. Women sitting around in pajamas nipple pokes all around, pajamas and night gowns, flashes of tits and occasional pussy, but no sex for me.

I tried to go on line to track her, but something was fucked up, and I got nothing. I wonder if someone found the tracking device. I got another call from the dealership about 1:30 PM saying that Karen left work at noon, and wasn't coming back, And that Red Rabert left a few minutes after that, and wouldn't be back until four.

Doesn't it sound like a nice afternoon fuck at a motel. I called four motels before until one admitted to having a Mr. Rabert registered there. I was put through to his room, but no one answered. I called Karen's cell, but got the answering machine. I drove over to the motel. For sure Karen's car wasn't there, but I didn't know what he was driving. There were a several cars that looked like something Rabert might drive, but which one if any? I suppose I could stake them out, but there was no place I could park and see both of the possibilities. Well, in a way, if she's fucking him, it's over, and sooner or later they will do it under my nose and get caught. I went back to work.

I spent the evening playing with my daughter, and after putting her to bed went into my shop, trying with only modest success to keep my mind thinking good thoughts. I called Karen, but her phone was still off.

Saturday, I worked, trying to catch up on what business I had neglected while I tried to defend our marriage, and doing house work. That afternoon, Gert, her mom invited us to diner. You may have noticed, Gert's a wise woman, who certainly knew we were having marriage troubles. After my daughter was bathed cuddled and put to bed, Gert and I chatted, I yielded enough to her gentle questions to say that things were not right between her daughter and I. That I knew Karen was lying to me about when and who she went out to bars and restaurants with. Gert asked me if I thought she was having an affair.

"Gert, if you had asked me six months ago, I would have said no. Absolutely not. Now...at best I think she's considering it, and if she denied it, I don't think I would believe her. That's why I'm depressed. I've caught her lying to me several times, she admits the lie when confronted, and now I can't believe my own wife. You think the unknown is worse than the known, Gert?"

"Chris, I can tell you she isn't running around. I'm sure of it."

"Well, at one time, I would have been sure of it too...I suppose it will work itself out, won't it, one way or to the other and it may yet be nothing, as you say."

My daughter spent the night with her grandmother, went home, and I gave in to depression. I have more than one drink, never more than two, but that night watched bad porn on the TV, and got falling down drunk on a 1.5 liter of pretty good wine. I was sitting showered and shaved, drinking water and coffee at the kitchen table, my head throbbing from a raging hangover the next morning, when Karen blew in the door at 10:30 AM with both guns blazing.

"Where the hell were you last night! I called you six times, and you weren't home!"

"I went out to a woman's house, and had a home cooked dinner, came home, and got drunk. But why would you care? I tried to call you Friday afternoon and evening, and again on Saturday, but you didn't pick up, so the hell with you."

"You god damn bastard, who was the woman, and what did you do, you fucker! You're always going on jealous as hell about me, and you tell me this? Where's my daughter been during all this?"

"Don't raise your voice to me. Last night I was with a much kinder, more loving woman than you. Your daughter and I had dinner and later, when Karen was in bed, I had a long talk with your mom, came home, and got drunk. I polished off a bottle of very good wine, followed by half a bottle of table wine that was already open. The empties are in the trash over there. I hope you're happy, 'cause my head is killing me."

"You? Drunk? My god, what's happened?"

"Well you said you were going to your sister's..."

"I did. I told you, that's were I was going."

"When did you arrive?"

"Well I did some shopping, and got there about supper time?"

"Perhaps closer to 7 PM?" She nodded.

"Well, Karen, it may be as you say, or...not. President Rabert left the dealership a few minutes after you did, and came back at 4 PM. If you left the motel at 3:45, you'd get to your sister's about when you said you did."

"Chris, where the hell! OK, you've got a spy in the dealership, but they are fucking with your head! I have no idea what Rabert did, or who he was with. I went directly from work to the outlets up in Wilkes Barrie, had a light lunch, and on to my sister's house. I was no where near any motel. And I'm sorry about my accusations. I know you wouldn't cheat."

I started to cry, I'm not ashamed to say it.

"And that is what's eating me up, at one time I would have had no doubts about you. Now that I know you easily lie to me about who you're with, and where you are, and if you tell me something, I don't know, in my heart if I can believe you! It's the trust that's been broken. I can say 'of course I believe you', but deep down I don't. I imagine all kinds of deceitful things which rationally are not likely to be true, but they run around in my head anyway. That's why I got drunk last night. To stop the hate and the fear picking at my brain."

Well we had a nice cry fest, both of us bawling like babies, and made up with very good sex. She drove over to her mother's, picked up Karen, and later that night after our daughter was in bed, we made tender love.

All was back to normal the following week. We even got away to a B&B in Annapolis Maryland for a nice weekend. Annapolis is the capital of Maryland, and home of the Naval Academy. It's a lovely town, with lots of old buildings, and good restaurants. We picked this weekend because the legislature was out of session, so the politicians were off the streets and out of the restaurants. Thanks to the Naval Academy, there were a lot of young men and women about, doing what frankly we were doing, spending out time in public with obvious affection for one another, and having lots of sex at night. One of the best weekends I could recall. Picking up Karen Jr., Gert winked at me and said 'have fun?' I blushed and nodded. 'Good!'

Thursday morning, I was at a machine shop, working with Harold, the owner, on a redesign of the screw conveyor for the wastewater plant that was continually breaking. My cell phone rang, caller ID said unidentified. I answered:

"Chris Wilkerson here."

"This afternoon, 2 PM, room 146, The Pines Motel." And a click as the line went dead.

Oh shit!

