January Sucks

The car was eerily quiet. What was supposed to have been a special night of romance to celebrate our love and commitment to each other had turned into a nightmare beyond anything I could ever have imagined. As unmanly as it sounds, I felt like pulling over and sobbing, the pain was so intense and immobilizing.

And that's when I realized what I had been doing. Reacting. From the minute that the Asshole had asked Linda to dance I was constantly reacting instead of acting. Instead of taking action when I saw the Asshole getting overly familiar with my wife, I reacted by sitting there waiting for Linda to stop him. When Dee told me that Linda had left Morrison's I reacted by trying to chase them down in the parking lot. Even now, instead of acting, I was simply following the script that the Asshole, Linda, and Dee had written for me. I was playing the character that they created: the weak, passive, and emasculated husband.

Who was this guy? It sure as hell wasn't me. I was always the leader. The guy who took charge and solved problems, especially when things were going to crap. At work, people constantly came to me to help them resolve tough business issues -- so often that I was promoted to Supervisor and eventually Manager of my unit, even ahead of older and more experienced people. Among my friends, I was always the one with the steady hand that helped plan events and made sure that fun didn't turn dangerous. And even with my family, I was the sibling that the others turned to for advice, that parent our kids sought out to help with their most difficult problems, and even in my marriage, I was the responsible, thoughtful one. I was the person who thought through things and then planned and strategized to make sure that our family was protected from anything that might go wrong.

Linda was the reactive one; I was the planner. She was the emotional one; I was the problem solver. And this was certainly the worst problem I had ever faced.

When that realization hit, I made two resolutions: First, I would be reactive no more. And second, the path to my redemption ran directly back through the club where my nightmare began. With a hard left turn of the steering wheel, I took back control of my life.

When I arrived at Morrison's the bartender was shouting out "last call" to the bleary-eyed customers who hadn't found their "Mr." or "Ms. Right" for the night.

As I stepped up to the bar, she robotically asked, "So, what'll you ha..." her final words cut short by her recognition of me from earlier in the evening. But, just to be sure, she asked, "You're the guy from earlier tonight, Right? The guy whose wife left with Marc LaValliere." Not so much a question as a statement.

"Yes. That's me."

"Well, I didn't expect to see you again. Would you like a drink? It's on the house." She added.

"Just a little information. Does the Asshole come in here often?"

"Yes." She replied. "One of his usual hunting grounds, I suppose."

"So, he's done this before?" I asked.

"Sure. Nearly every week when the team is in town."

"Married women?"

"Usually." She answered but didn't seem to like where this was going.

"And nobody ever does anything?"

"Look, he's a big guy, he has a lot of money, and he tips well. I don't like it any more than you do but what's a girl supposed to do?" She replied with resignation.

"Do you know where he lives." I asked.

"Sorry. Even if I knew I wouldn't tell you. If I tell you and then you go do something stupid, I lose my job. And I need my job a lot more than I need to help you. Sorry man. Just being honest."

"Sucks to be you," a thin voice offered from the other side of the bar. The bartender turned to stare daggers at a weaselly little man, silently suggesting that his comments weren't helpful.

Just as I was about to give up and go home a pixie looking young woman came around from the other side of the bar.

"I know where he lives." She said. "I mean, I don't know the address but it's a big gray house that backs up on Meadowbrook Park. Kinda' like the Park is his own backyard."

"Are you sure?" I asked. Her eyes lowered at my question and I guessed that I probably knew the entire story without even asking.

"Thanks." I called out over my shoulder as I headed back toward the door.

I knew the area pretty well, but I was still driving around the neighborhood an hour later without any luck. Just as I was about to give up I noticed a small group of homes tucked in behind a high stone wall and when I drove around the corner I found myself in front of a pair of wrought iron gates that, lucky for me, stood wide open. Inside the gate were six large houses arranged in a semicircle on a lone cul-de-sac. All of them were roughly the same size and sat comfortably on their lots, except for one overly large gray stone monstrosity situated at the peak of the cul-de-sac -- with a black Corvette parked in front!

I turned off my headlights and quietly parked next to a hedge which effectively hid my car from view from the neighbors' houses. The Asshole's house was dark with only a dim orangish glow coming through an upstairs window which I assumed was the master bedroom.

