Susan's Diary

By

Jedd Clampett

Preface:

There's an old story out there somewhere in which a husband finds his wife's diary, and makes the unforgettable discovery that ruins his marriage and life. The story below has nothing to do with that one. I got the idea for this from an old song by a recording group called "Bread". One the other hand, if we consider storytelling, if it comes in the first person, there has to be a way to get 'inside' the other character's minds. Maybe it's the air vent that leads from the cellar to the kitchen. I think HDK used that device once. Often these days it's the secretly placed recorders or cameras. In the early Nineteenth Century Jane Austin frequently used letters, anyone remember Darcy's letter? In this story our hero finds his wife's hand written notes.

So here goes:

"Susan's Diary"

It was a Saturday afternoon, I guessed it must have been around 2:00 p.m. and my right big toe was killing me. I don't know about anybody else but for me, aside from a toothache, just about the worst pain imaginable is having an ingrown toenail, especially when I've been out kneeling around in the flower beds. I'm not much for flower beds, but my wife Susan likes them, and by default I've had to pick up the weekend slack.

Susan, like me, works during the week, and lately she's been tied up with this and that on Saturdays. Saturday mornings she usually gets up early, starts the laundry, and then after she's separated the whites from the colors she heads out to do the groceries. Her afternoons the past few months have been tied up with a variety of other activities I know little and care even less about, stuff like one of those county planning committees about zoning and such, and then another thing, something about environmental preservation and protecting the local wildlife. She's on some committee at the local public library too.

So that's left me to finish the laundry; that is if I can't get our daughter Samantha to help out. God help us, Samantha's seventeen, in her senior year of high school, has her own car, and impossible to talk to let alone get her to do anything. Our boy, Gregg, is a little better; he'll pitch in, but only if it's something he thinks is important. He's fifteen and sometimes, if I wave the car keys at him, he'll stay long enough to do a load or two, but it's got to be his clothes, and the effort never lasts past lunchtime.

That leaves me to cut the grass, do the flower beds, the laundry, and sometimes run the vacuum over the rugs. Sounds worse than it really is; it's not, with the kids being older Susan's let me off the hook regarding church on Sunday mornings. So with Sundays pretty much free I get to spend time on the lake fishing or out on the river paddling about in my canoe. In the cooler weather I can go fishing or, if I can find a partner, do some hunting, winter is for the snowmobile.

----------

Back to my toe; it's been killing me all day. Maybe it's time to get this fixed? So I walked back inside, using the back door of course, drop off my dirty shoes, and pad through the kitchen and dining room to the stairs. It's a pretty typical two story; we've lived in it for just under sixteen years, new when we bought it, it's seen some wear and tear but it's still in excellent shape. Up the steps, down the hall, and to the right to the master bedroom. Susan's father got her a fancy manicure kit when she graduated high school, and I've availed myself of it from time to time.

Slipping off a smelly right sock I open the top drawer of Susan's bureau and fish around for the kit. Having found the kit I slip into our bathroom and turn on the bathtub hot water. The plan? Warm up the foot, soften the nail, sit on the commode, snip the offending toenail back, and end my suffering.

Yet I was unexpectedly stopped; there in Susan's bureau rested a three ring loose-leaf spiral notepad, an 81/2 by 11 thing children use all the time. No big deal I think, just an old notepad, but wait, this one's different.

This has a title; it said, "My Life." 'What's this,' I ask? Susan's never kept a diary, at least not to my recollection, and I've known her since college. I wonder, 'Is this a story, a novel she's been writing? She's always said that was something she'd like to try. Maybe it's a catalogue of notes; she's been on all those committees since last winter? Yes of course, its notes about her meetings. Then again, maybe she has started a diary?'

I wonder, 'She's never mentioned anything about any of that stuff to me. Is it some secret thing I'm not supposed to know about?' Then last, is it really any of my business? No its not; I decided to ignore it. Besides, I had a bad toe that needed my immediate attention so off to the bathroom I went.

Toe nail clipped, foot cleaned and wiped I took the clipper back to Susan's bureau. There was that notepad again. I wonder, maybe a little peek, just a quick look. What harm would it do? Uh oh, Susan just pulled in the driveway. I replaced the clipper, closed her bureau, and left the bedroom. Maybe some other time.

