Many thanks to HMAuthor for all the hard work in editing and improving this story.
Grateful thanks to Dowageroftwo for further edits, ideas and suggestions that made it much better and to Red_sky_reader for pointing out more errors and suggesting fixes.
*
I didn't see it until I was almost on top of it. I had to slam on the brakes.
My mind was preoccupied with work. A half-hour ago, my boss had told me to take the rest of the day off and report to her first thing tomorrow. That had never happened before, but what was worse was the expression on her face.
There were certain things she had to do but hated, such as firing people or dealing out any type of reprimand. She tried to do them without emotion, but her expression always gave her away. Anyone could tell that that she wished she could be anywhere else in the world.
That's the expression she wore when she spoke to me.
All the way home, I was trying to figure out what I had done wrong and what she would say to me tomorrow. I was having a hard time, because, well, I'm her best manager and I don't make stupid mistakes.
The car I almost ran into was a strange car in both senses of the word. It was strange to me because I had never seen it before. But even stranger was what it looked like.
It was so shabby that I wasn't even sure of the model. The cheap paint job was peeling off, showing ugly blotches of primer underneath, and there were dents all over it. The rear bumper looked like it might fall off completely if the car hit a bump.
The windshield had cracks, and one of the side windows was missing and covered with a sheet of plastic. The tires were nearly bald, and two hubcaps were missing. It was a complete wreck of a car and covered with a greasy coat of grime.
It was parked in the middle of my driveway, just close enough to my garage door to block my way in. I got out and walked up to it feeling baffled. Then something punched me so hard in the pit of my stomach that I had to lean against the car for support.
That's what it felt like when I realized that the car was his.
And that my marriage was over.
*****************
I first met Vera when we were both seniors. We never talked about our first three years in college, except once. It was on our fourth date, and both of us were dying to get at each other, me more than her -- although she always claimed the opposite.
That's when we both discovered that, although we were good students, our personal lives had been absolute messes before we met each other. By the end of the evening, I knew she had spent much of the last three years in a haze of drugs, booze and sex, and she knew that I was ahead of her in all three categories.
I think that conversation made us sick of ourselves. We were too depressed to have sex. But we had also cleared the air, and on the next date nothing stopped us. We found we were compatible both mentally and physically.
A couple of months later, when we got engaged, Vera put it best.
"I thank God I didn't meet you earlier, because I might have blown the best thing that ever happened to me."
I felt exactly the same.
No marriage is perfect, but I couldn't imagine one more perfect that ours. Even the arguments were perfect because when we made up, the sex was even more exciting than usual. And the usual sex was fantastic.
How could it not be? Vera was still a knockout after having three children. She was smart and funny, and she lied like crazy, always telling me I was sexy, smart and funny, too.
Sometimes we played little pranks on each other, but it was all innocent fun. If we embarrassed each other it was never to the point of humiliation. And most importantly, our play never involved others.
One reason for this a couple of other things we had in common. We were both more sensitive than the average person, and we tended to over-dramatize trivial things. We decided the best way to deal with that was to always say what was on our minds and always tell each other the truth, no matter what the consequences. Even if the truth hurt, we knew that -- at least for us - discovering a lie would hurt more.
When the children began primary school, Vera started taking evening classes. She had an English degree that she had never used, and she really enjoyed creative writing classes. Before taking the first class she asked me if I wanted her to resume her interrupted successful career in retail management.
But she knew the answer before she asked. We were doing great financially.
Her classes at the college were all with writers who had published and whose work she liked. Most of them were also professors. I liked the stories and essays she wrote, but she said I was too easy to please and should be more critical. When I asked why, she said it was because there was no way she could tell whether anything she wrote really affected me like it would an anonymous reader. Since I thought everything she did was good, it might all be bad.
Three months before I saw the car in the driveway, she had started a play-writing class. Larry and Kara joked about it one night when we were at a restaurant. They asked if there were any actors in the class. When Vera told them she was one of the few students who wasn't either an amateur or professional actor or director, the ribbing started.
Their point was that actors and anyone connected with their profession were like rabbits and I had better be careful or one of them would make a play for Vera. Vera laughed and said it was a tough class and everyone was too scared about the final for any hanky-panky.
The final was writing a one-act play that was either true or realistic enough that the teacher could believe it was true.
The teacher had divided the class up into teams of two. Each person would read to the other to get feedback on how the play was sounding. Vera could use her partner's critiques and suggestions to improve her play, but actual collaboration wasn't allowed.