I climbed out of my car and walked toward the Asshole's house, steeling myself with recollections of the evening's horrific events. Once there, I rang the doorbell. It obviously worked, as I could hear it ringing inside, but still no one came to the door. I rang again but this time began pounding on the large wooden door itself until I saw a light come on in the foyer and the door open.

There, standing in front of me in an obscenely brief bathrobe, was the Asshole himself.

"What do you want?" He snapped, immediately recognizing me from our brief encounter in Morrison's.

"I want to speak to Linda, my wife."

"She's not here."

"Of course she's here. Let me speak to her." There was a small rustling noise behind him which caused him to turn his head and then nod.

"She doesn't want to talk to you."

"Perhaps. But you want me to talk to her, don't you?" I asked, causing a confused look to cross his previously annoyed face.

"And why would I want you to do that."

"Because," I replied, "If you don't, I'll be forced to dial "9-1-1", explain that she left the club without speaking to me, and say that I think that you either drugged her or she is being held against her will. Now, we both know that the cops will show up to do a welfare check, talk to her, and even if they find out that nothing is wrong, it will still end up on the precinct's activity blotter. And you certainly don't need any bad press while you're trying to renegotiate your contract, do you?"

I could see the wheels slowly turning in his head as he thought through the situation.

"Wait here." He said, as if I had been planning to go anywhere. He had left the door slightly ajar so I could hear an animated discussion being carried on in whispers. There was a pause and then the door opened and standing before me was Linda, naked covered only by a revealing silk mini-robe that was even shorter than the one the Asshole was wearing, her wedding rings were still on her finger.

"Jim. What are you doing here?" She asked.

"I came to get you, Linda. Please get your things and let's go." I said in the most confident voice that I could muster.

"I'm not ready to go. Marc and I aren't finished, and I've decided to stay the night. Marc will see that I get home tomorrow." She added, breaking my heart into a million pieces once again. But, undaunted, I resumed.

"I don't know if our marriage can survive this. But I'm begging you, Linda. Please come home now. If you do, I'm sure that we can work this out in private so it doesn't do any more damage to our kids, our families, to everyone."

"Jim, the only ones who have to know are our friends and they don't think this is a big problem. Just ask them."

"Linda," I said trying to sound more conciliatory than I actually felt, "If we're not careful, this will get out of control and who knows where it will end."

"I'm sorry, Jim. Go home and we'll talk tomorrow." With that, she stepped back inside the mansion and abruptly closed the door in my face. How metaphoric, I thought as I stepped back from the door and off the porch. Linda had just shut the door on our marriage every bit as conclusively as she had shut the literal door on me. Without knowing it, she had chosen the direction of the next phase of my plan and, in my hurt and anger, I was eager to get it started.

I reached into the breast pocket of my jacket, extracted my cellphone, and made sure that the voice recorder app was still capturing every word that had been spoken.

I walked back to my car but, instead of climbing inside, I went around back and popped the trunk lid. I spoke clearly into the phone that was still recording with the dispassionate precision of a surgeon describing a surgical procedure as he extracts an appendix.

"I have opened the trunk of my car and am extracting my emergency bag. From inside the bag, I am taking out a small utility knife and a lug wrench. I am now placing the bag back into the trunk."

I then walked toward the Asshole's car and spoke again.

"I am now using the utility knife to cut the valve stems on all four of the tires on Mr. LaValliere's Corvette. These are relatively simple rubber valve stems and in total should cost less than $100 to replace. It is not my intention to damage Mr. LaValliere's car; simply to disable it.

"I am now returning to my car, putting the knife back into the bag, closing the trunk lid, and locking the car." As I walked back to the Asshole's Corvette with the lug wrench still in my hand, I placed a call to Derek Allen, a close childhood friend who was also a practicing attorney I occasionally used for minor legal matters. Of course, at 3:30 in the morning, the call went directly to his voicemail.

"Derek, Jim here. Sorry to bother you so early. You won't believe this but I'm vandalizing Marc LaValliere's Corvette and will probably be arrested in a few minutes. If you're not too busy in the morning and want to hear a good story, you might want to track me down and bail me out. Thanks Bud."

I then dialed "9-1-1" and waited for an answer.

"Hello, this is '9-1-1.' What is your emergency?"

"Hi. I'm standing in front of Marc LaValliere's house and it appears that someone is vandalizing his car. Can you send a patrol car immediately?" I gave her his address but declined to stay on the phone until the police arrived and simply hung up.

