SHE KNEW RIGHT FROM WRONG
STEVE
I am Steven Albright. I am 28 years old. I am married with a two-month old son. I love climbing trees. I have always loved climbing trees. As a child I broke each arm falling out of trees, but that didn't stop me. I climb trees to celebrate. I climb trees to cry. I climb trees to plan. I climb trees just to feel the wind against my face. It literally gives me a new perspective on the world being 20 or more feet above the ground.
One day I noticed a problem with my car on the way to the school where I teach science to middle school monsters. I taught my morning classes and took off at lunch time to take it to the shop. They had to keep it over night to replace a fuel pump. Another example of the practice of not keeping expense parts in stock until someone was going to pay for it. They gave me a ride home where my wife and new son were waiting.
I was dropped off by my mailbox. Instead of going in, I headed for my favorite tree to climb. Georgia wouldn't be expecting me home this early anyway. There was a great place to sit about 30 feet up. I needed some time to figure out how we were going to pay for the fuel pump without being charged interest on our credit card. It was an easy climb, so I didn't worry about messing up my sharp- casual teaching clothes.
As I sat back, I did a wide scan of the panorama. I admired the landscaping of our neighbor across the street. I hate retired neighbors who have plenty of time to manicure their lawn. I'm lucky to keep my lawn mown. I consider dandelions as free-range flowers or salad material rather than make the effort to weed them out. There were no neighbors out and about at this time. Sometimes, I feel sneaky watching people when they don't know I'm doing so. Suddenly, my attention was diverted by the sight of movement at the window of my son Jason's nursery.
I watched as my wife put our son down for his afternoon nap. She stood over his crib looking lovingly at him. I was almost crying at the serenity of the scene. That feeling didn't last long. I gasped as I saw a man's hands come from behind my wife and grab her around the waist. I became instantly terrified for her safety. Instead of defending herself, Georgia put her hands on his and leaned her head back to put her cheek on his. It was Clark Peterson, our 'confirmed bachelor' neighbor on the other side of the backyard fence.
Clark was the neighborhood asshole all the men hated. He was constantly hosting block parties to show something new he had purchased. Everyone was regaled with his stories of his importance, wealth, and ability to monitor his fortune from home. The men cried, "Bullshit." The women said tell me more.
Clark was talking to her. I desperately wanted to hear what they were saying. Suddenly, I remembered my hearing devices. These were the '$19.95, but wait' advertised hearing devices that just increased the volume. I used them to listen to TV when we wanted to keep the volume down when the baby was trying to sleep. I kept them in my shirt pocket because I would lose them otherwise.
I put in the hearing devices and turned them on maximum volume. Here's what I heard.
"Do you know who the father is yet?"
"No, I don't want to know. It could be you or Steve. I'd like to think it was both of you: The man I love and the man I love to fuck."
"You don't think Steve will catch on?"
"I don't think so. You two look enough alike, it shouldn't be apparent."
"I hope he is mine. It gives me a special satisfaction that I've not only made Steve a cuckold. I've also got him raising my son."
"Don't be mean. Steve may be clueless, but he will be a good father wherever the sperm came from to make Jason."
"Georgia, this last year has been the best in my life, thanks to you. I'm so glad you're able to have sex again. How much longer is it before your maternity leave is over?"
"Two weeks. These days where we have been able to be together so much has been wonderful. I wish Steve and I could afford for me to stay home so I could take care of Jason and you could take care of my vagina."
"Let's don't waste any time. Master bedroom or guest bedroom?"
"How about the floor, right here?"
"Let's use a bed. I got rug burn the last time we did it on the floor." They chuckled and left the nursery.
I almost fell out of the tree. The beliefs I held most high in my life, the love and fidelity of my wife as well as the child my wife had was part of my making, were blown up by the overheard conversation. The last thing I wanted to do was go in my house. I climbed down and called a taxi to take me to the bar nearest our house.
There was no one else in the bar at that early hour. That gave me the full attention of the bar tender. It was a fortunate happenstance. I needed advice. He was a man who had heard it all. He told me that I needed to determine the paternity of the child who I thought was my son. I was told how to do that. Next, I asked about a divorce attorney. He gave me a long list. I selected the cheapest. After reflection, I realized that neither of us could afford to live on half the income we had provided together, mostly because of the high mortgage payment for the house she just had to have. More importantly, he cut me off from drinking too much. He said the decisions I had to make were too important to not have all live brain cells in order.
