Tiny Little Things

For a second I thought to simply hang up but part of me wanted the confrontation, to put this entire nightmare behind me.

"What is gross, honey?" I asked. "Is it you cheating on me for months or you moving out to be with your lover? Or is it all of the above?"

There was only silence. I hate silence.

"Martha, there is a part of me that still loves you," I said. "I won't say if it is my feminine part or my masculine part, perhaps my stupid part. But there is one thing I will never do, lie to our family."

"You wouldn't dare", she pleaded. "Not Dad, please."

"Watch me," I said and I hung up.

My finger was hovering over the speed dial button for Martha's Dad, but I didn't push it. Harvey had been miserable since his wife had passed away from breast cancer two years previously. He was a very good man, but at 80 his health was a bit fragile. I think his will to live was a bit tenuous. Today, I could certainly relate. And he was a good man. I might as well let him die peacefully instead of wrecking his life over his daughter's behavior. My anger was receding. I decided to let Martha know my decision.

I picked up Mueller's phone bill and dialed the phone number on it. A man's voice answered. I did hesitate for a second.

"Martha McKay please," I asked.

There was a moment of silence over the phone. I could hear somebody crying in the background, obviously Martha.

"And who's asking?" asked Mueller.

"Her father, you fuckin' piece of garbage," I lied, unable to resist a surge of resentment. "Oh, and forget about talking to her. Just tell my daughter not to call me, to forget I exist and to let my granddaughters, my son-in-law, and I alone. Bye Jerk!"

Less than a minute later, a bit remorseful, I dialed Martha's cell phone number. She answered almost right away but didn't say anything. She was still hiccupping from crying.

"Hi Martha!" I broke the silence with. "Having a great day?"

"Frank, why?" she asked. "Why did you tell my Dad? It will destroy him. He's been in such poor health lately. You knew it."

"Aw, keep your pants on, bitch!" I said, the insult being hard to come out. "It wasn't your Dad on the phone with boy toy earlier, it was me. I love your Dad and know you would have killed him with your fucking around. I want to make a point here. Are you listening?"

"Yes," she said. "I am listening."

"Never let that guy between me and my girls or your Dad will learn everything about you. All the gross details as you rightly put it," I told her. "Don't think I am joking. I trusted you most of my adult life. I didn't know it was possible, but you broke that trust. I am repeating myself, but I have to fight with myself not to simply shoot you where you stand. I have a lot of hate for you in my heart and this is what defines me at the moment. Got it?"

"Yes!" she finally said between sobs.

"Mark?" she asked. "I'm sorry. I never wanted that."

"Me neither," I answered. And I hung up.

Six months later I received the official papers, sealing the fate of my marriage. I had bounced back from my bout of depression but there was still something missing in my life; I couldn't figure out what.

I had dated a few women without getting far. I guess they found out I was carrying a lot of baggage. I had a one-night stand with an acquaintance from work - a divorcee like me. The sex felt empty without love or affection. We were just two adults desperate for relief, but it left me with a feeling of loneliness worse than before.

One evening coming back from work I finally had an epiphany. After getting in my new apartment - we had sold the house to divide the proceeds - I greeted a new friend who had appeared two weeks earlier.

"Hi Jack!" I said looking behind the door.

I was reverting to my days as a single man: giving names to the dust bunnies gathering all over my place, mostly behind doors and under the bed. Jack was the one at the entrance door, while Roger and Bugs were living under the bed. I was almost ready to pick up the vacuum in the closet, embarrassed as I was by the thought Mueller would never had left his apartment go like that. I realized I still had it for the guy. I also realized what was missing in my life was a little getting even with him and Martha. Sure I thought for a while a good beating was in order but prison had no appeal to me. I realized I would never be able to move on if I didn't find a small measure of revenge.

I spent the evening cleaning up the apartment and thinking of revenge. Jack being sucked in by the vacuum was a revelation. I had my plan.

