Wife's Fateful Overreaction

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"Between stimulus and response, there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom." -- Viktor E. Frankl

Fatal Wednesday

Carol Sims took an emergency document shipment to Fed-Ex for her boss, and on the return trip, she drove past the Big 6 Motor Inn on Conway Drive. There, she saw Jeff's white 1981 Pontiac Firebird parked next to the row of two-story motel units. It was his because the new trunk lid was still primer grey, as was the left front fender. She knew her husband drove it to work that morning--she heard him leave, and she wondered why it was parked here at 11:30 in the morning.

Wonder turned to apprehension and flared into fear when she saw a tall, familiar-looking, attractive blonde open the passenger door and slide lithely into the seat.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Carol screamed, slamming on her brakes. The driver behind her slammed on his brakes and blared his horn, which drove Carol's fear through the roof. It was too late to turn into the parking lot--she was in the left lane, and heavy traffic flowed past her on the inside lane. Shaking with fear and growing anger, she hit the gas, forcibly changed lanes to the right, and sped to the light where Conway crosses Main. She would turn right onto Main, zip over a block, and make a right onto 6th. Halfway up the block, Carol would turn up the alley and right into the wraparound parking lot of the Big 6.

As she thought about what she saw and its implications, fear began to give way to intense anger, and Carol's fiery passion compelled her to drive the car right at the edge of control. "I'm gonna rip out that bitch's bouncy little curls and feed 'em to her right before I kill that cheating bastard husband of mine!" she swore. Without a second thought, Carol unleashed the terrible temper she so painfully and carefully learned to control over the second half of her 28 years.

A red light at Main and 6th fanned her anger because the car ahead of Carol wasn't turning right, and she contemplated driving onto the sidewalk to bypass it. On the verge of running her Tahoe onto the sidewalk, she glimpsed across the intersection and saw a State Trooper. She jerked her hands off the steering wheel like it was on fire.

"Settle down!" she shrieked.

The instant the light turned green, she laid on the horn, so in retaliation, the driver ahead of her sat there for a three-count. Carol was very close to doing something foolish or criminal to get that insufferable jerk to move. Just before she lost control, the car in front of her finally crawled ahead. Enraged, she tore around the corner onto 6th and saw the alleyway ahead. An arrow-shaped sign directed, "Big 6 Motor Inn Parking".

The big SUV turned hard and sped down the alley, through the back parking lot, and into the lot facing Conway. "The bastard is parked right about.... He's gone!" She stopped behind the empty space and slapped the steering wheel in frustration.

"Sorry, cheating motherfucker!" she screamed and pounded the steering wheel. Even with the windows closed, a female pedestrian several yards ahead glanced in her direction and then looked away as if embarrassed for the crazed brunette.

Carol shook so severely that it took three attempts to press the right button for Jeff's cell phone on the hands-free display. "Answer, you bastard!" she hissed through clenched teeth.

"Carol! I can't talk! Staff mee..." Jeff whispered and hung up.

"Aww!" she screamed. "You can't do this to me!" Her next call went right to voicemail.

She texted: [Call me NOW or else!]

A half-minute later, Jeff responded: [Staff Meeting! Same as every Wednesday!]

She tried to call again, but Jeff put his phone on Airplane mode.

Carol spent the next ten minutes driving around the Big 6 parking lot, looking for Jeff's classic car. She knew he had to be lying; there was no other possibility!

Gone! The more helpless Carol felt, the more her intense emotions coalesced into a violent, white-hot rage. She felt nauseous, and she began to weep in anger and frustration. Finally settling on getting even with him, she hissed, "Payback! I need payback!

"Okay, Jeffrey Cheating Asshole Sims, you want to play that game? I'll see your blonde bimbo and raise you..." she spat. 'Who? Who can I fuck that will make him feel like shit?' she wondered. Then, it came to her! Carol chuckled evilly.

Still trembling with rage, Carol called her friend Candace. After halfway explaining her anger and stopping Candace's inevitable twenty questions at one, Carol demanded a phone number. Candace was only too happy to oblige.

After Candace told her something to ask Brett, Carol promised, "You know, I'll tell you all about it later, Candy!"

"You better! Mmm-wah!"

"Mwah!"

