By way of introduction:
Like "Marsha and Gary", though still a loving wives tale, this does not follow the traditional 'Loving Wives' formula so stop now if that's your interest.
Also for the skimmers and 'nonreaders' don't waste your time, go someplace else.
And also, the opening for this story has the same setting as another story I wrote that I pulled so if it sounds vaguely familiar it was me you remember.
And last, though this story is about reconciliation it's well outside the RAAC milieu.
And one extra last thing; the people in my stories are all real to me, at least for a little while. Each story stands on its own and comparisons are meaningless. Like my real children; I love them all equally.
*****
"Myra's Little Bookstore"
By Jedd Clampett
Well I swear I never saw this one coming. I've got all the evidence I'll ever need, and I still find it hard to believe. She's been doing it right under my nose! My wife, my Myra, is fucking another man, a man people are supposed to respect.
How did I find out; it was easy. What I'm going to do about it? That's a no brainer; I'll deal with it. It'd be funny if it wasn't so sad.
Let's get on with it. I've got to tell someone. If I don't...well who knows?
~~~V~~~
Name's Curtis Carothers, wife's name, Myra. We've been married two years. I'm thirty-two, she's thirty-three. Both of us were coming off failed first marriages. My first, Zoey; I caught in bed with an old boyfriend. I mean in 'my' bed!
Myra, pretty much the same kind of thing; that's what's so upsetting, I figured, and she did too, since we'd already gone through the hell of divorce once we could put something together. Everyone knows; lesson learned, don't make the same mistake again.
I am such a fool. I admit it I love Myra, in fact I still love Zoey, but this time, just too much.
~~V~~
How'd I catch her? I'm an English professor at a local state college, teach Classical literature; Homer, Virgil, Seneca, Ovid and such. Oh I hear everyone already; the wimp who has his head in the clouds studying and teaching fanciful things nobody cares about. True, but I'm not a complete ass. I know a little about money. I know the mutuals, the stock exchange, and real estate; I piled up a little on the side. Moreover, I've been writing, and not the usual 'dry' tripe associated with what I love to teach.
Writing is an investment. People, women, like to read historical fiction. What's more interesting than love stories associated with people like Helen, Hecuba, Andromache, or Boudicca for that matter. Oh come on, I don't write about them; I write love stories about their closest friends, their nieces, and their daughters. Women eat that sort of thing up.
Am I published? Now I am, but on that day of days when I caught Myra I wasn't quite there. In fact my success was the trigger that started the whole thing. I digress.
I was home working on a novel about Vercingetorix; he'd been an Avernii chieftain who'd been elected high chief of all the tribes of 'Long Haired Gaul', today's France. In their war against Iulius Caesar he and his people had fought and won the Battle of Gergovia, but then lost decisively at Alesia. Vercingetorix surrendered and was taken to Rome where he'd later be executed, but many of his fellow tribesmen, rather than submit had fled east across the Rhine and settled among the Germans there. The novel I was working on was about that perilous journey; imagine survivors of a defeated tribe fighting their way across Roman controlled Gaul to get to Germania.
However, I'd already written a lengthy fictional piece about the Etruscans, and how they'd come to settle in Italy. It was a fictional love story, and to my delight my agent had just called and told me a well- respected publishing company wanted it. In terms of pecuniary fame I might have hit the jackpot! I had to tell my wife!
Ah yes, my wonderful wife. Her story had an interesting twist. She'd married her college sweetheart, but he turned out to be less than what she'd hoped. Caught up in problems of his own my Myra took a cab.
Myra was an English major, and her dream had been to have her own little bookstore, a place where she'd meet people, get to know up and coming young authors, hold little gatherings where writers could discuss and sell their books. Even with my prior divorce and its concomitant alimony and child support we had the money. Myra found her location, a closed souvenir nook next to a coffee shop, not a Starbucks, just a few blocks from several prestigious private high schools. We looked the place over, put in a contract, bought it, and set her up. Just like that; Myra's dream had come true, and I'd been instrumental in its success. It was around the same time we started our family.
Myra and I, we both had issues. We dated a few months, we talked about what we wanted, and we talked about kids. I had a girl and a boy by my first marriage and I certainly loved them, but I wanted more. Myra said she didn't want children, but she agreed if she married me we'd try to have one, and we were blessed.