****

The next Friday, I followed Martha and Mueller to a pub. While they were inside, I put a gps tracker on his car. They sat at a table and I sat on a stool from which I was able to keep an eye on Martha in the mirror behind the bar. After a few minutes she noticed me and said something to Mueller. He looked my way. I put a bill on the counter and left the bar, seemingly unaware of their presence. I am pretty sure boy toy would recognize me now.

Over the next few weeks, I paid a few visits to Mueller's apartment while keeping tabs on his movements. He normally ate a quick lunch at a restaurant near his work. One day I went there with a friend who had been briefed on what to say. We sat at a table next to Mueller.

We ordered lunch and started chatting.

"So," asked my friend Terry on my cue. "How's single life? Miss the ex?"

"Well, it was hard at the beginning," I answered. "Martha really took me by surprise. She always was a good liar for all our life together, but she really put the wool over my eyes on that one."

"What do you mean by a good liar?" asked my friend. "She lied a lot?"

"Well not a lot, but often enough to recognize it as a personality flaw," I said. "For instance, three years ago, her car was dirty so she borrowed my car to attend a meeting. She came back in the evening with a big dent on the driver's door. She argued with me it had been like that in the morning when she took it. I had washed the car the previous day and knew well it wasn't so. However, after 25 years, you learn to let such thing slide with a wife."

"And how's love life?" asked Terry.

"This is one of the good thing about being rid of the bitch," I said. "I have two friends with benefits, no string attached, and at least ten years younger than Martha. I am sure glad to be rid of her. You know the saying: once a cheater, always a cheater. But let's talk about something else. What do you think about the Seahawks?"

We finished our lunch analyzing the chances of the Seahawks to make it to the Super bowl.

The next day, at one pm again, I stopped by Mueller's apartment. I started to take a late lunch nowadays. I took my checklist and read the remaining items.

Leave a faucet dripping: check

Leave the washroom ceiling fan running: check

Move forks, spoons and knives around in their drawer: check

Move some pots and pans: check

Take red toothbrush (Martha's color all these years) and leave it on the sink: check

I took a cup, passed it under the running tap to soak it good. I then took the cup and left it on the pristine coffee table in the living room. After a few minutes, I was sure it had left an imprint on his antique table.

Another day, I turned on the coffee pot, then another run of the ceiling fan while I sprinkled a bit of cigarette ashes at the base of the toilet bowl. I also took a porcelain trinket in the living room, broke it in a paper bag and left a small little shard of ceramic on the floor.

Everything was done over a period of one month. I wished I had still my spying gear in the apartment to see how things were between the lovers.

However, my kids kept in touch with their mother. I never asked them about her, but they would sometimes let a tidbit of info out. It was Mandy who first informed me the relationship was a bit strained between her Martha and Mueller.

It was time to turn up the heat a bit on the two lovers.

One day, a friend tripped when walking past Mueller, 'inadvertently' leaving trace of lipstick on his shirt and blonde hair on his shoulder. Martha's hair is as dark as it comes.

The next week, I went to Mueller apartment and left a pair of underwear among his underwear. We wear very different styles.

I knew I had him when one day he left work at lunchtime. I followed him to his apartment. He stopped, climbed the stairs surreptitiously and entered his apartment. He was out in a minute, going back to his workplace.

"Gotcha!"

The next day, I tore a corner of a condom wrapper and left it on the floor by the bedside. I pulled the blankets, jumped a bit in the middle of the bed to disturb the sheets and put the blankets back almost the same way they were. I also left the imprints of two glasses on the coffee table, some ashes in the washroom and the ceiling fan running. I took another porcelain trinket, broke it, and left it in the garbage can. I grabbed a rare bottle of wine from a rack, choosing the one with the most dust, opened it, poured it down the drain and left the empty in the recycle bin. That was my grand finale.

That evening my phone rang. It was my youngest, Tess.

"Dad, Dad, you must do something," she was yelling.

"Anything for you Sweetie!" I said.