She took a few minutes to compose herself, but she never once considered what she was about to do. After a few deep breaths, she dialed his number. After two rings, the warm molasses of Brett Green's voice hissed from the Tahoe's speakers.

"Well, well, if it ain't Carol Crawford," he said, using her maiden name. In Brett's mind, no married woman was married, married. "Did you finally decide to see what your hot self's been missing all these years?"

Somewhat surprised that he knew it was her, Carol exhaled, trying to control her voice. Her anger always made her voice shrill. "So, to answer your question, I am curious." That came out as a scratchy alto.

"Took you long enough, baby! Six years since you went off the market, but I know you ain't been used very much," he chuckled.

Carol ignored the obtuse snipe at Jeff.

"Same old bullshitter," Carol chuckled. "Candy said to ask you about your new hobby."

"Yeah, my tight-assed brother says I drink and party too much. Said I need a hobby." Brett chuckled. "So, I've got one. Call it my 'love hobby,' and I love to share it with willing wenches like you!"

Carol rolled her eyes, but at this point, Brett was a means to an end; her boiling anger overrode any qualms. Normally, Carol wouldn't spit on Brett Green, the archetype self-absorbed, perpetual, frat-boy player.

"How'd you know it was me?" she asked.

"ESP, baby." Hearing Carol's annoyed huff, he came clean. "Candace texted me."

Brett and Carol met in middle school and also attended high school together but never dated. Through mutual friends and in the course of everyday life, they occasionally ran into each other. Brett still tried to get her interested. To him, if it has an X-chromosome, it's fair game. Carol never took him seriously or made too much out of his flirting.

However, the women who slept with him said Brett was fun, a definite good time. They liked his enthusiastic, take-no-prisoners technique; despite his demeanor, he was a generous lover. Someone called him 'needle dick,' and it stuck. While not an insult, it wasn't a glowing review, either.

"Having sex with Brett is like bungee jumping," her friend Candace once observed. "Try it once, but be careful. The thrill is intense, but it doesn't last longer than your cardiac recovery. The good news is you sure won't catch feelings for him."

Knowing this, Carol decided Brett perfectly met her requirements. Later, when she sat confronted Jeff, they would be even. Knowing that she would hurt him as badly as he hurt her was strangely comforting.

"Let's do it right now. Where at, Brett?" she asked. Surprisingly, she felt a strange tingle.

"Whoa, Sunshine. Slow down. Where's the romance, girly? Let's enjoy this!" Brett teased. "I'm not just a piece of magnificent male meat to you, am I, baby?"

"You wanna fuck me or not?" Her voice was harsh.

"Okay, okay. Settle down," Brett said soothingly. "Where are you at?"

"Just off 6th and Conway. I can get a room at the Big 6," she said. Then, Carol had an idea that made her laugh. "Yeah, meet me there ASAP. I'll text you the room number."

Revenge

At the front desk of the Big 6 Motor Inn, Carol asked the clerk, "Can I get a key to my husband's room?" Strange electricity coursed through her. Carol removed her driver's license and handed it to the clerk. "Jeffrey Ryan Sims, same address."

Never a great planner and blinded by anger, she never considered how dragging Brett into the room with Jeff and his blonde bimbo would work out. For Carol, life at the moment was cause-and-effect.

The clerk frowned and studied her computer monitor. She made a face, typed, perused the display again, and reexamined Carol's driver's license. She typed, frowned, and shook her head.

"Mrs. Sims?" she said, handing back her license. "There's no Jeffrey, Jeff, J., or J.R. Sims registered. I even checked Ryan as a last name. Maybe he's under a company name?"

She knew her husband wouldn't be that dumb. She reasoned that the room must be under the bimbo's name. Strangely relieved, Carol said, "No, but I'll take a room. A single for one day,"

She was desperate to know where the hell her husband was screwing that bimbo. Carol considered listening at room doors and finding the bastard. However, with traffic noise and people all over the property, she'd run the risk of trouble for just a remote chance of discovering his love nest. More likely, since his car was gone, he was at another motel, but something about that didn't make sense. It hurt to think about all the possibilities, and the futility she felt just pissed her off all over again.

