Not a Bit Too Far

"No, wait," said the guard. "What do you need?"

"I go up to her firm, meet her in the lobby, I.D. her, and get her signature. I'm out of here in five minutes. No muss, no fuss."

He nodded slowly. "You have to have a visitor's badge to go up. I need to hold your I.D. while you have the badge."

"Gotcha," I agreed, handing my driver's license over to him.

With more than a little reluctance, he took it and handed the badge to me. "Come straight back. You get this back," he said, holding my license up, "when you put that badge back in my hand. Got it?"

I tipped my cap to him and blew a little bubble before turning and heading to the elevator.

On the third floor, I approached the front desk at Melissa Woolever's firm a few moments later. The same spiel was used there. The young lady at the desk looked even more hesitant than the guard in the main lobby, but she hit a button and called Mrs. Woolever to the reception room.

Spotting a trash can in the lobby, I dumped the bubble gum and the baseball cap came off, going in the bag that I was pretending was my courier pouch. The Fletch persona was gone.

Melissa Woolever was very pretty, in her late 20s or early 30s with tanned skin, dark brown hair, and dreamy brown eyes making me think she might have some Hispanic blood somewhere in her ancestry. She wore an uneasy expression as she entered the firm's lobby. When the receptionist pointed, Mrs. Woolever looked at me and hesitated for a moment before walking my way.

"Joan said you had something for me to sign," she said hesitantly.

"No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Woolever, I'm Trent Jareau. You don't actually need to sign but I do need to give you this since it affects you."

"What...what is it?"

"Mrs. Woolever, I'm sorry to tell you this but your husband has been having an affair with my wife." My words were whispered and I handed her a closely cropped photo of the two of them in bed together. "There are documents proving everything, including explicit photos and video, in the envelope."

Tears were running down her cheeks as she shook her head in denial. "This has got to be fake. Noah promised me--"

"It's not fake, Mrs. Woolever. I paid good money for the detective agency to find out what was going on with my wife, asking them to prove that she wasn't having an affair after I heard a rumor about it. They proved just the opposite, that she was. There's an affidavit in the envelope that everything you see here is real, unedited, and obtained legally with my permission. I've been assured by the private investigation firm and by my attorney that it will be admissible and will stand up in court, if you choose to go that route. As of this morning, I am."

"But he promised," she whispered, tears pouring. She leaned toward me and I put my right arm around her and patted her back. "He said the first one was a mistake, that it was just the heat of the moment, and that it wouldn't happen again. We...we took steps to make sure it wouldn't and now he backslides and does it again? Why?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Woolever, but it wasn't the heat of the moment this time. It was carefully planned and it wasn't just once. You'll see documentation on three meetings between them in five days in the envelope."

Her hand gripped my shirt as she shook her head, short and fast, against my chest, as she realized the extent of her husband's betrayal. At about 5'-6" tall and 125 pounds, I had a good 7 or 8-inches on her. She wiped her tears before looking back up at me, the flow stopped but her cheeks still wet from the recent deluge.

"Mister--I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

I told her and she continued. "I'm going to sign out for lunch and we're going to go somewhere so you can fuck my brains out. I'll send a picture afterward, of just me if you prefer, to show him--"

"Mrs. Woolever, you're a beautiful woman and I'm quite honored by the invitation, even if it is spoken in anger rather than desire, but no, ma'am, you're not going to do that," I said, holding her a bit tighter as I tried to help her get past the anger to the much-more-important "look ahead" stage. "I can't let you do that and can't do that to you. As much as it seems like that would be getting back at him, you have to live with yourself for the rest of your life, so you don't want to go too far, to do anything that you'll always regret later. You don't want to do anything that the Georgia legal system would take issue with either."

Maybe that woke her from her grief for she let go and stepped back a step. "You're right, I guess. I gave him another chance, but this is the end and we'll end up in court this time. I don't know how..."