I then hefted the lug wrench.

"I am now going to break the driver's side window of Mr. LaValliere's car. It is not my intention to do any permanent damage and the cost to replace this window should be less than $200. It is my hope that breaking the window will trigger the car's alarm. To cover the cost of the damages, I am also placing a check for $500 made payable to Mr. LaValliere under his windshield wiper."

I then swung the lug wrench and shattered the window. As expected, the car alarm immediately began to wail. I looked around and, one by one, lights began to come on in LaValliere's neighbors' windows but nothing from inside the Asshole's house. I reached into the car and laid on the horn. More lights came on in the neighborhood and finally Asshole's porchlight came on.

Still in his silk bathrobe, LaValliere burst out of his front door heading toward me with Linda appearing behind him in the doorway holding her hand over her mouth.

"What the fuck are you doing, Asshole!" He said before launching into a barrage of obscenities that were racist, sexist, homophobic, and accused me of sexual acts I would previously have thought impossible. As he got closer, he began describing the beating he was about to administer and started a new litany of all the violence he was going to visit on me.

When he got about 15 feet away, I raised the lug wrench and he paused to reassess his plan of attack.

"That wrench is not going to protect you, Asshole. As soon as I get my hands on you, I'm going to rip your arms off and beat the shit out of you with them."

Waiving the lug wrench around, I yelled, "Listen up, fucknut. Before you take another step just remember that I'm entitled to use reasonable means to defend myself. And right now, this lug wrench is "reasonable." And you might want to remember that all I need to do is break an arm or shatter a knee and you won't just be out for the season, but it might end your career. So you decide for yourself, is it worth it?"

By that time LaValliere had come to a complete halt, waves of confusion crashing over his face. As angry as he was, he was clearly having a difficult time coming up with a new plan of attack, so he began pacing from side to side waving his arms and swearing up a storm. Over his shoulder Linda had come running across the lawn in her silk mini-bathrobe hoping, I assume, to diffuse the situation before it could get any worse.

Just as she got near LaValliere I heard a distinctive electronic "whoop" and turned to see the flashing lights of a patrol car pulling into the driveway. I placed the lug wrench on the ground and raised my hands over my head. The two young officers, one male and one female, exited their car with hands poised over their sidearms.

When they asked what was going on, I immediately admitted vandalizing LaValliere's Corvette. The two officers interviewed the three of us and, turning back to me, the female officer asked me to turn around, telling me that she was placing me under arrest. As she clasped the handcuffs on, she quietly said, "I'm sorry for what happened to you and I feel bad about doing this, but I don't have a choice."

"I know." I said. "I was actually hoping that you would arrest me. But if you could do me a favor, would you please take a look at the check under his windshield wiper and make sure that you note it when you write up your report."

The male officer was still trying to calm LaValliere and console Linda. The female officer left me standing by the patrol car and walked back up the driveway toward the Corvette. I looked at Linda, who was standing by herself, and watched as her eyes tracked the officer walking to the front of LaValliere's car. She lifted the windshield wiper, reached under it, and picked up the check, examined it, and looked back at me with a questioning look on her face.

Linda had gone over to the Asshole, so she missed the officer reaching into her pocket, pulling out her smartphone, and snapping a picture.

When the officer returned, I was loaded into the back seat of the patrol car, briefly catching the look of smug satisfaction on the Asshole's face and a distraught look on Linda's. As the car backed out of the driveway, I saw Linda lead Asshole to the front of his Corvette and point to the check I had left. Then, turning to look at me as the officer shifted to drive away, I watched LaValliere's face contort into a sneer as he tore up the check. And then I was gone.

Before I knew it, I was at the police station's booking desk and directed to a payphone to make my one phone call. I suppose most people call a family member or bail bondsman. Instead, I asked the operator if she had the number for the night desk at our local newspaper. When she put me through, I told a tired sounding woman that I was calling from jail with what I thought was an interesting story involving a local celebrity. She asked who the celebrity was and, when I told her it was Marc LaValliere, she immediately snapped to attention. Over the next 5 minutes I told an abbreviated version of my story and suggested that, if she wanted corroboration, she should send a photographer to his house to take some photos of the damaged car. She asked for my cellphone number and said that she would have a staff reporter get back to me the next day when I was released from custody.

