Life Long pt 1 by PumpajPumpajPumpaj on ImageFap.com

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	Life Long pt 1
	The house was eerily quiet. It also seemed darker, even though the lighting was the same as any other night since I'd lived here. The 'quiet' part was easy. I was sitting alone waiting for my wife to return tomorrow. I'd just come back from visiting our daughter in Phoenix, an extended trip of almost three weeks. I'm pretty sure I'd worn out my welcome and put a cramp on her love life with Barry, her fiancé, but I'd needed the time with her. Lindsey was my stepdaughter but I never saw her that way after the day seventeen years ago when we finally clicked. I'm Devon McDermitt, husband to Mary, although that's somewhat up in the air now. We met in high school, dated, and were exclusive for all of the time until graduation. Mary and I mutually agreed to break things off for the summer and then figure out if we should continue separately or together heading into college. She was off to UCLA and I to Michigan State. Mary never made it to California. Well, she did actually make it, but two weeks later, found out she was pregnant. We stayed friends by phone during my freshman year and her pregnancy. Her parents had made her tell them who the father was and they wanted a shotgun wedding. His parents, wanting a better life for their son, sent him off to places unknown, claiming he ran. Mary never believed that. I often asked her why she did it. She claimed it was only once and didn't bother with a condom. She was very matter-of-fact about it. We were officially split up and she wanted to try new things. In my opinion, she got what she deserved. Other times, though, I felt bad for her. She was carrying twins and she'd be a single mother. I stayed friends with Mary for the next two years. We weren't in a relationship, not even a long-distance phone relationship. While I did feel empathy for her, I had enough sense to understand that we both made personal decisions and that my life was heading in a different direction. I couldn't see myself raising some other guy's kids and I'm sure Mary knew me well enough to agree. On some occasions when we were reminiscing about our days together, the "L" word did come up. Neither of us tried to hide from those feelings, we just knew it wouldn't ever be the same again. I'd even seen Mary when I was home and had met her lovely twin girls. They were too young to ever remember me. Near the end of my junior year, I was juggling a heavy class load and had little time for social activities. Mary and I stopped talking, all very organic, and one day when I realized we hadn't spoken in over two months, I became too embarrassed to pick up the phone. That was that. I graduated at the top of my class and ironically, I was off to California to start my career. I ended up taking a job with a fortune-fifty food manufacturer. Over the first couple of years I learned the business, how brokerages worked in our industry, and the marketing and sales side of the business. That's where I met my wife, Claire. The details are unimportant. We dated, fell in love, married, and began our family. Somewhere around the fifth year, things changed in our marriage. Both of us worked hard. We spent a lot of time with the family we'd made - three wonderful children. As they began school, Claire and I found more ways to get involved. For me, it was coaching sports, the leader of my son's Cub Scout troop. Claire worked a forty-hour week to my fifty-five. She still squeezed in soccer mom duties and was President of the PTA, four years running. That, combined with church, and visiting our parents a little too often (both sets lived in different states) began to take a toll. Many years later I learned that what happened to us also happened to a lot of 'power' couples. Claire and I would have made great business partners. Unfortunately, both of us overlooked our intimacy as a couple until it was too late. After years of using our bed only for sleeping, and with one child in college, and the others in high school, things turned towards the inevitable. The snide remarks and put-downs in front of friends, neighbors, and parents from the kid's sports, I finally put a few things together. Yes, I was a bit slow then. The problem wasn't the lack of love or trust. I know how stupid that sounds but the first thing I noticed was the disrespect - or rather the lack of respect. When I finally started paying attention things were much worse than I could have imagined. Claire was also in the same industry as me. She flirted shamelessly with people in my circle of influence, be they customers, fellow employees, or competitors. She forced my hand. I could accept a failed marriage, even take some of the responsibility for it. What was unacceptable was the loss of my dignity and everything I'd done within my profession. I wouldn't be made a fool of in front of people whom I'd worked with, in many cases, over a decade. By the time I'd decided to go through her emails, I'd already contacted an attorney. I soon discovered I did not need a private investigator. It was all there. The divorce went through quickly and quietly, with only a little jockeying for this and that. Possessions mostly. I'll admit it was hard for me to accept failure. In the recesses of my mind, I understood that both of us had let our relationship slip. There I was, a thirty-eight-year-old executive with a corner office and some late teen kids who didn't have time for their parents. I felt deserted and shit upon. So, with my influence and money, I sowed some wild oats, a thing I hadn't partaken of in college. Looking for love in all the wrong places doesn't even begin to cover it. All my life, I'd never been much of a drinker, but during that first year after the divorce, I over-indulged. Then, the day after New Year's, I received a connect notice on FaceBook. It was from a Mary Tomlinson, not her maiden name, but I knew who it was. I wrestled with myself for two days before answering. Mary was as talkative on a computer as she'd once been on a phone. I'd gotten the full experience of her life from the time we'd stopped talking. She was recently divorced. It sounded a lot like mine; they grew apart as the older kids flew the coop and the younger ones became teens. Over a few months, I found myself as enamored as when we were in high school. That didn't mean friends and family, even my eldest daughter, didn't try to stop me. I heard all the horror stories about high school sweethearts and false soulmates. None of them were able to deter me. Mary and I set up an in-person reunion for the summer. Mary had become something of a celebrity in her tiny town. Hearing about it, I was glad it happened during her previous marriage. I could never have pulled it off. Mary had been a long-time foster parent to teenage girls. In fact, she knew right from the start that she didn't want to parent babies or small children. She was on a mission to help those girls make something of their lives. I never got up the courage to ask how much of that had to do with her getting pregnant at eighteen. Besides the fostering Mary had the twins, and then three other children with her husband. Only one of our combined children was integral to this tale so I'll leave it there. Mary and I spent the first two days getting