__________

So I forgot about it, so what. If Susan wants to keep a little diary, or a few notes about what she's been doing, it was her right, and I didn't have the right to snoop around. Just the same, every now and then I did look in her bureau drawer to see if it was still there. It was, but it hadn't looked like she'd been writing in it, it didn't look like it had been moved around. Besides our relationship over the past several months couldn't have been better. Why stir something up?

About changes in our relationship, that was something I was especially proud of. We'd been married sixteen years; sure if people wanted to they could count it up and see Susan was pregnant before we got married. Heck, we were both young, still in college, and well, sometime things happened. Susan had told me she was pregnant. Neither of us wanted an abortion, so we got married and Samantha popped out a few months later.

I remembered talking to a few of my fraternity brothers; some had been all for it, they'd said marrying Susan wasn't just the right thing to do, it was the right thing because we really loved each other. Sure, there were a few nay sayers; they said things like, "She was just another piece of ass," and a couple reminded me that Susan wasn't exactly a virgin, that she'd slept around some, slept even with a couple of my 'brothers'. I understood that, I knew she wasn't a virgin. I knew a couple guys who'd had her before me. Hell, the first time I met her was at a party, she was a little high, and I took advantage of her.

Actually she'd been a lot high at our first meeting, I'd been high too, but I liked her and started asking her out. She was pretty suspicious at first. She more or less half remembered we'd done something, and thanks to her suspicions and her girlfriends it had been several weeks before she agreed to go out with me. I didn't have some reputation as a Romeo, but the fraternity had a reputation, and I wasn't completely innocent.

I kept our first dates as casual and as tame as I could. I really had feelings for her. I knew my feelings were partly from guilt and maybe a little pity, she'd gone over the line before I met her, and had earned a reputation as being a little too loose. There were guys who bragged, and there were always those who liked to whisper.

So I remember we got married. I quit my fraternity, and she quit her sorority. We went home and told our parents. Her mother and father were accepting, but I sensed they were disgusted with their daughter but sort of appreciative of my 'nobility'. Her father even said I was being noble. I wasn't sure if he wasn't being just a little sarcastic. He'd said I didn't have to do it, and that they could take care of their daughter. I countered by telling told him I loved his daughter and couldn't think of anyone I'd rather marry. I knew he blamed me for his daughter's circumstances, and though I never mentioned it I understood his point of view. Heck, if I hadn't been high myself I would've used a condom. I'm sure he knew that.

My parents were ecstatic! Though they thought we were too young, and we'd sort of jumped the gun they were both 'all in'. In fact it was my mom and dad who put up the money for us to get a decent off campus rental, and when Susan's parents found they couldn't afford her tuition anymore my parents found the money for that too. Then when Susan had her baby my mom drove up to the college and moved in with us to help out. My two brothers and sister didn't appreciate that, but they knew mom would have done the same for them if they'd ever needed it. Besides, I was the baby; Bob, Gary, and Juanita had all already moved out and started families and careers of their own.

Since then married life hadn't been exactly perfect. I had a tough time finding a job, but eventually latched on to a medium sized housing firm that needed a C.P.A. ready to accept a slightly lower rate in pay. I hung on and as the company grew so did my responsibilities and my earnings. Susan had fewer problems; she got started almost right away part-time with an insurance agency, and pretty soon found herself holding down a well-paying job with a reputable nationally recognized insurance company. Since then she's grown with the company, and is currently assistant manager at their branch office in the larger city not far from where we now live.

At the start money was tight, and Samantha's arrival followed two years later by our son Gregg did add to the burden somewhat. We held on, sure there were fights and threats, but we managed. I loved her dearly, and I knew she loved me. Even after so many years' things have remained a little tight financially, and there have been occasions when I thought the relationship was in jeopardy, but during this past year everything's run smoothly.

----------

The last couple times I'd looked in the top drawer of Susan's bureau the notebook had been there, and it seemed like it'd been untouched. The other day though I could tell it had been moved. I wondered, 'Just what was Susan writing in there?' I rationalized, 'Why not just one little peek?' I opened it up.

