"Myra's Little Book Shop"

By way of introduction:

Like "Marsha and Gary", though still a loving wives tale, this does not follow the traditional 'Loving Wives' formula so stop now if that's your interest.

Also for the skimmers and 'nonreaders' don't waste your time, go someplace else.

And also, the opening for this story has the same setting as another story I wrote that I pulled so if it sounds vaguely familiar it was me you remember.

And last, though this story is about reconciliation it's well outside the RAAC milieu.

And one extra last thing; the people in my stories are all real to me, at least for a little while. Each story stands on its own and comparisons are meaningless. Like my real children; I love them all equally.

*****

"Myra's Little Bookstore"

By Jedd Clampett

Well I swear I never saw this one coming. I've got all the evidence I'll ever need, and I still find it hard to believe. She's been doing it right under my nose! My wife, my Myra, is fucking another man, a man people are supposed to respect.

How did I find out; it was easy. What I'm going to do about it? That's a no brainer; I'll deal with it. It'd be funny if it wasn't so sad.

Let's get on with it. I've got to tell someone. If I don't...well who knows?

~~~V~~~

Name's Curtis Carothers, wife's name, Myra. We've been married two years. I'm thirty-two, she's thirty-three. Both of us were coming off failed first marriages. My first, Zoey; I caught in bed with an old boyfriend. I mean in 'my' bed!

Myra, pretty much the same kind of thing; that's what's so upsetting, I figured, and she did too, since we'd already gone through the hell of divorce once we could put something together. Everyone knows; lesson learned, don't make the same mistake again.

I am such a fool. I admit it I love Myra, in fact I still love Zoey, but this time, just too much.

~~V~~

How'd I catch her? I'm an English professor at a local state college, teach Classical literature; Homer, Virgil, Seneca, Ovid and such. Oh I hear everyone already; the wimp who has his head in the clouds studying and teaching fanciful things nobody cares about. True, but I'm not a complete ass. I know a little about money. I know the mutuals, the stock exchange, and real estate; I piled up a little on the side. Moreover, I've been writing, and not the usual 'dry' tripe associated with what I love to teach.

Writing is an investment. People, women, like to read historical fiction. What's more interesting than love stories associated with people like Helen, Hecuba, Andromache, or Boudicca for that matter. Oh come on, I don't write about them; I write love stories about their closest friends, their nieces, and their daughters. Women eat that sort of thing up.

Am I published? Now I am, but on that day of days when I caught Myra I wasn't quite there. In fact my success was the trigger that started the whole thing. I digress.

I was home working on a novel about Vercingetorix; he'd been an Avernii chieftain who'd been elected high chief of all the tribes of 'Long Haired Gaul', today's France. In their war against Iulius Caesar he and his people had fought and won the Battle of Gergovia, but then lost decisively at Alesia. Vercingetorix surrendered and was taken to Rome where he'd later be executed, but many of his fellow tribesmen, rather than submit had fled east across the Rhine and settled among the Germans there. The novel I was working on was about that perilous journey; imagine survivors of a defeated tribe fighting their way across Roman controlled Gaul to get to Germania.

However, I'd already written a lengthy fictional piece about the Etruscans, and how they'd come to settle in Italy. It was a fictional love story, and to my delight my agent had just called and told me a well- respected publishing company wanted it. In terms of pecuniary fame I might have hit the jackpot! I had to tell my wife!

Ah yes, my wonderful wife. Her story had an interesting twist. She'd married her college sweetheart, but he turned out to be less than what she'd hoped. Caught up in problems of his own my Myra took a cab.

Myra was an English major, and her dream had been to have her own little bookstore, a place where she'd meet people, get to know up and coming young authors, hold little gatherings where writers could discuss and sell their books. Even with my prior divorce and its concomitant alimony and child support we had the money. Myra found her location, a closed souvenir nook next to a coffee shop, not a Starbucks, just a few blocks from several prestigious private high schools. We looked the place over, put in a contract, bought it, and set her up. Just like that; Myra's dream had come true, and I'd been instrumental in its success. It was around the same time we started our family.

Myra and I, we both had issues. We dated a few months, we talked about what we wanted, and we talked about kids. I had a girl and a boy by my first marriage and I certainly loved them, but I wanted more. Myra said she didn't want children, but she agreed if she married me we'd try to have one, and we were blessed.