reacquainted ourselves and it was damned magical. We hardly ever left the bedroom unless we needed refueling. It was like no time had passed at all. We continued our daily conversations and began to talk about a permanent thing. I invited Mary to California for four days. At first, we planned on her bringing her kids, a son, Thomas, fifteen, and her youngest, Lindsey, thirteen. They were gun-shy, electing to stay with their dad. I was a bit disappointed but decided everything in its time. By the end of those five days, Mary asked the obvious question. "Why would you ever leave a place like this?" she looked at me as we stood on the beach near my home. "I'll move here if you'll have me." Preparations were made. I knew I'd have my hands full, especially with Lindsey. She was used to a great many things that were foreign to me. She'd grown up too fast, with all those wayward teen girls in the house. At the same time, I was looking forward to the fatherly gig again. I'd done pretty well the first time around. The wedding happened six months after Mary and her kids arrived. My kids were there but they were hesitant to accept Mary. I understood and so did she. Life goes on and my house was full again. With his love of math and science, Thomas had many possibilities for a rewarding future. He graduated from USC with a Master's in Biochemical Engineering. For his age, he was also uncanny with the stock market. Lindsey was tougher. The colored hair and the nose ring, for example. Then she wanted gauges in her ears. Somehow, I was able to talk her out of that. I'd done research and downloaded some pics of older people in business attire with earlobes hanging to their shoulders. Somehow, we became very close despite all the confrontations. I was promoted. In reality, I was offered a job on California's central coast or a pink slip. Lindsey was nineteen and wanted to stay behind to move in with her boyfriend. Mary and I didn't like it but we'd done a fair job setting Lindsey on the right path. Far better to let her make her own mistakes, as well as her own successes. One year later, Lindsey was back home, as a result of a breakup, living in a new home up north, with us. Then she decided to go to nursing school in Phoenix. Mary and I became empty nesters. It was a difficult time for me. The kids were gone. My entire industry not only in North America but worldwide was in turmoil. I'd lost my worth and value. Mary had to do something too, so she didn't go stir crazy. She found a job overseeing senior citizens in a small group home. Many of her shifts were overnights. It suited her and her caretaker characteristics. At least she didn't bring home a homeless puppy. That lasted all of two months when she realized that her man was semi-depressed and spending his nights all alone at home. Two months later she was working part-time at a big box store. Things changed for the better shortly after that. I was offered and accepted a job in Utah. Mary supported me all the way. The kids were scattered throughout six states and we would be saving a ton of money leaving California. During that first year of getting acclimated, we started receiving calls from friends and even some of my former clients who were also thinking about moving. Many of them were looking at Arkansas, Idaho, and Tennessee. Mary and I were honest about the pros and cons of Utah life. To our surprise, four couples that we knew, fairly to very well, moved to our area. We began connecting as soon as they arrived and suddenly Mary and I had eight people to help fill our time. Joe and Tina were a recently retired couple who had a healthy stock portfolio. Joe and I were instantly closer than Mary and Tina. Byron and Nancy were in their mid to late fifties and were the wilder ones in our group. I wasn't sure initially that they wouldn't become bored with us old fogies but they seemed to genuinely enjoy being part of our little band. Ron and Barb Speer quickly became our closest friends. Ron had been my client going back nearly twenty years when I was married to my ex. Barb and Mary got on so easily that it almost seemed like they were sisters. Some of us attended church and Barb and Ron attended ours. Life was exciting again. Mary and I still worked but had plenty to look forward to then. Cycling trails, fly fishing, days on a rental boat out on a lake, and many other things. Four years later I was only a year or two from retiring myself. My wife could have retired already being a year older than me, but she liked keeping busy. Then we got some very bad news. Barb was sick, with an inoperable brain tumor. All the couples rallied around our friends and Mary spent the most time with them. I made it a point to get Ron out of the house whenever possible and the others were there to attend to Barb. It took a bit, but I was able to get Ron to open up about his life, thus getting his mind off the obvious troubles. It turned out that Ron was an accomplished guitarist and in earlier years actually wrote a few country songs. He'd also worked in Hollywood editing films of the 1960s and 70s. We became even closer those few months before Barb passed away. In the following months, Mary and I were either at Ron's house making dinner, or he came to ours. It took a while to get Ron back in the swing of things, living life again, but eventually, he became his old self. But the trouble wasn't finished yet. Mary called me at work around ten-thirty on a Thursday morning. Ron had been in a car accident and was taken to the hospital. He was in surgery. I left work and rushed over. By the time I arrived, most of our friends were there. Things weren't good. Ron wasn't in his pick-up. He'd begun Door Dashing as a means to getting back out into the world. To save gas he took that damned little Kia of his. The accident turned that thing into a pretzel. First responders had a tough time getting him out of the wreck. Because of the prolonged ordeal, Ron lost his left leg and arm. The leg was saved above mid-thigh and his arm near the elbow. His left hip also needed replacement and they needed someone to sign off on that since Ron was unconscious and already in surgery for his limbs. Mary and I had power of attorney, thank God. After they gave us the standard 'over-sixty' laundry list of possible complications, we signed immediately. Ron was in very good health and not overweight by even a few pounds. He would be a good candidate for prosthetics but that would be down the road. His prognosis for recovery was positive but lengthy. He would be in the hospital for four or more weeks, depending, and would get physical therapy once he could get out of bed. Convalescing past that would be very problematic if we weren't prepared to send Ron to some facility. Mary was a mess in the days following the accident. I didn't see it as anything forlorn, she'd always cared about people deeply. Her kids, the fosters, The folks at the senior home, and even that damned Pomeranian that was hit by a car in front of our house back in California. He'd died quite a while back, but for six years he was a pesky little shit to me. Finally, on Sunday, she seemed less depressed and anxious. I made us a nice breakfast. We'd been mostly at the hospital for the past three days. "Devon," she began, "what are we going to do about Ron?" I recognized her soft approach. "I don't think