I was then lined up with six other guys, most of whom appeared to be drunk or high, and marched into a large concrete block room with no windows and fierce fluorescent overhead lights. I had no sense of time and, unlike my cellmates, I dozed in and out of consciousness without ever actually sleeping.

I was surprised when a large deputy unlocked the steel door and motioned for me to follow him. I was processed out and after about an hour, I found myself in the lobby of the City Jail staring at the smiling but concerned face of my lawyer.

"Come on, Jim." He said. "You're probably hungry so let's grab something to eat and you can tell me what the hell you're doing in lockup."

I'm not a huge fan of Denny's but it was close and they have an endless cup of coffee. So, as the coffee flowed, I told Derek my sad story. By the time I was done, he was having a hard time not shaking his head.

"So, do you know what you want to do, Jim?

"Well, I have no idea how this will turn out, but I need to start the divorce process, if only to maintain the initiative." Derek nodded in agreement.

"I don't practice family law, Jim. But I know one of the absolute best divorce lawyers in the State and I think she would love to take your case. I'll give her a call this afternoon and see if I can set something up for you."

I thanked him and asked if I could catch a ride back to my car. As we pulled up, I watched as LaValliere's Corvette was loaded onto a flatbed. I thanked Derek for his help, jumped into my car, and headed home.

It was 1:00 in the afternoon by the time I made it home and I expected Linda to be there when I arrived, but it was surprisingly quiet when I walked into the kitchen. I hauled the luggage up to our bedroom and could tell immediately that Linda had not made it home. I wanted to wash off the jail smell, so I took a hot shower, dressed in fresh clothes, and headed to the living room where I fell asleep almost immediately.

It felt like seconds but was in reality almost two hours later when I was awakened by the sound of a key being inserted into the front door lock.

"Jim? Jim, I'm home." Linda sounded just like she always did when she came home from running errands. She closed the front door and turned on a light. I turned to look at her.

She looked exactly the same. The blue dress still did everything for her that it had done the night before. Her dark hair fell down her back the same way; the poise of her head, the set of her shoulders, her face, the rings on her finger, were all exactly the same as they had been the night before. As if nothing had changed at all; as if she hadn't spent all night and all morning betraying me with an asshole. That shouldn't be possible, I thought. There should be some visible difference, something to indicate what she had done, at least some shame on her face. There wasn't.

"What the hell did you think you were doing? Marc could have killed you. And for what?" Clearly Linda had decided that her best defense was to mount an aggressive offense. "All you managed to do was get yourself arrested. I hope you're proud of yourself."

"Actually, I should be asking the same of you. Are you proud of yourself, Linda? I can't wait to hear what your Mom and Dad are going to say about this."

"Mom and Dad don't have to find out, Jim. All it would do is hurt them and I know you won't do that because you love them as much as I do." She was partly right, of course. I had come to think of my in-laws as a second set of parents and the thought of causing them pain turned my stomach. But Linda had set things in motion and there was no way that her evening with the Asshole would be a secret very long.

"Besides, nothing has changed. It's still just me, the same old me as always," she said with a tender smile. Of course she knew what I'd been thinking. "There's nothing different; nothing has changed. My love for you is just the same as it was yesterday."

"If that's true, then I guess we never had what I thought we did." Linda's face fell.

"Jim, honey, ..."

"Go upstairs and shower and change your clothes. I unpacked your stuff."

"I took a shower before I came home. You know I would never..."

"Take another one." There was a growl in my voice that she had never heard before from me. She fled upstairs without another word.

I had thought I'd had enough time to get my anger under control, but I guess I was wrong. I tried to get hold of myself while she showered, so we could talk about what came next. I owed it to our kids. She came downstairs, dressed in sweats, her hair in a pony tail, and a worried expression on her face.

"Thanks for putting my things away, Jim, but where's the lingerie I laid out on the bed in the hotel room?"

"I threw it in the trash. Just like you did with our 'special' evening."

"Jim, I bought them especially to share with you. I was hoping to do that tonight to start making up for..."

"I got that hotel room especially to share with you, and we know how well that worked, now don't we?" Her eyes dropped to the floor. I fought for self-control, again.

"Was it everything you expected?" The question hung in the air. Finally, Linda met my eyes, a worried look on her face.