To please her we bought a house just a few blocks from her store in a quiet intellectually upscale older neighborhood. We were surrounded by doctors, lawyers, business professionals, and other college types like ourselves. It was the classic location, beautiful mid-sized older homes, tree lined streets, well maintained but not overly elaborate lawns, moms and grand moms out regularly trimming and weeding perfect little gardens in a community complemented by a plethora of excellent private schools. We had it all.

We'd be good parents. We started off right. Our little boy we named Wayne after her dad. He had to have the best, and with an infant the best meant, first of all a secure and safe environment. We had the money; we wired every room for sight and sound. No matter where we were in the house, if Wayne wasn't visibly present we could keep track. We had our I-Phones, and in critical locations like bedrooms, playrooms, the kitchen, my office, the den, the living room, even the garage we had all the right sight and sound apparatus. We took no chances.

Of course, Myra's bookstore was equally well equipped. Every aisle, behind her counter, and most certainly the back storage room had all the most up to date equipment. No stone was left unturned, no opportunity for some terrible mischance, not us; our child would never be unprotected.

By now everybody must certainly know what happened.

~~V~~

Myra's little bookstore had only been open a short while. We'd opened in late spring just before classes ended so she was still trying to build a clientele. In her way she's a pretty good businesswoman; she'd opted to skip the electronic door signal to go with the 'old fashioned jingle jangle of a manual set of bells, more folksy she'd said. It had been my job to install the bells; unfortunately for someone, they were still in their tidy little box behind the counter.

My agent's message was such exciting news I blew off calling or texting. I wanted to see her face when I told her. I left the house, little Wayne was safely ensconced in his crib with our au pair, a delightful little college girl majoring in, what else, English. With Wayne safe I left the house, hit the garage, found my 'late model' GM SUV, got in and took off. Summer morning traffic was light; I swung around our cul-de-sac, over Willow Drive, out to the main thoroughfare, past one of the private high schools, and down to Myra's store. The whole trip only took about ten minutes. I pulled in the small lot, rolled up the windows, got out and walked to the sidewalk and up to the front door.

'Closed', the cardboard sign read closed. How odd, not even 11:00 a.m. and she's closed. Maybe she'd slipped over to grab a coffee and a scone? 'OK,' I thought, 'I'll go in and surprise her when she gets back.'

I unlocked and opened the door, walked in and strolled back toward the storeroom. I had to go past the counter; that's when I vaguely heard what would became the knell of what I'd mistakenly thought was a happy marriage. Curious, I pivoted and turned to go behind the counter. There it was, or rather there she was, on screen leaning back against her storeroom desk. I saw her quite clearly, eyes half shut; arms on some man's shoulders. She was softly moaning, no words, not yet anyway, just soft, low pleasurable moans. I'd heard them before. In fact I'd heard them just the night before.

It was one of those moments one reads, or in my case, one writes about. Thank God I hadn't eaten. I stood and watched the screen; sensations of weakness, of weariness overwhelmed me. It was like I was in a dream. This couldn't be happening! I kept looking at the screen. I was in utter disbelief. My mind, my body roiled uncontrollably. I'd read where sometimes, though rarely, when a person's asleep, or half-asleep, they find themselves trapped in a dream where they can't control their body, they simply can't move. They're paralyzed. That's how it was. I felt so weak, so helpless I fell backward. Thankfully Myra's counter chair was there to catch me.

For several seconds, I don't know how long, I just sat there, sat there and watched my wife as she tore out my heart. Then it began, other emotions, or let's say the visceral, more primal responses. I felt my stomach, the gut wrenching, achingly painful, heart pounding, knife stabbing agony. It was a physical thing; the pain, the agony, the torture, oh the heartache, the despair! How awful! Misery! I would die! Oh my new wife! My new life; my second chance at happiness was dissolving on the screen right before my eyes. I was dying.

Then just as quickly I got more signals. I felt my body surge; nervous energy, a powerful outpouring of anxious, panicky power. I knew what it was-adrenalin! I was having an adrenalin rush! I had to move. I had to do something. I had to act! Grab something. Hit something, hit someone, lash out!

