Love Letters Ch. 03

"Oh my God! What crawled up his ass and died?" Shaun asked to no one in particular.

"Definitely not a rose," I offered.

"I think it's time we left, boys."

We left as stealthily as we'd arrived. Not a word was spoken until we were back on the cabin cruiser. We all laughed, but it was forced. I hoped it would be one of those things that would gain in humor over time, like the time I got absolutely stonkered and did a cock'n'run and had the misfortune of knocking, stark naked, on the door of a cop who nabbed me before I could get to the run stage of the party game. That was the night I discovered I didn't possess superhuman speed or reflexes when drunk. At the time, it was no fun getting locked up naked as a jaybird and then bailed out the next morning by my not so amused mother. Now, it was a story trotted out with regularity, much to everyone's amusement.

Even more, I hoped my father and brother would never come to regret having helped me gain my justice.

As Dad motored us out to open waters, Shaun and I cut up our clothes, gloves, balaclavas, and caps and disposed of them overboard. The bat lived on the boat; Dad used it for the odd time he hooked a shark and so I just replaced it in the small utility cupboard.

We dropped anchor, threw out a line, and sipped brandy and talked about all manner of things except what was in the forefront of all our minds.

# # #

"Oh my God, guys, you will not believe what happened at work today," called Mel as she threw her handbag on the kitchen bench and joined us on the patio.

As soon as Declan and Maddie heard their mother they abandoned Shaun and I, leaving us lying on our backs on the lawn where we'd been play wrestling them.

"Mum!"

I rolled to my side. "Well, I guess that shows us where we stand."

Shaun chuckled. "Be grateful for small mercies. They'll be bored with Mum in about an hour and then they'll want some more Daddy and Uncle Danny tickles. Rest and recuperate while you can."

For a moment, my heart gave a little squeeze. I wondered if I'd ever have the opportunity to have my own child be bored with me.

I scrambled to my feet, offering Shaun my hand. I heaved him up and we dusted ourselves off before sauntering over to join Mum and Dad. Mum passed us both a beer.

Moments later we were joined by Mel who had parked the kids in front of the TV with a movie.

"Nemo should keep them busy for a bit."

"So what happened at work?" asked my mother.

"You won't believe it! The paramedics brought Zack in with both his wrists broken. Looks like he got drunk and fell down his stairs. But—" Mel burst out laughing. She tried to calm herself. "But, the best bit is—" She lost it again. "He-he, oh my God." Once again she couldn't continue for laughing. "He shit himself!" she howled, clapping her hand over her mouth. "He's got the absolute worst case of nappy rash!" Mel was now crying she was laughing so hard.

We all laughed, and I resisted the urge to look at Shaun and Dad, keeping my gaze on Mel.

"Nappy rash?" I asked.

Mel mopped her face with her fingertips, nodding. "Yes. He laid in his own muck so long he's got the most terrible case of nappy rash. It's even all over his crotch. They've had to put him in his own room because they have to have him lying on his stomach with pillows propping his butt up, 'cause his ass and balls need airing. He's the laughing stock of the hospital. And to top it off, with two broken wrists, he's going to need either a nurse or his mother to hold his dick and wipe his ass every time he has to go to the loo for weeks."

"Karma. What goes around, comes around," my mother murmured with satisfaction.

I smiled. The Universe had given me a bonus with the nappy rash.

"He always did drink too much," added my father, smirking.

# # #

The months that followed proved to be a long and terrible journey. Claire was true to her word—the gloves were off—she was intent on making me pay for making public her love letters. Apparently, forgiveness was a thing for other people to dish out, not her.

Of course, her ire was kept simmering by the letters refusing to die a natural death. Like a bad smell they kept returning. It seemed like every other week they appeared on some forum or on social media. There was even some joker parodying them on Youtube. I understand it went viral. Their persistence kept Claire fired up and determined to bring me to ruin.

First, she tried to get her hands on half of my loan repayment to my parents but the courts upheld that the debt would have had to be repaid prior to her receiving her share of any savings. Her next gambit was to have me forced out of the cottage but the judge saw no reason to change the status quo, especially after I offered to go to mediation in order to settle our financial differences, saving the court time and money.

Mediation worked against Claire. The more detached I was the more heated she became. More than once the mediator had to ask her to calm herself. She tried to gain a share of my business but wasn't able to due to the way my parents had made me set it up—one more bit of sage advice I'd be forever indebted to them for.

After one particularly vicious late night text message, prompted, I think, by a fresh wave of shares and comments on social media of many of the letters, I went to the next mediation session armed with a list designed to embarrass Claire. I scored points over her lack of savings—she was meant to have saved ten percent of her income, as was I, and her bank records showed she hadn't saved a cent since we'd moved into the house whereas I'd put away far more than we'd agreed upon. The mediator, who was actually a woman, was shocked when I listed off the number of shoes—fifty-seven pairs—Claire owned. I'd let that hang in the air for a moment before adding the number of designer handbags she'd had in our walk-in-robe at the time of separation—a whopping one-hundred and twenty-seven—asking if she would like to give me access so I could choose thirty or forty as part of my division of her assets seeing as that was all she had to show from her supposed 'savings'. In the end, Claire was encouraged by the mediator to not try for half of my 10K of savings, saying in light of my evidence showing how I'd paid for just about everything other than groceries over the course of our marriage, she would recommend to the courts I not be penalized for diligently saving when Claire had not.

