In the quiet of the still summer night, the steady drone of the crickets was the only thing that marked the passage of time.
He sat their. He sat their waiting for the woman who had stolen his heart. He sat their for his love, his world, his little girl who had filled his nights with unbridled passions and his days lecherous delights. He sat their and waited. He sat their and waited because she was late.
A mixture of fear and anxiety raced through his belly. Never before had she been so late to return from her trip into town. He knew she had her cell phone, yet she did not answer. He knew she had friends in town that she could appeal to if her car were to have broken down, yet none had heard from her. He knew that the libraries were only open so late, and that the clubs would be closing in an hour, yet she would have told him if she planned on visiting either of those places...wouldn't she? He pressed his hands to his face and felt the slight dampness that comes with summers heat and worry clinging to his brow. He wished for some answer, something that would tell him if she were alive or not. Something that would tell him the world was right again...yet that something never came.
Long hours passed. His eyes grew heavy with the passing hours, yet he did not close them. He stared fixedly at the horizon for some sign of her car. He was determined to see her come down the road as she had always done...or in the worst case, see the sheriff as he drove his old blue ford crown vic to tell him of her troubles. He waited...and waited...and waited.
When the night looks its darkest, sunrise is only moments away. It was then that it happened. His eyes mesmerized by the pinkening sky outside found headlights on the horizon. Heart hammering in his chest, he rose to see who approached. Immediate recognition of the car that now sped along the road dawned in his mind. She was safe. She was alive. She was home.
As he watched the car speeding up the long driveway, the sound of a radio screaming through the night air caught his attention. Shania Twain bellowed her need to feel like a woman. The top to her convertible was lowered and her hair flowed like a mane in the wind. A reckless abandon had ceased her driving tonight as he watched the dust on the driveway scurry out of her way, marking her path.
The night had suddenly lost its quiet. Morning was breaking with a deafening roar in his ears. The cute little convertible he had bought her screeched to a stop next to him, and a bright eyed young woman popped from the car. Kissing his cheek she managed a, "morning baby" before scurrying inside.
His heart pounded in his chest. "Morning Baby!?" Was that all she had to say to him. He felt his blood begin to boil as the hours of worry switched to a seething rage. His heart had been in a state of constant panic all night waiting for that phone to ring, waiting to hear she was ok, and now at 5:30 in the morning she screeches up to the house and goes inside.
Anger seemed to fill his every poor and he walked slowly to her car. She had left the keys in the ignition, and he could smell the faint tinge of alcohol their. On the dash board was a matchbox. "The inferno" it said. He knew the place. It was not the sort of place nice girls go. He had been there once before and had enjoyed the floor show...a young woman had been spanked before the audience. In the console next to her seat was the cell phone. Seven Missed Calls was clearly displayed on its screen...each call from him.
As he walked inside, the house felt oddly different now. Once it had been a happy home for the two of them. They had loved and laughed and if there had ever been tears shed, they were together for it, his arms around her, holding her in times of grief. Tonight those feelings were different. Tonight there was anger in the air mingled with a sense of betrayal. He walked up the stairs.
As the shower ran, he heard her singing to herself. She was trying to erase the evidence he knew. She was concocting a story he surmised as she washed, and by the sounds of her enthusiastic signing, she had crafted one that would convince the pope of her complete innocence.
He slipped into the bathroom and removed all of her clothing and all of her towels. Closing the door carefully behind him, he tossed the offending articles with their cigarette stench and beer vinegar stink in the laundry. She would be attending to that soon enough!
Her hairbrush from the dresser, the wooden spoon from the kitchen, his belt from the closet, and a 3 foot green sapling from the backyard would serve as his tools tonight. Anger had given way to resolution. He knew what he must do, and he knew how he was going to do it. She had violated his trust. She had behaved as a child might who snuck out one evening. She had thought only of herself, and she was going to attempt to lie about it now. He saw his path very clearly.
As the water shut off in the bathroom, he heard her calling.
"Honey, I need a towel you snot" He heard the slight catch in her voice and new she was worried. Why he wondered. Was she wising up?
"Honey, please bring me a towel"
"it's right here baby, come and get it"
