The clank of the Ed's final cast hit the stake a dead ringer and we had lost. Shouts of victory from Ed and Lloyd, the winners, then groans from Dave and me. It had been a serious horseshoe tournament as it was at every Saturday-before-Labor-Day barbecue and this time Dave and I had taken our lumps.
Ed was, as always, a gracious winner. "Come on, Jim, have a beer and tell us to wait till next year."
"I'll pass on the beer," I replied, "Good game, though. Wait till next year!"
I turned toward the house, walking along the side of the swimming pool where earlier my wife, Susan, and I had frolicked with six other couples through some sort of made-up game involving a child's large rubber ball. Ed and I had dried off and changed in time for the horseshoe match and Susan had gone on with the other wives to the party inside the big renovated farmhouse.
The party was just reaching its apex. A dozen or so people lined the patio beside the pool eating and drinking. On the far side Steve tended to the grill, handing out burgers, sausage and the occasional chicken breast to order. Music blared from the windows of the house where another twenty or so were talking, laughing and generally trying to impress one another. In other words, it was a typical, middle-class, American holiday-weekend barbecue.
As I approached the front steps, our host, Rod Meyer, came out and started around the path toward the pool. He looked up at me and changed his direction, rather abruptly I thought, as if he'd forgotten something. But instead of going back into the house he continued around it toward the garage.
In the living room, Susan was standing talking to a couple of the other wives. She stood in profile to me wearing a colorful ankle-length sarong skirt that was nearly transparent over her bikini bottom and one of my white shirts tied at the waist to leave a bare midriff. I thought again how lovely, tall and graceful she was and how lucky I was to be married to her. Ten and a half years of marriage and she could still stop my breath! How lucky can a guy get? When she saw me she stepped quickly away from the women and came to me, "Ready to go?"
"OK, if you are. It's not late though."
"I know, but . . . got a rough week coming up and I need a little extra rest." I knew what she was talking about; her job had been rough the last month or so, everything uncertain, people being let go, serious stuff.
"Good enough," I said, "Got everything?"
"Yes."
She was out the door and down the steps ahead of me setting a quick pace to the car.
Something must have happened
; I thought to myself,
maybe a set-to with one of the women
. I shrugged it off and followed her around the driveway.
We were in the car and starting down the drive when Rod crossed in front of us toward the house. He smiled and waved and began jogging up the path, not stopping to say good bye.
We hit the county's gravel road and turned west toward the highway. Susan was gazing out the window at the rural countryside and twisting the thin material of her skirt in her fingers. I wondered again what could be bothering her and just then she turned to me.
"Rod took me to bed this afternoon while you were playing horseshoes."
I froze, my hands tightening on the steering wheel. I knew what I had just heard but my brain refused to process it. I tried to push it away, to deny that Susan had said such a thing. My mouth was gaping open and I closed it. Then my head swiveled toward Susan and I finally managed to respond. "Rod . . . he . . .
what
?" I was so stunned I could think of nothing else to say. I nearly ran the car into the ditch, recovered hastily, and tried all over again to absorb what I had just heard. In that electrically charged moment my senses seemed to take on heightened sensitivity, recording every sound and sight. I remember hearing loose gravel striking the undercarriage, seeing the black and white cows regarding us without curiosity as we passed on the road, the dried rain spots on the windshield where the wipers didn't reach. These things are branded on my mind and remain vivid even today when I recall that drive home; I can even smell the early autumn air. It must have been only a minute, no more, but it seemed to drag on until Susan lowered her eyes and murmured, "You heard me."
"Susan!" I managed at last, "What . . . what does this mean?"
My God!
I thought,
I sound like an idiot!
"Mean? I don't know if it means anything! . . . Maybe . . . I don't know!"
We had reached the stop sign where the county road intersected the paved state highway. I stopped and took the opportunity to turn and face Susan.
"You . . . went to bed . . . with Rod?"
"Yes." Her voice was almost inaudible, her face and neck fired with embarrassment.
"Well . . . what happened . . . I mean, why did you . . ."
"Jim, we're almost home! Can't we wait? I know we have to discuss this but I'd rather do it sitting in our home in a calm and civilized manner, so can we please wait?"
I gazed at her and realized for the first time that afternoon how distraught she really was; she was on the edge of collapse and needed some time to get herself together. If I was going to find out anything I had to back off until she was in possession of herself. "Sure." I said finally and nosed the car out onto the highway.
Silence prevailed for the rest of the drive home. I deliberately drove under the limit to give Susan more time to calm down even though I wanted to push the gas pedal to the floor. I pulled into the driveway of our own renovated farmhouse --- the house that Susan was prouder of then of her MBA --- and let her out. She hurried into the house without a word or a backward glance. I put the car in the garage --- an old barn, really --- and closed the doors.
The western horizon was still pale blue with afterglow, a few peach and magenta clouds decorating the hills to the southwest. I paused to look at it and gather my thoughts. I didn't want to rush into the conversation that I knew was coming until I had a good grip. Also, I didn't want to give the impression that I was anxious or too emotional, male ego being what it is.
After a few deep breaths my pulse settled down. I felt in control so I went into the house through the back door forcing myself to go slowly. Susan sat in the gathering dark at the round oak table in the big kitchen. Her face seemed calm and composed; she had obviously washed it and neatened her hair. She glanced up at me with a doleful expression as I came in. I turned on the stained glass swag lamp that hung over the table and took a seat across from her so I could see her face.
Silence except for the hum of the refrigerator.
Finally, "How did it happen, Susan?"
"How? You mean did he force me . . . or something? No. I . . . I agreed to it . . . willingly. So don't think that I was forced or coerced in any way. And don't get any ideas about going back and beating Rod up or anything stupid like that. It was as much my doing as his."
"Well, then . . . tell me."
"You want . . . details?"
"I want to know how he got you to agree."
She sighed and her breath came out raggedly betraying the depth of her anxiety. "I . . . I wondered that myself and . . . well . . . You know how difficult things have been at work lately. I've been stressed more than any time I can remember. I've been ignored, gone around, overlooked and generally made to feel as if I served little or no purpose in the office. You know, better than anyone, how emotionally exhausted I've been. My confidence has been at low ebb and I guess my defenses are down. God knows I've been susceptible to every tear-jerking song, news story and TV show for weeks!"
"And that's the reason . . ."