"Jim, I know you have questions. I know we need to talk, and I'll tell you whatever you want to know, honestly and completely. But are you sure you want to know... that? I'll tell you honestly, but I don't want to hurt you."

"It's a little late to be thinking about not hurting me, isn't it?"

Linda winced. "I know, but I'm afraid that telling you what happened will hurt you more, and that will make it harder for us... well, for you to get past this so we can go on with our marriage. Can't we concentrate on the future? We can't let just one night ruin our whole lives."

"That's something else you should have thought about last night," I responded. I pointed to a little crystal vase that Linda loved, which always sat on our mantelpiece. "How many times would I have to throw that vase against the fireplace for it to shatter? Then what would it take for you to 'get past' my breaking it? Even if there were some way to mend it, to put it back together, it would never be the same, would it?"

"Jim, you know how much I love that vase, but I can do without it. Our marriage, what we've built together over almost ten years, is far stronger, and more beautiful, than that vase. Our love is built to weather storms and last a lifetime. That, I can't do without. I know you're hurting, badly. I know I need to make it up to you, and I will, whatever it takes. But above all, I know you love me enough that eventually, you'll get past your hurt and we'll be fine."

"Until last night, I knew you loved me enough that you would never cheat on me. I guess we were both wrong."

Linda slumped back into her chair.

"So, was the night, and morning, with Asshole everything you expected?"

"Marc isn't an asshole. He's a good man, a gentleman. I think you would like him, if things were different."

"He is an asshole. Any so-called man who walks up to a woman who is with someone else, not caring whether she's married or attached, and takes her away from him and takes her home and fucks her, just because he can, is an asshole."

"Jim, Marc didn't take me away from you. He couldn't."

"If he didn't take you away from me, where the hell were you last night?"

"Well, okay, he took me away for the night, but I'm here with you now, and I'll stay with you for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, you're here with me now because Asshole got what he wanted and now he's done with you."

"No, you're wrong. I'm here because I love you, because I'm your wife, and this is our home that we share."

"Right. So, if Asshole had asked you to stick around this afternoon so he could fuck you some more, where would you be right now?"

Linda at least had the grace to blush. "Okay, you're right about that. But Marc was kind and respectful to me the whole time I was with him, and I wish you wouldn't call him that."

"Well, my wishes haven't counted for shit with you since Asshole walked up to you last night, now have they? So why in the fucking hell should yours count with me?" I had risen from my chair to hurl the words at her. She cringed back, frightened. I slumped back into my chair and tried to regain control of myself.

"All right, then. We'll try again. Was it everything you expected?"

"Everything and more." There was both sympathy and resolution in her gaze as she looked directly at me.

Well, I asked for that, didn't I? At least she seemed to be serious about telling the truth. I sighed. I might as well get on with it and find out how bad the damage was.

"How did it start?" I asked. Linda was thoughtful for a moment.

"I was shocked when Marc asked me to dance. You know I didn't try to attract his attention; I had been sure he would ask someone else. Then he asked me, and I saw the envy in Dee's eyes, and knew I'd never have another chance to say I danced with Marc LaValliere, so I gave him my hand. I was too nervous to say anything. I didn't even tell him my name until we were out on the floor and he asked. I knew I'd said I would only dance with you, but I thought I would dance a couple of dances with him and that would be it. I'd come back to you, and you would understand.

"I enjoyed dancing with Marc. He is a very good dancer, as I'm sure you noticed. He's thinking of teaching ballroom dancing when he's finished with football, if his knees aren't gone. I think he'll be good at it.

"After the second fast dance, I thought we were finished. Just as I was about to thank him for the dance, the band started a slow song and his arms went around me. It sounds like a cliché, or a stupid star-struck teenager, but from that moment I forgot about everything but him. He didn't say anything, but I knew then that he wanted much more than a dance from me. At almost the same instant, I knew I would give it to him. I didn't really decide, I didn't think about it, I just knew, as if I'd been told. During the second slow dance, he asked me if I was ready. He didn't have to explain what he meant. I nodded; I couldn't talk.

"'There's a back door by the restrooms. Say you have to go, and I'll meet you there.' I appreciated that he was enough of a gentleman to not come by our table and rub your face in it. Then he walked toward his table, and you seated me and took my hand. I'm sure you noticed how jumpy I was."

"I did. Like an idiot, I thought after dancing with him you were eager to be with me. It never occurred to me that you couldn't wait to leave me."

