Dinner at the Perryville

"I know all about you. I know about you and my wife, and I know about your family." I started lying, "I've had you and her under surveillance. I have tapes of your conversations, and I have DVDs of your exploits at the Comfort Inn. You go in there, and everything I have will be in your wife's hands," I looked at my watch for effect, "in less than an hour."

He was shitfaced scared, "No don't..."

"If you want to save your marriage and a lot of money," I stuck in, "Don't forget alienation of affection," I was going strong, "Here's what you're to do. Take this, my card. I'll expect your call me at exactly 3:00 p.m. At that time I'll tell you what you have to do," he had my card in his hand and was looking at it like it was a Coral snake. He looked back at me and I went on, "Right now I want you to get in your car and drive away. Don't call Marjory. Don't do anything, just drive away. If she calls, you ignore it. Don't respond. Don't do anything, just drive away and call me at 3:00 p.m."

"You won't tell my wife," he asked?

"Do as I say. That's all. We'll work out the details at 3:00 p.m."

He stumbled and rushed back to his car. I went to my rental and watched him get in and drive away. I got in my vehicle, squinched down real low and waited. I didn't have to wait long. No sooner than the time it took me to get comfortable and Marjory was at the restaurant front door looking all around. She looked all about and then went back inside. A minute or so later she came back out again, looked, but went back in again. Then, at last, she came out, went to her Subaru, got in, and drove away.

Part one of my plan had worked just like I had hope. Now it was time to get ready for my 3:00 p.m. call. I made sure Marjory was gone, and then went in the Diner. I went up to the cashier's desk and asked for the manager. He came right out. I told him, "I have an important request to make," I got out my wallet and laid a wad of bills on the counter, "and I'm prepared to make it worth your while."

He looked at the money, then at me, "I don't..."

"You can do this. Your rush hour is certainly over on Wednesday's by 8:00 p.m. I want to reserve two tables. They'll be for two different families, but I want to reserve two specific tables."

Still staring at the money he mumbled, "I think..."

I said, "I know you can. Let me show you the tables," I started walking, and he followed along behind. I pointed to the first table, "You'll reserve that table for Brandon Severeid and family," I pointed to a second nearby table, and you'll reserve that table for Cullen Culverson and his family."

He said, "I don't want any trouble."

I asked, "You'll be here tonight?"

He replied, "I'll make certain of it."

I peeled off five $20.00's, handed them to him, and said, "You'll get that many more tonight."

He looked worried, "No trouble?"

I said, "None, I guarantee it."

He put the money in his pocket, "The waitresses?"

"Don't worry, I'll take care of them too."

He said, "What were those names?"

I told him again. He wrote them down.

He gave me a half smile and held out his hand, "Then tonight at 8:00."

I shook his hand, "8:00," and then I turned and walked out of the restaurant. I took the rental back, got in my truck, and drove around Chambersburg until 3:00 p.m. At 3:00 sharp my cell phone rang, "Mr. Culverson?"

"This is he."

"What do you want from me?"

"Not much really. I've reserved a table for you and your family at the Perryville Diner tonight for 8:00 p.m. I expect you, your wife, and your girls to be there."

I could hear the consternation, "You know about my girls?"

"You needn't worry. All you're to do is take your family out, have a nice dinner, give the waitress a generous tip, and go home. If you see anyone you happen to know, ignore them. You understand?"

He asked, "Nothing's going to happen?"

"Not if you do what I just told you. Just be there at 8:00, give them your name, and have a good meal."

"You won't?"

"Nothing's going to happen. Your family will be happy and safe. I guarantee it. Just do as you're told."

"Just a meal and nothing else?"

"Nothing else," I said, "and you and your family will live happily ever after." I reasoned that might not be true, but I hadn't thought that far ahead yet.

"OK," he said, "and you promise."

"I promise, now hang up the phone."

He hung up his phone. I started my truck and took off to go home.

+++++

Home... I was going home. What was home? What does, what did it mean? I thought, "Really mean." Wasn't it supposed to be some warm place, a place where an individual could be themselves without being subject to cross-examination, a place where one held their newborn baby, wrapped their arms around a new mother, a place where a man and a woman got a chance to guide and watch their children grow?

What else did it mean? Maybe a storeroom filled with homemade jellies and pork loin. Perhaps a place where two people could hang their pictures, pictures of loved ones, pictures that over time showed that growth and change that comes with time and age.

