Nandita To Nandini
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Tuesday, I could hardly think about work at all. I had risen and left the house early, like I had on Monday, skipping my run this time. Grace, my Administrative Assistant, must have thought I was on heavy medication or something, as dopey as I was acting--and probably looking.
I know that I had told Sonny that I would not do anything personally. But my mind was in turmoil with all sorts of ideas about what my wife was doing--hell, had been doing--with these guys she had known for twice as long as she had known me. I had to try to see the proof of my wife's evident infidelity for myself.
I drove to the Sheffield subdivision just outside of the downtown area, where Harvey and Joy Bland had their house--the location for tonight's scheduled cheating rendezvous. It was not a new subdivision, but there was a new section being developed. There were several houses still under construction--some just being framed and some almost completed, but being finished inside and landscaped--just a half block from the Bland house.
I parked just inside the new section--behind a construction dumpster--at about quarter to seven, leaving a clear view up the street to the house scheduled for tonight's rendezvous. I hoped that Claire would go straight to the Bland house and not drive this deep into the subdivision to the point at which she might spot my presence.
I noticed several contractor vehicles in the area, despite its being late in the day. There must have been a big push for completion of the work by the developers.
Looking down the street, at the front of the Bland house, five houses down from me on the left, I could see the garage with its door open. The two-car garage only had one car in it. I assumed that this was Harvey's car and that Joy had already left with the kids for the evening.
I drew a deep breath as I saw Claire's Toyota Camry pull into the street and park in the Bland's driveway. She sat there for maybe a whole minute with her head down before exiting the car and walking up toward the front porch.
Halfway up the walk, I hit the speed dial on my cell phone. I saw her pause as I heard the sound of the call going through in my ear. She reached in her purse and pulled her cell phone out. Her face registered surprise as she saw the caller ID, showing that I was the one calling her. Pressing a finger to the face of the phone and holding it to her ear I saw her answer my call.
"Hello? Wade?" she answered tentatively.
"Hi, Honey. How's it going with the Majestic party? Are the ladies drooling over the catalogue listings and the sample items?" I asked.
"Oh ... unh ... we are just now getting to the refreshments, Honey. We haven't started the presentation yet," she lied. "Are you going to be very late tonight?"
I bit off my bitter response and took a quick cleansing breath. "Yeah; it looks like it might be around ten or eleven. What about you?"
"It will probably be around eleven for me, like most of the times when we throw these parties. You know the ladies like to talk for a bit after the sales presentations are complete and while the orders are all being logged," she said.
"I just hope that the regional sales lady does not schedule this many parties this close together again. I will probably need that time I promised you this weekend just to catch up on my rest as well as catching up on our 'us' time." She had told me all of her lies just as smoothly and as naturally as if nothing sordid could ever be going on.
I was quiet for long enough for her to get concerned enough to say something else. "Honey, is everything all right? You are coming across as if something were bothering you."
I answered, "Sweetie, I'm just distracted by all the things that are keeping us apart right now. Just in case I haven't said it to you enough times lately, I want you to know that, whatever happens, I love you very much."
She paused for a second and then said, "I ... I love you, too, Honey; very much." She paused again and said, "Wade, I... ," then she paused again.
I waited. Then I said, "Yes?"
"Just ... I love you and I always will. I gotta go. Jill wants me to help out back." With that, she broke the connection. I watched from down the street as she looked at her phone for a second or two before dropping it back in her purse.
She visibly sighed and turned back toward the house of Asshole Harvey Bland and climbed the two steps leading to the front porch. She paused again before reaching for the door handle. I remember Good Ole Harvey telling her to walk right on in. It looked now like he had not left the door open as he had said he would. Claire tried the handle for a few seconds and then pressed the doorbell when the door would not open for her.
By this time, I was ready to hop out of my 4Runner and dash over there and grab her by her hair to drag her away and demand of her just what the hell she was thinking in all of this. I wanted her to explain it all to me and tell me why she was lying, cheating, and tearing my heart out.
I wanted to pull her hair, slap her face, and tell her that she was acting like a slut. Then I caught myself as my imagination began to run away from me. I knew that I could never really lift a hand to her. I don't hit women, particularly women I happen to love.
