Hearth and Home

"I remember some guy pulled out."

"That was Larry, something had gone wrong in his department, they blamed him; he got passed over. If you ask me Greta screwed something up, shifted the blame, then they fingered Larry and promoted Greta."

I thought I knew my wife; that was about the strangest thing I'd ever heard. I told her, "Marge that's not like my wife. I tell you she's a straight arrow. She'd never pulled something like that on anybody."

Marge flinched, then she went on, "OK, maybe I'm wrong, but have you noticed anything different about her lately?"

I had, but I knew telling Marge wasn't a good idea, so I lied, "No Marge I haven't."

Marge looked at me quizzically, "Everything OK at home; no late nights, no changes in behavior?"

Come to think of it I saw her slip in real late at Felicity's last recital. She must have missed nearly the whole thing. When I asked her about it she said she'd been in the back talking to some of the other mothers. Then the other day, Saturday a week ago, she'd missed little Jeremy's lacrosse game. I never said anything about that. I gave Marge the most innocent look I could muster, "No Marge, can't think of a thing. But thanks for the heads up. I'll keep a look out from now on." I stood up and proffered her my arm, "Marge don't say anything about this."

She nodded, "You be quiet too."

I smiled, "Gotcha."

Together we strolled back outside to the main party. I continued to walk around making small talk. I didn't try to keep tabs on Greta. If she was up to something, say hiding down in the boathouse, it wouldn't matter, not to me, not at the moment anyway.

I kept walking around and visiting with the other guests. My antennae were up now though. I kept thinking everybody was sort of watching me; maybe they knew something, maybe they were watching to see what I would do. Then again maybe I was paranoid.

When the barbeque finally broke up I found Greta; she was still hanging on Don Juan's arm. I tapped her on the elbow, "Time to go."

She turned, smiled at Weaver and said, "Bye, see you soon." She didn't take my arm though; she just walked away toward the field where the cars were parked.

I smiled at the asshole. I saw the look on his face, and I knew right away, I recognized the look; yes he was tapping my meat. I smiled at him, "I didn't catch your name, but good bye, and take it easy."

He laughed.

I played dumb all the way home. I talked about baseball and Felicity, and young Jeremy's next lacrosse game. I think Greta was glad I didn't ask her anything. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. I knew something was up.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sunday was church; then we usually spent time around the house just being with the kids. Our kids were still young enough to not want to pretend they didn't know us.

Felicity had a boyfriend. He lived in our development, and his parents and Greta and I were casual friends. We'd talked things over with the boy's parents, and we all agreed they could be boy and girlfriend, but they shouldn't be allowed to kiss. They could walk the neighborhood and hold hands and all, but no smooching. The kids thought that was OK.

After church Farrah said she wanted me to take her out in the canoe sometime. Farrah seemed the most adventurous of our three, so I agreed to set up a day next weekend. She was pretty happy about the whole idea. After that she asked if she could go over to her friend's house and watch TV. Greta and I told her to keep her cell phone with her, and that she had to be home by six. She was up for it.

Jeremy said he was going down to the high school and get in a pick-up game of lacrosse. I offered him my old attack stick, but he declined. We told him six o'clock too.

So for the next three or four hours it could be just Greta and I. I thought this might be a good time for us to get reacquainted. I was sure surprised. No sooner had Jeremy pulled off on his bicycle than Greta announced she needed to go the office for a few hours. She said she had some paperwork she had to catch up on.

Now her office was only eight miles away. I knew it was eight miles because it was in exactly the next town, and the signs all said eight miles. I figured if she was up to no good, this would be an easy time to catch her. So I told her sure, go ahead. I told her I thought I'd pull the canoe down from its roost in the garage and check it over for my next weekend trip with Farrah.

Greta smiled, gave me a peck on the cheek, slipped on a lightweight sweater, got her pocketbook and keys, got in her car, and took off.

I sat down on the front porch. It was a simple affair, the porch I mean, just a concrete slab with a small overhang. The real porch sitting took place in the back yard. Like I said I sat down and waited for about ten minutes; that would give Greta enough of a head start if she were going to her office.

