The title for this story will become apparent quickly and is adopted with tremendous respect for Hitchcock.
This is my response to all those stories about finding a strange car in the driveway. Every time I read one of those, I wonder, “How can they not expect to get caught? Do they think the neighbors are blind?” This is a slower story than what I usually write, but I became fascinated by the thoughts and inner conflict in the mind of a witness to likely infidelity.
There is no sex in this story.
“You did well today, Mr. Bennett. Just keep that ice bag on your knee for thirty minutes, or more if you need it. You already took an ibuprofen and an acetaminophen, so no more for three hours.”
“Yeah. I remember. When will you be back?”
“Well, today is Monday. You do your exercises tomorrow and I’ll be back on Wednesday. Remember, on Wednesday we start an earlier schedule. They’ll be no more of these late morning workouts. I’ll be here at nine and then you’ll have the rest of the day to yourself.”
“Sounds good. Travel safe, Megs. I’ll be here.”
That last bit made her chuckle. I wasn’t going anywhere just yet. She was pleasant enough when she’s finished, but a freakin’ sadist when she’s workin’ me over.
Ten days ago I had knee replacement surgery on my right knee. I heard stories about the post-op physical therapy and there was nothing about it that sounded good other than, “It won’t last forever.” I figured I could push my way through just about anything if I knew there was an end in sight, but I guess everyone I know must have a higher threshold for pain than me. This was torture.
The whole idea behind physical therapy after knee replacement is to get at least a 90-degree bend to the knee. Sounds easy, right? The surgeon cuts tissue and then the tissues mend by reattaching the fibers and growing together. The problem is the cut segments tend to attach to anything nearby, and the physical therapy is designed to break all those undesirable attachments until the knee once again operates correctly and bends as intended. Think on that while you pour me a beer.
The therapist got in her car and drove off. Her name is Maggie if anyone cares. She’s actually a good kid, but she has no pity. She’s heard the screams before and knows that pain is the path to recovery. When I’m feeling generous, I do call her “the kid”. I’m guessing she’s in her mid-twenties and I’m fifty-seven, so she’s a kid to me.
Not that it matters, but my name is Henry Bennett and I build custom kitchen cabinets in a small four-man shop that I own. And, yeah, one of those men is a woman and she’s a damn good carpenter and cabinetmaker, but I’m old school and saying “four-person shop” just doesn’t sound right. I’ve been thinking about expanding the business to include furniture, Windsor chairs mostly, so retirement isn’t something I’m considering. It seems like I’m up and down all day, squatting and standing, and then kneeling on that hard floor, so one way or another the cartilage wore out in my knee, and I wound up with some factory replacement parts.
So I’m sitting here by my front window with my leg up, ice on the knee, and I’m watching Megs drive off when I notice Jenny Carpenter pull into her garage across the street. The Carpenters are in their late twenties. Chris is also a carpenter by trade, which makes his name all the more ironic, and he was working hard to build his own small company of carpentry contractors. They did good work and were sought after by homeowners that needed home repairs and remodels as well as the mid-size companies that often needed to hire in some additional talent. I know he had dreams of expanding his company so they could become the prime contractor for new home construction, and we had long talks about how to grow a young company. That was something I knew a little about. Meanwhile, Jenny is an attractive blond who works for one of the big investment houses in the city. I liked her.
I’m thinking to myself, “They really are the perfect couple” when I see a black BMW pull into her driveway. You don’t see a lot of those in this neighborhood, and you don’t see guys in expensive suits walk into a neighbor’s front door like he owns the place, but I saw one that day.
I watch Jenny’s place while I ice my knee. After a half hour of icing my knee, I make my way into the kitchen for a sandwich. I know it sounds crazy, but I can’t carry a plate and a drink while I use this damn walker to get back to my living room. So I pack the sandwich in a paper bag and pour my drink into a to-go cup, put both in the silly-ass basket on the front of the walker, and make my way back to my chair. I drop in my seat and the BMW was still there. I’ve still got some ice, so I put the ice bag back on my knee while I sit there and watch my neighbor’s house across the street.
Time passes. It’s a long hour before the suit finally leaves. Ten minutes later the garage door opens and Jenny leaves, too.
Okay, I tell myself there are a thousand perfectly good excuses for what I just saw. Jenny isn’t the type. I try to put it out of my mind, but I’m just so damn bored sitting here. Damn it, I need a book, or a puzzle, or anything to keep my mind occupied. The shop called twice with some fairly simple questions. I suspect they were just keeping in touch, so I didn’t feel left out. With nothing else to do, I decided to look through a few books on chair design, and I began to pour over ideas for a line of simple, stylish chairs that we could make in the shop.