As the year drew to a close, though, I got sick of the games and maneuvered Claire into agreeing to sell the house unfinished. I no longer wanted it. I wanted to move on with my life with nothing surrounding me to remind me of the devil in disguise who'd been my wife. The mediator was all for the idea. It sold rather quickly and, I must admit, I did receive a great deal of satisfaction in only have to hand Claire a check for a little over a thousand dollars once it was all finalized. That equated to about one hundred dollars per year for our marriage. I could live with that.

With the money side of things finally sorted, I lodged my application for divorce. I had Claire served at her place of work, not so much out of a desire to humiliate her but because I didn't know where she'd spent the last twelve months. That had been by choice. I'd wanted—needed—the distance.

The first evening, only a matter of days prior to applying, when I realized I'd spent an entire day without thinking of her once, the feeling was indescribable. There were no words in any language known to man to say what a sense of elation I experienced. I felt, as I imagined a dying man must, when told his disease was in remission.

I actually cried. I laid my forehead on the table and bawled like a baby with gratitude. Wave after wave of tears washed out of me but I didn't fight them. Not this time. I didn't fight because they weren't tears for Claire. They weren't for the loss of my marriage. They weren't tears of hurt and pain, nor even of anger and rage. They were relief. Pure, unadulterated relief. They were knowledge that there would be life after Claire. Maybe even love after Claire.

They were the final cleansing of my heart. The final release of negative emotion. They were washing away all that was tying me to Claire. They weren't harmful. They were healing. They were liberating me from my past and so I let them flow and when they finally waned, I laughed—I was free. Sure, there were still some details to be ironed out, but emotionally, in all the ways that mattered, I was free.

It was a powerful feeling; a life changing feeling.

That night was the beginning. The true new beginning where I was finally able to sleep the night through. Was finally able to enjoy a meal and truly taste the food that passed my lips. And best of all, finally experience a measure of peace. It was so healing, so therapeutic I did all I could to nurture it—I didn't want to regress to obsessing over Claire and our sham of a marriage.

And somewhere along the line I realized I no longer felt compelled to rip Claire to shreds with my words. I had what I wanted; indifference, complete and utter indifference.

Throughout it all my family stood by me, putting up with my mood swings, my ranting over Claire's latest antics, my bad days when I despaired of the nightmare ever ending. I don't know how I would have gotten through without their love, patience, and support.

Rat-Zack left town never suspecting it was me who had broken his wrists and caused his ass and cock to be burnt raw by shit. Just goes to show you shouldn't drink yourself into oblivion. I heard on the grapevine he'd moved to Sydney. In a weird kind of way, I felt sorry for him. Our family was a large but close one. There were a lot of birthdays, anniversaries, engagements, and weddings and he was no longer on the guest list for any of them. And he had to carry the guilt of his mother not being invited either. I hoped it weighed heavily on him.

One of the bright spots in the year was Haley. We became friends.

She asked me one night why I no longer felt the need to speak to Claire about what she'd done. Putting into words my feeling made me realize it would have been pointless. Claire wouldn't have heard me. She wasn't capable of it. At best, it would have been a back and forth slanging match of accusations going absolutely nowhere. At worst, it would have helped her vindicate her actions to herself. As much as she no longer had the power to hurt me, I wasn't going to help her ease her conscience at my expense and subject my ears to her attempts at whitewashing her actions with a bunch of lies and self-deceptions.

It was during another evening with Haley that I had an epiphany of sorts. While I'd been the romantic who married for love, Claire had been the actress and married her co-star, her leading man who was meant to showcase her beauty and skills.

My time with Haley was spent platonically. I fancied her like crazy, and her small touches and warm glances told me she liked me too, but I didn't want to fall into a rebound relationship and hurt her, or myself, for that matter. When and if I made my move, I wanted to be sure I was acting, not reacting. I wanted the decision to come from a good place, not a needy one. I was upfront with her—she deserved my honesty. I told her I was in a tunnel and, out of admiration and respect for her, I didn't want to escalate our friendship until I'd worked my way through the darkness.

I'll never forget her smile when she asked me, "Are you telling me I'm your light at the end of the tunnel?"

# # #

I stood at the letterbox of my new home, staring at the official looking envelope in my hand. I knew what it contained without opening it. It was my Decree Absolut.

Without a backward glance, I walked to my truck and climbed in. With each stop sign, each traffic light, I glanced at the envelope on the passenger seat. It was over. It was finally over.

And then I stopped looking at it and focused on the road ahead. The road to my future. Who knew how things would go with Haley? Not me. Not her. But I had a good feeling about it, about her, a feeling I was ready to gamble on. A feeling I wanted to explore.

I accelerated, eager now; I wanted my light at the end of the tunnel and I was going to go get her.

# # #

~ The End ~

# # #

COCK 'N' RUN: A young adult version of the childhood game of Knock 'N' Run where a child knocks on a neighbor's door and runs off before they can answer. In the adult version the young male is naked. I'm not sure why young adult males feel the need to run the streets naked with their junk swinging wild and free. I file it away as another of life's mysteries like the pack mentality women display when needing to use the bathroom in social situations.

# # #

For those wondering what happened to Claire, please know not mentioning it was intentional -- this story is Danny's and to him it doesn't matter anymore. He has his much sought after indifference.

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One last reminder, despite the suck-assing of our politicians, Australia isn't another state of America and thus our laws are different. Our Family Law Courts do encourage mediation in an effort to save everyone time and money and the mediator can make recommendations to the court, many of which they follow.