Well, this fucking sucks. I'm sitting on my bed staring at this bullshit letter, after enduring this bullshit stunt. My wife, Vera, ends her well-planned, viscous assault by telling me we're all going out for pizza as a family later. Is it possible she's that damned stupid, or is this some kind of cover - some part of her sinister plan to quickly get me back into the fold or, to hide something else she's done? I realize there's so many questions I don't have answers to, but I also know right now I need to react - to cover my ass and do things for my children, just in case. I'll have plenty of time later, when I'm alone, to go through what I know and what I don't, and then formulate my own plan.

The first thing that comes to mind is that fucking piece-of-shit car. It's been sitting there for who knows how long - and I'm sure all the neighbors have been gossiping about it. I want it gone from my fucking driveway, but it may hold some important clues. Two birds. Time for a fucking stone.

I pull out my cell and hit the number for my cousin's best friend. We're all drinking buddies, even though a father of three rarely gets to go out drinking.

"Raymond, Gary here," I greet him. "Lots of things are up. I need a huge favor, and I need it right away. I don't have time to explain, but I will tomorrow morning sometime. Can you send a wrecker to my house, like right now?

"Fifteen minutes? That's fast! Are you sure? Yeah, there's a beat-up heap of shit in my driveway. I need it taken inside one of your stalls for the night. Not left outside, okay? No it's not mine. I seriously doubt it belongs to anyone. Actually, it may be one of yours. When you see it, I think you'll know we don't need any paperwork."

Ray owns one of the two salvage yards in town, plus a lucrative towing business. While I wait for his guy to arrive, I examine Vera's tablet. I discover it doesn't belong to Vera. It's the same color, but that's about it. This one's either a newer model or some kind of specialized tablet. Then it hits me: she said they'd been able to hear me break the door to my own bedroom down. Could they see me too? Fuck.

I take the tablet to the garage, get a roll of duct tape, and then tap on the screen. It comes right back to life on the audio file I'd paused. No sleep mode, no login needed. I cover the camera thoroughly with the tape and then turn down the volume all the way, since I can't get into settings.

Going back inside, I put the device in my backpack, along with my own iPad and my other electronics and chargers. Then I hurry to the bedroom to gather a few days' worth of clothing. By the time I get back downstairs and outside, Rolando, Ray's right-hand man, is hooking the tow chains to the undercarriage. He looks at me funny when our eyes meet, but I know Rolando well, and he's not much for speaking actual words.

I hand him a twenty dollar bill and bid him farewell. One more time through our bedroom - perhaps former bedroom - I do a quick search through Vera's personal items. Her nightstand, the dresser, and her half of the closet yield nothing new or significant. I go back to my car, grab my voice-activated recorder, then run up and place it under our bed, between one of the posts and the baseboard. Three minutes later, Rolando and I are pulling out together, driving away from a locked and dark house.

I need to eat. What a fucking night so far. What I really want to do is get drunk, but there's no time to wallow. This is war. My wife - and at least three other people - had declared it on me, and now I need a battle plan. I pull into my favorite pub and grill. We rarely come here because it's on the complete opposite side of town. Parking, I pull out my tablet and log in to our electronic banking app. I move everything, except two hundred dollars into a savings account we've set up for the kid's college tuition. It's nearly twenty-five thousand. Then I lock it and change the app's password. I can always move things back later.

My mushroom-Swiss burger is delicious. They put the mushrooms under the cheese so everything doesn't fall off when you take a bite, smart operators that they are. The fries are just okay. I order a Maker's Mark, light rocks and a hoppy IPA. That's all for me, and just intended to dull the pain. Who am I kidding? An entire six-pack and a bottle wouldn't help my pain tonight. The Quality Inn across the street has a 2.5 rating, but it's cheap. Just before settling my tab, I add a six-pack of their 'beer of the month', just in case I change my mind and decide to get shit-faced.

After a long, hot cathartic shower, I get to work. Making a few lists, I decide to handle the easy stuff first -the things that can be done quickly and will help me most in the short term.

Re-reading my wife's manifesto, I study the part about my boss. I know Mrs. Wilkins has a family. She also - undeservedly in my humble opinion - makes a great deal more money than some of the more qualified middle-managers, like me. Diversity my ass; this bitch helped my wife do this to me. Sure, it says that she made Vera swear on a Bible and all that other crap, but she still went through with it. The bullshit about my promotion didn't carry water either. Our company has shareholders. We don't operate that way. Withholding information from an employee about a promotion is not within company guidelines, and my last three performance evaluations - conducted and written by no other than Wilkins herself - had me pegged as an associate that wasn't being considered for one.

Now I have to decide. Should I go into HR in the morning, resign, and start an avalanche? Should I just report her? Should I take personal time, simply alluding to stress-driven issues with my direct supervisor and let them schedule me into what they call 'mediation?' The latter would certainly give me more time to get to the bottom of this.

I suddenly realize I'm overthinking things. I'm not going to let Vera do that to me. Wilkins is tangential, and I've got the goods on her. I'll report her. Odds are she'll be clearing out her desk in a day or two. Hell, they might give me her job. I'm certainly qualified for it.

It's now seven o'clock. I'd expected my phone to blow up, but to my utter surprise, nothing. Surely they had already been out to dinner and returned. Maybe she never took them for pizza at all.

At 7:45, a text came in. It's from Vera, and it's a wall.

Honey, I want to say how sorry I am again. I know you read my letter, and hopefully the play too. I see you took some things and you're probably planning to stay away tonight. Totally understandable and I don't blame you. Take the time you need. I just ask that you let me know you're okay, and to call the kids to tuck them in. I told them you had a special project and may be away for a day or two. But I'd feel better if you called them. They aren't part of this, so...

I love you! Me

Jesus! Who is this woman? The kids aren't part of this? Just, fucking wow!

Not tonight, I text back. I'm not in a place to talk with them. Tell them I love them.

Alright. U Okay?

Fine. Leave me alone.

The next morning, eight fifty-five, I'm sitting in the HR waiting room. Wilma Burns walks in and says hello.

"Good morning, Ms. Burns." She likes people who use the 'mizz.'

"How can I assist you, Gary?" she asks. What a nice lady. She's always bubbly. More importantly, she's always available - even at this early hour.

"I need to talk about a leave of absence. I have a... problem." I leave it there.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that Gary. Is it a family issue? Do you need assistance setting up Family Leave Act time?"

"No, this is more... of a personal nature." I stop for effect. "Actually, personal and professional, now that I think about it."

Ms. Burns face sours considerably. "Professional? As in, on the job, Gary?" She's quite good at her work.

"Well, yes. I mean, well, it's embarrassing."

Now Wilma directs me to the conference room next to her office. The admin is just arriving, and Ms. Burns tells her to hold her nine o'clock appointment if necessary. She leaves me there while she hurries to her office to retrieve her iPad and some forms.

"Okay, Gary, can you please tell me the nature of this issue? The professional part, as you put it."

"Like I said, it's embarrassing, and it's both personal and professional."

Wilma stops typing and looks up to make eye contact with me. I've destroyed her wonderful mood and wiped that smile right off her lovely face. She silently urges me to either shit or get off the pot. Believe it or not, it makes me like her even more.

"Mrs. Wilkins, my... boss, she well, she and my wife... I'm sorry, this all happened within the last twenty-four hours, so it's a little raw. Let me start again.

"My wife, she conspired with one of her classmates... a man...,to pull this cruel trick on me. The cruelty involved...oh god!" I put my face in my hands, playing pretty hard for sympathy.

Sniffling, I look up again. "She's in a play-writing class, and she... with this man came up with a realistic one-act play of infidelity. They made me believe it was taking place in our own bed, as they lay in wait to ambush me. My wife... she... she told Mrs. Wilkins all about it yesterday, and got her to go along. She wanted Mrs. Wilkins to send me home early, and to pretend like I'd done something requiring discipline." That isn't true, but too bad.

"That was to distract me, so they could set me up, and spring their trap, when I arrived home. They needed me home at a time that would sync up with their class, where, I guess, they performed it live."

Ms. Burns looks on, stunned.

"I've always liked my boss," I brazenly lie. "I don't know if I can recover from this. I don't know if I can stay married to such a cruel and callous person, and I don't yet know if I can continue on here." I bend forward into a semi-fetal position, again hiding my face in my hands.

Ms. Burns actually goes to the other end of the conference table to retrieve a box of tissues, and then brings them to me. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Hagelman. Here, take a moment while I make some notes."

A few minutes later, I'm feeling better, much better.

Ms. Burns continues. "So let me see if I have this right. Your wife..." she checks her notes, "... Vera, she met with your superior outside of work to discuss this...deception?"

"No," I reply. "My wife came here to discuss it with her. I don't know if it was yesterday, or before that. Mrs. Wilkins came to me about one o'clock yesterday and told me to go home, and that she wanted to see me in her office first thing the next morning - today. I've known her a long time, and I can tell when she's uncomfortable. It usually has to do with disciplinary action. She doesn't deal with conflict well. So I thought I did something wrong - from the look on her face, something maybe even job-threatening. I was distracted all the way home. That's when my wife and her boyf... classmate ambushed me. Mrs. Wilkins knew all about what was going to happen. Here, see for yourself. I took this part of a letter my wife left for me. I'm sorry, but I just can't have anybody read the whole thing. She spells out everything, and it's just..."

Ms. Burns studies the hand-written message I'd torn from the bottom of her letter. She reads it twice, and then goes to a different screen on her iPad, clicking and pushing away. "It states here that Mrs. Wilkins told your wife she planned on promoting you the next morning. As far as you know, was that part of the... joke?"

"I don't know," I say, sighing. "I've thought about that since... last night when this happened. I know company policy, though, and it seems a little strange, don't you think?"

Wilma didn't answer. "I'm going to have to meet with upper management about all this. I'd like you to take today off, and I'll call you as soon as I have more information about how you are to proceed. This is a... predicament."

I leave the building, avoiding my department and my boss. Vera had left a message while I was in the meeting, asking if I was coming home, and if I was taking our daughter to soccer practice. I know I'm not going to be able to hide from my family long, or shirk my responsibilities, but I still have plenty to do.

I text, Please take her to practice and I'll bring her home. Hopefully that'll keep Vera from asking me about my return.

Then Ray calls. "Gary, hey, you got some time today?"

"How about now?" I reply.

"You're not working?" he asks. "If you can, yeah, come over, I want to talk about this car, and a few ideas I have."

Ray hands me a beer. It's only ten in the morning, but hey, I'm on a vacation of sorts. We walk around the heap of a vehicle.

"1978 Buick Riviera," Ray says absentmindedly. "Hot fucking ride back in the day. A real pussy wagon."

I laugh and spit my beer across the hood. "Pussy wagon? You've got to be shitting me, Ray! Next you're going to tell me about all your fucking exploits in an AMC Gremlin. Look at this pile of shit."

