Please see "All Class Reunion" in the Loving Wives category for the first part of this story.
The funeral home was quiet. The only sound was the soft music playing through unseen speakers. It was a typical funeral home atmosphere. Overdone with velvet and gold paint. It was cool inside but the air conditioning could not eliminate a damp and musty smell.
It had been more than a year since I had been in my hometown. The last time that I visited was the day that the baby was born. My wife's mother had called earlier that morning to tell me that my wife had gone into early labor. By the time that I arrived at the hospital she had given birth and when I walked into her hospital room she was sitting up in bed holding the little boy.
I instantly knew that it was not mine. It looked nothing like me or my wife. It looked like the Jock that she had fucked. I told her that I wanted a DNA test to prove paternity and then I turned and walked out of the room.
It took another day before I could schedule an appointment with the hospital's clinic and after letting them take a sample from the inside of my cheek, I left without seeing her or the baby again. On my way back home, I stopped in to see her mother and to tell her that I didn't believe the baby was mine and to inform her that I was going to file for a divorce.
She told me that she was sorry that things had turned out the way that they did but that she was not surprised about my decision to divorce her daughter. She said that things hadn't been going well and that her daughter had moved into an apartment with him. His wife had left him when word got around about what had happened.
She suspected that he was abusing her. She had come back home the week before with bruises on her arms. Her mother didn't believe the story that the bruises were from him picking her up after she tripped and fell. I told her that I was sorry to hear that but that I didn't feel any sympathy for her. I left after telling her to call me if she needed anything. She never called me but I heard the news the day before yesterday when my ex-sister-in-law called to tell me that their mother had died.
Now, 14-months later I was back. The DNA test had confirmed my suspicions and the divorce was final about two month's ago. I had immersed myself in my work and I found that I practically lived at the office.
There were only a few people in the funeral home. It was the afternoon viewing and I had arrived early with the plan of paying my respects and heading back home. I had always liked my mother-in-law. We always got along fine and I'm sure that part of the reason for her dying could be attributed to the stress of dealing with her daughter's problems.
I signed the guest book and turned to leave just as my ex-wife and her sister walked through the door. I had been hoping to get away before the family arrived but there was no way out now.
She stopped in her tracks when she saw me standing by the entrance to the parlor. Her sister came to me and held out her hand. I pulled her to me and hugged her and told her that I was sorry for her loss.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
"Fine," I replied. "I'm OK."
My ex-wife stood quietly behind her sister. She had lost a great deal of weight and she was wearing sunglasses and a long-sleeved black blouse and slacks. I wondered how she could see in the dim interior of the funeral home and why was she wearing long sleeves in 90-plus degree weather. A glance confirmed that she was not wearing a wedding ring.
"Hello," she said.
"I'm sorry about your mother," I told her. "She was a fine woman and I'm sorry that she is gone."
"Thank you," she replied. "How are you doing?"
"Fine, just fine," I answered.
Several people had entered the funeral home and we were blocking the entrance to the viewing room. Her sister took my arm and led me back inside where we stood in front of the casket.
I moved aside to let the other people view the body. I felt a little awkward about leaving so soon so I decided to stay a while longer and I found a seat on one of the folding chairs that were lined up in rows in the small room.
One of the women stepped away from the group at the side of the casket. At first, I thought that she was a young girl. She couldn't have been much more than five-foot tall. She turned towards me, smiled and walked to where I was sitting.
"How are you?" she said, holding out her hand. "It's been years since I've seen you."
I stood and took her hand. She had her hair in a sort of ponytail and she looked familiar but I couldn't place her.
"You don't remember me, do you?"
"I'm sorry, I don't," I replied.
"I was two year's behind you in school. I was the head cheerleader the year that you graduated."
I wasn't much into sports in high school and after she introduced herself I still couldn't place her. She seemed nervous and as she chattered away I heard that she was recently divorced and had just moved out of her mother's house and into her own apartment.
"I feel like I'm a teenager again!" she said.
We chatted about the town and how much it had changed in the past years. She told me that she worked as a secretary in a branch bank and that she didn't have any children. It was getting late and I was getting hungry. I was enjoying her company since I hadn't talked this long with a woman, outside of workplace subjects, for over a year.
Looking up at the family around the casket she said, "She doesn't look well, does she?"
"Do you mean my ex-wife?" I asked.
"Yes. I've heard that the police are regular visitors to their apartment. I'll bet that's why she's wearing those long sleeves and sunglasses. I don't' know where he is. He should be here with her."
"Are they living together?" I asked and immediately regretted appearing as if I was still interested in her well-being.
"That's what I hear," she whispered. "It reminds me of my marriage. I waited too long to get a divorce. I should have left him a long time before I got up the nerve to do it!"
"Were you in an abusive relationship?"
"Yes," she said. "He stopped being nice to me a few months after we were married."
Her body suddenly shuddered and she wrapped her arms around herself as if she was chilled.
"I'm sorry," she said and grasped my forearm. "I still get that feeling of fear when I remember what it was like."
"Would you like to go somewhere and get a cup of coffee or something to eat," I asked.
She stared at me for such a long moment that I thought that she was going to refuse my invitation.
"Sure. Do you want to follow me or shall we ride together?"
"I plan on driving back tonight so I'll follow you. I can leave straight from the restaurant."
Dinner was nice. I enjoyed her company and we tried, without too much success, to keep our conversation away from the subject of our ex-spouses.
She had been the head cheerleader in high school and she went steady with the school's star Jock. They had gotten married less than a year after graduation and things went down hill from that point. He couldn't handle his sudden anonymity after being the center of attention all through high school. He suddenly found himself just another slob working at a nothing job.
She worked as a waitress several nights a week as well as on some weekends. He wanted to party at night but she couldn't because of her working hours. After the first few months he wasn't always there to greet her when she came home from work at ten o'clock at night. He began drinking and he became abusive when he was drunk.
At first, he would only yell at her but as his drinking got worse he would push her now and then. One night he came home drunk and demanded sex. She refused and he slapped her and forced himself on her. Afterwards he told her that he liked it that way because she felt tighter and he could get off better.
"He told me that if I was wet, he couldn't feel anything and he liked it better when I was dry. It hurt when he did it that way and I began to keep a tube of KY Jelly hidden under the mattress on my side of the bed. If I could put just a little on me before he entered me it wouldn't hurt too much. If he noticed that I wasn't dry he would slap me and tell me that if I wasn't careful he would have to kill me before he fucked me!"
She was clearly embarrassed and she had tears running down her cheeks as she looked down at the table.
"I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. I've never told anyone else about it before!"
I held her hands in mine and dabbed at her tears with my napkin.
"I don't mind, it's better to tell someone than to keep it all bottled up inside."
"One night he saw me getting the KY and he really started hitting me. He threatened to do it in my other place if I told anyone or if I tried to use it again. I managed to stay away from him as much as possible after that. I told him that they had changed my shift and I couldn't get off until midnight. I still got off at ten but I would either sit around the restaurant and talk or drive around by myself until I had to go home. Most nights he was already drunk and passed out before I got home. I'd sleep on the couch and I would pretend to be asleep when he got up to go to work the next morning."
The waiter was giving us the eye. He had been back to our table two or three times after we got the check to ask us if we needed anything else.