"Okay, Mrs. Sims. Check-out time is 11:00 tomorrow," the clerk said, handing her a key card and receipt. She pointed to her left. "Room 547 is in the west wing, lower level, facing 6th Street."

When Carol returned to her Tahoe, she texted [Room 547. Bring condoms, or you'll just watch me watch TV!].

Brett responded: [Aw, you won't get the whole love hobby effect, but it's your kitty! I can pet it either way.]

Carol called her boss, Marge Jenkins, and said she had a fever and stomach pains. "I started feeling really sick at the Fed-Ex office," she lied. Nobody would question this since Emily Sparks was out with the same disorder.

"Yeah, you don't sound like you did when you left here, Carol. Take it easy and get better!" Marge said in a concerned voice.

Carol drove across the street to a liquor store and bought a pint of rye and a liter of club soda. Even that angry, fueling her revenge with a bit of liquid courage was essential. After all, she told herself, it wouldn't be revenge unless it were fun. Then, she wondered if Jeff was also drinking to cross the cheating threshold unless this wasn't his first time.

"You motherfucker!" she whispered. The store clerk gave Carol a sidelong glance, decided it wasn't directed at her, and said nothing. People who sell liquor see and hear all kinds of things, and this sotto voce utterance was typical.

Once settled into room 547, Carol shut off her cell phone, kicked off her low heels, and slipped out of her jacket. Next, she stripped the bedspread. Everyone knew hotels only changed them every few months. On a true crime cable show, she recalled a prominent rape case where the detectives collected over one hundred and forty different DNA profiles for semen and vaginal fluid from one hotel bedspread!

Carol used two of the room's disposable cups to make strong drinks. "Ice! Damn, I forgot ice." It took her another five minutes to slip on her shoes and trek to the nearest ice machine, which felt like four miles from 547. As she rounded the corner returning, she saw Brett Green tapping on the door and speaking lowly.

"Carol! Come on, don't do this to me," Brett whined, thinking Carol was inside and ignoring him.

"Do what?" she said from several feet away.

"Hey, babe!" he said, surprised. "Mm-mm! You look good enough to eat!" Brett declared with his 1000-watt smile.

She forgot what a good-looking man he was. His blonde hair was bleached almost white, and his handsome, chiseled face was playful and sexy.

"Ice." was all Carol managed to say.

"You!" Brett said, his smile unwavering.

Fifteen minutes later, untouched drinks sat on the bathroom vanity, sweating like the two naked people on the bed. Carol was getting her revenge.

Once, while she was on her back contemplating a water stain on the ceiling, she felt a pang of guilt and questioned whether her actions were justified. The ever-alert Brett Green felt her relax, and he knew how transitory cheating women's feelings are. He pulled her close and stepped up his oft-practiced game. With a deep, noticeably different thrust, his long, thin cock deliciously probed her deepest recesses. She pushed her qualms away and responded to her lover's attention.

After all, she reasoned, Jeff was doing the same thing to what appeared to be a taller, prettier woman, so what she was doing was... Brett felt her slipping away again and started stroking her face and looking into her grey eyes. He knew this brought them back from the reality they were escaping.

Later, they ordered a tasteless pizza, and as Carol ate and sipped club soda over ice, she pondered the three empty condom wrappers on the nightstand. 'I had to do this. Otherwise, I could never get over Jeffrey's infidelity!' she told herself.

Rage and conscience struggled for control, and she grew weary of thinking about it. She tipped a generous shot of rye into her soda and said, "I want to take a nap, Brett."

He looked over at her and sensed they were done for the day. With his trademark smile--a little rueful this time--Brett replied, "Okay, babe. Go right ahead." He slid out of bed and, as he walked away, said, "I need to get back to my office by three, so that works out just fine." He always had an escape plan.

"But hey, when do you wanna share my love hobby with me again?" he asked.

"No, Brett. This was one and done. Jeff is fucking some bimbo, so this was payback."

Brett looked at her, nodded, and smiled wanly. He said, "Uh, okay." After a moment, he added, "Glad I could be of service."

Hoping to calm down and relax, Carol drained her drink in one fiery gulp. As she lay in the semi-darkness, the bed's dampness annoyed her. Carol moved around until she discovered a dry outer edge. She watched him through half-closed lids.