"You're just pissed because your wife and her new boy... sorry, Gary, because they left it in your driveway. Sorry, man."

"What did you want to talk about?" I need to change the subject. It's still too raw.

"Well, for starters, I called Sal. He's my competition across town, you know? Anyway, he sold them, well, loaned them the car for $200. That greasy fucker that was with your wife tried talking him into letting them 'borrow' the car for what they called a prank. Sal did exactly what I would have. He told them if they really didn't want the vehicle, they could put down a $200 deposit, and then bring it back the next day. Of course, Sal had no intention of giving them their money back, but that's what they did." Ray snickered. Anyway, after chatting with Sal, he's gonna call and e-mail them, that he has a buyer for the car, and that the meter's running, so they need to bring back the car they "rented" ASAP."

"You mean this fucking thing runs?" I ask incredulously. "They actually drove it to my house?"

"Yeah, it's all fucked up, the body and interior, but it runs. Listen, they don't know where the car is, and Sal's upping the price as we speak. We could keep it here, so they have to pay out the ass, or we could do something more diabolical." Ray has a shit-eating grin and looks awfully proud.

"Tell me about the something more," I reply evilly.

Ray points to a large metal utility shelf against one wall of his shop. "See all that?"

I study the junk. It's fairly well organized, for, well, junk.

"What if we take some of those old speakers and mount them all over, inside the car, then drive all around town playing some message about your wife and that asshole?" Ray says confidently. "That should embarrass them as much as they did you."

Okay, his idea sucks, and I hadn't gotten into the details of the humiliation they had heaped onto me yesterday, but it gets me to thinking. "How many speakers are we talking?"

"As many as you want! Well I have about nineteen or twenty in decent shape. I also have two Bose, almost brand new from a totaled Lamborghini. And I have that." Ray points at one of those LED advertising bars, the ones you see in a liquor store window, where the red letters scroll from right to left.

"We can mount that sucker on top, you know, for the hearing impaired!" Ray laughs pretty hard at his own joke, and so do I. It feels good.

"Let me think about it, Ray. I'm not sure how far I want to go, here. I've got three small kids to be concerned about." We go back to drinking our beers.

An hour later, Ms. Burns calls. "Gary, its Wilma."

Informal, I think to myself. That's a good sign.

"I spoke with Mr. Stevenson. He's granted a twenty-eight day leave of absence, with full pay. He wants you to take some time to deal with your... personal situation. He's also going to be disciplining Mrs. Wilkins."

Disciplining how, exactly?" I ask, pissed. "And what about my promotion?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that, Gary," Wilma responds, much more robotically. "Just know we take this allegation very seriously, and everything will be done according to our policies."

"So the promotion wasn't real?" I press.

"We're not that far into our investigation yet."

This isn't what I want to hear. I hang up and call Ray. "Do it. Hide the speakers as best you can. I have a place for a test run. If things work out, we can repeat it. Do you have the ability to make one or more of those speakers a two-way so we can listen to the people listening to the car's message?"

"I think we can do that!" Ray says, elated.

"Perfect!" I reply. "I'll be by tomorrow to help with the messages. I'll record some stuff tonight and send you the file."

I drive over to the soccer field, deep in thought. My test run for the car, will be Mrs. Wilkins, Mr. Stevenson, and, to an extent, all the big-wigs at my company. If they think they can sweep this under the rug and that I'll just come back to work for that bitch, they have another thing coming.

As I drop Marissa off at home, Vera comes out to the car. I don't get out, and her expression sours immediately.

"You're not staying?" she half-says, half-asks.

"No," I answer flatly.

"Gary, I'm sorry, really sorry," Vera sighs, "but I don't see how staying away from your family is helping. We need to talk; maybe you need to yell at me. Get it all out, you know? Ask me the questions that must be going through your head. I can see I've really hurt you. We've always told each other everything, honestly, remember? Plus, you promised to forgive me. I need that, and I also need to start making up for what I did. It wasn't done with malicious or cruel intent, although I understand if you feel that way." She seems to want to say more, but stops and waits for me to respond.

"You're wrong, Ver," I reply, holding back my anger. "It was exactly that. I have a lot to think about before I sit down and talk to you. And I did promise, even though I was tricked in a despicable way to do so. I'm not ready for that either. I'm not breaking my promise, but I couldn't possibly say the words right now and mean them." I put the car in gear and slowly start rolling backwards.

Vera seems stunned. She says nothing as I start to leave, but upon the realization that the car is moving, she starts following it and me down the driveway. "I love you, Gary," she claims in a pleading voice.

"Right now, I find that very hard to believe," are my last words, as I put the car in drive and push the accelerator.

I get some more beer, and another salad. Maybe this will be my new life. I hope not.

Two beers in, and nothing on the TV to distract me, it hits me. Hard. I'm a man. I'm a father. I was a husband who gave it my all, but I don't know about that anymore. But what I'm not is a wimp. I won't lie down and take this, but I'm not going to burn everything down, until I get all the facts. I have a month off with pay, so I'll get my information. I'll put in my eight hours every day, like I'm still at work, until I have what I need. In the meantime, I'll prepare my revenge - something that will make Vera feel exactly how she made me feel. When I'm off the clock, so to speak, I'll continue to be a good father to the kids.

All I get from Vera that night are two questions, via text. Neither of them surprises me.

Where's the junker, Gary? We need to take it back to Sal's Towing and Salvage. They aren't being very nice.

The next one's a little meaner, and more desperate.

Gary, did you take a bunch of money out of the account? I meant to ask you when you were here but I forgot. If you did, I need you to put it back. I went grocery shopping today, and my card declined on $248.00. When I checked the balances, I was very upset. That's OUR money, and I need it for the kids' basic care. You shouldn't have done that. Please put it back the way it was tonight."

She tried to sound demanding, but certainly not upset. There were no terms of endearment in either message. Maybe she's starting to get it.

While deciding how to respond, I make a 'to-do' list for tomorrow. With that done, I settle in with my phone and craft my reply.

Vera, I have no idea where the instrument of our destruction is. I was pissed and called the cops to have it towed away. It's probably sitting at Sal's and he's just trying to wring more cash out of you and dipshit. It's not my problem. If I ever see it again, I'll find out where Reg lives, and drive it through his fucking living room. Oh, yeah. He probably lives in an upstairs one-bedroom apartment. As far as the money, I was protecting myself and my family. I'll put in enough so you can get groceries. If you need something else, you'll need to ask my permission and be specific about what it's for, and I'll consider putting the funds in our checking. Sorry Vera, but my trust in you is under a microscope now, as far as I'm concerned. I'm handling all the family bills going forward.

Vera doesn't reply - at least not before I go to bed. It's just as well. The text I sent her was meticulously crafted; I only transmitted about a tenth of the anger I was feeling, and still feel. A more spontaneous exchange would have been... volatile. She's nails on a chalkboard right now. There's nothing she could do or say (or text) that would make me less angry. I need to make my decisions and my plans. I need to find my own way through this.

After doing my morning bathroom routine, I stop for an egg McMuffin and an orange juice. I haven't had one of these in quite some time, and start wondering why. Then I drive to my... the house, and wait at the end of the street for Vera to leave with the kids. It's a school day, after all.

As soon as they're out of sight, I run in and grab the mini-recorder from under our bed. Then I download its contents into my smart phone using the dongle, and return it to its hiding spot. I have a very busy day, so I'll need to listen to it later.

As I drive over to Ray's place, I call a number I looked up last night. A younger-sounding guy answers on the second ring. "Jake Andrews, professional investigations. May I help you?"

I introduce myself, explain a little about my predicament, and ask Jake how he could help me gather some evidence.

"Well, let's see, Gary. I suppose that depends on how you want to proceed in the future. Are you going for divorce, and...custody of your children? Are you looking for some compensation from the school, or do you just want information on this Lothario, Reg?"

"I'm not sure yet." That's the truth. I still have decisions to make. "I'm kinda taking this as I go. I guess I want to know, if this was just an evil trick cooked up by my wife and her friend, or are they having an affair. I also think I've got that covered. I have a voice-activated recorder in our bedroom, because that's where she usually likes to talk on her phone. I could probably use some help recording her everywhere else."

There's a pause. Jake's winding up with a giant spiel, I sense. Even if my situation is a little unique in substance, "cheating spouses" are these guys' bread and butter.

"So, first, Gary, anything we record, we can't use in court. You just need to know that. On the plus side, if we find that she's been...doing things a married woman shouldn't be, we can use that information as leverage in the divorce or child custody arrangements. It will also give you peace of mind to know for sure. That's what most of my clients are looking for.

"I can provide you with a sweet little device that's disguised as a pen. It's a voice-activated recorder, and anywhere there's a Bluetooth connection, it will upload what it records to the cloud. I can provide you a URL and login to listen to all those recordings. If you can find a way to get it in her purse, or even her car, that will improve your chances of finding out what she's doing, hiding, and thinking, but at the very least we'll hear what she's saying to the people in her circle of influence. What else?"

"Well, I'm not wealthy," I'll admit. "I probably can't afford to pay you to follow people around, but I'd really like to know as much as I can about her paramour, Reg, and if there's any connection to the instructor. I don't know if she's a professor, or just an instructor for this class. It seems diabolical that the assignments could be so extreme."

"I'm glad you said that," Jake says. Suddenly he's more excited. I wonder why. "I don't know for sure if this guy is the same one I investigated about three years ago, but it's possible. A hubby paid me to check out his wife and some slick-talker from one of her classes at the university. Turned out she was sleeping with the guy. I don't recall this professor, but I just went to their website and looked up the English faculty. There's a Professor Strausberg, and she looks like a piece of work. Can you find out who your wife's instructor for the class is?"

"Yeah, I think so, what's it say about her?"

"This is where we talk about fees," he jumps in. "Most of what you are asking, I can do from right here at my desk. I bill by the hour. If it's the same guy as that other case, then you're in luck, because I have plenty on him. I can tell you the guy I looked at wasn't named Reg, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. As far as a connection to the actual professor or class, here's how I handle it: anything I find, that any other person can easily find on the internet, I'll point you there in my report, and won't charge you beyond the hourly - and stuff like that doesn't take me hours to find, I assure you. In the meantime, I can certainly do a deep dive on her, the department chair's personnel records, and even the board of regents' public records for any previous disciplinary actions. If there's a connection between the two, it won't be difficult to find."

"Okay, how much do you need up front?"

I pay him $2500 with my credit card, and pull up into Ray's yard. When I walk in, I see a very strange-looking car. "Shit, Ray! Is that the same clunker that was parked in my driveway?"

"Yeah," Ray announces proudly. "This baby is a beast. An oil change and a new fuel filter, and this sucker purrs like a kitten."

Then he gets down to business. "Check this out," He says as he clicks a remote in his hand. The car comes to life. I can hear the prerecorded message I sent him loud and clear as it reverberates through his shop. It almost seems the car itself is talking. I can hear the sound from the trunk, under the hood and through the open windows.