I was still sitting there in the late afternoon, alternating between having my leg up and doing my bending exercises, then going to get a bag of ice, while I worked through books on chair design. As I read, I drew some design ideas. I was trying to develop something traditional, but comfortable.
It was growing dark when I happened to look up and noticed Chris’ truck pull into their garage. Jenny’s car was already parked in its usual place. That’s when my mind returned to that black BMW and the driver with the fancy suit who seemed to act like he lived there.
I began to gather my drawings and notes when I saw Chris making his way across the street. He was headed for my house. I made my way slowly to the door and opened it just as he arrived.
I stepped back to let him into the house, which was more difficult than you might think with that damn walker. “Chris, what brings you here?”
“Well, Jenny thought that with you convalescing and not able to spend a lot of time on your feet, you might like some home cooked food. So she packed up a dinner for you and sent me across the street to deliver it.”
I laughed. “I love that girl of yours!” As we made our way slowly back to the kitchen, I asked, “What did your lovely wife fix for this tired old man?”
“First of all, you aren’t old.”
“But I am tired!” I was still laughing, but Chris was the real first visitor I’d had all day if you don’t count Nurse Pain and I was enjoying the company.
He set the food on the table and began to unpack it. There was a big bowl of corn chowder and some ham biscuits with a nice salad. “My God, there’s enough here for the both of us!”
“Oh no, no way. If I eat even a bite of it, my wife will find out and I’ll be in a heap of trouble. That’s all for you.”
I admit that I was smiling now. “I guess there’s enough here for dinner and for lunch tomorrow. Please tell your lovely wife ‘Thank you’ from me. Now, can I offer you a beer before you make that long and arduous hike back home?”
Chris was smiling and he knew my thanks were sincere. “No, she’ll be waiting for me. I’d better get moving. I’ll try to stop in tomorrow evening.”
“I’ll be here! I’ve got nowhere to go for the next few weeks.”
As quick as that, I walked Chris back to the door, shook his hand, and he was gone. As I watched my friend walk back to his house, I thought about the value of good friends and thoughtful wives. “I’m sure I’m wrong about her” I thought. “She’s not the type.”
I enjoyed my dinner that night. I also felt like I’d accomplished something with my drawings and notes, so I spent the evening watching television and reading. I also went through another bag of ice. Then with another ibuprofen and an acetaminophen, I headed off to bed.
Tuesday was largely uneventful. I fixed a simple breakfast of yogurt and granola with a glass of orange juice, took an ibuprofen and an acetaminophen, and then carried my coffee to my living room chair. I sipped my coffee while I gave the pills about twenty minutes to work, and then I started the unpleasant business of exercising my new store-bought knee. No pain, no gain. My exercises start with a series of simple motions like leg raises and ankle movements. Then I start the reclining knee bends, and when I’m ready I use an elastic band to pull my ankle toward me and force the knee to bend. I do repetitions and by the time I’m breathing like a long-distance runner I’m ready to stop and ice the knee. It’s not hard work, but it takes a lot of discipline to pull that band knowing it’s going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.
For the next half hour I content myself with propping my leg up and applying ice. It’s mid-morning before I’m ready to get on with my day and I get back to working on those drawings that I started yesterday.
Sitting by the window, I work and watch the world go by. Neighbors come and go from their houses. Dan Williams is out cutting his lawn. He’s retired and has turned maintaining his lawn and property into an obsession. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t fish or play golf. The Daniels are out for their late morning stroll and later Herb Jackson goes out for his run. The UPS truck delivers some boxes up and down the street and eventually the mail man delivers the mail. Funny, but nobody seems to see me sitting by my window.
I’m working away and glancing out the window when I see Herb walk up to the Perkins’ front door and let himself in. That’s strange. Jim Perkins is away on business this week. I keep watching and try to work, and it isn’t until an hour later that he leaves by the back door, walks down the driveway, and heads back toward his house.
I tell myself that I’m letting my imagination get the better of me, but at the same time I’m starting to think that I might be living in my very own Peyton Place. Is this what goes on when I’m off at work every day, and exactly what is this I’m seeing? There must be an acceptable explanation, so I try to shake it off and get back to work.
By the time night falls I’ve done my exercises three times, taken my pills every three hours to stay ahead of the pain as they say, and I’ve finished off the last of Jenny’s corn chowder and ham biscuits. Chris is home and I didn’t see Jenny until her usual time, so once again I try to shake off the thoughts I’ve been having.