As I continued to watch, Claire remained at the door, but no one came to answer the bell. She pushed the button at least three more times and still received no answer. She looked around and tried the door handle again. It did not open for her. She reached in her purse for her cell phone
I watched her scroll through her screen listing until she found a number and touched it. Putting the phone to her ear, I watched her wait as the call went through. She waited for almost a minute, and then she clicked to disconnect and pressed the phone screen lightly again, listening as her redial went through. Once again it was almost a full minute before she closed out her call attempt.
She dropped her phone back into her purse and stepped off the porch. She looked up at the second-floor windows, and then scanned the curtained windows of the first floor for any sign of activity in the house in which she was supposed to be meeting Harvey Bland for some illicit sex.
Finally, seeing no activity from the house and getting no response to her knocks, rings, and calls, she sighed and walked quickly back to her car and climbed in. She started the car, looked at the house for a few seconds more, and then drove away, probably much faster than the residential area would consider safe.
I just sat there, trembling with a combination of feelings of rage, relief, nervousness, and disbelief. My wife had actually tried to keep a rendezvous with a married man--NOT her husband--for the purpose of having sex outside of the bonds of her own marriage vows. And at HIS house no less, while his own wife and kids were conveniently away from the house. And it was still light enough for the neighbors to have seen the strange car and to be able to identify the adulteress who was attempting to gain entrance. I just shook my head.
I was still sitting there fuming and thinking about all of this about twenty minutes later when I noticed a couple of very big guys, one with what looked like an oversized laundry bag, walking my way from the direction of the Bland's back yard and then along the sidewalk. I watched as they moved with a sense of urgency toward one of the vans painted in the livery of a local landscaper. One moved to the driver's door and the other to the passenger side. The passenger came around and opened the sliding door on his side and threw the bag inside before reclosing the door and climbing into the passenger seat.
Within a few seconds, the driver started the van and gunned it once, sending out a bit of visible exhaust from the rear. He spun on the gravel as he accelerated away and the van moved quickly out of the subdivision by the same route taken by my wife earlier.
I finally started my 4Runner and drove back to my office so that I could establish my story of working late. I went inside, but I simply sat at my desk and read some of my ongoing Baldacci story on my computer, via its eBook reader application. I kept this up for about three hours, but found it frustrating, as I had to keep rereading paragraphs two and three times in order to keep up with the story. My mind was on other things and I found it hard to concentrate on my reading; no matter how good the story was.
Finally, I closed up and went out to my 4Runner. I stopped for gas on the way home and pulled into the driveway at about ten-thirty. Claire was not home yet. I wondered where she was, but figured that she was doing something similar to what I had done--wasting some time--so that she could arrive home late to match her earlier story. The only satisfaction that I got from that was the knowledge that she evidently did not get a chance to fuck Harvey Bland tonight.
I had a second of panic, thinking that she might actually have gone back to see if Harvey had been there later, but I wasn't going to go tearing out into the night to go back there myself. I really did not want to see any more evidence of her betrayal.
I was asleep when Claire finally got home. I woke for a few minutes, listening to her in the bathroom as she brushed her teeth. I took it as a good sign that she did not feel the need to take a shower following her evening out. But I was exhausted from the emotional strain I had put myself through over the past few days, especially today. I was out cold before she even came to bed.
I threw the newspaper on the kitchen table as I came in from my run Wednesday morning. I had run for about twenty minutes more than usual so that I could burn off some of the hurt and anger that I was still feeling over Claire's escapades of the previous evening. I did not even look at any of the headlines like I usually do. I just went for the coffee pot.
Claire was up and drinking coffee when I came in from the run, but she did not offer her usual good morning greetings or try for a hug. She looked like she was miles away in her thoughts. When I tossed the paper in front of her, she just glanced at it. I turned to finish pouring the coffee when I heard her gasp.
I turned back around and saw her looking with fear and surprise at the below-the-fold story and headline on the front page of the local paper. Her hand was to her mouth. She made some kind of strangled sound and pushed the newspaper away. Standing quickly, she poured the rest of her coffee in the sink and left her cup on the counter as she scurried quickly out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs without a word to me.