What was the operative word associated with home? Wasn't it love? Love of family, love of companionship, freedom from loneliness, freedom from the terrifying knowledge some people have of knowing that when they got to where they lived at the end of their workday that coffee cup they left on the counter in the morning would be exactly where they left it, that no one lovingly picked it up, cleaned it, and put it away. Yes, more than anything home was about love, and sharing, and caring, and being a part of something, a part of someone else's life, how two people can become one.

And what happens when that sense of home, that love dies? It has to be the most excruciatingly painful experience one can have, like losing a child, nothing could be worse. I was going home, and I wished I was dead. I even thought about just speeding up and crashing my truck into a telephone pole. I felt that bad. I didn't though; I had other plans.

Home; that was where I was now as I pulled to the side of my driveway. Marjory's car, her Subaru, her little gas sipper, was in front of the garage, a garage filled with meaningless memorabilia, memorabilia like the two ten speeds, some fishing rods in the rafters, and an old canoe. We'd bought that stupid Subaru together; it had been what she wanted, it had stretched our budget, but it had been what she wanted. What had gone wrong? When and how did things fall apart? When had Marjory taken that first bite of the forbidden fruit, and why had she done it? "Yeah," I thought, "death would be a release."

I got out of my truck and went inside. Ryan was watching TV. Marjory was at the kitchen table; it looked like she'd been crying. I guessed she missed her Brandon, her afternoon pick-me-up.

I walked over to the coffee pot, "This fresh," I asked?

She jumped up, "No, I'll make some."

The morning paper was on the table. I sat down to look it over. There wasn't usually anything worth reading in it, but it did pass the time.

The coffee was perking. She said, "Something is supposed to happen tonight?"

I glanced at the pot, "Maybe we should get a Keurig?"

"No," she croaked, she was getting ready to cry, she turned and looked at me through eyes filled with tears, "Cullen..."

I looked back at the paper, "I think a Keurig would be a good idea."

She poured each of us a cup and sat down, "Cullen what's supposed to happen tonight?"

I checked the clock, it was 5:15, "We're going out to eat tonight."

Startled, maybe a little relieved, she said, "That's all?"

"Yeah, that's all. I've reserved a table."

"Where," she asked?

I smiled, "It's a surprise."

She took a sip of her coffee, "Oh, OK."

Nothing else was said. I marveled at her behavior; a week ago she'd been a surly bitch, a savage piranha, now she was as tame as a kitten. No causi bellum now.

++++++

It was 6:00 p.m.! I yelled, "Ryan turn off the TV, and go put on something clean. Marjory get a shower, put on your war paint, and slip into that LBD. Our reservations are for 8:00 and we can't be late." Both rushed off.

A little later Ryan came down in a pair of jeans and a blue Polo shirt. I was ready in a white button down, dark blue tie, black socks, brown wing tips, and my grey pin stripe. Then Marjory appeared. She was glorious in her black one piece that came just above her knees, slight V-neck, and simple short sleeves. Makeup just right, black three inch heels, and her hair parted tightly on the left side, pulled back in a bun with brown ringlets hanging down her back.

"Are we all ready?" Both son and wife nodded, "If it's all right with you Marjory we'll take your Subaru." She nodded her assent. We went out, piled in, I eased her car down the driveway, careful not to hit my truck, and off we went.

Halfway down our street Marjory asked, "Aren't you going to tell us where we're going?"

Eyes on the road I responded, "It's a surprise."

Radio off, there was a comfortable late sun as we left the back roads and turned on to Pennsylvania Route thirty. I drove along at a leisurely pace allowing the faster motorists to pass us. Being later, traffic wasn't as big a problem, but it was Rte. 30 so there was still plenty of activity. Through Mcconnellsburg, past Fort Loudon we kept up a steady pace.

Marjory seemed more alert, "We're going to Chambersburg aren't we."

Looking straight ahead I said, "I found a place with great baked salmon."

Marjory knew...

We were just outside Chambersburg where I turned off and found the street for the Diner. Marjory said nothing. I checked my watch, 7:45. I pulled onto the parking lot, "We're here."

Ryan wasn't very interested, but commented, "I don't like salmon."

"There're other things on the menu," I told him. I got out, walked around and helped Marjory from the car, "Here take my arm," we walked inside. I saw the manager and nodded. He came over, "Table for...?"

"Culverson," I said. We got the royal treatment, he personally led us to our table. "Your waitress will be here shortly."