Wednesday morning comes and soon Nurse Pain arrives. I had just enough time before her arrival to fix a light breakfast to settle those two pills in my stomach and fix some coffee as an early reward for what was to come. She was particularly hard on me this day, but she claims my knee is coming along nicely and she’s expecting full mobility. I remind her that I was never that flexible to begin with, but she just ignores me. I offer her a cup of coffee before she leaves, but she tells me, “I’ve tried your coffee. You could use it for furniture stain.” I try to tell her that there was a time when some cabinet makers did exactly that, but she’s just shaking her head and tells me, “See you Friday. Do your exercises and keep applying ice.” Nurse Pain is gone, and I sat back with a bag of ice on my knee to finish the last of my cold coffee.
After that, it becomes a repeat of the day before. Dan is working in his garden this day, the Daniels take their morning walk, and I see Herb Jackson visiting Sally Perkins again. I’m telling you it’s a God damn Sodom and Gomorrah.
The lunch hour comes and I’m preparing to fix a sandwich when I see Jenny Carpenter pulling into her garage. So I settle back into my chair and five minutes later that black BMW pulls up and the suit walks into the house through the front door. This time he’s there for nearly ninety minutes and I spend the time wondering how stupid I’m going to look if I say something to Chris and it’s all a big mistake. I tell myself that I don’t know her family. The suit could be her brother or a cousin. He could even be Chris’ brother. I don’t know.
The rest of Wednesday passes uneventfully. Chris never made it over for that beer on Tuesday, but later Wednesday evening I heard a knock at the door.
“Is that invitation for a beer still available?”
“Sure! Do me a favor and grab two. I’ll meet you in the living room.”
We spent a pleasant hour before Chris had to head for home. I watched him closely during that time and never detected a note of unhappiness or distraction. If anything was going on, he didn’t know. I thought about asking him what he might know about BMWs or if he had any relatives who had one, but I decided I could never pull it off. So I let it drop.
Thursday was a repeat of Tuesday. I divided my time between exercising and icing my knee, then I’d work on my designs, take some pills, and repeat. Life was becoming boring and predictable. Meanwhile, Dan was developing the fine art of washing his car, the Daniels took their walk, and Herb visited Sally Perkins. That old fart was getting more action this week than I’d had in two years.
I suppose I should explain that last remark. You see, my wife Peg died two years ago. She was my lover and my best friend. Her death was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time when a distracted city truck driver ran through a red light. I was assured that she didn’t suffer, but I sure as hell did. I keep her photograph on the table by my chair.
Both our kids are off building their lives as they should be, but it does get lonely sometimes. They offered to stay with me during my recovery, but I told them I’d be okay. After all, I had Nurse Pain to take care of me. When I told my kids I was prepared to be stuck at home for a few weeks and that I’d laid in a few cases of beer to see me through, my daughter looked at my son and the next thing I knew the fridge and freezer were full. I was only kidding…
Friday came and Mags was her usual punctual self. I was prepared with breakfast, pills, and coffee, so she didn’t waste any time getting ready.
She starts in on me. “You’re progressing quickly, Henry. You must be doing your exercises religiously.”
“If I’m progressing so damn quick…” Damn that hurt! “…how come you keep working me over like a redneck prison guard?”
“You have experience with prison guards, do you?”
I swear I don’t know whether to laugh or swear at this woman sometimes.
The latest torture session was over, and she returned from the kitchen with the ice bag. “I know the weekend is coming, but I want you to continue your exercises both Saturday and Sunday.”
I take a deep breath and nod my head.
“Then I’ll see you again Monday, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You don’t sound enthusiastic, Henry. Are you becoming immune to my charms?”
Okay, that gets a little laugh out of me as I swallow a response that I would regret later. “You have a good weekend and I’ll buy some new locks for the door before Monday.”
She chuckles. “Next week we’ll start working with a cane and try to get you off that walker.”
“I like the sound of that! It’s a deal.”
That’s what passes for banter with Nurse Pain and with that she was gone.
Friday continued like every other day. Dan was trimming the bushes along the front of the house, the Daniels took their walk, and Herb visited Sally Perkins. I was thinking about how life had become so horribly predictable when the black BMW pulled into the Carpenter driveway. I must have missed Jenny pulling into her garage. I wondered if they had a regular Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule and how long had this been going on? I fixed myself a sandwich and treated myself to a beer, then watched quietly until the suit left with Sally following him ten minutes later.