we can answer that just yet," I replied honestly. "It's too soon. We've seen him awake for only four or five minutes." Mary was thoughtful for a bit. She was always deliberate, thinking problems through. "We can't send him to some home, honey," she said with compassion. "It would kill him." I knew what she was saying and had a pretty good idea of what she was asking, too. "You want him to convalesce here?" I asked. She met my eyes hopefully. So we did what we always did, we worked as a team to solve the issue. During breakfast and for hours after, I played devil's advocate and she made notes. Two pots of coffee and a quarter of a binder later and we'd laid most of it out. A few things remained. "I suppose," she said, "we can enlist some of the others to stay here with him so I can still work part-time. Or I can try to restructure my hours to work around your schedule." I grabbed my laptop and fired it up, going to my Fidelity account and then, to my retirement health dashboard. I smiled as she came and sat on my lap looking at what I was doing. "What's that?" she quizzically asked. "That," I said drawing it out, "was supposed to be a surprise. As you can see, we're ninety-nine percent to our retirement goal and don't run out of money until 2068, when we'd be in our mid-nineties. You don't need to work unless you absolutely want to. You're old enough to go on Medicare or I can add you to my insurance for the next year or so." Mary studied the chart, then she threw her arms around me elated. "That's it!" she proclaimed. "I'm retiring and Ron can move in here until he's healed." I pointed out how long that would take. Mary seemed perplexed by my statement so I clarified. "I know you want to do everything you can to help him just like I do, but I want to make sure you understand all the ramifications before you jump in." Mary wasn't some airhead. She'd likely been thinking about most of the things during our morning and afternoon powwow. She waited patiently for me to lay it out. Plus she did that kind of work for a bit so she knew. "One," I stated, "we live in a two-bedroom, nine-hundred and eighty square foot home. His new room is going to be as close to ours as most people's closets..." "All the better," she butted in. "In case something happens we are right there." I put my hand up to stop her from thinking I wanted her to counter all my points. She got off my lap at that and sat down in her seat. I'd never done something like that with her before. "Two," I restarted. "The only two ways in or out of our house involve three steps. You'll need to figure that out so he can go to the hospital or PT. We may need to build a ramp." "Three," I held up the third finger. "He'll be here three months at least and the first two he'll need constant care. You and I will have no alone time whatsoever and no away time either." She gave me that look as if I was being selfish in my predilections. Mary also hesitated to think things through again. "We'll have our time," she declared confidently. "I'll recruit the other women to spend a night or two, once each month so we can get away and reconnect." She was convinced and excited and I was neither. We talked some more, but in the end, it was the right choice to let him stay, even if I was an insufferable bastard. At the hospital later that evening, and after talking to Ron's attending doctor, we told the others our plan. Tina and Nancy thought we also might be able to recruit a few people from church. Both were concerned that, besides getting away once a month we should schedule time out like dinner and a movie every week. Other suggestions were offered and we left feeling better about our mission of mercy. At our age, Mary rarely initiates sex anymore, but she attacked me that night. Afterward, I asked her about it. "What," she asked, "you didn't like it?" "Of course, I liked it," I replied. "Just curious what spurred it, is all." "Well," she said thoughtfully, "our 'you and me' time is about to take a pretty good hit." I frowned at her. "Don't worry, baby," she giggled. "It's only for a short while." Her idea of 'short' and mine were a bit different. Plus, recruiting our friends mostly meant for us to reconnect emotionally, not necessarily physically. Ron's recovery started slowly but toward the end of his hospital stay, things got better in leaps and bounds. I think a switch had been flipped. One that likely had him thinking about joining his deceased wife instead of living. Something or someone got him refocused on living his life. Like Mary and I, our friends visited often. Convalescing Ron at home was trickier than we initially thought. First, we had to disassemble the guest bed and put in a medical one. I finished building the ramp for the front steps only two days before he was released. Our small security system was designed to record people breaking in. I realized that it now had to have a dual purpose, which included keeping an eye on Ron to ensure his safety. Every door and window in our small home was covered and only intended for two purposes: to record criminal activity when we weren't home and to record self-defense activities used by my wife or me against a perpetrator, such as using our guns. With a little planning, I moved the camera from our room into the tiny hallway (basically, a space between the guest bedroom door and our bedroom), so I could capture any problems Ron might have, like choking, for example. Another issue we were told was that during sleep he could get tangled. That meant he could roll over on his arm, and without a hand or forearm, he could have a problem dislodging his appendage from under his body. As it turns out, having those cameras also helped us with some insurance money. The first week was hectic and I was beat down tired. I know Mary felt the same. The trouble with having friends and well-wishers come by is intrinsic. Mary was and always had been a gracious host. She'd be torn, should she stay and feed Ron or offer guests a beverage? When is the appropriate time to 'shoo' people out? Most nights after going through a pre-slumber checklist, Mary and I would be asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillow. Then it got easier. Like an exercise program or other life change, the appointments, this schedule, and that schedule all began to gel. We both established a routine and Ron continued to improve. At the end of the first month, Mary and I took two days and a night and headed up north to an Indian casino. We needed to decompress and nothing does that like pushing a spin button over and over. We made love that night. To be honest it felt a little forced. Since we talked about everything, I asked as we lay there. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "I almost feel like we shouldn't be gone. I know that's silly, with Byron and Nancy there. He's been my priority for so many weeks now that it seems weird to let go." That response made all the sense in the world to me, so I left it. I surprised Mary the next day with a one-hour massage and a mani-pedi. It certainly didn't hurt that I won $1500 just before we headed back. Things progressed the next month and it felt like time was flying by. Ron was overly appreciative of us both. I finally had to have a little talk with him about the constant 'thank you's'. He told me he couldn't help how he felt. Our second getaway was to a private resort on a lake about twenty-five miles from our home. It was far more romantic. Mary gave me a repeat of the night we decided to let Ron stay with us. To me, it was a little out of place again. One thing Ron had brought up after the first six weeks was darn personal. He told us a bit sheepishly, that he knew we weren't having sex on account of him. It was a bit embarrassing and Mary tried to change the subject, but Ron kept at it. He told us that the house was small and there was no way we could hide our passion. Plus, he added, he wasn't sleeping all that well so he often lay awake at night for quite some time. He encouraged us, citing our age and our collective experience in life. Mary blushed and tried to leave the room to get us more beverages but I tightened my grip on her hand. We were all sitting in our living room during this conversation. "Plus," he said with an embarrassed smile, "It's a normal part of life and could help take my mind off things." I guessed he meant listening to us. That was a little creepy. Lying in bed at the resort with Mary, after her Academy Award-winning sexual performance, I asked her what her thoughts were about that conversation. There was an initial look of... what? Frightened? Guilty? I couldn't tell and that in itself made me uneasy. I let it go though. I had no reason to mistrust her regarding literally anything. That changed after we returned home. Late in the week after our weekend at the resort, I walked out in the morning to get in my car for work. The car's trunk was open. I looked around inside and found nothing missing. The security software I'd put on both my personal and work laptop so I'd take a peek at the security footage around lunchtime to see if it was just some neighborhood kid or something that needed my full attention. I set my Wendy's Baconator on the dash of my car. It seemed impossible to believe what I was watching on the screen. The first thing I'd done was check the driveway cam and sure enough, what looked like a teenage kid pushed the little button above my license plate. That still bothered me so I decided to check footage from inside the house for that morning. Nothing out of place. Ron sat in his bed reading a fishing magazine. Mary was in the next room presumably talking to her daughter. That's when I got the brilliant idea to be a voyeur and scrolled back several weeks in the recordings. I wished I hadn't. The week after Mary and I returned from our first weekend away, I saw Mary walk into Ron's room and shut the bedroom door. That was very odd and something neither of us did unless it was bedtime. I noted the time stamp was nine in the morning. She was in there with the door closed for almost forty minutes. My heart was telling me they were just talking or something. My mind was saying something else. I forwarded the recording and found two other instances that week of her doing the same. The third time, the door opened abruptly and Mary came hurrying out, heading for the living room. I rewound and noticed Ron readjusting his blankets and maybe his clothing. It didn't make sense until I switched over to the front door cam. Amazon needed a signature for a package. Mary went back to Ron's room but only to the doorway. The two of them talked for a minute or so and then Mary picked up a small tub with a sponge floating in it. That was when the anxiety hit me hard. Now I wasn't born yesterday. Ron needed to stay clean, especially around his lost arm and leg. General hygiene would apply regardless of his injuries. I knew my wife was taking on that task, too. What didn't sit well was a closed door in our own house in combination with a sponge bath. There was no stopping now. I fast-forwarded again but with more purpose. On the day before Mary and I took our second trip I found something I wish I hadn't. The door was open this time, so I could both see and hear them. Mary was sitting on the edge of the bed washing Ron's arms. It struck me that even with one hand, Ron was probably capable of doing most of this himself. His shirt was off and Mary started washing his chest. Her eyes were focused on her task and his were focused on her face. Ron's hips squirmed. I'd seen it and done it myself plenty of times. As any older person knows those damned joints aren't our friends. Watching what was taking place though, I got the sense his hips were 'reacting.' I guess my wife thought so too, as she used both hands to scoot his underwear down past the void left by Ron's missing appendage. Something in the back of my mind had been shouting, "She hasn't done anything yet." It's funny what kinds of tricks our minds play on us. Knowing where things were likely going, I'd put my own brain on the clinical path like as in watching a nurse, waiting for my eyes to prove me stupid. Not a word had been spoken. Mary rinsed the warm cloth in the basin and even as Ron's cock had begun to stir and grow, she washed him lower in the groin. Ron closed his eyes, and his penis raised up away from his body and then fell again. Mary suddenly sighed. She turned to the nightstand and reached for a bottle of lube - OUR lube. She squeezed a liberal amount on her hand and reached over, applying it generously to his manhood. Eyes one, brain zero. I wanted to turn off the feed or at least pause it. I did the latter when I realized I hadn't been breathing. It took a minute to get myself under control but I had to see this through. Tapping again, I tried to be as dispassionate as I could, but could I? The lubing and massaging took only seconds. Mary looked at Ron as if silently asking something. I'd seen the look thousands of times. Ron looked pleadingly and then a frustrated almost resigned look and moved his one good hand over his stomach. Mary squeezed some lube into his hand and massaged it into his skin much in the same way she had his hard-on. The brain was screaming at the eyes, "SEE!" As if it still might turn out to be something I could reason with or forgive, I continued watching, sitting on the edge of the chair. Convinced she'd given Ron enough of a hand, (it struck me he couldn't even apply lotion to his own hand because he only had one) she closed the lube and stood up. Then, looking into his eyes, Mary grabbed the bottom of her shirt and lifted it over her head. Her bra was quickly unhooked and she stood there as Ron began masturbating himself. And that was the ballgame. Or so I thought. Ron was stroking himself as Mary started massaging her breasts. We've been together a long time and I knew for a fact that Mary doesn't get off on breast play. She doesn't like her nipples being touched during sex. Good enough for me since I had plenty of other favorite body parts. Ron stopped and raised his gaze from her breasts to her face. "Can you," he asked so weakly it was hard to define it as a question. "I mean, just this once, Mary?" So, my wife had done this at least one other time, and if I was a betting man, based on what I'd just seen, it was more than that. There was too much ease and not enough embarrassment or modesty. It was easy to determine what he was asking of her, too. She hadn't done that before, by his admission. Mary sat between his legs and moved Ron's stump a little to one side. "Comfortable?" she asked in a tiny voice. Ron nodded. There was my wife, making sure her