I Never Saw It Coming

I wasn't surprised when I looked in the lockbox and found she had cleaned out everything. I needed written proof from the bank that she had taken it all. I was told they had video recordings of the lockbox area if I needed additional proof. A call to my attorney confirmed she had taken everything. But what I didn't know, was that he had already filed a motion with the court to get everything back. I guess we'd won the first round, since the court had already ordered Kathy to return everything she'd taken from the lockbox to the court.

My lawyer caught me up to date on the rest. "Steve, she's offering her share of the house for your share of the CDs and bonds. I told her to return everything like the court directed her to do or I would have her arrested for not complying with a direct court order. She's crazy if she thinks I care that I'm also on her shit list. My job is to legally represent you and only you by making sure your interests are protected." That's the reason you hire a lawyer, I told myself.

Back at my house I took an inventory of what I still had. I knew a local contractor in the neighborhood and made a note to call him to fix the walls. I next called Merry Maids to come in and do a full cleaning especially in the kitchen and dining room where I'd flung the microwave and tossed the dishes against the wall. Too bad it hadn't been Kathy's grandmother's good china. No one had turned off the electric, phone, or water so I figured by the weekend I'd be able to move back in—as soon as I bought a bed that is.

I wasn't looking for a full bedroom set, more so just a queen-size bed. It had been forever since I had shopped for even a mattress and there were a million styles and material types not to mention prices to choose from. You could pay anywhere from five hundred dollars on the low end to well over seven thousand dollars on the upper end. I just wanted something to sleep on. I settled for a good box spring, mattress, and frame for just over nine hundred dollars. At least now I wouldn't have to worry about sleeping on a mattress that someone had fucked my ex-wife on. Hank, the contractor, came over on Saturday morning to give me a price on repairing the damage.

"Your walls are pretty solid, must have hurt like a son of a bitch when you hit that damn stud," he said with a faint smile.

"I just want to get the holes fixed and a fresh coat of white paint put on, nothing special," I told him. He made a few notes looking at the damage I'd done to the four walls.

"How does two hundred sound to you?"

"Awfully low."

"Well, that's my price take it or leave it."

"Hank, I've still got money left, I don't want to take advantage of our friendship."

"Steve, whether you know it or not, you did me and every other guy in this neighborhood a big favor. After your incident with Bob and the car, most of us guys kind of looked up to you. I don't know what I would have done if it had been my wife and me, but she and every wife in the neighborhood now know their husbands would never put up with what your wife did to you. Hell, Randy and Linda got into it hot and heavy one night when she took Kathy's side. Randy told her if she felt that way to take her shit and fucking leave because he would have probably put her in the damn grave if she'd done that to him." Hank took a deep breath, recomposed himself, and continued. "Let me reiterate; I repeat, you are our neighborhood hero." It made me smile a little but he didn't know the half of what it was like to be in my shoes. I thanked him and said that he could start whenever he wanted. With that, all the easy things on my list were done.

Within six weeks, all the bonds and CDs had been returned to our bank lock- box. The house had been repaired and professionally cleaned. Life was starting to get back to my new normal.

When my kids spent their first full weekend with me we were all a little apprehensive. In other words, no one knew quite what to say.

"Kids, I know it's going to be a little strange for a while, but this is still your home. If you have something to say, just say it. I don't want you to feel you can't say or tell me what's on your mind for fear of hurting my feelings. Over the last year my skin's gotten a lot thicker and I don't think there is anything you could say that would shock me anymore." I think they were a little relieved I'd been the one to break the ice.

"Dad, you know we both love you and we're sorry Mom did this," John said, Heather nodded in agreement. "Dad, we didn't know about Bob until after that weekend when Mom said we were going to live at his house. We weren't happy, we still aren't happy there."

"There was nothing either of you could do, it was your mom's choice. Even if Bob was out of the picture your mom and I would never get back together again. What we had is over and done with, and we're all going to have to deal with it. I just want you to know I'm still your dad, that I love you, and if you ever need anything I'll be here for you." We all hugged.

