Dinner at the Perryville

I looked up, and so did Marjory. Her dad went on, "Your mom and I have decided to move."

Marjory and I sort of figured that was coming. Her mom wasn't as limber she used to be, and her dad had a fibrillating heart that required a pacemaker. I asked, "So where you moving? One of those condos near where you live?"

He answered, "No, Arizona."

Marjory was floored, "Arizona!"

"It's too cold up here for us anymore honey. Arizona's hot and dry all year. Don't worry we'll fix it so you can all come out any time you want," that's what Marjory's mom said.

Marjory looked the way I felt -- stricken. She simply said, "Mom!"

I realized it was best for them, so I said, "I understand it's the best for you. We've had some awful winters lately, and despite what they say about Global Warming, I don't think they'll be getting any better."

We all laughed at my Global Warming joke, but Ryan said, "If you move who'll watch me when mom's at work?"

That reintroduced Perryville to me, but I kept quiet.

Marjory said, "I'm not late that often honey, only once in a while."

He said, "No mom, just every Wednesday."

I already knew that so it didn't bother me.

Marjory turned Ryan's remark aside, "So when are you planning to leave?"

Her dad said, "Before it gets cold again."

After that the conversation slowly went downhill. Marjory was definitely unhappy. Ryan didn't like it either. Me, I wasn't happy, but I knew they were right. The dinner ended on a somber note. Mom and dad took us back home, and we started to settle in for the night.

After we got an unhappy Ryan in bed I crept up behind Marjory, put my hands on her hips and snuggled in to kiss her neck. Wow! She turned on me like an angry serpent! Heatedly she exclaimed, "My mom and dad are deserting me and I suppose you want to play cops and robbers. OK, where're the handcuffs? No? You want to play "The Mummy". You're Boris Karloff and I'm Anck Su Namun. Well forget it. I'm tired of your childish games. Grown-ups don't do that sort of thing!"

"Damn," I thought, "I never considered having sex or making love was supposed to be something "grown-up". I got angry, "Well from now on we'll just use the old "one-two-three" method."

Marjory asked, "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You bend over. I stick it in, then wham, we're done."

She stood there, arms akimbo, "Well that would be better than the childish shit we do."

I'd had it, "Fuck it Marjory. Buy yourself a dildo."

She hurled right back, "I just might. You're not all that hard anymore anyway."

We weren't fighting fair, but I didn't care, "Well shit! It's not like you're the little kitty I married. Christ, sometimes you're wider than the Grand Canyon."

Her retort, "How would I know? You've never taken us. You've never taken us anywhere!"

By then I didn't care, "How about I take you to Murky Flats?" Murky Flats was a filthy mud hole where people took their worn out refrigerators and old tires and such. It was a real shithole, worse than Nigeria or any of those countries the President mentioned.

Marjory, she just stood there, shaking and doubling up her fists at me, "Oh you! I hate you! I wish..."

"Wish what," I yelled back?

"I wish I never married you. I wish I'd found a real man! A man with poise and some sophistication. Not some juvenile farm boy like you."

I was done, "Go ahead then. Find somebody else. Me? I'm going to bed." I took off my boxers and Tee-shirt, and climbed into bed. "Don't forget to turn out the light."

She slammed the door. I guess she planned on sleeping downstairs, because the spare bedroom was clogged with all her extra clothes, especially shoes. Anyway I rolled over and tried to go to sleep. I didn't. I felt like a heel.

Saturday was subdued. It was the summer so Ryan was off with friends. Marjory had the wash, and I had the lawn and later paperwork. Sunday started with church, followed by another disappearance by Ryan. I thought maybe... So I approached Marjory, but she wasn't having any of it. I was the anti-Christ, and that was all there was to it.

Monday arrived and like every other work day I was up, off, and gone before my wife and kid. Monday's are pretty typical; early morning usually before sun-up, catching up on new paperwork, then checking when my secretary got in to find out about any last minute changes or new things, and then last, heading outside. Of course, everything is flexible, a lawyer calls, a bank shifts gears, a homeowner has an immediate need. I have to be alert and on my toes all the time, this is a competitive occupation. And what about Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays? They all fit pretty much the same pattern. The best part to me was being outside, but I had my cell, plus I kept a laptop handy in my truck; since sometimes a larger picture beats what you see on an IPhone. That was silly...