At 1:30, I cruised past the motel, and saw that from the bank parking lot, I could see room 146 clearly. I called my boss, Howard, and told him I had a personal problem, and that if my wife, or any unidentified person called, I was in the plant, and wouldn't be free until 5PM.

"Chris, you're the last person I would ever criticize for ducking out. But I was the about to pick up my phone to call you. That crew on State Street? Ansel (the straw boss) just called and you have to stop by and give a yea or nay on a patch they're making on the water main. Other wise, they'll have to detour traffic, leave the hole open over and quit for the day. Can't take you long, and I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Howard, I'm really pressed for time not..."

"Chris, it's on your way home. If nobody's bleeding, just stop for a couple of minutes, OK?"

Shit. Well, I should be able to make it in time. Ansel is a good man, but I had to get down into the trench. The pipe saddle they had was the wrong one for the pipe in question, I had to tell him what he needed, and where it was, before I got out of there. Running late, my marriage up the creek, I admit I was speeding, but damn if the cop who pulled me over wasn't the new kid, right out of school, and a by the book cop. The son of a bitch took ten minutes to write the ticket, and lectured me for another two or three minutes.

I used the time to think about what I would do when I got there. I'd pound on the door to get their attention. Then Holler strike three and you're out of my life. You can fuck who you want, but, a fresh whore gets $500 in advance. I'll bring your stuff over to your mother's tonight. So long, cunt! What a speech, but too long... Strike three, you're out. Whore's collect $500 in advance. You're a pro, now. Endless babble in my mind.

When I got to the fucking motel, drove around to the back side, all but one of the rooms had the curtains open, so no guess needed as to where they were, one car there, a new black Escalade with dealer plates. I knew who's that was, but not who was inside with him. I'd look like an Idiot, hollering and pounding my fist on the door, while Rabert's fucking somebody else, or he's alone, pulling his pud, watching a porno movie. Shit! Then I remembered Skips spy cameras I still had in rattling around in my trunk. All the high tech stuff that had done me no good up to now, I grabbed the video camera and walked over to the motel window.

Sure enough, there was a gap at the bottom of the curtain. Walking by you couldn't see anything, but when I held the camera to the bottom of the window, and looked at the screen. I could see a woman with blouse half unbuttoned, bra exposed, kneeling, and an old man who had his back to me, presumably Boss Rabert holding her head in his lap with both hands, one could only assume she was sucking his cock. Unfortunately the sunlight washed out the screen a bit, and he had his leg over the arm of the chair, so I couldn't really make out her face. This went on for a minute or two, which seemed even longer as I was kneeling on a rough sidewalk. She suddenly jerked her head up choking, but her face was obscured by her hair. I was almost certain it was Karen, when Rabert slapped her hard across the face, and it was her, and she was not having fun, that slap hurt, and she was crying.

My planned speech went out the door. I looked around for something to knock the window in, and grabbed one of the concrete parking stops. I managed to lift it off of the rebar that pegged it to the pavement and picked up one end. I rested ti on the hood of his car. I squatted down, and centered it on my shoulder. It screeched as it slid off of the car, it took a try or two to get it balanced, and with all my strength, assisted by adrenalin, I stood up, wobbled a bit as I stepped back a few feet, and charged the window, twisting at the last instant so it hit broadside. It blew through the glass, coming down in a hail of shards, to land on Rabert, doubling him over, and smashing the back of the chair. Karen was screaming, as I climbed through the widow. Her bra pulled up, tits out, and her dress bunched around her waist.

"My god Karen is that your blood on you mouth? How badly hurt are you?"

"OK, I'm OK, OK, Thank god you're here. His blood, oh help me!"

I hauled her to the bath room.

"Don't swallow, rinse the blood out of your mouth, you don't know what he has. Keep at it."

I went back into the room, and checked on Rabert. He hadn't moved, still slumped over, bleeding a little on the back of his head but his back was badly scraped by the glass and the concrete, soaking his shirt with blood. He was barely breathing, and it looked like blood around his crotch. Didn't look fatal. I walked in front of him to pick up Karen's panties and sandals on the table, I tossed the sandals in the bathroom. I hollered for Karen to move her ass, and worried about Rabert being able to breath.

I shifted the concrete off of him, and straightened him up. He was still unconscious, but breathing a little better now. Karen came out of the bathroom with her dress mis-buttoned, I grabbed her arm and pulled her to the door. She was hysterical. I used her underpants to unlock it and to turn the knob avoiding leaving my finger prints, although there was little chance I'd escape the motel's security cameras. 'Fuck do I know? As we went through the door, I grabbed the camera, and shoved her into my car, I went around to my side, slid the camera under my seat, and drove off. I saw no reason to be here when the cops arrived. I don't think Karen noticed the camera, but it didn't matter.

She was sobbing and carrying on, I was afraid she would attract too much attention, so I pulled her head onto my lap, she curled up into a fetal position, and I stroked her cheek, and hair, and told her over and over she was safe, it was over, We would be OK, and drove quietly out the back of the motel, and on home, keeping within the speed limit the whole way. In the old days, there would have been plenty of pay phones, on the street, but no more. I had no way to call the police without them knowing it was me, so I didn't. Sooner or later, somebody would notice the window.

I tried to take Karen to a rape crisis center, but she said he only was in her mouth, and refused to go,

"Karen, the rape happened to all of you, it doesn't matter where the cock went, mouth, pussy, butt, rape is rape, where he stuck it is not important. He traumatized you for god's sake. This is not a burn or a cut that will go away in a few days. Please!"

"No! Everybody will know, it will be documented and the basis for a lawsuit. You'll want to sue in revenge, and it will drag on and on. I want to go home and take a hot shower and a bath!"