I asked who her teammate was, and she said it was a guy named Reg. Kara said that sounded like an actor and Vera said he probably was, although she didn't know for sure because they hadn't had their first meeting yet.
Kara asked if he was handsome. Vera laughed, looked at me and answered "Yes" to me instead of Kara. Then she dissolved into the giggles that always broke everyone up, including me. The whole table was laughing.
That was the first time I heard Reg's name. After their first meeting, Vera told me he wasn't an actor but a successful stockbroker who was married and had two children. Writing was a hobby for him like it was for her. The next time I heard his name was one evening when the kids were asleep and Vera was in class. The phone rang, and it was Larry. He didn't sound happy.
"Hold on, Gary," he said. "Kara has something to tell you."
I heard Kara's voice in the background saying something, but I couldn't make it out. Then Larry spoke to her. I could hear him clearly.
"Goddammit, Kara, you're going to tell Gary. Come over here and take the phone."
Then I heard nothing for a while. Larry must have put his hand over the phone. The next thing I heard was Kara.
"Hi Gary," she said. "I'm sure this is nothing to worry about. Stop yelling, Larry. I'll tell him in my own way. And I'm not going to tell him what you think, because you weren't there."
"Tell me what?" I asked.
"I saw Vera with that man again."
"What man? What do you mean 'again?'"
"I'm sorry, let me start at the beginning. Two weeks ago, I ran into Vera at a coffee house. I was in the neighborhood to meet a client and stopped for a latte.
"She was sitting with this good-looking guy. I watched them for a minute, and they were deep in conversation. He was saying something to her, and I could tell from her body language that she was uncomfortable with what she was hearing. She kept shaking her head.
"I decided to go over to their table. She was surprised but didn't seem that upset to see me. She introduced me to Reg and asked me if I would like to join them. She said they were talking about her play before they went to class.
"I chatted with them for a few minutes. Vera sort of steered the conversation and got him to tell me he was married and has two children. It seemed important to her that I heard that. I think she was sure that I would tell you about running into her, but I decided that there was no reason to call you and say anything.
"I happened to be back in the same neighborhood tonight, and I saw the coffee house. I didn't need a coffee, so I don't know why I went in, but I did, and I saw them again. This time they looked a lot different. Vera wasn't frowning and shaking her head. She was smiling and nodding. And so was he. They seemed to be having a good time.
"I don't know why, but I quickly walked out. Afterwards, when I thought about it, I realized I had no idea what they were talking about. I should have gone to their table again, and I'm sure they would have told me. I didn't see anything wrong. They weren't touching. They were just talking. I overreacted and I shouldn't have told Larry anything because he has a suspicious mind."
"Is there anything else you saw either time?" I asked. My voice sounded strange to me.
"No," she said, "and now that I've told you, I hope you forget it. I'm sure there's nothing going on. Don't listen to Larry. I don't think you should confront her with something this trivial."
"Thanks, Kara," I said. "Is there anything else you or Larry want to tell me?"
"No," she said, "except please think before flying off the handle. Has Vera ever done anything to make you doubt her love and loyalty? I'm sure there's a good explanation for what I saw, and you'll hear it."
"I'll be listening," I said. Then I hung up.
I felt dizzy. My stomach was in knots. I sat in the dark for a couple of hours thinking and trying to calm myself down.
Then I heard Vera pull into the garage and quickly turned on the lights. She seemed to be in a good mood until she saw my face. Then she got concerned.
"Is everything all right?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Are the children okay?"
"Yes, they're fine."
"You look as if you've seen a ghost."
"I dozed off on the couch and had a strange dream," I said. "It was like a nightmare. I just woke up when I heard you come home."
Vera sat down beside me on the couch.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked.
"I'm fine now, but it seemed so real to me. In the dream, I was insanely jealous when one of your college boyfriends called you. We had a big argument about it, and you walked out. I had to stay home with the kids and you didn't get back until late. You told me you slept with him to punish me for being suspicious. I told you we were through, and I was about to leave the house when I woke up."
"That's wild," she said. "Have you ever dreamed anything like that before?"
"No," I said. "Can you think of any reason why something like that would come into my mind?"
"Maybe it has something to do with our age." she said. "Sometimes things we've worked hard to forget come back to haunt us."
"Like what?"
"Like college. Occasionally, I see a movie or TV show or read a book that reminds me of myself in college and what my life might have been like if I had never met you. I get really scared. I've told you that."