"I've included the name and contact information for the private investigation service in case you need them for more investigation or if you need someone to testify. I've also included the name of the attorney they recommended. He seems like a good guy and has been very responsive on my case to this point. He filed the paperwork and had it served this morning."

Crestfallen, she took the envelope and thanked me before starting to turn away. However, she stopped and said, "Mr. Jareau, I hate to ask this but may I call you if I get stuck and need advice?"

"My number's in the envelope."

***

Having visited the testing lab that Dawna Hightower recommended, I sweated it for the next few days while shepherding a project in south Georgia. It was nice to be able to get away at the end of each long day but the thought of possibly having contracted something awful or even potentially deadly made me even angrier at Reagan and the risks she'd taken for a few--or maybe a lot--of cheap thrills.

However, luck was with me later in the week when the testing lab let me know that I didn't have any sexually transmitted diseases. I breathed a sigh of relief that at least that hazard hadn't bitten me.

Reagan was still trying to reach me though, leaving message after message on my voicemail at work and on my cell from other numbers. When I checked for messages, I'd delete hers as soon as I heard her voice but she refused to take the hint. When I got back to my office on Friday morning, I found more waiting for me so I deleted them in turn and pulled out the user's manual for the phone to find how to block a number. Minutes later, that problem was solved too, and I decided to go see my parents again over the weekend.

They'd been receiving messages from Reagan, too, so I took it on myself to block her number there as well. Mom was particularly upset, especially since she knew that Reagan and I were ready to have children. She even asked me to reconsider the divorce, saying what Reagan had done couldn't have been that bad. I shook my head in reply and showed her one carefully cropped photo with the date stamp visible. Tears running down her face, she nodded, finally understanding the truth despite her desire to deny it. She was holding Dad tight as I waved goodbye and headed for my temporary quarters.

The next day at work, Andy Smith came running into my office with bad news just before noon.

"Trent, Mary Jo Bholecki's water just broke, several weeks before she'd planned to take maternity leave. What are we going to do?"

The response probably should have been to say a prayer for MJ and the babies, send them a gift, and send him home to pack since he was supposed to take over for her during her maternity leave. Andy hadn't seemed too happy about it when it originally came up since it forced him to finish his current project a couple of weeks early, but Mr. Stricklin felt he was the best candidate for the job. Now Andy looked panicked since his project was still almost a month from that early completion.

After looking over the schedules for our projects, Andy and I went to see Mr. Stricklin with an alternate proposal. To avoid upending Andy's project, I'd take over the New Orleans job instead of him, with the provision that I'd still be available for major issues on our other projects when needed and I could help out in Baton Rouge, too.

Word came early that evening that Mary Jo and her new twins were doing okay. I was getting closer to The Big Easy to take over the project and farther away from Reagan and my past by the mile. It was late by the time I got to my hotel and I crashed for a few hours of sleep before getting up early to head to the job site.

I spent the morning doing a deeper dive into the project, meeting with a couple of subcontractors, and looking over the plans for the weeks ahead. Everything was in order, as I expected, so I left early that afternoon to stop at the store and head to the hospital to see Mary Jo. She'd already received the flowers I'd sent so I gave her a thank you note for her good work on the project and a gift certificate for her kids, who were in the neonatal intensive care unit for a while until they were a little bigger and could go home. While I couldn't go in to see them, I did get to see them on the monitor as MJ and Ozzie watched over them lovingly.

I was so happy for them but the thought of probably never having a child of my own hurt as I was leaving so I switched my mind back to the project. It became my all for the next couple of days and on Friday, I invited our construction office management staff out for drinks in the French Quarter after we shut the job down for the weekend.

On Monday, George Godwin called with an update on my divorce. He was having a time of it in Atlanta, with his office fielding numerous calls from Reagan trying to reach me, seemingly becoming more hysterical with each successive call.

"You sure you don't want to talk to her?" he asked.

I chuckled sarcastically at his question and I could hear him over the line practically rolling with laughter. I thanked him and got back to work.