"The two Bose are in the front and back," Ray shouts, bringing me out of my reverie. "Inside the vehicle are sixteen... well, normal speakers. They're under the back seats, in the door panels, inside the dash, and watch this..."

Ray pushes another remote, and the LED ad board mounted on the roof of the car starts scrolling a similar message to what's belting out of the speakers.

"And now for the piece de resistance!" Ray picks up his tablet from the worktable. He scrolls through some software, and then I hear both our voices from two minutes ago.

"I pulled the hands-free mics from a 2018 Chevy Malibu and a 2020 Prius out back, and mounted them just inside both doors. When the amplifier is transmitting the message to the speakers, this sweet little program is recording the onlookers' verbal reactions."

"Looks like 'Operation Crush Mrs. Wilkins' is in full swing," I state triumphantly. After Ray asks the obvious question and I explain who Mrs. Wilkins is, we sit for a beer.

"Gary, you do know there are some risks here, don't you? I mean, I want you to know this could backfire on us. It was my idea, but I just have to say it before we get going."

"Thanks Ray. I do, and you know what? I decided these past two days that I'm done being shit on. I like my job. I understand that corporations worry more about their bottom line than their people, and I guess I'm okay with that. But I want to work someplace where my performance leads me to climbing the ladder. I've just recently come to realize that my company is probably not the best place for me. What about Sal?"

"All taken care of," Ray replies. "I traded him a thirteen-foot Chris-Craft that's been taking up space on the back lot, and some parts for a hemi. He's still gonna lean on your wife and the asshole for more money though.

"It's kinda what we do!" Ray adds with a heinous snicker. He checks the downloaded file I'd sent to make sure it was set to repeat.

"Well, let's go."

Before we pull away, I call Vera. "What was your instructors' name for this class?"

"Why?" she asks, with a hint of attitude.

"Why do you think?" I say flatly.

"Professor Elena Strausberg. I'm hoping you just want to verify what I told you in my letter. You have every right to do that, but if you're going to start trouble, I advise against that. It would...upset me."

"Really," I chuckle. "Would it upset you enough that you couldn't forgive me?"

I hear a heavy, dejected sigh through the phone. "All I can say is that I'm sorry, Gary. I'll keep saying it, and I'll keep my promise to give you space."

"But, you're not going to like it," I say, filling in the subtext. "Keeping your promise, I mean. And the grace you're offering on both won't last much longer, is what I hear you not saying, Vera. Just remember who made this fucking mess. I'm guessing you really didn't think it through. Remember, too, that that's on you, not me." I disconnect the call.

From the professional building parking lot across the street, I can hear the car broadcasting perfectly. Ray looks very pleased with himself. Some of the employees are coming out to listen, and, since our building houses about a dozen separate businesses, there are plenty of people there I don't personally know.

"My name is Raymond. One of your co-workers, Gary, is my close friend. His supervisor, Mrs. Wilkins, helped his wife play a very hurtful and exceptionally mean trick on him. She also made references to Gary's wife about a promotion that apparently, no one in the organization seems to know about.

"He's been asked to take time off and get his personal life in order. Gary is devastated by this turn of events, and, since he can't speak for himself without risking further retaliation, I'm doing it for him. After being set up and sent home early, this car was parked in his driveway, and was just one of the intentional clues left to make him think his wife was stepping out on him. Supposedly, it was for a class assignment at the local college his wife attends.

"If you think that your workplace should remain separate from your personal life, I urge you to take steps with your employer to ensure this kind of thing never happens to you. Let your HR representative hear your voice and make sure they know this type of behavior is unacceptable."

The LED board on top, reads; ... #FREEGARY.... Stop the oppression... What if this happens to you?...

Twenty minutes of this, and I finally catch sight of Mr. Stevenson, and Mrs. Wilkins standing next to the Buick, trying desperately to figure out how to shut down the broadcast. Then, twenty minutes after that, a local squad car and a tow truck driven by Rolando show up. Satisfied, I treat Ray to lunch.

At two in the afternoon I accept a call from the investigator. "Gary, hey, Jake here. Got a minute?"

Jake tells me what he's learned about the two culprits.

"So the guy is Reginald Smith. He's definitely the same guy I looked into before, except he went by Arnie Smith then. He's taken the playwright class four times in the past three years, using either of those names to register, which means he has at least two ID's. The guy can't hold down a job. He's been let go by four brokerage firms in the past decade, and he's currently self-employed as a day trader."

Jake takes a deep breath. "The professor, as I said before, is a piece of work. She's written a book and several magazine articles, along with her blog. The things she stumps for, make feminism seem like the mainstream. Women should claim their rightful spot in the world as the true leaders, female-led relationships, men put in their place, all that horse-shit. She speaks of pussies like they're the Holy Grail, and not in the birthing sense. Traditional isn't in her vocabulary.

"That said, so far, I haven't found any connection between her and Reginald, except not questioning or reporting him taking her course multiple times. Auditing a class is obviously at the instructor's discretion, but this is clearly overboard. I'll keep looking into a possible connection.

"Here's the best, or worst, part. Reginald's wife, now ex-wife, Penny, divorced and left him two years ago, and took their two children with her to the west coast. She remarried, and the guy adopted the kids, with Reginald's consent. That's what I got so far."

I thank Jake and hang up. Well, the plot thickens, I suppose. The plot. I laugh at my own double entendre. Not a half hour later, I receive a call from a number I don't recognize. I won't usually take those, but with everything going on, I answer.

"Hello."

"Mr. Hagelman?" a strange voice asks.

"Yes?"

"This is Jonathan Holt, of Holt Manufacturing. Do you have a minute?" Holt is a direct competitor of my company's so he's immediately piqued my interest.

Mr. Hagelman, Gary - may I call you Gary?" he continues.

"Sure."

"I just got off the phone with Mr. Stevenson. We had a long and interesting conversation about you. Let me get right to it. I'd like to offer you a job."

I'm astounded. How did word about my troubles travel that fast? Then I remember he just mentioned Stevenson.

"Well that's interesting, and certainly a surprise," I say, trying not to seem like an idiot. "What would your offer have to do with Mr. Stevenson?"

"Well," he says chuckling loudly. "Straight to the point, I see. I like you already! Alright, here it is. As you know, our company competes against yours. That's just business. Still, it just so happens that I genuinely dislike most of the people that sign your checks. That said, Bill Stevenson is a friend of mine, though, and he has been for ten years. He called me this morning after the commotion you created with that lit-up junk car. The problem for Bill is two-fold. Your supervisor screwed herself, but also the company, when she conspired with your wife. The way things are structured, he can certainly demote her, but firing her outright is a bit of a problem."

He gives me a moment to process what he'd said before trudging on. "That's why Bill called me. He told me about the old wreck and the message it played. Do you know they have had more management complaints just today than any other week in the company's history?"

"I didn't, no, sir."

"Well, they did. I'm pretty sure you caused that. If you go back to work there, that will be Stevenson's second problem. Seeing you every day will just embolden the staff. I happen to like out-of-the-box thinkers, though, and I don't think any of my employees are familiar with you. Damn, son, you stood them up on their asses. I'm always on the lookout for people like you, and here you are, sending up a big green flare.

"There's one thing I need to know, though. All I know about your marital problems came second - or third - hand from this Mrs. Wilkinson through Bill. Where are you with all that?"

I explain my situation, and where I'm headed - at least as far as I know. Mr. Holt is quiet, seeming to ponder what to say next.

"Son, the way I see it, your wife fucked up pretty good, but it's nothing that can't be fixed. Do you love her?"

"Yes, I do."

"Enough to forgive her if this Lothario hasn't succeeded in bedding her?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply, "as long as she understands the implications, and is repentant."

"Okay, then here's my offer. One hundred-ten thousand, guaranteed for the first two years. Eligible for bonus after twelve months. Healthcare, and a 401k with matching up to five percent. That's a forty thousand dollar per year raise, is that correct?"

I almost collapse. "Um, er... yes, sir. That's correct."

"Do we have a deal then?" he presses. It's more like a demand. It hardly needs to be.

"I uh...I don't know what to...uh, this isn't a joke is it?"

"No joke, son. I'm helping my friend Bill and myself at the same time. Seems like I'm helping you too."

"Deal," I say firmly.

"There you go, Gary. Now, I want you to take four days and try to straighten out, or at least work on your home situation. Then I'm sending you to Denver for three weeks. I have an issue with the plant manager there, and I'd like to see how you approach sorting it out. Can you do that, Gary?"

I'm completely shell-shocked. In my stupid head, I'm trying to work through all the reasons I can't. In those brief milliseconds, it dawns on me that this may be just what Vera and I need, if I do manage to reconcile with her. Then our life together going forward won't have any money-related stress to speak of. The kids might not even have to take out college loans... well, okay, they won't have to take out many.

"I can do that," I say. "You said four days, correct?"

"Yes. Give me your email address so I can send you some new-hire paperwork to fill out."

After disconnecting, I lay on the bed, completely overwhelmed. Stevenson needed me gone, for whatever reason. It didn't really matter why. Wilkins is off the ladder and on the chute. Mission accomplished, in spades. Now, however, I really need to stop letting my anger guide me, and think through my plans with Vera and the asshole.

Tomorrow, the Buick will make its debut on campus, if all goes well. If things go as well as today, then my revenge on the asshole and the instructor will be complete. That only leaves my wife. I decide to put them aside and call my children. I also decide not to listen to that recording until after my call home, just in case there's something on it that'll cause me to go into a rage.

Vera talks to me for a few minutes after I finish with the kids. She keeps fishing with questions like, "how are you feeling today?" and "when can we talk about all of this?" I deflect, claiming I have too much on my plate with work to talk for at least a few more days. She isn't happy about that, but she doesn't push the issue either.

I settle in for a late dinner - a flat iron steak this time, with baked potato and a bottle of the 'beer of the month.' Then I sit back and play the recording from the first night I'd been gone. I'm certainly glad I called home first.

"Hi Reg," Vera began with a pause and then a sigh. "No, I don't know. He left before I got home; he took some of his things. He's very upset - more than I expected." There's another pause, followed by a giggle.

"Oh my God, Reg! Stop!" She didn't seem too upset by the sound of her voice. "Uh-huh. Trying to cheer me up, are you?"

"Of course I did! And you were right; it made me less nervous, and made our scene more realistic."

"No I didn't! Listen buster, it was just a bit of playing around. I'm glad the stage was pitch black."

Vera was flirting with the prick. I know that tone of voice well. She listened to Reg for a good twenty seconds. Then she seemed to try and regain some sense of decorum.

"Reg, that's not funny. Don't even joke like that. I'll always be appreciative of your help with the scene, and getting an A+, but my family comes first. That will never happen in real life. Got it? Right now, I've got to figure out a way to help my husband understand that I love him, and never meant to humiliate him." Reg must have cut her off.