Then just as quickly the adrenalin passed. I felt cold-cold and nervous. I had to get up, if I stayed where I was I'd start crying; that too I knew a natural bodily response.

Another glance at the screen; they were finishing up. I shot out of the chair, down the two steps that separated the rear side of the counter and the store. Off I went. But where to?

I speedily moved to the children's section in the back right corner. The way the store was configured the storeroom intruded into the left rear of the store, the children's section sat in a quiet alcove off to the right. That's where I went, where I decided to quietly wait.

My Myra and her adulterous companion took several more minutes; good thing, I was breathing much too heavily, I would have been detected. Then they emerged.

To my fury I realized who my wife had been fucking; it was the headmaster of Saint Agricola's, one of the nearby private schools; a very expensive and very selective coeducational facility. What was the bastard doing with my wife; his wife looked like Charlize Theron and I'd been told had the personality to go with it. My mind went to ground zero; his wife sucked, he sucked, and my wife sucked!

Shock, disbelief ennui; they'd been displaced, now all I felt was anger, a deep burning fury, a rage, a blind rage beyond all human description. My mind turned to the ancient sources; I was Achilles looking down on the broken blood soaked body of Hector. I was Nero Drusus Germanicus hefting the gore encrusted head of some butchered Hermandurii chieftain. I was...I was truly and mightily pissed! I retreated further back into the children's section. I must not be seen.

Peeking from a corner shelf I watched as she led him to the door. She turned the sign from closed to open. She took out and fumbled with her front door key only to find the door wasn't locked. Momentarily she looked confused. Then she smiled and shrugged. How quaint. She caressed the charlatan's cheek with her fingers, then an endearing little peck, a kiss on the lips. Right on the lips! Hand on the cheek, then a kiss on the lips. Oh my God! How appalling! This was a nightmare!

She waved as he left; it was one her cute little finger waves she liked to give me. No! Was nothing sacred? My heart wilted, but my inner animal growled like an angry lion.

Oblivious of my presence she cheerfully walked to the back of the counter. For a few moments she seemed to fiddle with some paperwork. Once I saw her look toward the front door, odd look that. Was she perplexed? Had she forgotten? Of course she hadn't. She looked about the store, but didn't see me. I almost wished she had.

She felt around and found her IPhone. I knew! I found mine, and before it jangled, I had it turned off. She listened for a few seconds, shrugged, closed it up, put it down, picked up a clipboard and quietly started back toward the storeroom. She was humming, or singing something; it sounded familiar. Probably nothing, besides I had a crisis to deal with.

I knew she'd only be there a few seconds so as soon as the door closed I made for the front hoping she wouldn't check any of the security screens. I got outside and went posthaste to the coffee shop. My prime antagonist, Dr. Wallace Prendergast was there. I walked over and stood beside him. We were casually acquainted, I asked, "How you doing? Nice day isn't it?"

He turned, surprised, he replied, "Oh, Curtis, Curtis Carothers isn't it? Yes it is a nice day, a beautiful day."

I was so angry, so ready to strike out. I hated this man. I wanted him dead. In my mind's eye I saw him stunned, in disbelief, clutching his stomach, my Gladius deep in his intestines. I forced myself to smile, "Oh yes beautiful. School will be opening soon won't it?"

"Yes," he replied, 'we're looking forward to a banner year."

I commented, "I hope so. You know my wife owns the bookshop next door. She's hoping to be able to provide your children with the reading materials they might need."

The underhanded bastard; he played it straight and serious, "That so? I'll drop off some of the teachers reading lists."

What a smarmy piece of shit! I saw him at my feet, entrails pouring from the opening I'd made with my Pilum; him asking for mercy, begging for a quick death. I grit my teeth; damn, no such luck, I'm a civilized man. My mind crackled, I knew how I would deal with this son-of-a-bitch, and in the doing get my despicable wife too. I smiled again and said to the bastard, "I know she'd really appreciate that," I added, "I know she likes you."

He grinned the grin of the 'knowing', took his latte and said, "Got to go. See you soon."

Smile frozen on my face, dreaming of new ways to cause him suffering, I replied, "Yes, see you soon. I went ahead and ordered two lattes and two scones; one each for me and my wife. As I retraced my steps back to my wife's little bookstore one thought kept running through my mind over and over and over again, 'Thanks to the gods for the gift of technology.'

~~V~~