Curious, I looked at the newspaper and saw a headline indicating 'Home Invaders Terrorize Local Family.' The picture accompanying the story showed the front of a familiar house with a Police Officer talking in the foreground to reporters and a gurney in the background coming off the porch with two Fire Department EMTs moving it.
The article indicated that a house in the Sheffield subdivision belonging to the family of a Mr. Harvey Bland had been broken into while the homeowner was there. Fortunately, his wife and children were out of the house for the afternoon and evening.
Police would not give many details about the case, but they did say that it looked like the homeowner, Harvey Bland, had been surprised by two masked men entering the house in the broad daylight of the late afternoon through the patio door--which sources say was forced. Bland had allegedly been assaulted and duct-taped to a kitchen chair with his eyes taped over as well, while the men allegedly went about moving through the house looking for valuables. No indications were given from authorities as to just what had been taken beyond a laptop computer. A source, who spoke on grounds of anonymity, revealed that the wife had returned late in the evening to find her husband secured to the chair in the kitchen and had called 911.
Bland had also been assaulted further in a strange manner. First responders evidently had difficulty in treating Mr. Bland, as his injuries were initially difficult to treat directly. The alleged attackers had driven an eight-inch landscape timber spike through Bland's left foot and into the wooden floor of his kitchen.
To keep him from bleeding out, they had sprayed all over and around the foot and the spike with an aerosol-delivered home insulation foam material used in construction for sealing odd-shaped openings--the brand name on the spray can left behind in the trash, and identified to reporters by the unnamed source, was 'Great Stuff.' Reports from Sentara Hospital, where Bland was taken were sketchy, but it appeared that there are no other injuries, except for minor scrapes and a bruise to the left side of Bland's face, where he had allegedly been struck by the intruders upon their first arrival in the home. Early prognosis was for Bland's full recovery with no really harmful after effects.
There was more, including national and statewide statistics about home break-ins and home invasions. The Chief of Police made the usual plea for any witnesses to call the toll-free crime line. Blah, blah, blah...
I put the paper down and smiled. It would seem that Mr. Harvey Bland had really--I know, I know; it's lame and really corny--put his foot in it when he decided to mess with the wife of a friend of Sonny Giancomo.
By the time I had finished my shower, Claire was dressed and ready to go. Since her Mom had the kids at her place this week, there was no typical scurry to get them ready for school. Still wearing just my towel, I got a perfunctory kiss, and an 'I love you; see you sometime late tonight' from her as she hurried out. She did not say anything about the report of the crime at the Blands, but I could see that she was upset. I just wished I could read her mind to see if she was upset at a friend being assaulted, or upset that the event had ruined her plans for some hot, monkey sex with another man.
I did not care at the moment. I was just basking in the relief that Sonny was taking care of things for me. I was also feeling a bit smug that Asshole Harvey Bland had gotten a small taste of exactly what he really deserved. I sorta wished that it could have been something more; something that Harv would carry around with him for the rest of his life; like maybe--no dick. Nah! I'm not that vindictive, but the thought DID cross my mind once as I got ready for work.
Grace, my AA, was probably about to call a shrink for me as she watched me operate in my fog for a second day in a row. When she asked me at lunch time about my strange apparent fugue state, I tried to snap to attention mentally and smile at her, assuring her that I just had a lot on my mind. She wasn't buying the simple answer, but she did not press it.
I left the office for the rest of the day at around two. I went home, but felt a need to park around the block from the house. I cut across back yards and entered my own house surreptitiously from the rear. There was no sign of Claire--not that I had expected any--but I still listened for any sign of a presence in my house.
I checked the phone recorders in the drawer of the computer desk and saw that one of the digital counters had moved since I had last checked. Plugging it in, I got one recorded call from the cell phone recorder. When I had transferred the conversation to the computer, and plugged in the ear buds to listen, I noted that the call had been made during Claire's lunch break.
[Male voice] "Hello; Harmon Motors, where your job is your credit for one of our new or quality pre-owned cars."
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