"Yes, I understand that's what we actually did. But it wasn't real. It was for a grade in a night class."

Then she said, "Yeah, you're right of course. It was real to him. I should have thought about that more, before we did it." Reg was back to talking and she was completely silent.

"NO! Did you not hear me? He'll be back tomorrow or the next day and things will get back to normal. I probably shouldn't have done that. I was just expressing my gratitude for your helping me. Had Penny not canceled at the last minute, it would never have happened."

There was another pause, and I wished so badly that I could hear what the dickhead was saying. Whatever he said, Vera's demeanor changed yet again.

In a low, shaky voice, Vera said, "That's very...kind of you. But he'll return, and then I have to work on making things up to him. Besides, I highly doubt that Penny would appreciate you 'consoling' me."

Vera made excuses, not drawing things out as she sometimes did, and quickly ended the call. The change in her tone from the beginning of the recording to the ending was something. Maybe she was finally realizing what she'd gotten herself into with 'Casanova'. It sounded like she didn't know Reg was no longer married, which was a curious detail, and to me, on the plus side of her ledger. If Vera knew Reg was divorced, and she'd been trying to spin him as a 'safe' married classmate, I believe I would have to end our marriage.

The call told me a few other things, though - bad things. First, Vera had become way too familiar with this bastard. Second, she'd crossed some kind of line during the play itself, and also at Denny's, where she'd invited me to join them. That was at least two occasions, where she'd done more than play-acted for the sake of a vicious prank, but the way she flirted with him - while pretending to worry about me coming home! - told me those might not have been the only ones.

If nothing else, I'm now convinced I need to get that pen recorder from Jake and get the damned thing into her purse. That handbag of hers is a black hole, and she'll never find it there, if I can manage to plant it.

My rage and hurt returns for the rest of the evening. I check my list, then re-check it and drink three more beers. I put seven hundred back in the joint account - not because I'm feeling charitable, but rather, with a divorce suddenly looming more than earlier today, I don't want to look petty in court.

I sleep on and off most of the night.

I'm up early, by five thirty. When the diner down the street from my house opens, I'm one of their first customers of the day. I go through my notes for today and tomorrow, and then I open my email and e-sign the documents from Holt Manufacturing. I look at my watch and see it's already eight ten; I need to get moving.

I park down at the end of my street once again and wait for Vera to return from taking the kids to school. I know her routine well. The first thing she will do is take a shower.

After she pulls into our garage, I give it five minutes exactly on my watch, and then pull into the drive. If I mistime it, I've got an excuse prepared about needing some of my other clothes. I can come back tomorrow and try again.

Coming in the front door, I hear the water running. Then I hear footsteps above me, so I know where she is. My first problem is that I don't see her purse anywhere. Damn. I look all over the first-floor, and there's nothing. Oh well, I'll try again tomorrow. I won't risk going into our bedroom with her right there. On a whim, I carefully open the notoriously squeaky garage entrance off the kitchen and look into Vera's car. There's the purse. Bingo.

For all the success Ray and I had the day prior, today's efforts fall flat. I drive my car, following Ray in the Buick as we make our way over to the English and Literature building of the campus. Before we can even get set up, a campus security officer pulls up, asking questions. I tell him I was going to be late for class, but he doesn't buy it.

"You don't have a parking sticker." he says, examining the LED board on the car roof. He points to it. "What's this for?"

"I'm an Uber driver. It helps the customers find me." That was lame, and he doesn't buy it.

"Either park this off campus and walk back to class, or go to Student Services and pay for your pass," he says. At least he sounds like he doesn't really give shit, beyond us leaving. It could have been worse.

This is a bust. I thank the officer, and, after he gets in his patrol car, I tell Ray to take the Buick back to his shop and that I'll call later to regroup. I stayed up until after midnight recording today's message and I really want to use it.

Just before leaving in my own car, I check my text messages, and there's one from Jake.

"Gary, call me."

I hit audio and call. "Hey Jake, what's up?"

"I have some information for you. Anyone ever asks me, I'll deny it. Reg lives in the apartments called..." I hear him flipping pages "... Archipelago, off University Drive, on the other side of campus. You want to write that down, or make a note on your phone. He also frequents a dive bar called the Rusty Nail 3-4 night per week. That's across campus on College Circle. He drives a black 2005 Porsche 011 Carrera. The plate tag is NZY342."

And as God is my witness, the fucking car is pulling into the lot that I'm exiting. It's like slow motion, as I look at the driver, seeing the cock-sucker for the first time, and he sees me and stares back.

"Gary, can you hear me?" Jake asks. "You still there?"

"Yeah," I reply. "That son-of-a-bitch just passed me. What kind of luck is that?" We talk a few more minutes, and then I'm off to regroup with Ray.

I tell Ray about what just happened leaving the school. He looks at me, almost with pity, and says, "Buddy, can I talk and you listen for a bit?"

I nod, and he hands me a Pabst Blue Ribbon from the mini-fridge.

"This is just one man's opinion, understand? I've given this a lot of thought the past couple days, and the reason I've done that, is because you're my friend. People in your situation are caught up in it and rarely think clearly. I want to tell you what I think, and I hope you'll consider it.

"So far, you're ahead. That fucking Buick and some quick thinking just netted you an annual $40k. So what else do we have? We've got this fucker who has the hots for your wife. He can be dealt with in several ways, and the car can assist in that, but not how we approached things today."

"Hold on," I interrupt. "Before you go on, you should hear what Vera has to say. I recorded her talking to the prick that first night." I open up the browser and choose the file, then play it for Ray.

He listens, and his look tells me he's more distraught. Then he asks me to play it again. There's an uncomfortable silence as we both sit there thinking and drinking.

"Okay, Gary, here's a question," he says seriously. "Where is your line in the sand as far as going back to Vera? What are you willing to accept, and not accept?"

"Well, that is the million dollar question, isn't it?" I say while rubbing my temples. "If she's had sex with him, it's over. That's my absolute line. But there's other, I guess, lesser lines. If she's done something, you know, kiss, make out, whatever; if there have been hand jobs or blowjobs, that's probably a deal breaker for me too, depending on how she acts. If she's contrite, if she's regretful, and I can see she's being sincere, then we have a chance. It's not a fifty-fifty chance, but there is one. If she's unremorseful, then it's over. I won't live like that."

Ray stands and grabs two more beers. "So, if she proves her loyalty, and is repentant, you'd give her a chance, then?"

"Ray, what are you saying? Are you sticking up for her?" I'm starting to get angry again.

"Nah, man," he answers quickly. "I'm just trying to organize your head, is all. Look, after reading her letter, I have to say, I believed her. Now, you know I've known you both a long time. That said I'm friends with you, not her. Plus, you know her better. I can see it going down like she said. That recording, well, that sheds new light on things."

We're quiet some more. Then Ray continues. "I can take care of Reg. More accurately, I can help Sal take care of Reg. He has cause, and we're both tight with the cops. I mean, we take out the trash in this town, literally. I think you should go to Denver, get your head around your new job, and then decide what to do. I also think you have to be honest with your wife about the job, and your expectations of her now and going forward. Lay it out for her before you leave. Ask her if she's cheated, and don't hold anything back. If she really loves you, and she's really sorry, you owe it to her to shoot straight. She'll have to decide if she can meet your demands, and meanwhile, you've been given the gift of time and space. You've got the recording devices, so if she lies or is lying, you'll soon discover the truth."

I sit there in Ray's shop until almost four. He has some really good points, and I think I have to agree with most of them. Then it's time to pick up my daughter from soccer practice, and I decide to go home and spend time with all three. Vera will be there too, obviously, but whatever. In a few days, I'll be gone for three weeks. That's a big deal for the kids. It'll be a big deal for me, too, I think, if I ever calm down.

I play with the kids, and they tell me everything that's happened the last few days. Listening to them, it's like I've been gone a month. Shit, a month. I wait for an opening, then, as gently as possible, I tell them I have to go away on business for three weeks, but I'll call them every night. The look on Vera's face is beyond priceless. After dinner, when the kids go up to their rooms to do homework, Vera comes up next to me.

"Gary, we need to talk," she demands. "Right now."

I grab a beer from the fridge, counting them mentally as I do, and we go out on our back deck.

"Okay, Vera. I'm all ears."

"Gary," she begins. "Please, let's not start like that. I know you're still angry. Where are you going and why?"

"Vera, a lot's happened." I wanted to lie and say I was fired from my job, just to rub salt in the wound, but Ray's words from earlier came rushing back. I knew that if I was going to expect honesty from my wife, then I had to reciprocate. Then it hit me that the truth wasn't that far from what I wanted to say.

"I've lost my job."

Vera gasps, and a shocked look comes across her face. "How? Why?" she asks pleadingly.

"You know exactly why," I say with a shrug. "But unlike you, Ver, my boss had an ulterior motive for playing along with your stupid little plot. She's always been jealous, and afraid I'd take her job."

"But she said you were being promoted." She replies, as if I didn't know my own business.

"Wow, people say things that aren't true sometimes, Vera; imagine that," I deadpan. "When she sent me home that day, she made me feel like I'd done something horribly wrong. Then she told me to be in her office bright and early. Until I saw that fucking car in my spot, her behavior was all that was on my mind. I'm pretty sure that after hearing your plan, she laid it on thick and heavy so maybe I'd do something outrageous or illegal, and then I'd be out of her way."

"Oh my God, Gary, I'm so, so sorry!" she cries out. I just let her deal with the revelation.

"What...oh...what are we gonna do for money?" she says, everything now dawning on her. "Is that why you moved money and told me you were handling the bills? What were you doing? What have you done?"

"No, Vera. What I told you was the truth. As far as money to live, I've gotten a new job. That's why I'm going out of town for three weeks. If you must know, it's at a substantial increase, so money won't be an issue - unless, of course, I have to shell out alimony and child support."

"Gary, don't even think that. We just need to talk this through. Let's do it now. We need to fix this, Gareeeee..." she breaks down sobbing and crying. I just let her. I'm glad the kids are too far away to hear her.

After she calms herself, she goes on, "Gary please. I'm begging you, here, to let me in. Forget the apology and all that. Forget about the forgiveness I asked for. I fucked up, honey. I'm sorry. I need you here with me, especially if you're leaving for three weeks. Please baby, let's find a way back." She's hysterical again.

I go over to her and hug her, trying to calm her down. Then I go inside for another beer, a glass of water and tissues. When I come back, she's trying to pull it together. Handing her the water and Kleenex, I trudge forward.

"Ver, listen. There's so much to talk about. The job, for sure. You and I, where we stand, what we can salvage. I can't do all that in one night. I doubt you can either. I have to focus on my new job. I have to pack. I can't afford to be an emotional wreck, and you have to take care of the kids, so neither can you.