A horrible sadness came over me then. I liked these two, Sally and Chris. They were thoughtful and kind. They always seemed loving and attentive toward each other. What I was seeing now seemed so horribly out of character for her. I searched my imagination for a credible explanation and admitted that it was all conjecture on my part, but it bothered me terribly.
That weekend I did two things: I watched to see if the suit visited while Chris was home and I started making plans. He never visited and my plans developed quickly. I worried greatly over what I was considering. If you asked me whether I was certain that I was doing the right thing, I’d have told you, “I don’t know.”
This much I did know. If I approached Jenny with anything resembling an accusation, she would deny it, and I would be labeled an insulting old man and lose two friends. If I approached Chris, he would blow his top at me, and again I would be labeled an insulting old man and lose two friends. If I ignored it, I would have difficulty looking Chris in the eye and pretending to be his friend as I kept the painful truth from him. The only solution was to help him see for himself and hope I was wrong.
I spent the weekend developing a list of my needs if I expand the shop as planned. By then I was thinking about some tables to go with those chairs. I needed open space to move large pieces of wood into position at the machines, and I needed 240-volt power in multiple places. I also needed space for workbenches where I can work by hand fitting mortice and tenon joints and then I needed clean space for finishes. Basically, I needed to at least double my current space. I drew up some ideas playing with multiple concepts until I realized that I also needed additional space to store my wood because tables need large pieces of hardwood where cabinets used a lot of high-grade plywood with quality veneers for the boxes. It was turning into a big job.
I went to bed Sunday night with a heavy heart knowing that the coming week would most likely be painful for someone, but I also knew that the someone might be me.
Monday morning came and with it came Nurse Pain’s arrival. I knew the drill and by then even I knew we were making progress. If torture meant I could return to work, bring on the torture! She left me once again sipping my coffee and balancing the ice bag on my knee.
I tried to work, but my mind wouldn’t focus. Dan was cutting his lawn again and the Daniels took their walk. Jim Perkins was back from his travels, but he still had an office in town where he worked, so Herb visited Sally Perkins again. I could not help but wonder why someone would stay married if they felt the need to cheat on their spouse? Was it money, security, or just a bad habit? Was it a game for them, some despicable way to bring a little excitement to their boring lives? I suppose they probably thought they’d never get caught. I liked both Herb’s wife and Sally’s husband. They deserved better.
Noontime came and I watched Jenny pull into her garage and lowered the door. Five minutes later the black BMW pulled into the drive, and I watched the suit once again walk into the Carpenter’s house like he lived there. My mind was made up and I knew what I had to do. An hour later the suit left and then Jenny left a short time later. It broke my heart.
Monday afternoon and Tuesday passed uneventfully with me trying to keep busy, fielding the occasional call from the shop, and watching the neighbors. Nothing seemed to change.
Wednesday morning I watched Chris head off to work. Mags arrived and gave me a working over, and then I sat with my ice and my coffee watching her leave. It was time. I picked up my cell and called Chris.
“Chris Carpenter here.”
“Chris, it’s Henry Bennett. How are you doing?”
“Good, Henry. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
That line cut through me like a knife. If things went as I expected, there would be no pleasure in this for anyone.
“I was wondering if I could tempt you with a sandwich and beer for lunch?”
I could hear him chuckling. “Wow. It’s hard to turn down an offer like that!”
“And while you’re here, I’m thinking of expanding my shop and I’d like to see what kind of ideas you might have.”
Chris thought for a moment. “Sure, I could stop by tonight and we can work over what you have for ideas.”
Now came the big whopper. “Actually, my kids are talking about visiting tonight and I have everything worked out here. I was hoping you might come ’round say 11:30 or noon today?” I hated lying to him like this.
“Sure, why not! I could use a break in the routine. Okay, I’ll come ’round for lunch and we can talk about the new shop.”
“Great! See you then.”
I felt like shit! There were a dozen ways this whole thing could go wrong starting with Chris calls his wife, Jenny and the suit don’t get together today, she sees Chris’ car in my driveway, and so on. I felt fairly sure I could claim ignorance either way, but doesn’t that make me a coward?
Sadly for everyone, Jenny and the suit were as predictable as all my other neighbors. Chris arrived at about 11:45 and joined me in the front room. I had all my notes and drawings arranged, and after Chris got us each a beer from the fridge we settled down with sandwiches, chips, and a cold glass. It would be downhill from there.