As Brett washed his face and combed his hair, he smirked at her in the mirror. 'He really is an asshole,' she thought. He was good in bed but devoid of feeling or emotion. Then she saw the wisdom in Candance's parting words about feelings. The alcohol finally relaxed her, and she closed her eyes. Brett soon left without a word.

Carol still seethed with pain and anger as she drifted off, and she never felt more alone.

At 3:51 p.m., a loud, passing truck jolted Carol from a disturbed sleep. Ambient sounds, voices outside, distant traffic, and her conflicting thoughts had trapped her in that half-awake, half-asleep state where real and unreal merge. It's sleep without rest.

After a quick shower and refreshing her makeup, Carol decided to go directly home. She checked her phone and remembered it was off. Powering it up revealed that her last text message to Jeff was unread. That made her angry at Jeff's cheating and even more furious that she almost regretted what she did with Brett. Her anger boiled up a fresh head of steam.

Hell To Pay

Carol turned the corner from Briarwood onto her street, 125th Avenue, and Jeff's Firebird sat mocking her in the driveway--he didn't even garage it! It felt like a big eff-you! All the emotion of seeing that blonde bitch sliding her ass into his precious Firebird came flooding back.

"Rub that in my face, will you!" she cried. "I'll take that fucking car in the divorce and sell it to one of those car crushers." This made her laugh.

As she entered the house, Jeff stepped into the entry hall from the kitchen. He was in his work clothes, sans tie and jacket with sleeves rolled up. He wore her large, gingham apron and a larger smile.

"Hey, hon! You up for some of Quinton's Righteous Ribs? I picked up two dozen on the way home," he said. "With all the sides, including sweet potato pie."

'This sanctimonious asshole picks up my favorite ribs and sides after he's been cheating on me!' White-hot anger bubbled up and boiled over. Like an over-pressured boiler without a safety valve, she exploded.

The look on Carol's face extinguished Jeff's smile. "What's wrong?" he gasped.

Carol threw her briefcase at him and screamed, "How dare you, you cheating piece of shit! I saw you! Damn you! I saw that blonde bitch getting into that piece of shit car that's now sitting out there in my driveway! Plus, you have the gall, the absolute fucking gall, to meet me with a smile on your face telling me you bought my favorite fucking food for dinner!"

Jeff stared wide-eyed, a look of panic and surprise on his handsome face. "Honey, I don't know... what are you...?"

"I went to Fed-Ex this morning around eleven, and on the way back, I drove by the Big 6 on Conway! That... that," she pointed over her shoulder towards the driveway, "piece of shit car was parked by the rooms, and this tall, blonde bimbo was climbing into the front seat! Don't deny it! You can't miss that car!"

He stared at his wife and shook his head. "I can explain, honey. Let's go sit down."

"No!" she screamed. "You get your shit and leave. Rightfuckingnow!"

"Settle down!" he growled. "I was in my Wednesday staff meeting from ten-thirty until nearly one, and then we all went to Baker's for lunch. You know that...!"

"You're a cheater and a liar," she interrupted. "but you're not the only one who got a piece on the side today! No! I went to the same damn motel and hooked up!. I fucked Brett Green."

Jeff looked like he took a bullet--he even staggered. "No, Carol, you didn't. Please, no." The breath went out of him, and he struggled to breathe.

She stepped closer. "Join the club, asshole! Now, you know how I felt."

His tall frame sagged. In utter disbelief, Jeff continued shaking his head and stumbled away.

"Run away, asshole!" Carol taunted. She followed him into the small office alcove off the main living area. "Now, get your shit and leave! I might not divorce your cheating ass if you act right!"

"You fucked... that... asshole?" Jeff's voice was shaky and low but dripped with anger. Carol wanted to laugh at how similar his reaction was to hers.

As he dug some papers out of his briefcase, she spat, "Feels like a gut punch, doesn't it? I hope you used condoms because I sure did. Three of them." She laughed wickedly.

He handed her some papers. "Look at these, Carol," Jeff said, his eyes intense and aflame.

One was an invoice from E&T Custom Car Accessories of North Bridge, a city about 30 miles away. Jeff leaned on the desk for support, red-faced, with tears welling up in his eyes.