A pizza and a movie started and finished off the evening. Did I want to belittle and slam their cheating ass mother? Hell, yes, only I wasn't going to lower myself to her level, not yet anyway. Our first weekend was a success in my book. We started out on a tentative note but ended up like we always were, which was a family. However, in this new kind of family we were together, yet apart. The one thing I did do, was get John a decent haircut—no more bowl cut for him.

On the outside life went on. I went to work, had a small social life with my friends in the neighborhood, and filled up the rest of my time with the kids. When John started soccer and Heather started dance I became even busier.

Everyone, except my brother, told me to get over it, to move on, start my life over. "You're still young, you can find yourself another girl, get married, have a new life."

To them I would just say, "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on." I wasted fourteen years on that bitch and if I wanted to still be mad, I had every fucking right to be. Talk was cheap. They hadn't gone through what I had over the last two years. Sometimes you just need that pound of flesh to make the pain and hurt go away, and that's what I was going to get one way or another.

Kathy wanted to lower the price of the house—I flatly refused. She was totally pissed off—I didn't give a shit.

"Steve, it's never going to sell at that price in this down market. We need to drop it at least twenty thousand to move it."

"If you want to give up twenty thousand of your share I'll agree, but if not, the price stays where it's at."

Although I dragged my feet, we eventually divided the bonds and CDs. She spent hers in less than three months on a new car and a vacation for her and Bob. Not me, I banked everything. This was going to be the start of my nest egg of a sort.

Eight and a half months after I got out of jail there was a fire at Bob's house. It was reported that while they were at a soccer game, someone doused the inside of the electrical box and rear of the house with gasoline and started it on fire. By the time the fire was out, the back half of the house was toast; in addition they had no power. The next day I had two police officers at my front door. A trip to the police station did them no good. You see, I was at a neighborhood party and had no less than ten witnesses to substantiate my alibi.

"Steve, you were only one block away. You could have easily snuck away and done this," accused one of the officers.

"Prove it," was my only reply. I let them go on for a little while, but when I'd had enough I made my move. "If you don't mind, I'm out of here," I said, standing up.

"Mr. Moore, we're not done with you yet," the larger of the two cops said. I guess they were playing good cop/bad cop.

"Either charge me, release me, or I'm calling my lawyer because I'm not saying another word," I told them, taking out my cell phone and looking at them.

"We're going to release you, but we will be keeping our eye on you. " I smiled on the inside while mentally checking off my 'things to do list', one down, two to go.

I volunteered to take my children because they couldn't live in a house without any power. The repairs to Bob's house were going to take at least two months, so the three of us had a mini vacation together.

"Steve, I know you did it no matter what the police say," said a suspicious Kathy, picking the kids up one night for dinner.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I was with all our good friends, or should I say my good friends. Too bad you and Bob are no longer invited to the get togethers. Maybe I could put in a good word for you?" I suggested sarcastically, smiling inwardly.

"Don't bother, we wouldn't go even if they begged us." She responded, sounding bitter.

"Well, I guess you two have each other and that's all that matters, at least for now."

What's that suppose to mean?" Kathy responded wide-eyed.

"Nothing. I just meant that the two of you are so lucky to have one another, that's all." I smiled, and not just on the inside this time.

The kids wanted to spend more and more time with me, which didn't set well with either Kathy or Bob. On more than one occasion I heard about shouting matches between Bob and the kids with them telling him that he wasn't their father and to stop acting like he was. Kathy tried to intervene but ended up telling me not to keep stirring up trouble between Bob and the children.

"Kathy, I don't know what you're talking about? I never badmouth you in front of the kids. You're their mother and I've told them on more than one occasion they have to listen and do whatever you ask of them."

"How about Bob?"

"Him? Well, he's a backstabbing, scum sucking asshole, whose mother should have smothered him at birth. Besides that, I guess he's a nice enough guy." If looks could kill I would already have been dead.