Marjory was looking all about. We were seated at a table almost exactly opposite from where she and her boyfriend usually sat. Her eyes were filling with tears. The waitress came, "Can I get you anything to drink?"

This was where I'd done some extra homework. Brandon liked Manhattans, and Marjory had ordered Margaritas when she was with him. I looked at the waitress, "I'll have a Manhattan, and my wife will have a Margarita, and get junior here a sweetened iced tea."

Our waitress asked, "Reposado?"

My reply, "Of course."

Marjory had the look of a beaten pup, but she didn't say anything.

A few moments later our drinks came. The waitress asked, "Appetizer?"

"No," I said, we're ready to order.

She turned to my wife, but before Marjory said anything I interrupted, "We'll both have the baked salmon with your special Hollandaise sauce, add a tossed salad, both with Ranch dressing, and last an order of your grilled Asparagus for both of us, turning to Ryan, "Have you decided?"

Ryan smiled cunningly, "I'll have an 8oz. sirloin, rare, a baked potato, and some string beans." He was ordering way over his head, but I didn't mind.

I added, "Throw some onions and mushrooms on that steak." Ryan smiled broadly, he'd forgotten.

So we settled down to enjoy our drinks and wait for our meals when another family arrived. They walked down the aisle to my left, Marjory's right. I saw them out of the corner of my eye, but Marjory couldn't miss them. She looked pleadingly at me, "Cullen."

"Yes dear?"

She started to quietly shake. She slowly spiraled her head away from the other couple and toward the wall to her left, "Oh Cullen, I..."

I was afraid she was going to faint or worse try to run. I reached across and held her wrist, "Don't do anything. Try not to make a fool of yourself."

Tears were silently pouring from her eyes, "I have to get up, go to the..."

"No you're not my darling. You'll stay right there. Here use my napkin."

She took my napkin and dabbed at her eyes, smearing her mascara.

Ryan looked over, "What's wrong mom," he looked at me, "What's wrong with mom dad?"

I smiled reassuringly, "She having a sad thought. She'll be all right in a moment.

"Cullen please," she implored.

I frowned, "Make it quick."

Fortunately the way to the ladies room took her in the opposite direction of the Severeids. When I looked over at Brandon he seemed not the worse for wear. It was like what was destroying my wife had no impact on him whatsoever. I hoped when she came back she'd see that.

She did come back. She'd wiped all her makeup off. She sat down, eyes red from tears, hands shaking, "I get it. You've won Cullen. Can we go home now? Please?"

I gave her the most detached look I thought possible, I would've loved to make her sit there and eat the fucking fish, but thought of Ryan and what it might do to him. So instead I waved our waitress over. She came to us, "We're not well. Could you wrap everything up for carry out?" The waitress, seeing my wife's circumstances, nodded and left.

Ryan looked from his mother to me, "We're not eating?"

"Your mother's sick. We're taking everything home."

He looked at his mother, "Gee, I'm sorry mom."

She tried to smile, but it didn't work. Her shoulders started to shake in the way they did when she was going to cry. I didn't think she was going to make it. I sternly, and a little cruelly rebuked her, "Show some mettle Marjory. This is what happens when we go too far," I wasn't giving in, "Count yourself lucky my dear."

That was it, she burst from the table and ran toward the front door. Ryan's eyes were wide as saucers. Across the way Brandon acted like nothing had happened at all, but his wife saw everything and showed real concern.

I looked over at Mrs. Severeid, "There's been a death, and she's not well."

Mrs. Severeid spoke with real concern, "I'm sorry. I hope she feels better."

The waitress came with our orders in boxes wrapped in plastic bags, and the ticket. I pulled out the needed cash, plus a generous tip, and, carrying our meals, joined my son as we left the restaurant. I wasn't happy. I knew I was being a bastard, but for Marjory, her suffering may have just begun. We got to the car, got in, and drove home. She wept almost all the way. Once she turned and tried to say something but stopped.

As I drove along I reflected on my Medieval History class, and how they'd put people to death. In England in the Fourteenth Century it was a commonplace to first hang someone only to bring them down before they were dead. Then to open their abdomens and pull out their entrails, and finally beheading the still twitching body. I wondered, "How much was enough?" I wasn't sure. Yet I was convinced she deserved everything she got.

We got home. I set Ryan up with a tray and his food in the living room with a mild warning to stay there while mom and dad had a serious talk. He was scared.

Back in the kitchen I laid out our meals, "Enjoy," I said.

Marjory looked from the fish to me, "I'm not hungry," she started whimpering again.

