This was written as an entry into a Writer's Challenge on another site. The assignment was to write a story that referenced a black-and-white picture of a young woman sitting on a bench in some kind of hallway or concourse. She is dressed in a little black dress and "fuck-me" shoes, and has her long dark hair in a pony tail. She seems to be looking at an older man who has walked by with a woman about his age. The man appears to be looking back over his shoulder at the younger woman.
I hope you enjoy.
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Maya was out shopping with some friends from work one day. At her favorite boutique, she had to endure the embarrassment of having all three of her credit cards declined. Red-faced, she mumbled an excuse about card security services perhaps having frozen her cards due to a security breach, and went outside to call her credit card companies, since the music in the shop was too loud.
After wading through several menus on each card company's answering system, she learned that her cards had indeed been frozen, because there had been a flurry of purchases over the last day and a half that had taken her over her credit limit. All but two of the purchases had been at men's shops and sporting goods stores that she knew her husband Gerry liked. How irresponsible could he be?
The last two charges scared her. One of them was to a property management firm, which the employee at the credit card company said could have been a renter's security deposit. The other was a security deposit and three days' rental on a drive-it-yourself furniture moving truck. Frightened and angry, Maya called Gerry's office number.
"Mr. Petersen's office," a familiar female voice answered.
"Carla, is that you?" Maya asked.
"Yes, it is. Who's this?"
"Carla, it's Maya Johnston. Why did you answer Gerry's phone as 'Mr. Petersen's office'?"
"Maya! Hi! I haven't talked to you in months. How are you?"
"Confused. When did you transfer to Sam Petersen's office? Why does he have Gerry's number?"
There was a long silence. Finally, Carla answered, "Um, well, when Gerry left the firm, they kept me here to work for Sam, since he took over Gerry's duties."
"What? What do you mean?"
"The boss thought it made sense to keep me here, since I know my way around the files and the department. Sam agreed he wanted me here when Gerry left," Carla said.
"Wait, what do you mean Gerry left?"
"Maya, is something wrong?" Carla asked.
"I think so. Carla, what the hell is going on? What do you mean Gerry left? He went to the office this morning just like he always does," Maya said, hysteria creeping into her voice.
"Maya, where are you?" Carla asked.
"Standing outside a shop downtown. My credit cards were declined. I just called the card companies, and they said we're over our credit limit. That's why I was calling Gerry. Where is he?"
There was another, longer silence. Finally, Carla said, "Maya, Gerry gave his notice about two months ago. He said he got a better job offer. His last day was this past Friday."
"What! He didn't say anything to me about any of this. That can't be true!" Maya said.
Then it hit her. She needed to get home right away.
Gerry's car wasn't in the garage. Neither were his golf clubs, fishing gear, or motorcycle. His power tools were missing from the shelves in the garage. When Maya went into the mudroom, she saw that his coats and jackets were missing from the closet, although hers were still there. She started to feel sick to her stomach.
The kitchen table and chairs were gone. The dining room was empty except for her collection of antique dishes stacked neatly on the floor. There was nothing in the living room but the hope chest her mother had given her when she and Gerry got married. Gerry's office was stripped to the bare walls.
She ran to their bedroom. Everything looked intact, until she opened his closet. A few hangers lay on the floor, but all of Gerry's clothes were gone. She flung open her own closet, and found everything in place, just as she had left it this morning. In their bathroom, her cosmetics and prescriptions were right where they should be, but everything of Gerry's was missing.
Maya didn't feel sick anymore. Anger had blotted out those feelings. He had just disappeared. Going back into the bedroom, she spotted a note on her pillow. It said, "Sorry, I found someone else. G." That was all.
That bastard!
Remembering what had started all this, Maya opened her laptop and went to her bank's website to check their accounts. The joint checking account had only the minimum balance required to keep it open, as did their savings account. Gerry's IRA had been closed out.
How could he do this? What right did he have to do this? Sure, there had been some rough spots in their marriage, but their relationship was good lately. Wasn't it?
There had been the disappointment when they had learned that Maya was infertile. They had come to grips with that, deciding that their jobs and their interests could fill the void for a while. They had talked about inquiring into adoption after the first of the year. They didn't think it would be a problem, even though Gerry, at forty, was almost thirteen years older than she. They were both fit and healthy, and Gerry had a fantastic job.
Maya wouldn't even have had to work, but she didn't want to just sit home all the time. That's why she had gotten her part-time job. It didn't pay very well, but that hadn't mattered. She was happy, doing something she enjoyed, working with people she liked, and contributing a little money to the household. Basically, her income was her pocket money, and Gerry's salary and bonuses bought everything else.
That thought created new panic in Maya's mind. How was she going to maintain their house, now that Gerry had run off? The mortgage had to be paid, along with the utilities, the insurance, and everything else that Maya's modest income could not possibly cover. Would she lose everything? And how would she face her friends and neighbors when the story of her abandonment got out?
The phone rang. Maya ran to answer it. Maybe it was Gerry. Maybe he would explain everything, make it all okay.
"Hello?" Maya said.
"Maya? It's Fran. How's it going? I haven't talked to you in a while."
Maya finally did what she had been on the verge of doing for hours. She burst into tears. "He's gone, Fran. Gerry's gone."
"What?" Fran asked. "What do mean?"
Through her sobs, Maya tried to tell her friend the story, but she just couldn't get it all out.
Finally, Fran interrupted her. "Stop right there, honey. I'll be at your house in ten minutes. Make us a pitcher of margaritas. You need a friend to help sort this out."
When Maya opened the door, she had stopped crying, but one look at her told Fran how bad it really was. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then Maya flung herself into Fran's arms. "My life is over!" Maya wailed, her tears flowing again.
"Your life is not over," Fran stated. "Now come over here on the sofa with me. I need you to calm down and tell me everything, exactly as it happened. But here, drink this first." Fran poured her friend a margarita and handed it to her.
"Thank you," Maya said with a sob. She took a sip.
"Drink it," Fran said. "You need to calm down, so bottom's up. You can sip the next one."
Maya wiped her eyes again and said, "OK." In a few seconds, she was holding her empty glass out to Fran. "More, please. But if I'm getting drunk, you'd better be drunk too."
"For you, sweetie, I can do that," Fran laughed. "Just like old times, huh? I remember us getting good and trashed a few times at our sorority house, when one or the other of us needed girl talk."
The drinks went down as Maya told her friend the story of that afternoon. "The bastard did leave me one thing, though," Maya said, slurring her words slightly.
"Yeah, your freedom," Fran said.