"I keep telling you, I wasn't leaving you. It was no different from running errands or going to work. I knew I would come back when I had finished, just like I will always come back."

"Really? So you really think running off to spend a night fucking Asshole is no different than going to the grocery store?"

"Well, no, not exactly, but it still wasn't as if I was really leaving you."

"The hell it wasn't really leaving!" She flinched as if I'd slapped her. I fought for control again. "If I'd cut in, would you have stayed with me?"

Linda raised her eyes to mine, and held them. "No."

I guess I asked for that one, too. I had to turn away from her. "I mean that little to you, then."

"No, Jim! Never think that! You mean the world to me!"

"Bullshit, Linda. Actions speak louder than words, and from the moment Asshole spoke to you, up to and including right now, your actions say I mean nothing to you." I caught sight of the clock on the mantelpiece. "It's time to pick up the kids. I'll bring them home. I'll help get them settled, then I'm going out. I'll be back tomorrow evening. I've had about all of this I can handle."

"Jim, I didn't do this to hurt you. Please don't do anything that will make it harder for us to go on together."

"Right, you've already taken care of that, haven't you?"

"Please, Jim, think of Emma and Tommy. Think of what it could do to them."

I snapped at her. "You mean like you were thinking last night about what you were doing to them? No. You don't get to say that. You don't get to hide behind them."

Linda looked like she'd seen a ghost.

"While I'm gone, I want you to write down what happened last night and this morning. I already know Asshole fucked you senseless, you don't have to go into all that, but I need to know what you were thinking and feeling, and I don't think I can be in the same room while you tell me. Right now, I can barely stand to look at you, but I still need to know what happened. Maybe it won't be so bad if I can read it instead of hear it."

"I'll do whatever you ask, Jim. But how can I start making it up to you if you aren't here? I do have plans for us tonight." She smiled tentatively at me.

"Not until you show me a clean STD panel from your doctor."

"Oh." Linda blushed. "Must you embarrass me like that, Jim? Marc is an athlete, he has to be clean, I'm sure of it."

"Yeah, I'm sure he would have said that, if you'd thought to ask. But you didn't, did you?" I grabbed my coat and walked to the door. She'd just confirmed that she let Asshole fuck her bareback without a care in the world about what she might pick up or pass on to me. Shit.

"I love you, Jim."

"Right now, Linda, I don't have any idea what you mean by that."

Emma and Tommy rushed across Mrs. Porter's living room toward me the instant I had a foot in the door. I knelt and swept one of my kids up in each arm, while they squealed "Daddy!" in my ears. Neither of them would accept being put down to walk to the car, so Mrs. Porter helped me grab a kid-size backpack in each hand and waved me out her door.

Neither of them stopped talking for a moment as I strapped them in, started the car, and drove home. You'd have thought they'd been gone for a week by the amount of important stuff that they had to tell me. And of course, they had to correct each other about almost everything, because there was no way their sibling could possibly get it right. It was loud, it was chaotic, and I couldn't have gotten a word in edgewise if I'd wanted to. It was exactly what I needed.

When we got home, of course they had to go through the same routine with Linda, which gave me time to unpack their backpacks, and pack for my own overnight. They finally wound down, we had some supper, and read together, as we always did. It was good family bonding time, then time for their bed. I kissed them as we tucked them in, and those kisses were a promise. No matter what Linda did, no matter what became of us, I would do right by my children. Whatever it took.

"I've been thinking over what you asked me to do, Jim. Are you absolutely sure you want this in writing? Do you want to be able to go back years from now and read it again, and hurt all over again?"

"I never wanted any of this, but you did it anyway. Obviously what I want doesn't mean shit to you anymore. I know I'm going to hate reading it, but I have to understand this if I'm going to make good decisions going forward. So no, I don't want to read it, but I have to."

Linda's hand reached toward me, to caress my neck as she always did when I was stressed. I backed a step away from her. Her hand dropped, and her face paled.

"I guess I understand. It will be hard, but I'll do what you ask. I'll... I'll mark the parts that I think will hurt worst, so you can skip over them. If you want to, that is."

She was trying to help me, just as she always did when I was stressed. Only it didn't work so well when she had caused the stress. I nodded and picked up my overnight.

"I'll see you tomorrow after supper."

"I love you, Jim."

"You know, I actually used to believe that."