"He's good to your kids, and I don't want you to bad mouth him anymore to them."

"Not going to happen. He's less than nothing to me, and I only pray I get the chance to piss on his grave one day." With that she again gave me the look. "Not that I would do anything to harm him, mind you."

"Steve, so help me," she started to say.

"What are you going to do, Kathy? Cheat on me? Divorce me? Put me in jail? Make my life hell? Oh wait—you all ready did all those things to me, didn't you? I guess you really can't do any more to me, can you? Why don't you go back to that piece of shit you call a husband and leave me the fuck alone?" Without another word she turned tail and walked back to her house. "And to think I once loved that bitch," I said to myself, watching her walk away.

Work was going great. It didn't take me more than a couple of weeks to get up to speed once I got back. Chris was pushing me to take over four more accounts. It would take extra time to do this, but without the kids or anyone else at home, what else did I have to do at night?

After making initial contact with the customers, I scheduled several two-day trips to each facility to familiarize myself with their operations. Three of the accounts were a piece of cake and in the end would add only a little bit to my plate, but the fourth one, T.W. Inc., was an entirely different matter. They were in the middle of changing their manufacturing process, and it was going to take me one trip a month just to keep up with all the changes.

The person they initially assigned to me, to keep up with the changes, left a lot to be desired. He was knowledgeable, but highly unorganized. The data I needed I never got, and when I pushed him for what I wanted he got a little arrogant with me.

"Chris, I don't want to make waves, but if I don't get what we need, I won't be able to make the changes here, and in the end will screw up their system." After two calls, I was given an emissary between the engineer and myself. From that day forward, I met with a woman named Monica who worked directly with the engineer.

"Steve, Monica Bradley," she said, introducing herself, holding out her hand for me to shake. She had a degree in process engineering, but had only been with this company for about five years. We worked great together. Somehow she got me everything I needed either by hook or by crook. When we were about two weeks away from finishing phase one, I asked her out to dinner for later than evening.

"Monica, I'd like to take you and your husband out to dinner tonight as a little thank you for all your help," I told her. "The Hilton, where I'm staying, has an excellent restaurant so why don't the two of you plan on meeting me there about six o'clock." We shook hands and I was out of the plant by four thirty. For the next hour I got caught up on paperwork and e-mails. With fifty e-mails backed up I wondered what people did before the Internet. At five minutes to six I walked down the stairs and into the restaurant. I was shown to a table and waited for Monica and her husband to arrive.

At precisely six o'clock Monica walked into the restaurant, all alone. I waved her over to the table and rose to greet her.

"Where's your husband, parking the car?"

"Steve, I'm not married."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed," I said, looking down at the rings on her hand while pulling out her chair.

"I wear these rings as a way of keeping everything professional on the job. No one is going to take the chance of hitting on a married woman and getting nailed with a sexual harassment lawsuit, so it just makes it that much easier at work. Besides, they seem to move up the married individuals a lot faster than the single ones for some reason."

"I think the reason for that is because married employees seem to be more stable. How do you get away with it when it comes to company functions and things like that?"

"I just tell everyone that he's either on the road or something else came up. I've done it so many times they don't even ask me anymore."

"Well, you had me going, that's for sure." We had a wonderful dinner and by the end of the night I'd given her the highlights of my last two years.

"I can't believe they would do that to you. That really sucks."

"You're telling me? Well, it's now in the past and I'm moving on with my life, or whatever is left of it." I was, in fact, trying to mellow a little and rebuild my life, but revenge was still high on my list.

"Hell, Steve, you're still young and there are a hundred women out there who would love a guy like you," she smiled, blushing a little too.

"You're probably right, but I haven't had either the time or ambition to get back into the dating pool. I'm still a little leery."

"Well, you asked me out, didn't you?"

"You and your husband." I interjected.

"Well, if I hadn't been married, would you still have asked me out?"