hands were slippery enough to do their job. Her right hand went to his shaft while the left began to fondle his testicles. Half of my brain was screaming at me to start the car and rush home to stop this. The other logical side reminded me this had already happened. I couldn't watch Mary defile herself and I turned off the recording. My hamburger had become hard and dry in the sun. I fast-forwarded the video, why I didn't know. The damage had already been done. I guess fascination had gotten the better of me and I had to know if it was a one-off. It wasn't and the next two times were similar to the first. Mary seemed more curious and less modest both times. I determined it was only a matter of time before Ron would have her sucking his old cock and then who knew from there. I didn't even want to think about the logical conclusion. The most recent time was two days prior. I'd been so focused on trying to dismiss the act of betrayal that it hadn't sunk in yet. Then I realized it was ongoing and that brought on a dark, desperate sadness. The love of my life, the person I already WAS growing old with, had betrayed me. All those years down the drain. How would I tell the kids? Where would I live? Fuck that, she'd move in with her boyfriend. My hundreds of thoughts fought for recognition and then collapsed in on themselves and I closed my eyes feeling suddenly sick to my stomach. Thirty seconds later my guts rejected my fast-food lunch all over the parking lot. It felt as though my racing thoughts were expelled along with the food. I rinsed out my mouth with my bottled water and then drank it along with the Pepsi in my console. What was I going to do? Then the least helpless thought of the last ten minutes occurred to me. I was... well, me. I'd been here before both personally and professionally. Immediately, I texted my administrative assistant, told her an emergency had arisen, and that I would see her tomorrow. I wasn't sure of that but one step at a time. Instincts had kicked in. I stopped at a tobacco shop and purchased another Pepsi and a package of Swisher Mini's. It had been a long time since I'd smoked but I needed something to quickly calm nerves. I pulled out my phone and opened the notes app. Yeah, I was probably old-fashioned but I was also old. Move money. Shut down credit cards. Open a new account for my payroll checks to be deposited. Protect my retirement accounts. That was the start. Everything else could wait. Then what? Confront them or hide the knowledge. I knew the answer to that. I wasn't some sleuth and there was no reason to keep it to myself. I had all the proof I needed. In fact, I had all the proof necessary to explain to our kids and friends. I needed a back door though. Going home and tossing a wife and an invalid, supposed friend didn't make me look good no matter what had happened. So, stay somewhere local? No, I had plenty of kids and grandkids who lived all over the place and I also had about two months of accrued vacation. Before Ron's accident, I'd already been planning how to use it with Mary before I retired. I'd have to think about that as well. With a pension, although not nearly enough to live on, I could collect that anywhere and get a part-time job to supplement. I sighed, thinking about my life taking another abrupt left turn. When was life going to get easier? I went to the bank, wanting to attend to affairs in person. After two hours and dozens of forms, I was worn out. I wondered if I should drive around until it was my normal time to go home but decided against that. I had always been at my best on offense, with customers, suppliers, and even competitors. It had played out that way with the women in my life who had wronged me, too. It was time to go home. All the different scenarios I'd played out though went out the window. I came in the house and Mary had Ron on our sofa watching the early news. She came up to me like every other day and gave me a peck on the lips. She didn't notice my lack of affection. Then, she leaned into my ear. "Nancy is coming over to sit with Ron," she half-whispered. "I want us to go out to dinner and discuss something. If you want to take a quick shower or change then go do that now." I looked at the clock on the stove and realized I was only a half hour early getting home. Her directive pissed me off, although I guess anything she'd have said that day would have accomplished the same. I'd already planned to confront them together - the lovers. However, I wondered for a minute if I should just shred her individually without Ron there to make it two against one. I made a quick decision and headed to our bedroom. My back was to my wife, but that's another thing between people who've been together and connected for so long. I could see the look of worry mixed with puzzlement on her face without even looking at her. I came down in casual clothes and began walking toward the door. Ron felt the arctic wave emanating from me. "Rough day at work?" he casually asked. "Something like that," I snidely replied. That earned a worried look from my former friend. I headed out the front door while looking over my shoulder at Mary. "Coming?" By the time Mary came towards the car, she knew something was terribly wrong. I could see by her expression that she didn't even want to go anywhere at that point. We made it in silence about five hundred feet down our road. "Devon," she tentatively asked, "what's wrong?" All my plans went out the window. Instead of stopping at the stop sign at the end of our street, I pulled the car into the little coffee shop there and parked. "What do you want to talk about, Mary?" I asked in a combative tone. "I don't want to talk about anything," she looked scared and confused. That didn't make any sense. "Not with you in this raging mood. What happened today?" "You wanted to discuss something to do with you and Ron," I stated trying with all my might to withhold the sarcasm. "This is your opportunity." My wife had the look of escape in her eyes. She desperately wanted out of the car. I reached over to my door and clicked the 'lock' button. All she had to do was unlock her own door, but just the act spoke volumes. Thinking quickly, and I supposed, resigned to her immediate fate she trudged on. "I wanted to ask you something..." she paused. "Something serious about Ron. There are things... I... we have been discussing something. It's something compassionate and I..." "Compassionate, my ass," I laughed and growled at the same time. "Just say it, Mary. For God's sake, if it's so above board then just say it." Mary looked like she was ready to just blurt it out. Then her face changed and I saw some realization there. "Oh my god," she said, bringing her hand to her mouth. "You've watched the security recordings!" I just glared at her and she looked away in shame. That didn't work for me. "You are jerking him off, and you're now going to tell me you want to fuck him and all you can say is "you watched the security recordings? How twisted are you? You're the transgressor here; all I did was discover your betrayal inadvertently while reviewing the videos. I have done nothing to you to warrant this or your anger as to how you were found out." Her silence said everything I didn't want to hear. "Get out," I commanded. She turned back, quickly, hysterically. "No! No, let me explain," she