"Help Mom," she said, barely able to contain her sobs. "She is at the police station. That guy hit her and she called the cops. She has nowhere to go, she doesn't want to go back there anymore. He has been getting quite abusive lately and she said. . . "

"Hold on, Sweetie!" I interrupted her. "I am not the right person to help your mother. I hate her guts and I must admit I enjoy a lot what is happening to her, not the beating, but the whole fiasco with her boy toy. What goes around. . . "

"Daaad!" implored Tess. "She's my mom and she needs help."

"OK, Ok! It's only because you are asking," I said. "Don't expect me to do more than just pick her up and drive her around."

"Thanks Dad!"

A few minutes later I was at the police station. She was still being interviewed so I had to wait a bit, but I sent her a note saying I was waiting for her. I must admit I felt terrible one hour later when I saw Martha with a shiner on her left eye. She broke into tears when she saw me, walking toward me with open arms. I fought with myself but was able to reach out my arms to hold her off - well, at arms' length.

"Hey, I am here because my daughter asked me to come," I said. "Don't ever think we are becoming friends. I'll give you a ride wherever you want, that's it."

I left the police station, not looking back to see if she was following, her sobs the only indication she was close behind.

Once in the car, I asked: "Where do you want to go?"

"Home," she answered.

Without a word, I drove toward my destination. Martha reacted only when I turned on Mueller's street and parked in front of the apartment.

"I don't want to go there," she said, repressing more tears.

"Well, and here you are," I answered. "Look, Mueller is in jail for the time being. That leaves you enough time to get your stuff and beat it."

She looked at me for a few seconds then got out of the car and went to the apartment. Soon she began to carry out garbage bags containing her clothes. She hadn't taken much when she left me, so she was done quickly.

As soon as she was done, we took off. After a few minutes she asked where we were going. I could hear the fear in her voice.

"We're going to your dad," I told her. "You said you wanted to go home. You don't have any other home."

We drove in silence a few more minutes. Her father lives far in the suburb.

"I never had a chance to apologize to you," said Martha, breaking the silence. "I am sorry for what I did. I was stupid and you caught me cheating. I accept that. But I never stopped loving you. I just forgot what it meant for a while. I didn't even want to go live with Steve. We didn't have much in common. I want to tell you I am sorry for the hurt I caused you."

I didn't reply. There was nothing to say. Could I say, "No harm done?" Absolutely not! Could I tell her I forgive her? That would be a lie, as I still resented the way she had broken our marriage. I shut up. I think my silence hurt her more than any rant I could have mustered to let her understand how much she had hurt me. I still couldn't understand how a person could swear her love for a man, then wound him so seriously.

Close to her father's place Martha looked toward me.

"What will I tell my Dad?" she asked.

That left me speechless. What the fuck? We had been apart a few months shy of a full year and she hadn't told her father?

"You must be kidding," I said. "Harvey doesn't know we are divorced?"

"Well I only told him we were having trouble," said Martha.

"You sure are in trouble now," I answered. "Find a good reason, but just don't make me the bad guy or I will hear about it and tell him the truth."

It was getting late, but I didn't offer to help Martha move her things inside her father's house. For one, I was enjoying myself a bit at her misery. But I also didn't want to talk to Harvey.

The next day saw me parked across the street from Mueller's place. He arrived home shortly before noon. Time to put the last nail in their dalliance coffin. I grabbed a cheap bottle of Chilean wine I had bought on the way - a $10 investment - and went up the stairs. Mueller opened the door and was surprise when he recognized me.

"Hi!" I said. "We have never met but I am Frank McKay, the ex-husband of Martha Sharp."

I offered him the bottle of wine, and he took it.

"Here take that so you know that I am not a free-loader. It will replace the other bottle of wine I drank," I said. I then reached in my pocket and extracted a key, his apartment key. I gave it to him. "Oh, and I won't need that either. Martha moved out last night."

I was smiling all the way to my car, my heart uplifted, knowing Mueller will have more regret at losing his $900 bottle of Chateau Montelena than at losing Martha. I had a spring in my step. Revenge can be so sweet...

I think I can move on now.

The end