"Vera, look at me." I speak more urgently to get eye contact. "This time apart will be good for us. It will give us both the time to think about our future. Obviously, I'm far more upset about this whole thing than you ever expected. I read your letter, several times. I listened to the end of your play too. The problem I'm having - well, one of many problems - is that after listening to your skit, I don't think I can believe your letter."

Vera starts to defend herself, and I hold up my hand. "Maybe when I get back you can convince me, maybe not. Right now I've got only three days to complete my plans and see my kids, and I'm not going to split that time talking about our problems. You caused all of this, Vera."

Vera's lost in my words, and then she pipes up, "What are you talking about? What plans?"

"My boss fucked me over. You went to see her, and you provided the opportunity. I got her demoted and also got a better job in the process. One down, three to go." I leave that to hang in the air.

"Three to go?" she asks, more perplexed than accusatory.

"Yeah. That whacked-out, fucked up professor of yours, lover-boy, and... you."

In the silence, Vera just stares, her face twisted up and frozen. "Gary," she says softly - defeated, maybe. "Please don't. That's not you, honey. You've never been a vengeful man. All of this is on me. I started it, and then I forced your buy-in via the forgiveness. I never thought...expected this type of reaction. Don't go after other people, Gary. Please. Take it out on me. I don't want you doing something that gets you in trouble, something unlawful, that can't be undone."

"You should have thought about that before," I state frankly. "Everyone has to pay the piper, and the rent's coming due. I do have some things I want you to think about. You listen, and you think, then my first night in Denver, I'll call you for the answers - if you want to provide them, that is. If you answer truthfully, then I'll consider your plea to back off the others."

"Of course, Gary." She sounds sincere, at least. "Whatever you want. I'm feeling like I've damaged you irrevocably. Please honey, don't let this change you. You're scaring me."

"Sorry. I have changed. You can help me get back, Vera. It will only require honesty. So, here goes. I want to know truthfully how many time the two of you have fu...had sex. I want to know every single intimate act that's happened since you started seeing him..."

Vera interrupts. "I'll tell you now..."

I cut her off. "Careful, Vera. I've been a very busy bee. I know much more about all of this than you could ever imagine. Don't just jump in with both feet, before thinking about it. One lie and we're through. That's how close we are. Understand? The final thing I want to know is everything that you've ever told him about us, about me. Oh, yes, one more thing: who's the owner of that iPad?"

Vera stares at me. She's right; she does look like she suddenly doesn't even know me.

"Whose is it, Ver?" I ask again, snapping her back to the conversation.

"It's Reg's."

"Okay," I sigh for effect. "I'll bring it back tomorrow when I come over to see the kids. Make sure you get my gun back from him, and that it's here for me to examine tomorrow as well, or I'll call the police and report it stolen. Legally, it's already been out of my sight too long, so it's my responsibility to say something."

"It is here. I brought it home with me... that night."

I laugh at her. "Yeah, you brought it home the same night you were so worried about me using it. See, that's what I'm talking about, right there. I don't trust you; don't believe you, because at least one of those is a lie. I know you, Vera. There are things you're keeping from me, or at least to yourself. Tell me, why would you steal a man's gun and claim to hide it, if you're so worried about him using it in a rage? Or, why would you bring it back to that man, on the same night he was raging hardest about your little stunt?

"You know what, Vera? Don't answer that. Just go get me the gun so I can pack it for my trip. That's just a small example of how our impending talk is going to go. Now I have to go say good-bye to the kids. I'll be back tomorrow, and I'm spending the night on my sofa so I can see them off to school before heading to Denver."

Vera knows better than to engage in any further conversation tonight. That's the problem when people start down the dark path of lies. It's pretty hard to get off of it.

I drive to the Rusty Nail and park the Buick in a space between two light posts. It's not exactly stealth, but it'll do. Ray, for all he'd said earlier in the day, has the good sense not to try and stop me.

"Here," he said a half hour earlier tossing me the keys. "Be smart, and don't do anything that will take your kid's father away. When you bring it back, use the code, and watch out for my dogs." Ray's pit bulls knew me well, but they'd still go crazy when the gate opened late at night.

Having time on my hands, I take Reg's tablet out from under my seat and start trying to go through it. That damned audio file had been set to play over the start-up program, I guess so it didn't stop when the device put itself to sleep. I've had no luck with the six-digit code, and I'd already tried a lot during my down time at the hotel.

I look up as the headlights shine over the heap and the windshield. There he is: smug bastard in the Porsche. He gets out, looks around and goes inside. I have to wait ten or more minutes until there's no one around. The Buick purrs to life. This car is starting to grow on me.

The best gift Reg could have given me, he'd never know about. Instead of parking along the last two rows where I was, he just couldn't be bothered with all that walking. He squeezed into a spot closer to the entrance, along a cinder block wall separating the bar and the pizza joint next door. I carefully and slowly line up my hood emblem with his driver's side door. Oops.

Tap.

Back up.

Tappy-tap.

Back up.

Cozy on up into the indent I'd just created. Give it a little gas. It's like pushing a shovel through beach sand. Oops. A little too much noise as the opposite side of the Porsche makes contact with the cement wall. First gear for a little extra torque.

Push. Oops. The driver's door buckles. That also made a bit of a noise. Man, I thought these Euro cars were supposed to be well-built. Oh well, time to leave.

At my hotel, I check the website that houses the recording from the pen in Vera's purse. There's surprisingly very little. Vera usually sings, loudly, when she's driving alone. Not today. No calls except from her mother, and one of the kids' sports teams, looking for a donation. I'll bet there would have been plenty to listen to tomorrow night, but sadly I'll be on my own couch, discouraging Vera from spilling her guts to anyone.

In the morning, I take one last look around, and check out of the hotel before breakfast. Watching Vera leave to take the kids to school, I once more grab the bedroom recorder and download its contents. This one, too, has to wait. Eating breakfast, my mind falls into a conundrum. I wonder how she'll get that tablet back to Reg. I wonder if my marriage can survive this. I wonder about child custody. Everything hinges on Vera now. It actually makes me feel helpless. I'll have the final decision of course, but two days ago, I felt a lot more in control.

Spending almost every spare minute with my children tonight is like medicine. I'd never been away from home and them for more than a two-day fishing trip. I fleetingly wonder if Vera cheated on me then. Loss of trust really screws with your head.

After the kids go to bed, and I'm double-checking the house for anything I forgot, Vera asks me some questions, but not about us or the future. I reach into my bag and hand her the tablet.

"How much did you put in our checking?" she asks. She's worried about money. That's fair enough. I resist the urge to think the natural thought: money grubbing whore. It isn't easy.

"There's over six grand in there for now. Mostly for an emergency. No emergency means you have a budget of five hundred per week."

Vera starts to roll her eyes, and then thinks better of it. Her demeanor changes and she looks at me.

"Did you have anything to do with Reg's accident last night, Gary?" Her stoic tone isn't enough to convince me that she's not terribly worried.

"Oh? He had an accident?" I reply sarcastically. "Hope he's okay."

"You didn't answer my question," she comes right back.

"No, Vera, I didn't. I won't tell you that I'm upset about it, though. When he recovers," I say, trying to pretend I don't know the details, "you should tell him to make sure our paths never cross. Tell him I said he should find a new college, in a new town, and bother the married women there. Actually, it would be better for his health if he learned how to date single ones."

Vera looks very sad and leaves the room. I don't think she believes me.

I'll miss my kids the most, of course, but sitting on the plane with just my thoughts for company, I realize I'll miss my wife too. I wonder how long that will take to go away if we split up. So much heartache over a stupid class project. Then I start to think, and remember, that it's not just a class project, turned deception, turned humiliation. I hope Vera gets her head out of her ass. I'll be too busy for at least the first two weeks of my trip to worry about mine.

That evening, in my fairly luxurious extended-stay room, I pull up the audio files from the bedroom recorder. I should hit pay dirt here, since it's really the only place she can talk while kids are in the house, sleeping or not. Sure enough, there's an interesting conversation.

"Hey, Reg." Vera sounds wiped out. She probably had a bad day.

"No, he left for his new job today."

"Three weeks. I have your tablet. We can hook up tomorrow." There's a long pause while he talks.

"No, we're not going out to dinner. I told you I have a real crisis here. I'm seriously worried he's going to leave me over this. I keep telling myself that it's his problem, his over-reacting, but the truth is, it was me who never really thought about what this stunt would do to his... psyche."

Again, I wish I could hear what Reg is saying.

"No he didn't say anything. Its...it's in his eyes. They look dead to me."

"How is that going to help me?" she asks sarcastically. Then she seems to steer the conversation in a different direction. "Did you find out anything about your car? No, I don't think he had anything to do with it."

There's more silence. "What?" Vera asks more vehemently. "That's impossible. Do you think it was that Sal? I mean, he has been harassing you for the car back or the money." Now it's Vera who's lost in thought.

"What did Sal say? Jesus, this is a mess. I should have never done this. The grade wasn't worth it."

After a very short pause, Vera's tone of voice changes sharply. "NO! What the fuck, Reg? My life is turning to shit - and yours too, it seems, and you're still talking about fucking fondling on stage?

"Are you crazy? I don't even remember anything about you down there. I was trying to remember my lines. Plus, it was through your pants and I only put my hand on it for a minute. And it was pitch black."

"What? Do you think I came home, found my husband gone, fed and took care of my three kids, and then went straight to bed to masturbate thinking about your paw on my breast? Get real."

He clearly had the standard comeback.

"Well, I'm not most women." Vera was getting more and more irritated by his machismo. He was failing miserably.

"I've got to go, Reg. Call me tomorrow and I'll figure out how to get you your pad."

It sounded like a lover's quarrel to me. Still, Vera sounded very frustrated with Reginald. Again, that was something. I'm too tired to think about it much. It's time to eat, call my kids and then get some sleep. I need to be fresh for my first day.

The first few days are very busy. I almost forget about Vera, which, even in the best of times, is damned hard to do. That first night, Vera wanted to talk, but I begged off, saying that I was tired from the flight. I told her to text me the answers to the three questions I asked, and that, when I was better prepared, we'd talk about it.

Her text came the following morning and was pretty simple - maybe too simple. I just don't know anymore.

With all the training, and the issues at the plant I was being targeted to fix, I don't read her text later.

Well, finally, some honesty. Complete honesty? Again, I just don't know.

The next two nights she's ominously quiet. She doesn't even get on the line after I speak to my kids. I wonder what, if anything, happened when she took Reginald his tablet.

On my fourth day in Denver, I'm been invited to Happy Hour with some members of the team I've been assigned to. A few of the women even flirt, which helps stroke my ego, but also makes me a little uncomfortable. Two of the women seem single, or at least I saw no rings. The other is married, and that bothers me, a lot. I'm sure she saw my wedding band at some point. I guess with one of her own showing, it shouldn't surprise me that she didn't care.

Once back in my room, I go online to check the pen recorder.