To please her we bought a house just a few blocks from her store in a quiet intellectually upscale older neighborhood. We were surrounded by doctors, lawyers, business professionals, and other college types like ourselves. It was the classic location, beautiful mid-sized older homes, tree lined streets, well maintained but not overly elaborate lawns, moms and grand moms out regularly trimming and weeding perfect little gardens in a community complemented by a plethora of excellent private schools. We had it all.
We'd be good parents. We started off right. Our little boy we named Wayne after her dad. He had to have the best, and with an infant the best meant, first of all a secure and safe environment. We had the money; we wired every room for sight and sound. No matter where we were in the house, if Wayne wasn't visibly present we could keep track. We had our I-Phones, and in critical locations like bedrooms, playrooms, the kitchen, my office, the den, the living room, even the garage we had all the right sight and sound apparatus. We took no chances.
Of course, Myra's bookstore was equally well equipped. Every aisle, behind her counter, and most certainly the back storage room had all the most up to date equipment. No stone was left unturned, no opportunity for some terrible mischance, not us; our child would never be unprotected.
By now everybody must certainly know what happened.
~~V~~
Myra's little bookstore had only been open a short while. We'd opened in late spring just before classes ended so she was still trying to build a clientele. In her way she's a pretty good businesswoman; she'd opted to skip the electronic door signal to go with the 'old fashioned jingle jangle of a manual set of bells, more folksy she'd said. It had been my job to install the bells; unfortunately for someone, they were still in their tidy little box behind the counter.
My agent's message was such exciting news I blew off calling or texting. I wanted to see her face when I told her. I left the house, little Wayne was safely ensconced in his crib with our au pair, a delightful little college girl majoring in, what else, English. With Wayne safe I left the house, hit the garage, found my 'late model' GM SUV, got in and took off. Summer morning traffic was light; I swung around our cul-de-sac, over Willow Drive, out to the main thoroughfare, past one of the private high schools, and down to Myra's store. The whole trip only took about ten minutes. I pulled in the small lot, rolled up the windows, got out and walked to the sidewalk and up to the front door.
'Closed', the cardboard sign read closed. How odd, not even 11:00 a.m. and she's closed. Maybe she'd slipped over to grab a coffee and a scone? 'OK,' I thought, 'I'll go in and surprise her when she gets back.'
I unlocked and opened the door, walked in and strolled back toward the storeroom. I had to go past the counter; that's when I vaguely heard what would became the knell of what I'd mistakenly thought was a happy marriage. Curious, I pivoted and turned to go behind the counter. There it was, or rather there she was, on screen leaning back against her storeroom desk. I saw her quite clearly, eyes half shut; arms on some man's shoulders. She was softly moaning, no words, not yet anyway, just soft, low pleasurable moans. I'd heard them before. In fact I'd heard them just the night before.
It was one of those moments one reads, or in my case, one writes about. Thank God I hadn't eaten. I stood and watched the screen; sensations of weakness, of weariness overwhelmed me. It was like I was in a dream. This couldn't be happening! I kept looking at the screen. I was in utter disbelief. My mind, my body roiled uncontrollably. I'd read where sometimes, though rarely, when a person's asleep, or half-asleep, they find themselves trapped in a dream where they can't control their body, they simply can't move. They're paralyzed. That's how it was. I felt so weak, so helpless I fell backward. Thankfully Myra's counter chair was there to catch me.
For several seconds, I don't know how long, I just sat there, sat there and watched my wife as she tore out my heart. Then it began, other emotions, or let's say the visceral, more primal responses. I felt my stomach, the gut wrenching, achingly painful, heart pounding, knife stabbing agony. It was a physical thing; the pain, the agony, the torture, oh the heartache, the despair! How awful! Misery! I would die! Oh my new wife! My new life; my second chance at happiness was dissolving on the screen right before my eyes. I was dying.
Then just as quickly I got more signals. I felt my body surge; nervous energy, a powerful outpouring of anxious, panicky power. I knew what it was-adrenalin! I was having an adrenalin rush! I had to move. I had to do something. I had to act! Grab something. Hit something, hit someone, lash out!
Then just as quickly the adrenalin passed. I felt cold-cold and nervous. I had to get up, if I stayed where I was I'd start crying; that too I knew a natural bodily response.
Another glance at the screen; they were finishing up. I shot out of the chair, down the two steps that separated the rear side of the counter and the store. Off I went. But where to?