Back home Monday evening Marjory was a little warmer, and on Tuesday things were almost back to normal. In fact, I thought Tuesday seemed downright pleasant.

Then Wednesday came, and just like that things changed. It was around 2:00 p.m. I was outside surveying a field back behind an old farm house. There was an old horse lying on its side near a ditch, and it looked to be dead. That's always depressing. I stopped what I was doing and went over to check. The horse got up. I felt better. My IPhone went off. I checked the source; it was my friend from the prior Wednesday. I hit call...

"Hello Cullen?

"Yeah, it's me. How's it going?"

"Sorry pal. She was there again. I saw them. They went into the Comfort Inn. I followed this time. They apparently got a room and went to the elevator. Gee I'm sorry Cullen."

I was busy, and this was bullshit I didn't need. I said, "Yeah, me too. Can I call you back?"

She said, "Sure. Any time."

I had no intention of calling her back. What I did do was slip down the ditch bank to a large rock. My IPhone had an application, as did Marjory's. I could use my phone to connect with her IPhone's GPS. I'd know almost exactly where she was. I finagled with my phone. My fingers were a little large so it took a couple tries, but I got connected. I watched as it almost instantly zeroed in. Yeah she was in Chambersburg. I zeroed in closer, and she was on the same street as the Comfort Inn.

That was all I needed to know, at least for now. I closed my phone and went back to work. I've never been a good compartmentalizer so I never completely got Marjory off my mind, but I was still able to get the job done. Sure it's always rough hauling equipment around in muddy fields, hopping ditches and such, but this Wednesday was particularly tough. My heart just wasn't in it.

I kept telling myself, "This can't be right. There has to be some plausible reason. Marjory's not cheating, she couldn't be cheating; it's part of her library job. There must be meetings in some conference room upstairs someplace. That had to be it. I'd been to conference meetings with lawyers and bankers about big jobs, and once in a while those meetings would be in an upstairs conference room, especially if it was someplace distant like near Pittsburgh or someplace like that."

On my way home I pulled over to the side. I used my IPhone and got the number of the Comfort Inn outside Chambersburg. I called. I got a Hello.

I asked, "Hello. I'm calling from my car; I and a few others were wondering if you had any conference rooms that might be available in the very near future?"

The young sounding woman replied, "We have two rooms. Would you like me to schedule?"

I asked, "Just wondering; are either upstairs. I mean not on the ground floor?"

She replied, "No sir. Our two conference rooms are both on the first floor."

"Nothing upstairs," I asked?

"No sir," she replied.

I thanked her and hung up. Well that fixed that didn't it?

Now what? Do I confront her? Do I get face to face tonight and have it out? I decided not to. We'd just had a little ruckus the other night. Her parents had upset her with their decision to move. I had to be gentle. I was still sure there'd be a sane and plausible reason, somewhere.

I got home late. Marjory was up in the living room watching television. Ryan was already in bed. Maybe I could get something going tonight? First thing I noticed was how tired she looked. "Gosh Marjory," I said, "You look beat, must have been a tough day."

"Terrible," was all she said.

I desperately wanted to have a discussion. I wanted to feel close to her like it had been before Friday night. I slipped off my boots and laid them on the carpet and as pleasantly as I could said, "Maybe I could rub your feet?"

She looked at me and delivered something between a frown and a scowl, "I know where that always leads, and I'm not interested."

"No," I said, "I can see you're tired. I want to do something to make you feel better."

"You can take those filthy boots and put them outside. That would make me feel better."

"So much for the caring husband," I thought. I turned things up a notch, "You know you weren't the only one who had a bad day," then I lied, "I found a nearly dead horse and had to help a farmer put him down."

She waved her hands, "Whoa! A dead horse."

"Well," I asked, "What about you? What made your day so bad?"

She got up, "Forget it. You wouldn't understand," and she started for the stairs.

"No," I added, "Try me."

"Forget it," she said, "you're too fucking immature."

That was a new one! She'd dropped the "F" bomb on me. I counter attacked, "I get it. I'm not good enough, not smart enough, not enough gravitas I guess. Maybe you need a new somebody, like another ranch hand? Maybe I just don't cut the mustard around here anymore?"