"Get in," Reg ordered her. As the motor revved into motion, I heard him start. "You need to get this under control, Veers."

Was this a little nickname, a term of endearment? My rage returns immediately.

"I'm trying," my wife responded. "He's being...intractable. He thinks we're fucking. I'm not so sure I blame him. But he won't even speak to me. He's on a mission. He started his new job and just up and left us. Told me to get my story straight so we can talk when he gets back."

"Yeah, well." Reg's voice got louder and more commanding. "You better figure something out. He's causing a lot of fucking problems. The next time he fucks with me will be the last time. Tell him I said that."

There was a pause. "Sure. Like that's going to help anything. He wants a piece of your ass, a pound of flesh from everyone involved. You have figured that out, right?" Vera was matching his intensity.

"What the fuck is it with men? Is everything a god-dammed competition for you? We deserve to get beat up a little, if it makes him come home."

"NO!" Reg said loudly. "He's pushed too far. He almost totaled my car for Christ's sake. I know it was him. It's gonna cost nearly four grand. That's not 'beat up a little,' as you put it."

"But that's what I mean," Vera continued. "He went way off the rails. I was just trying to get a good grade. I got so into this project, and I thought...I thought he'd be proud of me...you know, afterwards. I knew what I was doing would hurt him. But not like this. This is silly; childish, even. So he gets a little back for himself and now you're threatening to what? Kill him if he fucks with you again? You're acting just like him."

Vera's voice cracked at that last part and I could hear her sobbing.

"Veers, listen." His tone was now more consoling. "He's not coming back. I'm sorry, but you know I'm right. He's just one of those guys. More worried about his pride than his love for a wife and kids. Don't cry. I told you, didn't I? All this traditional bullshit. What Penny and I once had was so much better. So much more...mature."

"I don't want what you and Penny had!" Vera cried out. "You're divorced, you moron, and they live thousands of miles away! If I'd known that, you fucking liar, I would never have gone for this idea of yours for my play.

"I want my husband back. Not to mention, I've got three kids at home that are terrified their dad's never coming home." The way she was berating him, I actually start getting worried for her safety. Men like Reginald don't take that tone well.

I started to feel for my wife, too - sort of. She seemed completely oblivious to what she'd done or how I'd react. Most of that was her fault. Like being young of mind, or immature is still the person's fault. Like acting like a dick is still the person's fault. She'd underestimated how I'd feel. On the recording, I hear the engine die down. Maybe he parked.

"Come here," he said soothingly, as if calling her into an embrace. "There, there. Maybe he'll come around. He doesn't have any proof we've done anything."

My ears perked up.

"It doesn't matter," she blubbered. "He thinks it's so, therefore it is."

There's silence for a minute or more. "Come on Veers, I know just what you need right now," the bastard started. Vera didn't answer. "Let's go to my place. He already thinks we did, like you said, so isn't it time to come full circle? You know I won't disappoint, and I can't stop thinking about you. I know you feel the same; I can see it in your eyes."

"You're kidding, right?" Vera sounded incredulous. "The only person that benefits from that is you."

"Not at all," he said confidently. "You'll feel better. How long's it been, anyway? He's been gone, what? Ten days, or is it more? Don't tell me you didn't like it last time. I saw it."

Motherfucker. There it was. I was actually starting to feel proud of my wife.

"No, God damn it!" Vera exploded. "We're not ever going to do that again. I shouldn't have let it get that far. I'm not in some open marriage, and I'm no cheater, either."

"Well..." The prick seemed to be weighing his options. "Like you said, he thinks you are."

I could almost see his face through the recorder. I knew now that she went to his house with him, and that something happened, although it wasn't clear what, exactly.

I've seen this special kind of sleaze in action before. He was about to go for broke.

"Hey, let's go to your house. I'll give you unforgettable sex, and we can get even for what he's done to us. We'll do it in your bed. Your kids are in school. Shit, if you don't care about payback, at least I'll feel better about what the repairs on my car cost me. He at least deserves to be made a proper cuckold."

"Fuck," my soon-to-be former wife said in a low, sad voice. "I should have seen this shit coming. It's like I'm a freshman at college all over again. Fucking immature, macho bullshit, and I'm right in the middle of it. And I put myself there, willingly. What a fucking idiot."

I hear her sigh heavily. "I need to get out of here. You and Gary, both, make me want to throw up with your tape measures and swords. I sure screwed the pooch on my marriage, and I only have myself to blame, but my biggest mistake was ever listening to you."

"Cool, baby." Dickhead had transitioned into protection mode. "I ain't got time for this sob story. I need to start working on next semester's conquest. Call me when you need my huge cock. Maybe I'll help you out, if I can fit you in, so don't lose my number. Tell the wimp to stay away. Final warning, or you'll be a widow."

"FUCK YOU, ASSHOLE!" Vera screamed at the top of her lungs as the door slammed hard.

I sit back, nursing my beer. Now, like most days since this shit went down, there are more questions than answers. What I do know now, is Vera let this fucker in - into her mind, maybe even into her heart and her pussy. Something sexual happened at Reg's house, but what, exactly? Does it matter now? I really need this to come to a resolution. Both of them were - are maybe - acting like children. I have too, I suppose. What a disaster.

Twenty minutes later I hear my text alert. It's from Vera.

Honey, I'm sorry about all this. Starting to realize how badly my actions have affected us. Pls can we talk on phone tonight? I'll get the kids settled after you call them, and then can U+I talk, maybe?

For the first time, I feel the urge to communicate. All my plans are laid out, so no worries about tipping my hand. I might as well get this over with, so I text back.

Don't call me that. We can talk. Nine-thirty.

She replied with a simple, Thanks

I go across the street, to some popular restaurant chain. Tonight, for some reason, a salad sounds good. I'm surprised, but maybe my mind is telling my body something. If Vera and I end up splitting, I won't be much of a contestant in the game of love with these extra fifteen pounds around my waist.

Their chicken pesto salad is quite tasty. I start making a chronological list of all the bullshit my wife has been trying to sell me since this started. She was clearly out of touch with reality, and it's going to be hard to make her understand. She never picked up on the fact that dear 'ole Reg was playing her to get in her pants. She couldn't comprehend my reaction, or Reg's this afternoon.

What kind of a fucking name is Reginald, anyway? That's some real chicken-and-egg shit with the douche factor. His parents deserved a note asking if they had any kids that lived. The nickname only increased the 'creepiness.'

As I write my lists, I think a little about the 'for better or worse' clause in my marriage vows. Where does that fit in here? If Vera hadn't learned much about men by this stage of life, was it my husbandly duty to teach her? I don't think it is. She'd had plenty of experience with men at college before we met, albeit mostly sexual, and in a drunken or drug-induced haze. Shit, maybe I should have evaluated that before popping the question. She's still clinging to the idea that men are all childish and prideful - awfully convenient for her at this very moment, - and that means I probably would never get to tell her, or show her, differently. I'm a man, after all. If she couldn't learn that - or specifically - what her antics had done to me emotionally, then it would be another dagger in our marriage.

Vera had lied almost from the beginning - even before the beginning, if you include lying by omission. She knew this play would involve me from day one. All the other lies were just icing on the cake.

The trust is gone. That will be nearly impossible to overcome, especially considering how callous she's been. She completely disregarded my heart and my love for her. She took it, and me, for granted, and she was so painfully ignorant and naive that she had no idea how much she'd hurt me.

The worst now, for me, is the lie about not being intimate with Reg. She'd at least been in an emotional affair with him for three months now, and she lied about them having sexual contact twice until admitting to something in her text the other night. The most recent recording strongly suggested she was still lying. It had been once on stage, but also doing 'that' at his house, whatever 'that' was.

With the information in my possession, I now realize that if Reg had played his cards better, he would've ended up in bed with Vera already. Maybe it hasn't happened yet, but if she stays in contact with him, it probably will at some point. Do I even want to deal with that?

I decide that it's time to put my cards on the table. Then we can sort through the ashes when I get back.

"Hello Vera," I say coldly. Vera's come to know that voice, and says nothing for a moment.

"Is something wrong, Gary?" she asks shyly. "Should we talk later?"

"No, Ver, let's get this over with," I reply sadly.

"I don't want to get something over with, I want to fix it," She pleads. "What can I do?"

"Tell me the truth, for once, god damn it." My voice is raised now. "You either want him or me. You're still with him, and I'm gone. So the real question is: what do you want?"

"Gary, I don't know why you're saying that. I've NEVER been with him. Never." She starts crying. I'm not falling for it.

"LIAR!" I spit through my phone. "Where were you when you returned his fucking tablet, huh? Fucking liar. I told you before I left what would happen if you lied."

Vera is sobbing now, and her words are incoherent. It takes her some time to straighten herself out, and all I want to do is hang up. It's was clear that she finally believes me about knowing more than she thought I did.

"Okay, I went to his house...apartment. But nothing happened, I swear. How... did you know that?"

"I didn't," I reply. "You just told me!"

I need to be careful here. My thin line was the recorders and the PI. Trust but verify, and in this instance, the 'verify' is winning out. The other side of that thin line was me lying to her, while accusing her of lying to me. I feel I need my lie, to get to the bottom of hers. If we ever tried to put our lives back together, or I find out for sure she hasn't been intimate with Reg, this could be a poison - well, you know, more poison.

"Stop the bullshit, Vera. You let this slick prick into your heart, right from the beginning. There's no way the woman I married would have played me so cruelly, period. Leaving a car in the driveway, just to humiliate me further in front of our neighbors? Hiding my gun, probably giving it to HIM, to hold onto? Removing our valuables?

"Oh, here's a sledgehammer, honey - knock yourself out." I put on a scathing impression of her voice. "Get it all out of your system. When you're done I'll give you a pity fuck, and then, after you're asleep, I can masturbate while remembering my once-in-a-lifetime experience on a dark stage, fucking fondling each other in front of the unsuspecting class!

"Maybe you can dream about screwing Reg in our bed after loading the gullible husband up on sleeping pills. Jesus, Vera, the prick's been working on you since day one, and I don't see you showing even the smallest amount of resistance. Getting in his car, going to his home, talking to him from our bedroom. He's gonna make you a widow, is he? If I keep fucking with him? Tell your fucking boyfriend I haven't even started with him yet. When I'm finished, he'll be on his knees begging. When I run him out of town, you can go with him."

I take a breath to continue, and realize I can't hear my wife's wailing moans. "Vera? Vera?"

Shit. She hung up on me. Well, fuck her. Damn, that went off the rails fast. I went off the rails. It hits me that I've been holding it in for over a week now. This is really the first time we've had it out.

Twenty minutes later, my phone dings. It's a text from Vera.

I found them both. Nice touch on the pen, BTW, it even writes.

So? Whose fault is it that I have zero trust left? I type back.

Yeah IK, I was going to call you back and rip into you, like you just did me. Thankfully, I came to that conclusion before hitting speed dial. She returns with.

