This is going to be a long story. I may have to break it into two chapters. Reader be fore-warned. This is a tale of cheating that does not end well for the guilty parties. But nobody gets a dynamite stick stuck up an orifice and lit either.
My intention is to tell a tale. You may like it or might not. You may like my characters or maybe not. People are flawed as is how they react to any given situation. Sometimes when you take a trip, the journey is as important as the destination.
Even though he told me some readers might not like it, I want to thank Vandemonium1 for his input as I developed my story line and characters. I even incorporated some of his suggestions. All mistakes in editing are my own because I went back over the story after the editor made it readable.
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It was not even noon yet but I found myself sipping a beer while mulling over my dilemma. How do you tell someone you suspect his wife is cheating on him? Especially if the guy is someone you like but not a close friend. If it was my brother it would be a no brainer. I would sit him down and give it to him straight. But the guy in question was my wife's boss and I certainly did not want him to shoot the messenger or take it out on my wife if I was wrong.
We needed her job intact. At least for a while. Almost half our family income streamed from her job at the real estate agency and I certainly did not want to rock the boat if I was wrong about what I suspected. Proudmore Realty did a whole lot more than just sell houses. Carl Proudmore was also a property developer . He had taken on that role about two years ago and had done well. His latest project was a gated community selling homes in the four hundred thousand dollar range. I know that kind of money buys a shack in some parts of the country, but around here that type house is where the doctors and lawyers live. And the properties seemed to be selling well. My wife's commission checks soared the last six months and had even eclipsed my own income.
Sarah had had a few jobs over the years but none that paid as well as this nor had she seemed to enjoy herself as much. She had been an English major with a political science minor when we met in college. She ruled out law school early on and settled for a teaching certificate. That career lasted only two years. She found out dealing with small children except for her own was not her forte. About that time she got pregnant with our first kid and embraced motherhood. Two more babies followed in as many years.
I was happy when she decided enough was enough and had her tubes tied. The IUD did not agree with her and she absolutely hated the side effects of the pill. I had offered to get snipped as an alternative, but she made the decision for the tubal ligation while in the hospital after having our third child. She was a good mother, happy to stay at home and run the household as long as she could take classes at the same time. I swear she had enough college credits that if she had concentrated them into a few fields, she could have had at least three PHD's. I mean she took classes in about every subject under the sun from business to anthropology. I tried to put my foot down when she came home with nets, waders and a snake stick for a herpetology class. It did no good and we soon had frogs, lizards and snakes in jars and cages around the house, some dead in preservative and some live. But nothing really caught her interest as a possible career until she decided to take real estate classes.
She sold just enough at the first brokerage she worked for to pay her expenses, which included a decent wardrobe. She blamed not making a real profit on the soft market. I had always heard that ten percent of the agents did ninety percent of the sales. But when she started to work for Carl, her sales soared through the roof. Carl claimed it was because Sarah could talk to her high end clients about almost any subject they could think of. I suppose taking all those college courses was finally paying off.
I know Sarah looked the part of a vibrant young professional. She carried herself with an air of assurance and class. At forty four, she had the same trim body she had in her early thirties. She kept fit and did not need the support of a special bra or girdle to look really good in a dress. She was still beautiful in a cute, girl next door, fashion. We were the same age but I did not fare as well myself. I kept in decent shape and exercised regularly, but that was mainly for my cardiac health. I would never be muscular nor did I care to be. I inherited premature grey hair from my father and alopecia from the X chromosome on my mother's side. When out with my wife, I know people who did not know us well assumed I must have money to get and keep a pretty woman obviously at least fifteen years younger. I had heard that comment more than once over the past several years..
I glanced at the clock trying to decide if I wanted another beer and write off the day's work altogether or get busy with one of my current projects before I got drunk. I could put my angst on hold for now. My decision was made for me when the doorbell rang. I stood up and opened the door. I was certainly not happy to see the cause of my uneasiness standing there on my doorstep. Amelia Proudmore fidgeted a bit as she greeted me.
"I think we need to talk." she said hesitantly. "Well, I mean, uhh, I need to ask you a favor, uhh Mr Saturn, uhh, I mean Ty." I understood her nervousness. She had obviously seen me this morning at the local Denny's when I had brunch with two of my colleagues.
'Come inside," I said. I was trying to think what I was going to say to my wife's boss's wife. I decided to be polite and offer her something to drink. "Would you like something to drink? I could make you some coffee or tea. or if you want something stronger..."
She surprised me by smiling and nodding at the beer in my hand. "I think a beer would be nice." I stepped into the kitchen got one and offered her a glass. She shook her head as she twisted the top off, once again taking me by surprise. I looked at her closely as I motioned her to a seat in the living room. She was dressed as she had been this morning, a stylish summer dress that did nothing to conceal her luscious figure. I knew her to be thirty six, eight years younger than her husband and me for that matter. She looked like the stereotypical trophy wife.
I had met her on a few occasions socially. The last being only this past weekend at a dinner when her husband and my wife were attending a real estate banquet. We sat at the same table. She had called me "Mister Saturn" until I corrected her and told her to call me Ty which is short for Tyler. I told her that despite the grey hair I was not old enough to be called 'mister'. She had stammered about how my face was young looking but with the grey hair and, as she pointed to her head I knew her to be referring to my bald top. I laughed loudly which put her at ease.
I was not in the mood to host this woman for long. Cutting to the chase, I said, "Okay Amelia. I think I know what this is about. What is it you want to say?" My tone of impatience or possibly exasperation must have surprised her. It certainly put her on edge.