Then she dropped the real issue on me, "Maybe I do, and maybe you don't," and off she went up the stairs.

I sat down on the sofa where she'd just been sitting. I looked around the house. I was in the living room. Off to my left was the dining room. Everywhere I looked I saw fourteen, no fifteen years of my life; our wedding picture on the far dining room wall, the little husband and wife statuettes that had been on our wedding cake now in the big cupboard where she kept all the good dishes, our tenth anniversary picture, pictures of her holding Ryan, and pictures of me holding Ryan. There was other stuff; the praying hands she had to have, the U.S.S. Constitution model in the bay window she'd bought me one year for Christmas and I'd so carefully put together, her curio cabinet with all those stupid "Precious Moments", the $600.00 vase I'd bought and then stupidly had our names engraved on the back. Everywhere I looked I saw things that I believed just last week had mattered; now they were just the detritus of fourteen years of failure. It occurred to me the only worthwhile thing we ever did was upstairs in bed, and he didn't have a clue as to what might soon be happening. I feared we were on the cusp of a real catastrophe. I had to do something... but what? I had to think!

Thursday and Friday rolled by. Saturday was another day filled with chores. Sunday came and went. Monday and Tuesday drifted off someplace. Then it was Wednesday, and time for me to take action. First, I did the unthinkable, I had my secretary clear everything off my calendar from 9:00 a.m. on. I was going to Chambersburg. I was going to watch first hand. I was going to find out who the rounder was who was destroying my home.

Second, right away Wednesday morning I called my friend who answered almost right away. "Yes, I saw it was you. How can I help?"

I asked, "When you've seen my wife with the other man. Tell me do they sit at the same table? Or do they move around?"

My friend replied, "They sit in the same general area, but not the same table. No wait, usually just one or two tables in the same spot. There's a window"

I asked my friend, "Could you meet me there say 10:00 this morning?"

"Sure," was my friend's reply.

I had it! I'd stop at... where would I stop? I didn't know. I got my laptop out and on. I checked for the leading electronics stores in the Chambersburg area. I started rummaging through the Internet. It didn't take long. I found the place that had what I was looking for. Who would've believed -- Walmart? I started out. My plan was to get to the store, buy an electronic recording/listening device small enough but strong enough to tape or paste under a table. I was going to try to listen in on my wife's conversation with her new hero. Would it work? Could I get away with it? I had no idea. It sounded like the stupidest idea I'd ever had, and I'd had some big ones over the years.

I got to the Perryville a little early, but my friend was right on time. Together we went in. "Show me where they usually sit," I said. My friend showed me. When the waitress came over I asked if we might have "that" particular table by the window. She hesitated for a couple seconds, but then said, "Certainly." She led us over. I had the device in the pocket of my sport coat along with some black duct tape. If it worked the way the salesman in the electronics department said, then my stupid hair-brained idea just might succeed.

It was early, really way too early for us to eat anything like a lunch, but the Perryville also had a breakfast and dessert menu. I ordered for each of us; I ordered some scrambled eggs, coffee, bacon, and toast. My friend smiled approvingly saying, "You know me."

While the waitress left to get our orders, we fiddled with the recorder, and managed to get it taped to the bottom of the table way back near the wall. I grinned at my friend, "I sure hope this works."

My friend grinned back, "Me too."

We received our orders, we ate, and then, after I left the money and a tip on the table we left.

Once outside my friend asked, "If there's anything else I can do I want you to call me."

I smiled, took my friend's hand and said, "I'm hoping, but either way I'll call you." After that exchange my friend left to go back to her work. Me, I drove my truck down the street to a rental company, and picked up a white Toyota. Then I drove back and parked across the street from the restaurant. I checked my watch, it was just past noon. God I was already exhausted. I knew I could never be a private detective, but then again detectives never did their own, like personal work. I was playing detective, and it was driving me crazy. I was a nervous wreck. I was spying on my wife. What if there was another man? What would I do then? My heart was breaking.