fumbled. "I... we... it started harmlessly. Honest it did. He's had such a hard time. First, losing Barb, and now... he's been so lonely. I just wanted to give him some peace, I didn't... we didn't do anything." Mary realized her mistake before it left her lips. My angry face reappeared "No, Devon," she pleaded, "I didn't mean it like... we did... something, just not what you're thinking. I wouldn't. Not before discussing it with you first." "You're digging a deeper hole, Mary," I told her. I couldn't even look at her now. "Let's ask the poor sap if we can fuck... make love, even. We've already got the preliminaries out of the way. I can't believe you. I just don't understand what could possibly be going through that thick head of yours." She started again but I wasn't in the mood for her lame excuses. "Mary, just get out," I said in an exasperated tone. "Just walk back home to your lover. I can't be around you now and until your attitude changes, there is nothing for us to talk about. You know what you did and are doing is wrong. You've known about our past together and my first marriage but neither appears to have entered into your consciousness as you pursue sex with a half-man!" Mary knew me well enough. She opened her door and stepped out, then leaned back in to look at me. "When will you be home?" "Not sure," I said and started looking in the mirror to back out. She closed the door and watched me drive away. I was going to need more time off work. I'd driven to the next town over and sat in a Chili's to eat a salad. There was a hotel down the road and just outside the airport entrance. Calming down, I decided I needed to get away for a few days. I'd fly down to Phoenix and visit Lindsey. Mary wouldn't think of looking for me there. I'd need to start working my vacation time down. I would call my boss in the morning and arrange that. At the hotel, I started comparing ticket prices. Damned airfares were outrageous. In the morning, I'd shop for some new clothes, toiletries, and a backpack or small carry-on. The TSA wouldn't take kindly to a passenger with no belongings. I'd had my phone off to get some uninterrupted peace but turning it back on at nine-thirty there were messages from Mary apologizing and asking when I'd be home. There was one from Ron, too. "I'm sorry," it began. "Call me when you clear your head so I can explain." What the hell was wrong with him? I was sure that when the time came, he'd be even remotely successful in explaining. Certainly, he had to know our friendship was finished. I slept restlessly and the more I thought about Mary and I separated forever, the worse it got. She was my first love and she was supposed to be my last. I'd had two nightmares over the last couple of years where she died and I'd sat straight up in the bed as if someone had torn my heart from my chest. This was going to suck. I couldn't get a flight to Arizona until the afternoon, but that gave me time to hit the local mall and do some shopping. Five new casual shirts, the same number of slacks, and two pairs of shorts did the trick, along with all the necessities. I called Lindsey from the airport. She was shocked and the look on her face when she picked me up was one of worry. I didn't want her going down a rabbit hole so I suggested a dinner out with her fiancé. We spent the first part with small talk. There wasn't much to catch up on, since we spoke often. Finally, over crème brulee, I told them everything that happened. Both Barry and my daughter listened intently. Barry seemed squarely in my corner but Lindsey was more on the fence. "Dad," she sounded like she was about to give a sympathetic speech. "Are you sure everything you told me is true? Could you have misinterpreted?" That was Lindsey. Strong and determined, much more like me than her mom or her bio-dad, for that matter. She wanted the facts and only the facts, whenever possible. When they weren't available, she often went in search of them. "Yeah," I sadly replied. "It's on our home security. I wish it wasn't because then I wouldn't have the image seared into my brain." "I mean the other part," she said. "Where you think she was asking you out to dinner to get permission to fuck him." I gave her that fatherly look. "Dad, stop. I swear like a sailor, just not in front of you. It's just a word. Are you sure she wasn't going to admit what she'd done and ask forgiveness?" "Let me answer with a question," I responded. "Can you read the look on Barry's face? Is he the same with you?" She thought for a moment and then looked at her fiancé. "Yes, I think I can." "Well, so can I," I admitted. "I'm ninety percent sure she wasn't going for admission and absolution." "What are you planning to do?" her face showed the underlying concern that I felt. "I have no idea," I honestly said. "I'm here to see you and figure it out." I stayed for two weeks and a few days. Lindsey, Barry, and I talked most nights. We went out to eat a few times but she seemed excited to show me her newfound cooking skills. We talked my problem to death. I couldn't see it as some mission of mercy. It was cheating plain and simple. Near the end of my stay, my daughter seemed antsy, troubled even, to help me find a resolution. Barry looked tired. "Are you sure she's okay?" she began that night. "I mean in her head? She isn't sick, is she? Have you seen any signs of forgetfulness or confusion?" "No," I was getting tired of talking about it too. "That never crossed my mind. She was alert enough to plan it, hide it, and then try to spring it me." "What about that slip she took on the ice six months back?" I felt like my kid was grasping at straws. "No," I said. "She was a bit dizzy for a few weeks after but that was all. I saw it. She was cognitive and willing." "Then I know she'll be sorry, Dad," she said encouragingly. "Truly sorry and open to making things up." I didn't know if the enormity finally hit me, or if I was so weary from the ordeal, but I snapped at her. I even surprised myself. "Damn it, Lindsey," I yelled. "It isn't about some making-up. She shit on our love, but worse, she severely damaged - maybe even destroyed - my trust and our respect." "How do you know that?" she yelled right back. "You won't even talk to her to hear her side or explanation. She desperately wants to. You won't return her calls or texts. I'm not taking her side, Dad. I've given her a piece of my mind, several times already." "You've talked to her?" It surprised me that I wouldn't have thought that. "Of course, I talked to her," she spat. "She called the night after you arrived, wanting to know if I'd heard from you. When I admitted you were here she started going through the whole sordid mess. She calls every day to see how you're and nagging me about how to take care of you. With all that's going on, she wanted me to go to the drug store and get your allergy medicine and vitamin D. Do this and he doesn't like that, ad nauseam." In my silence, she continued. "Look, I love you, Dad. You know that. You know the action, but not the intent. We can both probably guess his, your friend, but..." "Former friend," I told her. "Yeah, him. Go home and talk to her. Get to the bottom of this shit. If you can't resolve it properly, then you have some bigger decisions to make, the two of you. I don't want to see you two break up at this late stage of