I waited, then got in my old Buick and started for her office too. When I got to her office I wasn't that surprised. Now her office was a medium sized brick house that had been converted to offices. She and twelve or thirteen people worked there. The old backyard had been converted for parking. I drove by the old house, and guess what? The place was locked up tight, and Greta's little Volkswagen was nowhere in sight.

I had no idea where the old stud lived so there wasn't much I could do right then. I guessed my wife was going to get a freebie today, but I knew pretty soon I'd have to take some kind of action.

On the way home I stopped off at the liquor store and bought a six pack of Coors, my favorite beer. Usually I had no beer at home. I wasn't much of a drinker, and besides I didn't like the example it set for my kids. We had a small wine rack, and we kept a few bottles of hard stuff in a cabinet in the living room, but that stuff was all pretty much just for show. I didn't like the real drinking stuff, like beer, out around the kids. See what a good dad I am?

I drove on home. Took my beer and put it in the refrigerator I had in my den, that's my hunting lodge above the garage. I opened one up and started to stare at my deer heads and my bear skin rug.

Of course I was brokenhearted. I was pissed too. I covered all the emotions I guess a man normally covers in situations like this. Was she getting ready to leave me? Damn that was a real possibility if Marge was right about the home office thing. Was I good enough for her in bed? Well damn, I knew I was better than good. She was as lame as a piece of particle board. Gosh I thought if old Gary Weaver was toasting marshmallows over her pussy he'd need a can of sterno to get the job done. I just couldn't imagine any man, even if they got into little Greta's pants a first time, I couldn't imagine them going back for seconds. I mean hot she wasn't, not in the sack.

I wondered did she love me? That was a no brainer, if she loved me she wouldn't be out with Brad Pitt right now would she? That was another thing that bothered me a little. No it bothered me a lot. The guy didn't look like half the man I was. He was shorter than me, he had a receding hairline, I thought I detected a bald spot in the back, and I swear that was a pretty good sized pot he was carrying around out in front. Now I'm thirty-seven, but my waistline is still a pretty svelte thirty-four. I bet he was looking down at forty inches at least. That was when it hit me; Greta wanted another promotion. My wife had been bitten by the unholy bug of ambition. She wanted to go big time; she wanted home office, and she figured old flabby fella with the receding hair was her ticket to ride.

Suddenly an old song crept into my head. Lynnrd Skinner had done a song. I think it was titled 'Three Steps'. I kept humming, 'Hey fat fella with the hair colored yella...' Hm, now who was I? Was I the kind of guy to give old 'Fat Fella' his three steps? I didn't know, but I remember old Linda Lou's boyfriend had a forty-four.

I could hear Greta already, "Jeremy I love you, but I'm not in love with you. Jeremy I want my freedom."

I thought about that long and hard. First of all, though old what's his name was probably slipping my wife the salami right now he wasn't going to get away with anything. No sir I was no cuckold; well at least not long term. The next thing that crossed my mind was what to do about little Greta. This was a real problem.

I thought long and hard for another ten minutes. I said OK, times up! I could divorce her. Yeah right! I had a few friends who'd gone that route. They all got hosed. They ended up losing their houses, their kids, half their assets, and they got stuck with child support and with alimony. Yeah sure, like I was going to divorce her and lose my kids; that wasn't going to happen. And oh yeah, she wasn't divorcing me either. Damn, that was the same turd just different toilet paper. No ma'am little flat chested, lousy fuck Greta wasn't going to get away with it.

I sat there; my first Coors was still unfinished and had become lukewarm. I got up and dumped it down the drain. I sat back down and thought some more. What was I going to do? I sat there. I looked at my deer heads. I stared down my big dead bear. I glanced over at my gun collection; my rifles, my shotguns, and all my pistols.

Did I tell anyone I was a history buff? Well I was and still am I guess. My favorite period in American history is the Revolution. Man I love George Washington; there was a man who never took any shit off of anybody. My second favorite was the Civil War. I thought about Nathan Bedford Forrest; he was one tough customer. "Put a scare into them," he used to say. My third favorite was World War Two, George Patton. What was it he said? "Don't you die for your country. Make that other poor dumb bastard die for his country!"