Back at the bookstore I stood briefly at the door peering up at the lentil. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my wife. I held up the paper tray that held the coffees and the bag with the scones. I smiled affectionately. She smiled right back. I thought, 'Smile now bitch, but not for long.'

I strolled back with package in hand, "Coffee and sweets for my sweet."

"Oh thank you darling," she hesitated then asked, "You're here at an odd time, anything wrong?"

I had the Fax from my agent in my pocket, but I'd decided that was one thing she'd never see, "Yes," I stated, "got a fax from my agent. The editors liked my book but they want to make some changes."

"Again," she asked?

"Seems so," I responded, "I'll tell you about them later at dinner. Right now I thought I'd screw up your jingle bells."

At first confused she said, "My?" Then she recovered, "You mean the bells for the front," then with soft sarcasm she added, "About time. Get them in good and tight."

I grinned, "Where's the box?" I thought, 'double entendres all over the place.'

She reached around, found the box and a screwdriver, "Here you go sweetie."

'Sweetie', I thought, 'the bitch called me sweetie!'

"Thanks lover," I took the box and tool, went back to the front, installed the bells, waved, and left. I had to leave. I couldn't stand the sight of her. If I had stayed one minute longer I would have spilled my guts...or hers. For me it was time to get home and plot my first moves. I hated her. I hated him. I hated him so much! I hated them both with all my heart and soul. They'd pay. Oh how they'd pay.

~~V~~

I went home. First things first, I checked in with our au pair. Wayne was fine so I went back to my office. No papers to grade, no lessons to prepare, I had time. Everything was in the 'cloud'; all our video-audio tapes were there. There were a lot of them. Where to begin?

First, the system had only been in the bookstore a few weeks, and I knew my wife's work schedule. Did I want to go through all that? No, I'd need help. Call me a bastard. Call me a mean son-of-a-bitch, call me an asshole, but I knew who to tap for this duty. I'd call my ex-wife Zoey.

Why her one might ask? Well she'd made two of my kids. I love all my kids, and truth be told, I already said I still love my fucking cheating first wife. Damn it I see her every Wednesday, most Thursdays, and every other weekend when pick my kids up. She's still wearing her rings. She refuses to date. She won't change her name back.

The kids tell me she gets all dressed up every Wednesday and Thursday, and on the weekends when I come for my pick up. They tell me all she talks about is how she's going to win me back someday. They tell me I should be nicer. They tell me all she does is cry when I leave after my visits. But they don't know what I know.

It's ridiculous! Every time, every God damn time I stop over she reminds me she loves me. She's still fucking apologizing! She says she wants to explain, fully explain what happened. Why? Do I really need to know? Shit, I'm still not totally sure, I mean not absolutely totally sure what happened. It's crazy; her mom calls me all the time. My mom and dad won't talk to me half the time. Her dad hates me. Even my brother tells me I should at least listen to her. Well I haven't and I won't! And that's that!

Damn, we've been apart for nearly three years, and gosh darn it; she's still trying to explain what she did. I told her I'd never forgive her. I keep telling her she needs to move on. She just stares at me and starts crying. Truth! I'm glad she hasn't. Moved on I mean; serves her right.

I remember when and how I came to catch her. I was scheduled for a month long summer excursion with a group to see and explore several archaeological sites in Greece and Turkey. It was a big step for me professionally. I'd been at the airport. There'd been an unexpected delay in take-off and then a full day's delay so I decided to go home.

I caught her in my bed. My bed! I walked in on her with that stupid shit bird Brandon. I remember how he flipped out. He was out of my house before he even had his pants back up. And Zoey? Well Zoey went into hysterics. She completely lost it! She kept crying and yelling at me. She kept telling me it wasn't what it looked like. Wasn't what it looked like? What did she think it was? Was I some stupid buffoon to not know what I saw?

Wasn't what it looked like? Was I a moron? She was hysterical! She tried to wrap her arms around my legs. She cried, she begged, she pleaded. I had to walk out to my SUV with her draped around one of my legs. She still had her fucking clothes on! I saw how she skinned her knees all up on the concrete. She hurt herself, and Jesus, I almost stopped to help her up.

I got the hell out! She followed me down to the car. I was gone in ten minutes, spent the night at an airport hotel. Thank God my kids hadn't been home! Later I found out they had been home; they'd been in the cellar family room. That only made it worse.