your lives, but I'll respect whatever you decide." The next morning, I borrowed Barry's car and went for a drive to help me think. I didn't think there was anything Mary could say to change my mind but Lindsey was right that I needed to get closure on this mess. To Lindsey, what she'd done hadn't constituted sex but I wasn't to be fooled by that fine line. Worse for me was Ron's condition and my wife's compulsion to care for people in need. He was still going through PT and it would be a few months before he could be fitted for prostheses. I pulled into one of those coffee shacks almost on auto-pilot. The window slid open and a soft, sultry voice said, "Be right with you, sweetie." That brought me out of my stupor. I looked at the woman inside. Maybe it was a dream. I was staring at a beautiful, young, and perfectly sculpted ass and bare back with just a few strategically placed thin straps wrapping around the body of this goddess. She was taking care of a customer on the opposite side. I watched her making the beverage while chatting convivially with a man in a pick-up. He was even older than me. She casually glanced my way a few times, I guess, making sure I was still there and being distracted by her considerable assets. I felt like an old creep but I hadn't seen a near-naked, near-perfect body like that in a long time. As she went to hand the guy his coffee, her other hand reached half into the cab of his truck and grabbed the man's cell phone. "I told you last time, asshole," she admonished. "No fucking pictures without my consent!" He was hollering for his phone back as the near-naked woman scrolled through, I presumed, his camera roll. "There," she sarcastically told the man, tossing his phone back at him. "All taken care of. Next time I'm calling the cops or one of my brothers. Either way, you're fucked. Oh yeah - have a nice day - jerk!" The man wasn't one to give up, I could see. He wasn't a perv though. "I'm reporting this establishment to the city. You'll be shut down by the end of the week! You need to repent for your sins before the day of judgment. And you've tampered with evidence. The cops will be here soon." The woman was clearly shaken as she came over to my window to try and take my order. "I'm sorry about that," she could barely get out. "Don't worry," I tried a soothing tone in the face of this bizarre situation. "Take a bunch of deep breaths through your nose and out your mouth." She did and then she smiled at me. It was a million-dollar smile that for some reason, reminded me of my Mary when she was far younger. "What was that all about?" I asked her. The smile faded. "That son-of-a-bitch was taking pictures of me," she scowled. "I've told him before. There's even a sign in the window." She pointed to the open window, and sure enough there it was right next to the "Tips are like tits - the bigger the better" sticker. I suddenly felt my age. She picked up on my dilemma and possible ignorance right away. "Hey, listen," she softly said. "He's probably going to call the cops. He's some zealot who wants all our locations around southern Arizona shut down. Can you stay here as a witness if I give you a free coffee and a punch card for ten more free drinks?" I looked out toward the street and started laughing. There was the big neon pink sign with black lettering and a marquis below it that said "Coffee" and below it "Girls". "What's so funny?" I think she thought her day was going to get worse. "Well, I sure was distracted when I pulled in here and that guy only added to my being perplexed." I pointed to the sign. "I think I need to pinch myself." "Can you help me if the cops come?" she asked impatiently. "He thinks because we serve coffee in bikinis, we're all the spawn of Satan." "Yeah, I'll help," I chuckled. "But your sign does say, 'Devil's Bean'." My barista, Melody, I soon found out was her name, made my decaf hazelnut latte and I sat talking to her until a new customer approached the opposite window. I sat there watching the fanatic as he was parked several yards away. Finally, a squad car pulled in and I pulled away from the kiosk and over by the pickup guy. I gave the police a statement and pointed the man out as a public nuisance. "He's a staple in our community," one of the officers told me. "Well, then," I said very seriously, "you need some new blood. That girl was only doing her job. We don't have anything like this in my home state, but someone at city hall obviously approved their permit and business plan, right." After everyone had been talked to, I walked up to the window and asked Melody, "Don't take this the wrong way, but what time do you get off?" She was leery and looked weary. "I'm not into that, but thanks for the help, mister." I wasn't going to push it at my age and look like some creep. It dawned on me that she might not have something to wear over her 'uniform.' "Not what I meant," I said with disappointment. "I was thinking coffee." She looked all around her and I couldn't help but laugh, realizing where we were. "Another time," she could tell I didn't mean it. "I hope everything works out with that jerk." That night Lindsey made her famous lasagna and we talked about Mary a little more. My daughter was still asking leading questions. Did this ex-friend of mine ever hit on her mom when we socialized? Did it ever look like Mom had a thing for him - that special look - she called it? Did she seem coerced in any way when I saw the video? I parroted all of what we'd already discussed. Trying to explain in detail to our daughter was not a comfortable thing to do. Finally, after Barry cleared our plates, Lindsey's face showed an expression of dread. I gave her the non-verbal 'what?' "I wish I didn't have to say anything," she sighed a heavy breath. "It's worse I think. Mom took Ron back to his house. She's been staying there. I pressed her about cheating on you, with him. I screamed at her while you were gone this morning. She wouldn't discuss it with me until she talks to you, she said." I felt the walls closing in. Even though I didn't think I could forgive or forget what had happened already the new development was almost like a last gasp of air. The next morning, I went to the store and purchased some travel-sized necessities. I might not have to leave my own house if Mary was moving in with Ron, but then again, from the things she'd told Lindsey, it sounded like she wanted to 'explain' and make nice-nice. Unless the group of friends had taken on some of the responsibilities with Ron, I was also pretty sure she wouldn't leave him to come to make up with me. That was the heart of the matter. Finishing my little shopping excursion, I thought back to the coffee debacle from the previous day. On a whim, I drove back to the Devil's Bean. Melody was working again. "Hey!' she gave a million-dollar smile. "I know you!" I smiled back. It was a lot windier than the previous day, and her outfit although less revealing was still lingerie, not a bikini. She was in a great mood probably able to put the events of yesterday in her rear-view. "You're here for your free coffee," she said, shaking her mostly exposed breasts just enough to get a reaction. "Same as yesterday?" "What?" I asked her. "You couldn't possibly remember what I had with everything going on." "Sure I do," she told me. She asked me if that was what I