We sat at the table by my front window and started going over my list of needs as I saw them. I showed him a drawing of my current shop and began to show him sketches of the sort of thing that I had in mind. At 12:05 Jenny pulled into her garage. Chris watched for a moment with a slightly confused but happy smile on his face and then we resumed our discussion. We were at a fairly productive point in the plans when the black BMW pulled into Chris’ driveway at 12:10. Chris was speaking and stopped suddenly as the suit got out of the car and again walked through his front door like he lived there. I watched my friend without speaking and waited. He tried to return to the drawings, but to no avail. I suppose ten minutes passed with Chris trying to speak, trying to study the plans but returning to watch his house, until my friend just said, “Excuse me.” Without another word he rose, walked out the front door and crossed the street to his own house. It was odd, but I could swear that this time I watched a man walk through his own front door like he no longer lived there, and I wondered if he would be my neighbor for much longer.
My window was open and moments later I could hear the commotion. There was screaming and shouts, and it sounded like furniture was being thrown. I heard glass breaking and the loud thuds of what I assumed were chairs hitting the wall. Shortly after that the suit came running out the front door half dressed, jumped in his car, and raced away. It was silent after that.
Time passed and just when I began to worry that Chris might have harmed his wife, he left his home as he had entered it and walked back across the street and into my house. He just dropped onto my sofa with that thousand-mile stare I’d heard about and said nothing. I figured my job was to wait until he was ready to speak, and in time he said, “The bitch was fucking him in our bed! Can you believe it? Jenny of all people?”
I stood and handed him the remains of his beer saying, “Here. Drink this and I’ll get you a refill.” He threw it down in one gulp.
Thinking he needed to let it out, I said, “You saw them?”
He just nodded.
“You’re sure it was consensual?”
He spoke like he was in a daze. “I heard her. She was a willing participant.”
For all my watching and planning, I didn’t know what to do next. So I got Chris that second beer and sat back down to be the concerned listener that I assume he needed.
He finally started up. “A husband should never be expected to see what I saw. My wife was naked with that asshat. She had her legs wrapped around him and was making all the sounds she makes with me, only louder. She was enjoying it.” Then Chris looked at me and said, “I saw him when he climbed off her. He’s nothing special.”
This was going to be a slow discussion and I needed to let my friend talk as much as he wanted. When he’d been silent long enough, I said, “I heard a lot of noise like glass breaking and furniture being thrown. You didn’t do anything you’ll regret, did you?”
“No.” Then after a pause, he said, “Not unless you count marrying that cheating slut in the first place!”
It was about this time that I saw Jenny’s car back slowly down the drive. It seemed to hesitate for a time, and then drove away.
“I think I just saw Jenny drive off.”
“Yeah. I told her to get her cheating ass out of the house.” Chris’ hands were shaking, and his color looked like death.
I knew this next bit was going to go over badly, but it needed to be said. “You need time to come to terms with what just happened. It may not be the end of the world. I’m not saying it will be easy, but I do know that girl loves you. Maybe you can patch things up once you’ve had a little time to think about it.”
The look he gave me was not encouraging.
That’s when I made my big mistake. Thinking that misery loves company, I blurted out, “You’re not alone. Herb Jackson is over at Sally Perkins’ house every day while her husband is at work.”
Chris just shook his head in disgust and muttered something under his breath. Then he turned to me. “You knew, didn’t you? That’s why you asked me to come over today? What is it? Does that asshat show up every day like clockwork?”
I tried to stay out of it, but Chris would not be denied.
“Well?”
With a very reluctant voice, I said, “Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays as best I can tell.”
“For how long?!” Chris’ rage was building.
“Last week and now this week. I don’t know how long it’s been going on.”
For a time I stopped worrying about Jenny and started worrying about myself. Chris was showing signs of a beaten man and there was anger in his eyes. I remember thinking to myself, “That’s what happens when a wife cheats on her husband. She robs him of his pride and then the anger takes over.”
For a time, Chris’ rage seemed to dissipate as my friend dropped his face into his hands and wept. I had all kinds of regret at this point and again I wondered if I should have just turned a blind eye and let things happen as they were destined to happen, but those idiots were parking his car right in front of the house where all the neighbors could see it! What did they expect would happen? At least Herb tries to be a little discreet, not that I respect him any more for it.
It was a long, and largely quiet hour after that as Chris nursed his second and eventually his third beer. I tried to find ways to assure him that he was justified in whatever he did while reminding him that she did love him even if it didn’t seem it now. I don’t know how much of it got through.