How many times, Ver?

It takes a minute, or at least longer than normal for her to answer. Then my phone rings.

"Never Gary. I promise!" she screams. "I need you to hear that in my voice. I wish it was in person".

My lack of response brings out the hopelessness in my wife.

"But then again, why ask? It doesn't seem that you are going to believe me now anyway."

"It's...important. But it's gonna happen, even if it hasn't already. You're in an emotional relationship already. You two were fighting in his car like an old married couple. And you flirted with him, the very first night I left, fondly reminiscing over the fondling."

"OMG. Now I know why you stayed away."

"That's why I told you to be prepared to tell the truth about everything.

Another question Ver? When did you find out he was lying about his marriage?"

"The day I took his tablet to his house." She admits. "Like a fool, I sat there and listened to him tell me all about his former wife, and their marriage. Then we commiserated, I guess. God, I sound so stupid to myself, trying to explain it."

"And then you had sex with him, as part of the commiserating?"

"NO!" she starts right away. "I yelled at him at first. He tried to claim embarrassment about a failed marriage. Said he'd really loved Penny; that she dumped him for a rich guy. Then he admitted he had developed feelings for me. You're right. I did get sucked in...slowly. I didn't see it until that day. He had me thinking about his feelings and mine, and...he made his move. We kissed and made out for a couple minutes. At first, I resisted, but didn't stop him. Then he tried to go up my skirt, and it jarred me out of my stupor. I ran out. Don't say it, I already know."

"See?" I said. "Last question Ver. In your ridiculous letter, you said, "If you are up to it, you could join Penny, Reg and me at the Denny's near our house, but I have a feeling you won't." What do you think would have happened to our marriage had I gone there? No Penny there at the table, and a skilled seducer, giving me that piss-ant smirk, that says, "Hey fucknut, I'm banging the shit out of your wife." I'll bet he made sure to sit on the same side of the booth with you, just in case. Better yet, don't answer that right now. The conversation in his car tells me, when you put your husband in the same 'childish' basket as him, that you don't know shit about men - him or me. If we don't stay together, Ver, you had better figure it out before you go looking for the next serious guy."

It takes three or more minutes for her to respond. I need a shower and to get some sleep for tomorrow. Putting my phone on speaker, I brush my teeth and get my clothes ready.

"You're right," she says, "about everything. I freely admit, now, that I don't understand men. Maybe, I just didn't try, or think. I did understand that I would hurt you. That's why I played the forgiveness card. Still, I never imagined what it could do to you emotionally. I should have been able to see those things, right from the start. That doesn't bode well for me as a person, let alone a loving wife and mother. It did seem childish, at first - what you were doing for revenge, I mean - because women don't think or react that way.

"At the same time, I saw Reg as just a nice guy trying to help a fellow student out with her assignment. That was clearly way off base, and I'm ashamed because I've had to fend off my share of slick-talkers. Everything's my fault entirely, but that doesn't change the fact that I truly and deeply love you." She sounds confident. I don't know what to make of it.

"How are you gonna prove it? We talked through a lot of things before that night, you know. We've always been honest before, and we said we always will be in the future. I'll be brutally honest if you won't. I don't know if I want to stay married. Right now, today, if I did, it would be for the kids. That doesn't change my love for you. If I didn't love you, this would be a lot easier."

She comes right back. "So where do we go from here? If I can think of a way to 'prove it,' will you let me?"

"Sure. Why not?" I reply. "You can start with this. Stay away from the asshole. You have nothing that ties you to him, including the car. It's at Ray's shop. You're off the hook on that, so now you know. I'm pretty sure Sal is going to go after Reg to collect, which is just another reason for you to stay away. But my trust in you is so low that I wouldn't be surprised if you tried to warned your play-mate about what I just said as soon as we hang up"

"Done," she says, ignoring my last dig. "I never want to see him again as long as I live."

"Reg belongs to Sal now." I state flatly. "Sal can basically get away with murder in our town. That's how connected he is. I guess when it comes to the asshole, I get whatever's left. We have to talk later. I have to go to bed. Big day tomorrow."

She ends the conversation with, "Good luck. I know you'll do great! I love you and I'm proud of you."

I don't reply. As I lay in bed, I consider the irony and laugh. If it wasn't for that car, Reg wouldn't have ever met the most dangerous person in our city.

For the remainder of my first two weeks in Denver, my mind is forced to focus on work. Three of the four efficiencies that we have to address are fixed quickly, with great input from the managers already in place. They and their subordinates are flush with pride. Most of them work great together. They wonder why it hasn't happened before. I spend Happy Hour with the crew on Wednesday and Friday.

Ray calls me on Friday night of the second week.

"Hi, Gary, how's the job?" I tell him a little of what's been happening, and then he changes the subject.

"That issue...it's been resolved."

"You can speak freely, Ray," I tease. "My phone isn't bugged."

"I went with Sal to his house. He thought we were solicitors when he pulled the door open. He was confrontational until he recognized Sal. Then Sal just pushed his way in, asking where his money and car were.

"The idiot tried to act tough, telling us to get out. Sal pressed him on the money. Dipshit said he'd file a police report for extortion and get a lawyer. Sal told him he'd need a lawyer because if he didn't pay Sal right there, he'd file a report for auto theft.

"Reg looked from Sal to me, and told us to go ask you, and then he said something like - '"and that slut of his,"' before I punched him hard in the gut. When he doubled over, Sal pushed him from the side, knocking him down, and then gave Reg a few good kicks to the kidneys and at least two to the plums. That fucker rolled up in the fetal position and vomited all over himself.

"Sal pointed out how easy it was to do damage without ever leaving a mark. Then he proceeded to tell Reg all the things that would happen, in graphic detail, if he didn't leave town in five days. By the time you get back, I'm pretty confident Reg will be in his new town."

"That's great news, Ray," I reply sincerely. "I owe you, and I suppose Sal too."

There's a pause. "Gary?" he sounds pensive. "I've spoken to Vera. I'm sorry, but I had to hear her side. Honestly, I think it's about as bad as you've said, but... she is sorry. She regrets her actions very much, and she wants you to forgive her."

"So, you're gonna stab me in the back now?" I yell. "Did she happen to mention the 'things' that either of us could do that would be unforgivable?"

"On the contrary. I've still got your back. I just think you two have a shot. You told her to 'prove it' and I may even help her a little, but we'll see. All I'm saying is I think she's sincere - sincere and remorseful. Gary, I've been around the block a few more times than you. Trust me on this: give it a chance. More importantly, I tend to give more credence to people who learn from their mistakes. I really think she has. Tell you what: if she ever does anything even remotely like this again, you can cut off my ear."

"What the fuck am I gonna do with an ear, stupid?"

"Stupid is as stupid does, sir." We always used Forrest Gump references when we were out together at the bar or fishing. At least he makes me laugh.

"Alright, Ray. I'll consider it. If you're wrong, we can't be friends."

"That upsets me, Gary. Vera told me about the chat you two had regarding forgiveness. I guess I'm not that good of a friend." He's just giving me shit. He knows I'll forgive him. He doesn't lie to me. He doesn't cheat me. There are worse things than wanting to see a friend's marriage pull through a rough patch. There are worse things than having a little faith.

The job in Denver gets done; everything is up and running, right on schedule. Mr. Sanders, my new supervisor, even calls me personally - with all good news, no fake-outs and no bullshit. That's a nice change.

"Gary," he says, "I called to let you know how happy the company is with your work, and I wanted you to know that I'm proud of you too. Very proud. With all the hardships you've had to deal with coming into the fold here, well, let's just say some people were betting against you. To me, though, you seemed very determined, and I fought for them to send you. You didn't let me down, and, more importantly, you didn't let yourself down. Enjoy some time with your children, and I look forward to seeing you rested and ready to begin a new adventure."

New adventure, huh? That might be my life in the short-term. Everything said and done, it came down to my feelings about Vera; her level of remorse and repentance. That would help me work through my feelings and decide if I could stay with her. I feel drained and melancholy, but not quite indifferent, yet. So I decide to hope for the best, and take this time to plan for the worst. While the kids are in school this week, I'll be checking out a new place to live, just in case. My life will be in transition for some time to come. The thought of that makes me sad.

The flight home is uneventful. I spend almost the entire flight thinking about what's happened since Vera did this to me. She and her cohorts declared war. I fought back and now it was time to sort things at the treaty table. I'm also going into the treaty part short-handed. The kids would be worried, depressed about a divorce, and they would need assurances from both Vera and I. Our extended families, too, would be upset with my decision. Hell, even my new boss and my partner in crime want me to give my wife another chance. That makes me uneasy, unsure even. I can't see a way to live in a marriage where trust and respect don't exist.

For most of the flight, I feel numb. I know I won't be in a good position going into this negotiation with Vera to decide the fate of our marriage.

Vera stabbed me in the heart. To hear her tell it, she didn't even know that that's what she'd done until well after the fact. Then she cheated - fuck the hairsplitters - and then she lied. Hell, she lied even after I practically told her that she was under surveillance. I can't imagine how to forgive that.

How is she going to prove to me she's changed? If I really thought she'd known in advance how much hurt she'd be causing me, I don't think there'd be a need for further conversation. If I believe otherwise, though, that means that my wife was painfully naive. She was fucking stupid. How do you fix that?

Still, I can't turn off my love for her with the snap of a finger. She's still Vera, just not the person I thought I knew. It's still not clear to me what I want. I suppose I want a miracle. I want Vera to "prove it," like she said she would, even though I have no idea how she possibly could.

When we spoke on the phone last night, Vera suggested I come over to see the kids. She made it clear that that's why I'd be at the house. She said she'd take care of everything - including dinner, of course - and let me just spend as much time with them as possible. She said the kids had started chomping at the bit as soon as she'd told them when I'd be back. It was nice gesture. I accepted. Even if our marriage ends, maybe we'll do better as co-parents.

Pulling down my street, I almost chicken out. Thank God for the kids, who will keep me sane and grounded, and especially keep me from talking to Vera. As I approach the driveway, I actually do a once-over of the house and the address numbers to make sure I'm in the right place.

There it is: a strange car in my driveway.

I'm about to just drive past when I see the kids running out the front door, followed by my mom and dad. Dad signals me to park at the curb, effectively blocking my own former driveway. The kids are on me before I can even put my car in park. After some wild hugging and excited banter, none of which I can understand since they all talk at once, I start up the walk.

Mom hugs me tightly. "It's good to have you home Gary," she whispers in my ear as she holds me. Then Dad joins in, and after another minute, they ease up just enough so that we can start walking together. Instead of heading to the front door, though, they steer us to the side gate leading to the backyard. I'm so excited to see everyone that I momentarily forget about the car taking my former space. Momentarily.

"What's with this car?" I ask no one in particular. Passing it, I realize it's familiar to me, but dusk has given way to night, so I can't place it.