I sat... and I waited. I had to think. I had to slow down. Things were going too fast. Did I really want to do this? Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

Around 12:30 my wife pulled into the Perryville parking lot. She went straight in. To my surprise, just after she crossed the threshold of the front door a man roughly fitting my friend's description got out of a red Audi and walked in also. I started my rented Toyota and drove across the street and stopped by the parked Audi. I got the license plate and memorized it. I looked around for any distinguishing signs, maybe a bumper sticker, something on the rear window, maybe the plate itself, but I saw nothing so I drove back around and tried to get behind the restaurant. I wanted to get as close as I could. I hoped I might hear something. Just as luck would have it I got a spot just beyond the window from where they were seated. I could even see them! Was this good? I didn't know. I felt terrible.

I watched and tried to listen. There seemed to be some kind of background noise. I thought maybe something like tinnitus. I watched. I listened.

My wife spoke first. There was static, but I could make her out. She said, "I missed you Brandon."

I heard him, "I missed you too."

She asked, "Did you get a room?"

"Yes, here's a key," was his reply.

Then Marjory said, "I'm not really hungry. Maybe we could go over right away?"

He said, "I'm for that." I watched them as they both got up to leave.

"Jesus Christ," I swore! I'd paid $179.00 and that was all I was going to get? Then again. Hadn't I heard enough? I just sat back and waited some more. The damn Comfort Inn was in clear sight. Not five minutes later I saw the Audi and then my wife's Subaru pull in the motel parking lot. I watched the two of them stealthily go in. Neither looked at the other; brother were they cool. I got out of the rental and walked back inside the restaurant. I made no attempt to conceal what I was doing. I'd spent a lot of money for that damned listening device. Not bothering to wait for a waitress I went straight to the table, reached down, and yanked the God Damned device out. I thought, "Shit, fourteen years, no fifteen, and it ended with an "I'm not hungry, let's go to the room." I took the rental back to where I got it, re-acquired my truck and drove home. "Now what," I thought.

All the way home I kept thinking of ways to make my wife pay. I could buy poison. I could buy a pistol and blow her head off. I already owned several shot guns and rifles. Ryan and I like to hunt together, just a neat father and son thing. He even field strips his own deer now. I could get some of that of old clothes line in the garage and choke her to death. I could pretend nothing happened, and wait to see what she did. No, none of that would work. I had to come up with something of my own, something original, something really mean, but not just yet. Then it hit me, I knew what to do. There were dozens of places all over the Internet that provided advice, even stories on how to get even with an unfaithful wife. That's where I'd go -- the Internet.

I got home thinking, "Aha! This was one Wednesday I was home before my wife!" I didn't beat Ryan though. He was next door in our neighbor's in-ground pool hollering and yelling. I went upstairs, got a hot shower, changed clothes, went back downstairs, hit the kitchen, grabbed a beer, went to the living room and plopped myself down, stretched out, and turned on the TV.

Marjory got in about two hours behind me. So I figured they put in about two hours each Wednesday. All right, so what? "So what, what," I thought! "If they hit the Comfort Inn right after lunch and stayed two hours I wouldn't have to miss so much time next week or the week after." I wasn't some detective guru. I had no easy way of finding out who this Brandon was. Except for maybe a lawyer and a cop or two, I didn't have any realistic inside connections with the police. I had no clear understanding of how I might be able to use the "system" to get his name and address, so I figured the next best thing was to simply follow him after he left the motel. Sure, I'd follow him to wherever he lived. I'd knock on his door, he'd answer, and I'd smash him in the head with a baseball bat. No I wouldn't do that... but I wanted to.

On a more realistic note my biggest fear was what if he wasn't married? The way things seemed to be working I figured I was probably on the clock. Marjory sure wasn't being forced into anything, and from what she'd been saying lately I didn't have much traction. Sooner or later she'd be pulling the plug on our fourteen, no fifteen years.

My second best hope was something I didn't relish, and that was what if they got tired of each other, for that would leave me with an unhappy and unfaithful wife who'd most certainly be on the lookout for another Brandon. That was something I didn't want. On the other hand, if they kept at it, and he was married then all kinds of opportunities might open up for me. So as I sat there watching soap operas and waiting for my wife to come home I kept praying, "Oh please be married Brandon, please be married."

Marjory got home and sort of sauntered in the door. I watched and though I wanted to laugh I kept it inside. She thought she was pulling something over on me. I hated to admit it to myself, but I felt bad about it. Even though I knew almost everything, I still loved her. Yeah, I loved her, but she had turned me into a cuckold, and I wasn't happy about that. Soon, pretty soon, I'd do something about it.