There was a text message on my phone when I got to my extended stay hotel room that evening. I didn't recognize the number but the message said,

Hi Trent, my attorney filed my paperwork today and Noah has been served. Can we talk when you get a chance? Thanks, Melissa W.

It was late so I sent a text reply to see if she was still up; my phone rang seconds later.

"Hi, Trent. Thanks for speaking with me."

"Glad to do it, Melissa. How are things with you?"

"Tough, but I'll manage," she replied, hesitation in her voice. "How about for you?"

Since she'd deflected my offer for her to open up, I replied, "Sounds about like you. Melissa," I probed, "what's going on?"

There was a short silence before she spoke again, saying, "Trent, I wanted to thank you for what you did, exposing what Noah was doing to me, and then, making me think before I did something rash. You could have taken advantage of how vulnerable I was in that moment, but you didn't, making me stop and think so I could realize how wrong that would have been. I really appreciate that and I appreciate your help. This is going to be tough but I'm determined to get through it."

"Melissa, we were in the same place at the time and it would have been wrong for both of us. I'm in a better place now--at least a little better, including being away from her-- and I'm glad to hear, if not hope, at least determination in your voice."

"Definitely. Still a long way to go, but definitely better than it was."

"Good."

I started to tell her if she ever needed to talk that she could call me, but I hesitated, not sure about that. Her soon-to-be ex was a douchebag of the first order, but he was that, first and foremost to her, not me. I was just collateral damage for him when he took advantage of my ex's apparently open invitation but I still had plans for him, too, so I kept my mouth shut and we wished each other luck before saying goodbye.

***

While the New Orleans job was going well, I was, based on Mr. Stricklin's orders, also still providing oversight on the Baton Rouge job and was being called frequently for advice on other projects. It wasn't long before I felt like I was, in Louisiana parlance, in the swamp and up to my armpits in alligators.

George contributed to part of that a couple of weeks later when he called and said, "Trent, got some news. Mrs. Jareau's lawyer has asked the judge to mandate counseling. If he does that, you'll have to meet her face-to-face here in Atlanta for at least a couple of sessions, maybe more. The judge will give you a window and you'll have to appear here in town or it won't go well for you in the proceedings. What do you want me to do?"

My blood was boiling that they'd use this tactic, but George had told me early on that it was possible. "When we filed, we went with the minimum documentation on her infidelity. You said we could hold onto the rest since it shouldn't be needed. It may be needed now; what would happen if the judge saw that?"

"We'd have to give it to her attorney, but Judge Johnson might agree to quash the request...if he doesn't have a stroke on seeing it."

"Warn him first then and do it."

A week later, Reagan's request for counseling was denied, though George said Judge Johnson implied that she might want to do some counseling on her own for her sex addiction problem.

And that was one alligator out of the swamp.

***

Over the next few months as Reagan and her attorney fought George and the Georgia court, I kept a low profile, hoping that Reagan hadn't hired someone to find me...or possibly take me out. Just in case on the latter, I had George redo my will and I changed my life insurance policy to ensure that she wouldn't get a dime if something were to happen to me.

However, once Mary Jo and Ozzie's kids got out of the hospital, I visited them for dinner a couple of times and even babysat one evening so the lovebirds could get out of the house for some peace and quiet. The twins were quiet for the first few minutes after their parents left but then realized that something was going on and they let me have it with all four lungs. As much as I wanted kids, I prayed afterward that if the good Lord ever let me have any children, he'd let me have them one at a time.

To my surprise, I also heard from Melissa Woolever a few times, checking in on how my proceeding was going and essentially asking for strength and courage to get through her own without ever saying the words. Because of Georgia law and divorce code, George's warnings, and my own personal morals, I was careful not to ever step over any lines that could be construed as--or twisted into--anything romantic or potentially adulterous. As Melissa's case became more set, she apparently didn't need me anymore so her texts stopped coming.

***

As Mary Jo's maternity leave wound down, I had a realtor looking for a home to purchase. Using funds from my pre-Reagan account for the down payment, I closed on a house in Dunwoody a few weeks prior to MJ's return. Having spent nearly three months in the extended stay place at the company's expense, I was determined to be more comfortable when I got home and be able to get my things out of storage.