I didn't know where to start or exactly what I expected, but it was obvious it was a pretty new loose-leaf. It was one of those three ringed narrow lined three subject jobs with hundreds of pages, and it looked like it was at least partly filled up. I turned to the very first page, and wow! I knew after the first few lines she was talking about me! The more I read the better I felt. This was great! She was talking about me, and what she said was wonderful.

So she started:

I still can't believe it's true. Even now almost twenty years later I remember what my girlfriends told me, "Susan when the right one comes along, you'll know. He'll just sweep you off your feet." I recall it was like yesterday. In a way it almost was. I was at a party and I saw him. He was standing off to the side talking to several other men. I knew most of them, but I'd never gotten a chance to meet him.

I was feeling tipsy and didn't know quite what to do. But then one of my peers tapped my elbow, "Good looking isn't he?"

"A real dream boat," I replied, "Do you know him?"

"Yes," she said, and she walked me over.

He was so handsome, shaggy brown hair, big brown eyes, he stood so ramrod straight, and when he looked at me, even from across the room I knew, I just knew I'd found the 'one', that special one all the fairy tales talked about. I was...

~V~

"Jeremy, are you upstairs? Dinner's almost ready." It was my wife.

Damn! I had to put the notebook down. "Yeah, I'm here. Be down in just a moment." I carefully placed the loose-leaf back just the way I'd found it. I quickly hit the bathroom, the original reason for being upstairs, threw some cold water in my face, wiped off with a towel and sped downstairs.

In the dining room Susan already had things laid out. The kids, Samantha and Gregg, were waiting.

Susan looked at me and smiled, "One of your favorites tonight, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, string beans, and Cole slaw. All just the way you like it."

Gregg interjected, "Yeah, just like they make at Royal Farms."

His mother scowled, "What difference does that make? You dad likes it."

I sat down in my place at the head of the table, "Shut up Gregg," I grinned at Susan but frowned at Gregg, "Maybe one day when you're all grown up you'll find someone like your mother, then it won't matter where the food comes from, only who was thoughtful enough to get it for you."

Susan blushed.

Bored, Samantha sighed.

Gregg ignored me and reached for the chicken.

I scolded, "Not yet Gregg. Fold your hands." And so all four of us folded our hands while their mom said Grace.

"May the Lord make us truly thankful for what we're are about to receive, and for all our many blessings, both big and small. Amen."

We all said amen, and dug in. Typically we'd all eat slowly and sit and talk, but tonight Samantha had plans, Gregg had homework, and Susan had another one of her meetings. Me, I had nothing to do.

Near the end of the meal Susan waved her hand over the table, "Jer," she usually called me Jer instead of Jeremy, "would you mind? I want to get to my meeting a little earlier."

I smiled, "Sure dear."

She smiled back, got up, kissed me on the cheek, and without further ado found her way out the door. Samantha wasn't far behind. Gregg was halfway upstairs when I thought, 'What an opportunity. I can get back to that loose-leaf. I want to read some more about me.' I tidied up the kitchen, put all the uneaten food away in the fridge, all neatly packed, I waited until I was sure Gregg was fully ensconced in his room, and then went back upstairs myself.

I found the loose-leaf, reopened it, and continued reading.

~V~

"He's just so right. He's so everything I thought I'd ever find in a man; he's polite, considerate, funny to talk to, and he's interested in the same things I am. He likes old movies, not the more modern colored things, but the really old ones, the old black and whites with the old stars like Norma Shearer and Joan Crawford."

I thought back, 'I never watched any of that old shit, and while I'd heard and even watched some old Joan Crawford stuff like... I didn't know, couldn't remember, who was Norma Shearer?' I read on.

~V~

She must have stopped writing. There was a date at the bottom, January 11, 2011. This was September 22, I counted backward; that was close to ten months ago. OK, I went to the next entry.

"His name is Robert, Bob, Schuster. He isn't married. Peggy Jeffords said he's a widow, he's in his mid-thirties, and works for a publisher, but she didn't recall which one. He doesn't have any children."

I thought about what I'd just read, and it gave me the creeps. Bob Schuster? He worked for some publisher. Susan had started helping out at the library. One of her jobs was lining up potential guest speakers for what she called 'The Library Forum'. He was 'the one'? That couldn't be, I knew I was her 'the one'. My stomach felt tight.