"You know, I probably would have. You're easy to talk to and be around but most of all, not a pathetic twit like my ex."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment, I think," she said, laughing. The rest of the dinner went great.

I left the next day and wouldn't be back for almost a month. I told her to give me a call every week especially if anything cropped up. I started feeling more at ease around women, even those not in my inner-circle.

We went out most nights when I visited there, which turned out to be every couple of weeks. I still had more than a few trust issues but was working on them. Phone calls and e-mails allowed us to stay in touch. After a couple of months we'd started kissing and doing a few other things, I was finally ready to take it to the next level. Was I becoming normal again?

When Monica said she had a conflict Wednesday night I thought nothing of it. We'd been going at it hot and heavy on Tuesday night and I had forgotten to get a pack of condoms.

"Steve, let's plan for a whole evening on Thursday," she said, giving me a full lip kiss at the door. I was giving myself a little hand relief before she even got to the elevator. Thursday I was going to remember to pack the protection.

Wednesday I took out the city map and looked for a restaurant I hadn't been to yet. After six trips I'd eaten at all the local places, so tonight I went on a research mission, as I liked to call it. I found a nice Indian restaurant about twenty-five minutes from where I was staying. I sat down in a corner booth, ordered a beer, the full sampler platter, and was ready to kick back and relax.

I didn't see them walk in but heard a familiar laugh just after I got my meal. I switched sides in my booth and wished I hadn't. There was Monica and some guy at a table no more than twenty feet away from me, and by the looks of it, this wasn't a first date. They talked, laughed, held hands, and never lost eye contact. After five minutes of watching their lip action I lost my appetite. I finished my beer paid my check and was out of there. She didn't look that conflicted, I thought to myself.

I stayed away from her as much as possible on Thursday. Instead of eating in, I went alone to McDonald's for lunch. By three o'clock Monica was starting to become my shadow. She smiled and flirted, even caressing my lower arm when we were close enough to touch.

"You take care of your conflict last night?" I asked.

"Yes, I did, and tonight you're all mine."

"I was thinking, I know a quiet and intimate restaurant you might like. I found it last night and the sampler platter is fabulous." I was looking right into her eyes.

"What type of food is it?"

"Indian food." Her face lost all of its color. "I was there last night. And can you believe it, in a restaurant all the way on the other side of town I saw someone I knew? What are the chances of that, Monica?" I never blinked.

"Steve, I can explain."

"No need. I probably should have realized what type of girl you were that first night in the restaurant. I got rid of one lying bitch and I sure as hell don't need another." I walked away, cutting my trip short that month. After not answering four e-mails I never got another one. Trust issues still seemed to plague me. I thought I'd finally started to get over them but Monica had brought them back with a vengeance. They assigned me someone else on my next trip, thankfully a guy.

Three months later I got an early Christmas present.

The parking lot for Bob's office was located across the street from his building. There was a four way stop light at the corner with a crosswalk and signal. It was a Friday night around ten after five. Bob was in a hurry to get home and as soon as the crosswalk light lit up he started to cross the street; he never noticed the car that was running the light to his left. It happened so fast the people nearest Bob didn't have time to warn him. The black sedan's right front side struck him and he went sailing over the hood and smacked into the street. Neither of the two women that witnessed the hit and run got a good look at the car much less a license plate number. All they said was it was a black four-door car with tinted windows, which just happened to match my black BMW.

I was talking to my next-door neighbor Saturday night when the police car pulled into my driveway. The two police officers got out of their car and walked up to where we were talking.

"Mr. Moore, we would like a word with you." the shorter of the two said.

"Sure, no problem. Tom, I'll get back with you later on about the party," I told my neighbor. Tom walked slowly back to his house watching us as he went.

"Mr. Moore, you own a 2002, 320i black BMW," the other police officer said, reading from his note pad.

"That's right," I replied, wondering what was going on. "What's the matter, I forget to pay a parking ticket or something?" I joked, but they didn't laugh.

"Is the car here?"

"Yes, it's in the garage. What's this all about?" I asked.