The twins were doing well when Mary Jo's maternity leave ended, so she came back to work for the last few months of the project. As I handed the reins back over to her, I found myself leaving to return home with three regrets.

The first was that since we didn't currently have another project lined up in New Orleans, MJ would be leaving our firm to become a stay-at-home mom for a while. Ozzie, who had family in the area, had gotten a tenure-track position as an associate professor at Loyola during their stay so it wasn't a surprise. However, MJ asked me to keep her in mind if we had other work in the New Orleans area in the near future, to which I readily agreed.

Second, with my return to Atlanta, I'd be leaving my unofficial godchildren and what had become more frequent babysitting gigs for MJ and Ozzie behind. The babies had apparently gotten used to me visiting and taking care of them sometimes on the weekend so their parents could go out and I knew that I'd miss seeing them grow. Taking care of them was a reminder of my own childless state due to the hell to which Reagan had sentenced me.

Finally, Reagan had been fighting me over details on the divorce and it was dragging on, though George Godwin assured me that Judge Johnson was getting as fed up with it as I was and that the end of the case was near.

Therefore, when I returned to Atlanta, I moved right into the new house and started unpacking and having some work done during a week of comp time. I met a few of my new neighbors, too, including a cute divorcee just a few doors down.

Having a home once more gave me more freedom, but I was still legally tied to the cheating slut, meaning that I couldn't start dating again without fear of upsetting the proceedings. I thanked Noelle, the divorcee, for the plate of brownies but politely took a raincheck when she suggested we get together sometime for dinner. Having been through the divorce system before, I think she understood.

Ethan, who was forever looking for Miss Right and who didn't know anything about the court system in Georgia, didn't understand. "So when are you going to put yourself back out there?" he asked one day at lunch soon after I got back to Atlanta.

"When the judge says my divorce is final and I can be sure that romantic endeavors and any fun that might result won't potentially contribute a single penny to Reagan's settlement."

"That long, eh? So, how's the evil bitch doing these days?" he asked.

"Don't know and don't care."

"You know you still owe her. Big time."

I looked at my best friend and nodded. "I know. And she'll get it when the time comes. Every single bit."

***

Judge Johnson finally had enough of Reagan's stalling and antics; he required that we both be in the courtroom for final statements and presentations in early April, with Reagan and her attorney on one side of the court and George and me on the other. I arrived a few minutes early and was waiting for George when I saw Reagan turn a corner, spot me, and head my way.

"Trent, this didn't have to be this way."

"I know, Reagan, but you couldn't live up to your part of our vows so it is what it is."

"You were gone so much--"

"Bullshit. You knew how much I'd be gone when you agreed to marry me. The three times during our time together that I exceeded that amount, by a day each time, I used comp time to more than make it up to you. Of course, I'm not counting that last trip to Tampa and Orlando in those three since you made up for it yourself with your boss and your other fuckbuddies while I was gone and after I got back."

She looked angrier than I'd ever seen her and tears streamed down her face. "Trent, but I had needs. You know how much I needed sex."

She'd always wanted sex, even from our first date, seeking the orgasmic high like a drug user looking for the next fix. However, I'd believed her when she promised that she'd be able to control herself. I didn't know how long she'd succeeded, if she ever had at all, and didn't really care, so I replied, "Don't give me that; I gave you the best vibrator on the market to help tide you over while I was gone, and any number of what you claimed, rather vocally at times, were 'the best fuck ever' both before and afterward."

Reagan had noticed that several people were observing us, so she said, "Can we go somewhere and talk through this?"

"No, I don't see the need. You see, we talked about all of this before we agreed to marry and you promised that your wayfaring days were over since you wanted to get married, settle down, and have a family. You got married, alright, but failed at that and at the rest. Why don't you just live with that and let it go. I have. Of course, if you can't, you can always get another therapist. Maybe this one will have more luck than the other one."