The next few days were nerve racking. Georgia knew I was bothered by something. I tried to convince her that all middle school teachers had reason to be depressed. I also mentioned our financial situation with the costs associated with the birth of 'our' son now had the cost of a fuel pump added. She seemed to accept my explanations. A couple of days later, I got the results: I was not the father. Fifteen minutes later, I was calling the cheap lawyer I had chosen previously.
It only took a few minutes with the lawyer to understand I was screwed. She would get the house, alimony, and some sort of household support. Our mortgage was high because of buying the house she 'had to have.' I had a considerable student loan to repay. Child support might still be ordered unless I could prove who the real father was. My overheard but not recorded conversation would mean nothing in divorce court. Dividing our meager savings wouldn't really matter. All she had to do was move in with her lover and she would not sacrifice any of her lifestyle. I would be delivering pizzas at night, and that was dependent on me not losing my teaching job.
My teaching job was in danger because my wife's father was the District Superintendent. He was known as a straight arrow, no nonsense administrator. From spending time with him, I knew he believed that his daughter had learned the life's lessons he and his wife had taught. Key among those were fidelity and taking responsibility. I figured he would challenge any allegation of impropriety on her part. What I didn't know is if he would believe evidence over a father's natural tendency to protect his baby girl.
I spilled my guts again to my bartender. This time there were several customers so, I had to wait between his serving drinks to talk with him. He recommended I talk to Georgia and then get the hell out of town. Let her lover and baby daddy take care of her. If she wants to file for divorce, let her pay for a lawyer.
I was prepared to confront Georgia. When Jason was put down to sleep, I told her that we needed to talk. I think she had an idea she had been caught. There were tears in her eyes when we sat down at the kitchen table.
"I know about you and Clark and how long you two have been lovers. I also know that Jason is not my son."
"You can't know that. I don't even know that. Look, Clark is just . . "
"I know he is not my son. I just assume that Clark is the only other choice, but I wouldn't be that surprised if there were other choices."
"I'm not a slut. Clark is the only other option. And just what makes you so sure you're not the father?"
I threw the paper in front of her. She read it. "This just says that Sample A's DNA does not match Sample B's DNA."
"I am Sample A and Jason is Sample B."
"How do I know that?"
"If you think I would lie about this, well . . . I'll be glad to have another test done to satisfy you."
"So what If it is true, you're the father on the birth certificate. What are you planning to do? Marriage counseling? Trial separation? Surely, you don't want a divorce. You would be devastated financially."
"The answer is 'None of the Above.' I'm just plain leaving. I will find employment elsewhere and you can get your lover and Jason's father to support you. If I stayed, I could sue Clark for child support but that would mean accepting the raising of his son. I want nothing to do with you, Jason, or Clark. If you want a divorce, you'll have to file. Good-bye." I got up to leave.
"Wait a damn minute! We still have a lot to talk about. You are not about to run away from your family like we are disposable."
"Disposable? Well, you sure thought I was disposable. You replaced me in your bed. You replaced me as the father of your child. Now you get to see how my replacement does." I left.
I found a cheap motel room while I submitted my resume to school systems in other states. Meanwhile, I taught everyday expecting to be fired at any moment. Finally, I was called out of class to see the Superintendent immediately. Most people would have been scared to by summoned by him. I felt like I had nothing to lose.
"What the hell do you think you are doing? Running away from your responsibilities as a husband and father. I almost considered you to be the son I never had. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that I could no longer share my wife with her lover who is the true father of her son."
"You're lying! My daughter would never do anything like that. What proof do you have?"
"Sir. I consider you to be one of the most honorable people I have ever known. I believe you have the ability to see the truth even when it defies what you have previously held as an absolute truth. I have a doctor's report that proves I am not the father of Jason. I have . . . "
"Let me see those."
I gave him the papers and explained that I was Sample A and Jason was Sample B and made the offer to have the testing done again. His stern look relaxes a bit, a little bit.
"What proof do you have that she has a lover who may or may not have fathered Jason?"
"I was in the tree outside of Jason's room when . . . "
"You were where?"
"You probably didn't know that I have always loved to climb trees. I like to sit high up in a tree for a lot of reasons. That day I was trying to recover from an unexpected repair to my car when I saw Georgia and our neighbor in the nursery. I was able to hear their conversation because I had amplifier hearing devices in my ears. From what I saw and heard, there was no doubt that they have been having an affair for a long time and that Georgia and he knew he might be the father of Jason."
"You understand how difficult it is for me to believe about my own daughter."