"Why are we going this...?" I don't finish my question. I hear voices from the other side of the gate. As we emerge into the backyard I see at least twenty-five people seated or standing around. I recognize our neighbors, Vera's family, and mine. Larry and Kara are here, and even Ray and Sal.

There's a large, hand-made sign hanging from the strung lights illuminating the deck. "WELCOME HOME GARY," it says.

I notice right away it says 'home' and not 'back.' People start noticing us and everyone starts clapping. Why? This is weird. Mom and Dad lead me to a chair, seemingly put there as some kind of throne in front of the railing overlooking the back yard.

Dad leans in and says, "Gary, I know this is a shock, but there's something you need to see. In the end it may not make a difference, but I'm hoping - we're all hoping - it will."

In the dark, I didn't notice the very large TV set up on a rather tall stand directly in front of me on the grass. As it comes to life, I see my wife's face on the screen, in a parking lot, with the strange car beside her. The camera, pans twenty feet to the left, and then back again, showing about fifty or so people that I suppose are Vera's fellow students. Larry and Kara, and both our families, are there too, along with Raymond and Sal. This is really weird.

Vera starts talking; on the LED board, Strausberg and Reginald's names start scrolling by, interspersed with unkind words and phrases - many of them with hashtags, to boot.

"My name is Vera," she announces to the camera, which is finally fixed and focused upon her. The pavement and car are shiny with recent rain. "Recently, I took a playwright class here at the university." Now I recognize the parking area, out in front of the school's English and Literature building.

Vera Continues. "Our final exam involved writing and performing a one-act play that was either drawn from our real lives, or would be believable to the class and instructor as such. The partner assigned to me was a man named Reginald Smith. He'd taken this course at least four times previously. Professor Strausberg, our instructor, knew that. She's allowed it to happen."

I hear booing from the small crowd, as my wife announces this on video. Vera's expression leaves no doubt how everyone should feel about those two.

"Reginald worked on me from our first meeting," she says, "convincing me that my play should involve an interlude of infidelity between the two of us that we would perform for the class. He knew I was married, and he told me that he was married too. The full scene would include the two of us - or the versions of us in the play, at least - calling it off before the deed was done, but Reginald also convinced me to use part of the scene to play a prank on my husband, tricking him into thinking that the two of us were having a real affair in real life.

"Sadly, and to my shame, I went along willingly." Vera could no longer stand there stoically. Her shoulders hunched and she looked down at the pavement beneath her.

"Reginald may have been the instigator, but I have to take responsibility for agreeing, and for everything I did afterwards. I set my husband up. I made sure he came home early and found a strange car in the driveway. With Reg's help, I turned our bedroom into a makeshift sound studio. We did all of that, to make him believe that the skit we acted out in class was really happening live. Before that, I'd deliberately changed my behavior when I was around him, giving him every reason to be suspicious of me.

"Worse," she says somberly, tears running and falling from her cheeks, "I can't tell you that it was all pretend. I did kiss Reginald twice. During our performance, hands wandered. As in the scene, we never 'did the deed,' but I was unfaithful. I broke my vows. I wasn't threatened. I wasn't forced. I was stupid and selfish. The idea of sex from guilt began to consume me as I worked on my project. Reg saw that each time we got together to work on the project and the prank.

"Looking back, I can hardly believe how badly I'd deluded myself. Deep down, I knew this was more than just a prank. The evening before the big day, I tricked my husband into promising to forgive me for 'something' unconditionally. Before he came home to the car and the bedroom, I made sure his gun was somewhere else. I hid our valuables for safekeeping. That's what you do when you're worried your husband might kill someone or burn the house down. That's not what you do to prepare for a 'prank.'

"And after all that, I left my husband a letter on our martial bed. 'Nothing happened'; that's what it said. It sounds so ridiculous now. How could I have ever believed that that's all it would take to make everything right again?

"If my devastated husband decides to divorce me, it'll be my fault, one hundred percent. If we find a way forward, it will take a long time for me to earn his forgiveness, and I'll need to spend the greater portion of our lives together making up for what I've done. This is my one-act, real-life assignment to start making amends.

"This car," she continues, sweeping her hand over to that strange vehicle, "is the vehicle Reg borrowed, at my suggestion, to leave in our driveway as a prop." The camera pans slightly and refocuses onto it. It doesn't linger, but it's long enough to see some more of those nasty hashtags.

Vera and the camera return to their prior positions. She gives her remorseful expression a few moments to marinate, and then she shifts gears. She's a little more upbeat; maybe that's not the right word. She's determined. She has a purpose.

"My husband and some of his friends have been using this car as a prop of their own, to right some of our wrongs - Reginald's and mine. He wanted to get it on campus, and play a recording, warning other students - especially married ones - about Reginald and Professor Strausberg. Since he has been unsuccessful up until now, I've enlisted some help from my fellow students, and I am here to issue that warning myself: Reginald Smith didn't threaten me or assault me, but he is a predator. He is a bottom-feeder. He uses Professor Strausberg's class to actively seek out married women, lie to them, and try to get them to cheat on their husbands with him. Professor Strausberg absolutely knows that he's taken her class five times, now. While I have no proof, I definitely think she knows why he keeps coming back too."

Her mission accomplished, Vera's energy wanes again. She gets smaller and casts her eyes downward. It's back to remorse and contrition for the finale.

"Never would I have believed that I could be so ignorant, so selfish, or so cruel," she says. I can see her shaking her head slightly as she does. She looks up at the camera one more time. She takes a deep breath, in and out.

"Obviously I could, because I was. I have a lot of work to do on myself. I need to figure out how to be a better person. I hope I don't have to lose my husband for that to happen, but, well, it turns out I'm not a very good judge of character - especially not of my own.

"Honey, I love you, and I'm sorry," she says. I can practically feel her, recording though it is, making eye contact with me. Hers are wet. Specks of light don't merely reflect, but quiver. "Whether we stay together or not, please don't let my cruelty harden your heart towards anyone else. Find someone better. Love them like you loved me. Live well, and be happy."

The screen on the TV goes dark. There's only silence, combined with a few audible sniffles. All eyes are on me now, and I'm very uncomfortable. I've been blindsided almost as badly as when I came home early to be greeted by that fucking car. Internally, though, my feelings are different.

Then most of the attention seems to shift somewhere to my right, and I turn to see Vera standing next to me. Her eyes are pleading with me in a more honest manner than I've ever seen. I don't want all these people to see me break down. Not here. I turn and walk with purpose into my house, and into the bathroom, locking the door, so I can collect myself.

It takes several minutes to regain control. I splash handfuls of cold water on my eyes and cheeks to control my flush and tears. I know I'll have to face them all again. Why am I acting like a baby? Is it relief? I don't think I'll figure that out tonight. So, with a deep, heavy breath, I walk out and I'm face-to-face with Vera.

She reaches out, not waiting for me to accept her, and hugs me tightly.

"I'm sorry, baby. So sorry, you'll never know. I'm sorry about all this too." She waves her hand towards the back yard.

"Go try to enjoy the party. Those people are all here because they love and support you. I could take lessons. I won't interfere, and I'll stay in the background. The kids have really missed you. You can have them any time you want this week, and I want to remind you that this is your home. I don't have any right to ask, but I'd like for us to talk over the next few days, when you're up to it, so we can decide what life will look like for us moving forward. If you decide to go through with divorce, I won't try to stop you. If that's your plan, I'm hoping I can convince you to put it on hold for a bit, to see if I can show you how much you really mean to me."

I spend the night recalling and sharing about the end of my old job with my friends and family, and bragging a bit about how wonderful the new one is. Surprisingly, very little is said about my problems with Vera. Ray comes over with Sal as most of the original crowd is leaving, and he hands me a beer. "You like your new car, dickhead?" Ray asks, with Sal laughing his ass off.

At some point during a lull, I'd gone out front and studied the totally refurbished Buick. "Yeah," I say. "I don't know how you two pulled that off."

"We used the money from that asshole to redo the interior. Well, we sprung for some too. Rolando and his brother did the body work, and Ray did the paint job himself. Ray also helped Vera get it on campus. Drove right past the rent-a-cop without so much as a look."

"And you're giving it to me?" I ask.

"Damn straight," Sal exclaims. "But if I need to borrow it, no questions asked, okay?"

We all laugh, and then Sal says, "And if you're not claiming your woman, then I'm telling you now I'll be putting on a full-court press. She's one fine chica - not like those cholitas on campus."

Damn, this guy's brazen. At least he's honest.

"I'll be trying to work through it with her, so back off Sal." That earned me a smile from the big, burly bastard.

Vera walks up beside me. "Most everyone has gone home," she says. The kids want to go with my parents, if it's okay with you? They'll just be going to bed anyway at this late hour. You can get them in the morning."

"Yeah," I sigh. "It is late, isn't it?"

"Well, I do have an ulterior motive for sending them," she says with an evil smile. "I was kind of wondering, well, asking, if you could take me for a night drive, in your new... pussy wagon."

I put my arm around Vera. "Of course. I think that little stunt of yours earned you that much. Don't get any ideas, though. I still haven't had my revenge."

"Oh, you've had little, honey," she replies warmly, "but you did teach me a lesson in the process, and it was a lesson I really needed to learn. You could have just walked away, but you tried to get me to understand just how fucked in the head I was. I'd say you succeeded. I just hope you'll let me prove that you did."

"Okay, Vera," I say finally. "Oh, and, by the way: I forgive you."

Epilogue:

Yes, we went for a drive, but we didn't say much. Vera just cuddled up next to me on the bench seat. No, it wasn't like riding off into the sunset, like in some Hollywood romance movie. We didn't make mad, passionate love that night; neither of us was ready for that, and, frankly we were both drained physically and emotionally. We did sleep together - next to each other, I guess you could say.

Vera and I did stay together, and not just for our children. She worked hard to rebuild the trust and respect that had been damaged. She was very patient that first year whenever I had a bad day over our troubles. She kept her word, about everything, and our relationship is now stronger than ever.

Most importantly, she finally understands exactly how she hurt me. She knows that even if there'd been no sleazebag at all - if her 'prank' had been pure fiction, start to finish - that she'd still have crossed a line. Some things you just don't joke about; some things are sacred.

Professor Strausberg retired the following spring. How much Reg's sleaziness or Vera's stunt played a role, we'll never know.

Reg hasn't been seen around our town since his run in with Ray and Sal.. He's probably trying to set up another scam to that same end. Maybe it'll be cooking classes this time around. Pottery, perhaps? As long as he's doing it somewhere far away from my wife, I just can't bring myself to care.

My former company still employs Mrs. Wilkins, but so what? I love my new job, and the pay is incredible.

Vera and I have not only forgiven each other on numerous occasions, but we've also made a game of it - you know, one of those games. The strange car isn't so strange anymore, and is now prominently and proudly on display in my driveway.