Ah yes World War Two. I thought about an old Tom Lehr song from the 1960's. My father, bless his heart used to sing it to me. How did that one verse go? Let's see, 'Once all the Germans were warlike and mean. But that couldn't happen again. We taught them a lesson in 1918, and they've hardly bothered us since then'. Great song, catchy tune

Oh those rascally Germans, that big meanie old one testicled Hitler. Oh yes, Hitler. I read something in an old American World War Two book. Let me try to remember. Oh yes, Hitler was talking to all these German industrialists about what he planned to do with the Jews, how he'd see to it they'd all just disappear in the night and fog. He was pretty grim, pretty sanguine about the whole thing. Before I go any further; I'm no bigot, in fact my grandmother on my father's side was a Jewish girl. So I guess Hitler would've wanted to get me too.

Well these industrialists were all upset about Hitler's plans. Some of them said something about international law or something. I remember reading what Hitler said. He looked at those industrialists and he said, "There you stand with your law books, and here I stand with my bayonets. After it's over, and after we've killed everybody who disagrees with us, I'll decide what's right and wrong."

I went back to the refrigerator and got out a second Coors. Good old Greta had the law. Me, I looked over at my gun collection. I thought about what I wanted. I wanted my children. They're my sunshine, and ain't nobody taking my sunshine from me. Yeah no matter how you cut it, if it came right down to it, little Greta had her law books. All I had...was...well...that was a damn fine Beretta; I loved my old Glock, and oh baby that Smith and Wesson was a beauty.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a violent person. I'm a civilized man, but I knew my history. Back in the day every man had his lentil, and above every lentil? Sure I belonged to the NRA. I liked reading the magazine, but I never saw any reason for a sixty round clip or owning an AR15. I mean if somebody else wanted one that was their business; we all had a right. Would I use deadly force to protect what was mine? I knew the answer to that.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Greta got home about 5:45, just ahead of the kids. We had a little talk.

She asked, "Did you get the canoe down?"

I told her, "Nah I bought some beer and went to my 'hunting lodge' and thought about what we'd do when the five of us went on vacation this summer." I watched her face. She was inscrutable, so I asked her, "You have any ideas?"

She gave me this silly smile, "No, I haven't, not really"

I thought yeah, 'I bet you haven't.' I let it go.

The kids all came home. Greta ordered out for pizza, and we all had a good time.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The next several days kind of caught me off guard. Greta was home late more often than she was on time. She certainly seemed preoccupied, and every time I said anything to her she nearly tore my head off. I remembered my talks with the guys who'd been crucified. Greta's behavior was a pretty close approximation to what they'd described. My guess was the barbeque kind of set Greta's little wheels in motion. I knew I was probably running out of time.

Understand I'm not a violent man. I already said that. I've killed things. I've killed many things. I've killed rabbits, deer, squirrel, doves, ducks, geese, and one bear. Actually I only killed one squirrel. I got one when I was seven; shot it with a sixteen gauge. Once I got it my granddad, the same one who'd married the Jewish girl, grabbed me and the squirrel. He pulled out his pen knife, opened the dead squirrel's mouth and cut its tongue off. He said, "Here eat this and it'll guarantee you'll get another squirrel.

Well he was my granddad. He'd let me drink his moonshine. I ate the tongue. It tasted awful, all grisly, but it made him proud. I kept it to myself, but I was determined never to try to kill another squirrel again as long as I lived. So far I haven't.

I wonder sometimes how he ever ended up marrying a Jewish girl. You know the stereotypes about Jews; they're all into business and money and clothes and shit. I guess I'll never know; they're both dead now. Love is just a funny thing; pretty Jewish girl rich family, and hardworking hard drinking farmer. I know one thing; they sure paid attention to each other. It was like he was Solomon and she was the Queen of Sheba. I thought Greta and I had that; I guess I was wrong.

I've never killed a man, but I sucked it up; the bastard was screwing my wife, and if she got her way I'd lose everything that mattered to me. I mean I felt guilty, real guilty. But the way I saw it; it was either him or me. I chose me.

Still, this was a big step; I better be sure. First I started to keep track of Greta's activities. I got myself a little spiral pad and started writing down all her comings and goings. It didn't take long to figure out a pattern; at least a pattern about her late arrivals home.