I stopped reading and glanced forward. I skimmed ahead through several pages. His name came up a few times, not a lot, just every now and then. Then I recalled how many times I sat in meetings while my company's senior partners held meetings with men and women from other companies. I often took notes and wrote little memoranda to myself. Quite often I was asked to go over something with a partner. I'd take my notes along, and often as not knew my notes would've made little sense to anyone else. I thought, 'I bet that was Susan's notes; she'd just got things mixed up.'

I thought again, 'I know what I'll do. I'll look for my name. I bet she's written a lot about me.' I surged ahead. My name did come up every now and then, but mostly it was pretty mundane stuff, me taking Gregg to Scouts, having Samantha's car repaired after she backed into somebody at the Walmart parking lot, me getting sick and missing time from work even though I'd had a flu shot. None of it was particularly important, but then I came upon a March entry. I was pretty prominent for a few lines, and I didn't like it.

She had written, "I know I'm supposed to love Jeremy. I have to love him. I was pregnant. He didn't have to marry me. He didn't have to take on the responsibility of raising my baby. I wasn't even sure Samantha was his until we'd had her DNA done for something related to school. He loves me. I have to love him. Oh, I do love him, just not that way, more like a brother or a very close friend. I know I'll be forever grateful."

I put the loose-leaf down. I looked over at the photograph we'd done last year. It had all four of us. The kids looked great. Susan looked beautiful in one of her blue dresses, hair down, she was smiling. I thought I looked OK. But what did all this mean? I skimmed back to where I saw that Bob guy's name earlier. I found four separate mentions.

On February the eighth she mentioned him again, "He stopped in to see me the last week in January. Said he'd like to see me about setting up an author. I agreed we could meet at our next monthly meeting. He asked when that was? I told him in February. He said fine. I remembered all that because while I was at work and later at home he was all I could think about. He's so handsome, and his voice is so sonorous, he could be an announcer on TV. He's so charming. I don't know why I'm writing this down. I guess it was because Jeremy and I had a big fight last night about money. Jeremy's so annoying sometimes. When he yells he gives me a headache. When I want to talk about something he never pays any attention to me. I swear it's like talking to a brick wall."

I stopped. I must have missed some entry about me in my earlier skim. I thought I'd read a little further. Then thought again, I'll go back. Here was something, January twenty-eighth. I pulled up the date on my IPhone, it was a Thursday. Here's what she wrote,

"Saw Mr. Schuster, Bob, tonight, we had coffee at the Starbucks. He said he had a young writer, a young woman with a great fiction story set in west Texas near the end of the Nineteenth Century. He had a copy for me, and asked me to read it. I took it, and after that we talked. I told him I'd heard he was a widower. He said he was, but didn't like to talk about it. He said, "Maybe when we got to know each other a little better we might." He looked so sad when he mentioned her name, Glenna. He broke down and showed me a picture, she looked a lot like me. I said maybe we could meet for coffee again. He suggested the fourteenth of next month. I said no, that was Valentine's Day. He said he knew, it was such a special day for him once. I changed my mind. I agreed we'd meet at the Starbucks again on Valentine's Day."

'Valentine's Day,' I thought. I reflected back. I remember bringing home some Walmart flowers for her and Samantha. They both thanked me. I remember laughing when Samantha lowered her head so I could kiss her hair. She had a date, and didn't want me to mess up her makeup. Susan kissed me on the cheek and thanked me. Later I remember she said she had to go to a meeting. I blew it off. I remember she couldn't have been gone very long.

I looked ahead and found something dated February fifteenth. Not much, just a quick read, she'd noted,

"Saw Bob last night. He was so sad. I told him I'd read the novel; I did and thought it was great. I was sure our readers would like to meet the author. We didn't stay long. I told him I had to get back home, Jeremy had given me flowers and was probably expecting something. I tried to be light hearted, it didn't work. I guess it was another reminder. He said my husband was a lucky guy. I agreed and we left."

I closed the loose-leaf, but made myself a reminder to look back again. I thought, 'Susan seems to have feelings for the guy.' I blew it off though, she'd been attracted to other men before and nothing came of it. In spite of what she might've said, the "brother" thing I knew she loved me. Yeah, I'd hold off. I'm not stupid. I told myself, "Just stay calm."