Helen Hill angrily tapped a finger nail on her desk at the rear of the antique store as she listened to Bill's story. "That son of a bitch isn't going to get away with it this time!" she thought to herself, as Bill finished his tale. She stood up from her desk and offered Bill a warm handshake. Bill was impressed by Helen Hill's poise and dignified bearing. She was so different from the bubbly, outgoing enthusiasm of his bright-eyed little Jan.
"Mr. Stevens, thank you for letting me know about Ken and your wife. This isn't the first time. I forgave him once, but not again. May my attorney contact you?"
"Of course, Helen," Bill replied as he rose to leave and accepted Helen's hand, "our lawyers will probably want to compare notes. I'm sorry I had to tell you this, but there was no way I was going to let your husband make a cuckold out of me." The thought of his beautiful Jan having her belly filled with Ken's cum ran through his mind and made his stomach churn.
As Bill left the shop, he felt so many mixed emotions. As he drove home, his fury at Ken and his wife, the uncertainty about his next move, and a longing to know "Why?" ached in his psyche. Was it something he did? Was he neglecting her? Or did she just not love him anymore?
He pulled up to the house and glanced at the little dagger-board sloop on the trailer next to the garage. "Wave Dancer" said the name on the transom. He shook his head and sobbed quietly as he walked to the door. Then he saw the envelope tucked under the door knocker. He opened it and took a deep breath as he started to read.
"My darling husband," it started out. "Everyone in the office was standing around the front desk when I came upstairs. They all stopped talking and just stared at me. I was going to call you right away, but my boss called Ken and me into his private office and fired us both on the spot."
"I've gone to my mother's house. She will let me stay here for awhile while we try to sort things out. I told her what had happened. She wants to have a long talk with me later, along with my sisters."
"I don't know what to say, darling, except that I am so sorry I did this to you. I swear I never meant to hurt you. I don't know how this all happened. I'm just confused and ashamed of myself. Please tell me you don't hate me. I understand if you never want to speak to me again, but please, please, don't hate me. I love you more right now than ever before. I am so sorry, darling. Is there anything I can do? Will you talk to me? Love, Jan"
Bill absently crumpled the note in his hand as he opened the door and went to the kitchen. He had no idea of what to do. He needed to think. He needed to talk, but to who? Then he noticed the message light blinking on the kitchen phone. It was his old friend Christopher. "Hey buddy," the message began, "I heard about Jan and that scum bag. Gimme a call. I'm here for you, bud."
Bill rang up Chris, who suggested he come by their house for dinner. Chris's wife Lorna was a great cook, and a damned smart woman, too. Bill gratefully accepted, and after a quick shower headed over to their house. Feeling a bit more grounded after the shower, he was almost calm as Lorna greeted him with a glass of red wine. "Chris is in the dining room waiting," she said as she motioned toward the hallway.
Chris made supportive small talk as Lorna served one of her fabulous dinners and sat down at the table. "Bill, I'm so sorry for you," she said, "can you tell me what happened?"
Bill retold the tale, including the note. Lorna listened quietly as Chris refilled their wine glasses and then stepped into the kitchen. Lorna took a sip of wine and said, "What you really want to know right now is why, isn't it?" she asked compassionately.
"I think so," Bill muttered, almost to himself. Lorna put her wine down and sighed.