His cell phone range, Chris told his office that he was out for the day, and eventually he headed home after I invited him to stay as long as he wanted. He just shook his head saying, “I need to face this sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner.” He left his car in my driveway and walked back to his house a broken man.
An hour later he was back, and I poured him another beer. He said, “I cleaned up most of the mess. There’s probably still part of that broken mirror in the carpet.”
When I asked how the mirror wound up broken, he smiled. “Son-of-a-bitch ducked. The chair missed him and hit the mirror.”
In a silly attempt at support, I said, “I was surprised he was able to leave under his own power.”
“Yeah. I regret that.”
“Just as well. You don’t want to go behind bars for that asshat.”
He just shrugged and shook his head as if he wasn’t sure.
We sat and drank well into the evening. I heated some leftover pot roast in a failed attempt at sobriety while Jenny never came home that night. Then long after dark Chris made the lonely journey back to his own place.
Thursday morning Chris’ car was still in my driveway, so I called his house after a suitable time in the hope that he might be up and sober. He didn’t answer the first time, but he did a half hour later. He’d been in the shower when I first called.
I asked him, “Are you interested in getting some breakfast? I can cook, or you can drive us out someplace.”
“Why don’t I drive?”
“Are you okay to drive?”
He just gave me a sad laugh and said, “Yeah. I can drive. I’ll be over in ten.”
Good to his word, he was at my door ten minutes later. We hit a diner in town where I figured it was again my job just to listen if he wanted to talk. There were other people around us, so we kept it quiet. Jenny had called late the night before in an effort to apologize. She talked through her tears and to Chris’ credit he kept his temper in check. He wasn’t ready to see her, so she said that she would be at her sister’s house when he was ready.
I didn’t hear much about their struggles after that. Chris would come by once or twice every week, and we would drink a few beers while he would ask vague, and largely introspective questions about marriage. I got the distinct impression that things were not going well. That impression was confirmed when the For Sale sign went up in the front yard. He told me they were divorcing, and he was thankful that they had no kids as yet.
The most telling thing he ever said about the whole matter was that Jenny had admitted in therapy that she was very good at “compartmentalizing” her life and that her lover had nothing to do with their marriage. Chris just shook his head and muttered “fuckin’ psychopath” and that was the end of our discussion. He did learn that the affair had gone on for longer than he could forgive.
It was sad to see their marriage end and I asked myself many times if I should have simply turned a blind eye in the hope that Jenny would wise up and Chris would never learn of it. Inevitably, I would then ask myself how I would feel if I were in Chris’ position, and every time I decided that I would hate the “friend” who kept that secret from me.
Jenny and Chris divorced and went their separate ways. It was years before Chris would trust another woman, but when he did, he seemed to choose well. He met a widow his age with young kids and she knew the value of fidelity. Chris had always wanted kids and took to fatherhood like a duck to water. We remained friends and he did build the addition on the side of my shop.
As for me, I never remarried. I told you that my wife died two years before my knee surgery. She was everything I ever wanted in a partner, and I miss her to this day. I figure one was my limit and never tempted fate again. However, I have a few girlfriends who place no claims on me, cannot get pregnant no matter how hard we try, and still like to sleep with a man from time to time. Yes, menopause is our friend! I have a good job, great kids, and company when I want it. Life is good.
However, life is not so good for one Herbert Jackson. It was about two weeks after Chris discovered his wife with that suit. I was sitting by my front window. By then I was getting around pretty well with a cane and dividing my time between the office and my home. I wasn’t quite ready for the shop floor just yet, but I was slowly getting there. I was looking through some drawings for some kitchen remodeling jobs and working up some quotes when I heard the familiar sound of glass breaking and furniture hitting the wall. I looked over at the Perkins’ house in time to see a naked Herb Jackson come running out the front door and down the street with his pants in his hand followed close behind by Jim Perkins swinging a baseball bat.
I said to myself, “Caught another one.” Jim looked highly motivated, and I placed Herb’s chances of getting home at no better than 50/50. I never did find out who tipped off Jim Perkins, but I suspect it might have been a very angry carpenter who lived nearby.
A week after that I was finally back on the shop floor, working late, and thanking providence that I was no longer sitting in my front window watching the lives of my neighbors in my very own Peyton Place.
Characters often say the wrong thing in a moment of hurt or anger, so I should note that Jenny was probably not a psychopath as Chris charged in anger. That’s a common slur. Sociopath or narcissist might apply, but selfish and deceptive certainly do.
I know some readers will look for the revenge. That works fine in fiction, but reality seldom has any real measure of revenge. It isn’t fair, but it is reality.