I leaned forward and whispered, "Eat the fucking fish Marjory." She looked at me like she was totally afraid. She knew I'd never hit her. I'd never hit a girl in my life. She kept sniffling and coughing, and kind of gasping for air, but she started to make a halting effort to eat the God damned fish. I didn't eat anything. I just watched her. I was already close to throwing up.

I sat up, then leaned in her direction again. More softly I said, "Marjory."

She collapsed. She dropped her fork, spilled her meal on the table, kind of rushed and stumbled across the table to me. On her knees she grabbed me around the waist, "Cullen, Oh Cullen..."

That was all she got out; she started crying all over again. I lifted her up on my lap. That made her cry harder. I said, "Let's get Ryan in bed and then we'll have that talk." I had no intention of talking, but I wanted her to shut up.

She didn't say anything; she just kept crying and crying and crying... From the living room in came Ryan. He was white as a sheet. I looked at Marjory, and gently shook her by the shoulder, "Go and pack up some clothes for our son," I looked at Ryan, "Mom and dad are having some serious issues. Maybe you'd like to spend a couple days with Mom Mom and Pop Pop?" That was what he called Marjory's mom and dad. He nodded. I said, "OK I'll call them."

After I called and got their OK, I looked up and Ryan was tearful. He said, "This isn't my fault is it dad? I'll do better. I promise."

This was getting to be too much even for me. I pulled him over, "No son, this is about a mom and dad. You're completely in the clear. Remember we shook on it."

He sniffed and said, "Yeah."

Marjory must have decided to wait till her parents arrived, because she didn't come down till they got there. I took the valise she'd prepared and Ryan's hand, and walked him outside. Marjory's dad was standing beside their car, "What's wrong? What can we do to help?"

"It's serious," I said. "If you could watch Ryan for a few days it would be a big help." He took the valise and Ryan's hand, and said, "Sure," and then he helped my son in their car.

I went back inside. Marjory was standing in the archway between the dining room and living room. She looked terrified. I tried to stay calm, "Go upstairs. Try to get some sleep. Neither of us is ready for anything tonight. I'll stay downstairs tonight. Maybe tomorrow."

She wasn't crying, but she looked absolutely like someone about to be put to death. I said again, "Go upstairs. We'll try to work this out tomorrow."

She started hiccoughing again, always prelude to tears. I said again, "Go on."

She turned and started upstairs, but stopped and looked at me, "Cullen... I... You know I love you."

"Yeah, I know, now go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow." That seemed to calm her down some, she went on up the steps. I went back in the kitchen, sat down, and looked at my cold and unfinished fish dinner. I thought "Now what?"

What do I do? Where do I take this? What am I supposed to say? Am I a wimp that I should try and forgive her? Hell, she hasn't even admitted she's done something wrong? Am I such a hard ass unforgiving son-of-a bitch that I should throw her on the trash heap? Divorce her? Walk away, or make her walk away? Do I do that to the mother of my child? Do I just throw in the towel? Give up? Is it true, "Once a cheater always a cheater"? If I forgave, would she do it again? Should I risk it? Does anyone have any answers? "Jesus," I thought, "I've read up, there're as many answers and outcomes as there are occurrences.

I sat there with my head in my hands and finally broke down. I started to cry, and once it began I couldn't stop. I just couldn't stop, but I had to think! I had to think!

+++++

Dawn broke early Thursday, but I was already up and gone. I left Marjory a note. I told her to take today and tomorrow off. Clean the house, get some rest, go shopping, and spend some time thinking about what she wanted. I told her I'd be home early if I could. I told her I wasn't running away, but I did need some time to think.

Thursday turned out to be pretty productive. I got a lot done, and was able to clean up and clear out by 3:00. I still didn't know what was in store, but at least I felt a little better. There was still the snake at State College to consider, but I had brought my wife down. Had I gotten even? No, I realized there was no such thing as getting even. I could go on punishing her. I could divorce her, but I could never get even. I could only make things worse. There had to be a solution somewhere. Maybe it was Marjory's turn?

Thursday night at Home I knew she wanted to talk, but I wasn't in the mood. She'd fixed hamburger pot pie, something Ryan liked. I knew she was emotionally distraught since Ryan wouldn't even be home. We ate in silence. After dinner I watched TV, some senseless NFL pre-season game. Marjory pretended to read. I had things to work out. She went upstairs shortly after the 11:00 p.m. I stayed downstairs.