As I sat on my back porch I could hear the young man berating his wife through the window of the house next door. Talking about what a loser prude she was, why couldn't she be more loving like the girls at the bar?
His wife Sandy said, "what have I denied you? Whenever you want me I stop what I'm doing and let you satisfy your needs. In the kitchen, the bedroom, the living room, even in the bathroom when I'm trying to take care of myself hygienically. How is that being prudish?"
Tom came back with, "Sure, you always put out, but there's no passion like in the early days."
Then I heard the cold unemotional words of Sandy, "you gave that away you stupid ass. I'll take care of my wifely duties in the bedroom, but I'll never forgive you for that."
I then heard the slaps and her crying, punctuated by him shouting he'd be gone until morning and she'd better have breakfast waiting or she'd get another ass whooping. I'd called the police a time or two, but she would never press charges and nothing more could be done.
Tom was one of those guys who's pissed off at the world and is either hunting or fishing, with way too much beer involved in both. Stopping home long enough after work to eat or fuck or argue. Sometimes all three. I had listened to it the two years since we'd bought the old Richardson house and moved in.
I'd met them in the driveway the day their belongings were delivered. Tom was loud, overbearing, and absent minded, living only in his head. His world was the most important and the hell with anybody else.
Sandy on the other hand was polite, withdrawn and it was obvious she was brow beaten to the point she thought she was worth nothing. He liked barking orders and dishing out threats if she didn't respond quickly enough. It pissed me off, but it wasn't my circus nor my monkeys, so I politely excused myself and went home. I knew there was more to the story than met the eye.
I had become a widower at the ripe young age of 40, about six months prior to the young couple moving in. My Jenny had succumbed to the ravishes of cancer. Sadly, I watched her slowly drift away, praying she'd die quickly to ease her pain and suffering. We'd had a son who died of SIDS, Jenny felt it was somehow her fault and never wanted to have children again.
Jenny owned a greenhouse when we married, I threw myself into the business with her and before she died we owned six greenhouse facilities, we were supplying florists, garden centers and box stores for 100 miles around.
With Jenny gone I decided to take a three month break and re-focus, deciding to work just two days a week after I came back. I was thankful we had good managers and loyal employees, or it would have all gone by the wayside. I was in touch daily, but I wasn't doing my weekly visits to the greenhouses and sometimes customers as I'd done for years.
The Gilberts, (Tom & Sandy) didn't have much yard in front of their house and the greater portion of their back yard was either rock landscaping or Sandy's small garden. More than once I could hear Sandy trying to mow. Tom was too lazy and cheap to have the beat up push mower tuned up, so it spit and sputtered and didn't work most of the time.
Our front yards were separated by only the Gilberts and my driveway, so I started making one long cut from the far end of my lawn, across the driveways, and then onto their tiny yard. It added 15 minutes to the front yard and I was always looking for something to keep myself busy, so it was no burden to me. When the front was done I'd mow the back yard, drifting over into the Gilberts yard taking care of the 8 or 10 swaths along with my back yard.
At first Sandy protested, I was having none of it, "Call it neighborly if you like, I don't mind at all." Sandy began bringing me a cold lemonade or ice water, I'd stop and chat with her as I refreshed myself. I had noticed bruises on her arms quite frequently and wondered just how abusive Tom was. Tom was too ignorant and lost in his own world to realize his mower had sat in the same place for over a month, but the lawn was always mowed. He wasn't there much anyway, always doing something with his buddies, as if he was still in high school. When he did show up it was to berate Sandy and call her filthy names.
There were mornings when Sandy would notice me on my patio, bringing her coffee over to sit and chat. She asked what I did for a living that I could afford to only go to work two days a week. I told her of the business Jenny and I had built, though I'd enjoyed the reduced hours this past year, it was time to get back to work full time and re-establish my normal routine. I ask Sandy what she did.
"Nothing, Tom won't let me work. Says I need to be here when he needs me."
I thought to myself, "what a crock, she's a grown woman with a smart mind. Why would he not want her to work unless she's too battered?"
Sandy explained that her dad had been Tom's employer and had kept a tight rein on him, after her dad passed away Tom became an absolute prick. With Sandy inheriting the business from her dad Tom thought it was his for the taking and proceeded to run it into the ground. Sandy still had a trust fund in her name, but couldn't touch it until she had children, or turned 35. With both Tom and Sandy being 29 and childless, she figured Tom was only sticking around until her 35th birthday so he could divorce her and try to get half of the trust fund.
I muttered, "bastard".
Looking at Sandy I said, "I need to run to one of our outlying greenhouses tomorrow, it'll take most of the day, but if you'd like to ride along you're welcome."
"Not sure Tom will let me, but I'll ask."
"What time does Tom normally get home? If I have you back by 4 will that be early enough?"
"It should be."
"Okay then, be here by 8 and we'll hit the road, don't worry about money, it's my treat."
We talked and laughed and had a good time simply enjoying adult company. As we were pulling into my driveway about 3:45 I saw Tom's truck. Sandy instantly began to cry. Knowing there was going to be a confrontation, Sandy had grabbed my phone, hit record, and set it on the dashboard facing her door.
Tom was storming full speed toward my truck, when he reached it he jerked Sandy's door open demanding she tell him where the hell she'd been. By then I was around to Sandy's side of the truck telling Tom that she'd ridden with me to a greenhouse to get out of the house for a day. Tom told me to piss off and grabbed Sandy by the arm jerking her out of the truck.
"No need for that Tom, she did nothing wrong." I protested.
"I said piss off old man, she's my property and I'll do with her as I see fit." He then made a huge mistake by punching me, as he turned back he punched Sandy in the stomach, causing her to double over and slapping her as she went down. As the arrogant little prick turned toward me he was met with a right hand to the ribs, followed by one to his kidney as he clutched his rib cage. I told the little prick to stay down, being the arrogant ass he was, he tried to get up. I grabbed his head with both hands, turned it sideways and slammed the side of his head into my raised knee, knocking him out cold.