From there I took a couple days off from work so I could track what she did on the days she came home late; the things I found out were enervating. My Greta and Rambo had a regular thing going at the Holiday Inn. Every Tuesday afternoon, and nearly every Sunday after church they teamed up for what I guess was a little love in.

I followed him home one afternoon after one of their trysts. He lived in a pretty nice condominium. It was an older facility; something they built in the 1970's called a quadruplex. It entailed four separate townhouses all in one big square building. Each had its own front door, but there were no back yards or anything. Chances were the things were pretty soundproof. I hoped so anyway.

So I knew my wife was a cheat. I knew where they were doing it, and I knew where he lived. I guessed there was still at least one more thing to do before I went on automatic pilot. I had to have a sit down with my wife.

I figured a Monday night was the best time. She would be home at her regular time. Felicity would be at dance. Jeremy would be at lacrosse practice, and I could find a way to farm out Farrah.

Monday came. Farrah was at a friends and the other kids were busy. Greta got home and started for the bedroom to change. I stopped her at the front door, "Greta I need you for a minute."

Her response was predictable, "Can't it wait. I'm tired. I want to get out of these things and lie down awhile."

I stood in front of her. I hated the shit she wore nowadays. I left my arms hanging loosely at my sides to be as nonthreatening as possible. I told her, "No it can't wait. I need to talk now."

I'm sure she didn't suspect anything. I think she thought she'd covered her tracks pretty well. She replied, "OK, make it quick."

I spread my right arm in the direction of the living room, "Let's go in and sit down."

She shrugged, "This had better be good. I already have a headache," she plodded her way into the living room.

While she took a seat in an easy chair, I took up position on the sofa. I noticed she chose the chair; a good way to avoid intimate contact. I asked her, "Can you remember the last time we made love?"

She started to get up, "Oh that; is that what this is about?"

I motioned for her to stay seated, "No, it's more than that."

She crossed her legs, she still didn't suspect anything or just as likely she did suspect but had put on her I'm bored and want to lie down face on. I remembered my friends. Lately I'd been reading up on this on the Internet; cheaters are always superlative liars. It's because the person they're lying to wants to believe everything they say, but I already knew the truth. I wasn't going to confront her, but I wanted to hear her lie I guess. I told her, "You know I love you."

"I love you too, can I get up now?"

"No, you know I'd do anything for you."

"Me too, I'm tired, can't this wait."

I wanted to do this right, "Greta things are different. You've changed. Are you happy? I mean something's wrong. Tell me what's bothering you."

She didn't blink an eye; man she was good, "Look it's been tough at work. I can never seem to catch up. Is there anything else?"

"Is it that Weaver, your new boss, is he giving you a hard time?"

She continued to play it cool, "No it's not him; there's just too much to do."

According to what I'd read somewhere around this time she was supposed to either get all warm and cuddly or she'd get belligerent. I told her, "You know I'm here for you. You know how much I care about you."

She acted like she was tired and bored, "I know that Jeremy. Look I want to go lie down," she got up.

I asked her, "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

She started for stairs, "No, can't think of a thing."

I hit her with my best shot, "You're not doing anything you'd be afraid to tell me about are you?"

She didn't miss a step, "No, why don't you fix supper tonight. There's some fish in the freezer."

I smiled, "OK honey." That was it and I knew it. From what I read on the Internet there were different kinds of affairs; some were just little flings, some were a little longer lasting, but some were what the experts called 'exit affairs'. I had it figured; she was having an exit affair. She might not be thinking of leaving me for him, but she was sure planning on leaving me, too bad that just wasn't going to happen.

How was I going to stop her; that was already a done deal? They'd find Weaver dead, and she would know. This was Monday. They did their little thing at the Holiday Inn on Tuesdays; it would have to be tonight. Why tonight; her answers had been too pat. She knew I was on to her. They'd probably already made preliminary plans. I couldn't wait for them to act first. If I waited until after they met tomorrow it would probably be too late.

We had supper like always. I got out the fish and put it in the broiler. The fish was joined by a salad and some tater tots. Greta, the kids and me all ate in a ragged kind of silence. I bet she'd called him when she went upstairs.