wanted and, flabbergasted, I said I did. Then she surprised me again. "You still want to take me to coffee?" She was such a damned tease. I knew better and should have bowed out right then but regretfully I didn't. "I'm off at one," she told me over her shoulder, her ass pointed at me while preparing the drink. "I'd prefer a burger if you don't mind." When she brought my beverage to the window she smiled again and pointed. "Meet me at Hank's Diner, two blocks down that way." Melody ate her bacon cheeseburger and fries like a starving woman. It made me question her career choice, and I asked her fleetingly how much she made doing that type of work. It was far more than a regular barista, but nowhere near what I expected. We chatted about her fairly mundane life, at least as I saw it. It turned out she was twenty-nine years old, which shocked me, due to her looks. I would have pegged her as much younger. She'd been once married and twice burned, the way she'd put it. I tried to be interested, but I had my own problems. Eventually, she ran out of things to tell me about herself and my questions faded. We were finished with lunch and I needed to get ready to head to the airport in a few hours for an evening flight, so I was about to bid her a happy life when she surprised me. "So, Devon," she queried. "What about you? What brings you to Phoenix?" I studied her for a second. "Who says I'm not from Phoenix?" "Everything," she said as if gospel. "If I had to guess I'd say quite a bit north of here. Utah or Wyoming." That exchange led to another hour-long conversation. Why I opened up to a cute, younger woman, I'll probably never know but, it sure felt good. The funny thing was she listened intently as if truly interested. "Your wife sounds like my old roommate," she said offhandedly. "How's that?" I asked. "She was overly compassionate," she told me. "I used to call her 'savior,' and she hated that nickname. It was the weirdest thing I ever experienced, living with someone. "It started with her love for stray animals," she continued. "She brought home a kitten that she found somewhere acting like its mother, then later, a dog. I agreed they were cute but reminded her about our apartment complex's rules. She sadly parted with them finding a home with a co-worker. Then she started going to the Humane Society on Saturdays. She'd show me pictures of these scraggly dogs and cats, trying to play on my emotions. I empathized but was unmoving. I told her I couldn't afford the added rent for pet cleaning." "She sounds like she was motivated," I chuckled, thinking about how Mary was the same kind of person. "Did she wear you down?" "Hell no!" she laughed. "Finally, I told her I had bad allergies and there was no way we'd have pets of any kind. She gave up on that but about a month later, she started coming home later and later from work. I found out she'd befriended a homeless woman she'd given money to on the street and had started taking care of her. Making sure she was registered into a shelter and taking her to restaurants." "Were you worried she was going to try to bring the woman home to the apartment?" "No," she replied. "I'd laid down the law early on that too. About a month later, she told me she was giving notice. She got no argument from me, I wanted her out." "It sounds like you did the right thing," I said sympathetically. "Did you ever hear from her again, after they moved?" "No and good riddance," Melody sat back and thought. "You know, you may have the same problem. Do you two love each other?" I looked at her strangely but then understood her question. I was so used to being in love with my spouse that I rarely considered other people's plight. "Up until this happened, I would say we were both as in love as a couple could be. I came to visit my daughter here - trying to make sense of things - and she's as lost for an explanation as me." "The real question, then," she began, "is if you can still love her enough to forgive. Not to ever forget, but to forgive." "Yeah," I solemnly answered. "I already know that. For me though, even if possible, it's going to take a long time, even if she's gone bat-shit crazy." Melody considered my remark. She took her time, too. "Let me have your phone." She held her hand out waiting. "Just in case you need someone uninvolved to talk to." I tentatively reached into my pocket and Melody said more. "Don't get the wrong idea, Devon. I know you're having some trust issues right now. I'm not looking for a date or a sugar daddy or any of that shit." She looked me up and down briefly. "You're a little old for me in that regard." My immediate frown changed her expression and she leaned forward. "No. I didn't say that right. You're a handsome man - someone I would have pegged in their early fifties, until you told me your age. The thing is, you're just a few years younger than my grandpa." I gave her my phone reluctantly and with a sigh. She wasn't deterred. We said our goodbyes and I suggested she shop for some less revealing outfits. She looked at me like I was acting like a parent, but I told her that was the key to better tips and at least to try it. After saying my goodbyes to Lindsey and Barry I took the restless red-eye flight back home. Good sleep was still eluding me and I knew it was only a matter of time before it took its toll. I wasn't big on pharmaceuticals, even over-the-counter meds, so sleeping pills were out. I'd probably have to go to the natural food store. At nine in the morning, I walked into an empty house. I knew what Lindsey had told me, but half-expected the two of them to communicate and see Mary here waiting for me. I guess she was showing me that I was in second place. When I opened the refrigerator, I saw very little food but there was a package of English muffins and a smaller quart-size jug of milk for my coffee. At first, it appeared that she'd made the effort at some point yesterday, but then her actions made me feel like a consolation. Make sure the poor bastard has a little snack available while I live with my main priority. I wasn't in any hurry after that. I wasn't going to mope either, I just seemed to care less about her and my situation. I ate a muffin and made some coffee. After a bit, I took out my laptop and started going through work emails, of which there were hundreds. I didn't mean to immerse myself, however, it was noon when I heard her truck in the driveway. I didn't budge from my seat. When she didn't come in right away, it struck me. Had she really thought it was okay to bring that bastard with her? Sure enough, the front door opened and she helped him in. When she saw the look on my face, I was sure she wanted to turn around and back out. "That's rich," I sneered. "Bring him along to help collect your things, did you?" "Please, Devon," she deflected. "I'm not here to fight. I'd hoped some time away might..." "Might give you more time together?" I asked, interrupting. "It must have worked out for you both since you've moved into his love nest." Mary looked like she wanted to slap me. Had she not been in the middle of trying to get Ron situated on our couch, I'm certain she would have. Instead, she ignored my comment. Mary had experienced cynical me many times, just not directed so viscerally at her.

	Posted on : Apr 14, 2025

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