A Simple Case of Infidelity Pt. 04

As Leslie stepped outside Woodrow looked over at me, "Remember yourself Francis. You're her boss. Be a good one."

I just nodded. Who does he think he is? Of course I'll be a good boss.

Leslie came back in. She leaned over and placed the folder on Woodrow's desk. Using her waist as a fulcrum she involuntarily twisted her upper body around. I could see her breasts kind of twist and move under her blouse. I felt the hackles rise up and down my back. Goose bumps, I'm getting fucking goose bumps! I've got to get out of here.

I looked at Woodrow, "We've had a few windy nights. Several trees have fallen into a couple of the tributaries of the Savage. Think I'll go and saw some of them away. Better to do it now than wait till things get worse, too cold you know. Don't you think?"

Woodrow looked at me, "Still pretty wet. Those banks are steep and slippery. Better not go alone."

I'd been chain sawing since I was what, ten? Sure it's a dangerous chore. More people get seriously hurt with chain saws than any other piece of farm or garden equipment, but I was careful! I replied, "I'll be all right."

Woodrow ignored me; he looked past me to my estranged wife, "Think you better go with him."

I had my back turned so I couldn't see Leslie, but I heard her, "Yes sir."

I thought, 'This is insanity! Cruel and unusual punishment.'

I slipped on my hat and started for the door. The saws were in the tool shed. I'd take three; an eighteen incher, a smaller one, and an extension saw for distant limbs. When I got out there I found the 'blade oil' and the engine mix. We used Stihl saws. They're a good saw. There were several other makes that were just as good, but someone got us a deal so we used Stihl.

Leslie was waiting by the truck we'd use when I got back. I placed the three saws in the back, and dropped the fuel and lubricant next to them. We had extra blades on the back seat so, though I doubted I'd need one, they were there.

Oh stupid me; I instinctively opened and held the passenger side door for her. She climbed in. She thanked me. Why did I do that?

I went around to my side and got in too. I started the engine, released the brake, and slowly pulled away. I looked in the rear-view and saw Woodrow watching as we pulled away.

I got about halfway down the gravel drive and stopped. I looked over at Leslie, "Look, I don't like this...you working here, but I guess I'm stuck. Just a fair warning, stay of out my way. Don't try anything."

She looked back at me. Why did she always have to look 'that way'? She said, "I'll be a good employee. I promise, nothing about us."

I turned and looked out the front windshield, and started on down the drive.

I was pleasantly surprised; our morning of chain sawing went fairly smoothly. Leslie turned out to be a pretty good, hell damn good assistant, but then she'd had plenty of practice, we'd worked together doing pretty much the same kind of thing for over twenty years. Not like some women, especially not like our daughter; Leslie had always been a good helper. I've found over the years women, and I hate to admit it, some men, do more getting in the way than they do helping. Leslie had always been a good helper. I remembered hardly ever having to yell or cuss at her.

We worked together quietly and diligently for the better part of three hours. Leslie was quite observant. She warned me of troublesome places on the trails a couple times. Once I started to slip and she touched my upper arm. Her hands are small. Her fingers were warm. I noticed she'd polished them with something clear. Her hands and fingers looked nice, feminine. Even through my shirt I felt how soft they were, like I remembered. I hated her.

~~v~~

We got back to the office a little after 12:00. We hadn't done all I'd hoped, but we'd done a lot. We were both pretty tired and kind of muddy. I had my lunch already packed. I'd packed it that morning. I had a PB&J and an apple. I opened my lunch pail and started to dig in. Leslie was behind me so I couldn't see what she had, but Woodrow did. He said, "What've you got there Leslie?"

I heard her say, "Just a little corned beef brisket with mustard, some fresh blueberries, and a piece of Mrs. Bielson's homemade cake."

Woodrow was eating a ham sandwich. He asked, "You and Mildred make that up?"

She replied, "Yes sir."

I had to look around. God damn! There she sat; one napkin on her lap, another opened out on the table with her sandwich on it cut in half diagonally! In the middle were some blueberries in a small bowl. I love blueberries; hadn't had any in a while. On the side was the cake in a Tupperware container, and a milk carton with a straw in it on the far edge of the napkin. I'll be damned if she hadn't cut the crusts off her bread, just like...when.

That green blouse! She'd tucked it in...so tight. Those buttons were...her breasts were...I could see... Oh just look at her! She's picked up part of her sandwich...those hands and fingers and all... She's still got her rings on! Oh! Oh!

She looked at me and asked, "If you like I could give you half."

I took a bite of my PB&J, and answered, "No thanks," I took another drink from my Pepsi can.

After lunch Leslie got up. She looked at Woodrow, "Guess my time is up. May I be excused now?"

I looked up.

Woodrow said, "Tomorrow, don't forget."

I watched. I had to. She slipped on one of those thin wool sweaters that buttoned up the front. She adjusted, no pulled it over her arms and buttoned just the top button. It was a white sweater. It stretched out around her...I could see... She used her hand and adjusted her ponytail. This wasn't fair. She's so...pretty. She silently stepped to the door, she paused, looked at me and said, "Thank you for helping me on my first day." She smiled at me.

I know I blushed. I felt my cheeks get hot. I only nodded. She left.

Woodrow looked at me, "I take it you weren't rude when you were out cutting."

I said, "No sir.

Then he said, "I'm kind of tired Francis. You mind if I leave you now?"

I said, "No sir."

Woodrow left. I sat there alone in the by then too hot office. I thought to myself, 'I'm alone. This is my office, and I'm in here and I'm alone. I feel so alone. It's so quiet. There aren't even any birds outside. I feel so...so gloomy.'

That had been our first day.

~~V~~

Leslie came in every Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday mornings. That was all; just three mornings a week. It got to be pretty routine. Leslie was always quiet. She never volunteered any conversation, neither did I, and certainly neither did Woodrow.

Every day we went someplace. Every day she looked so pretty. One day I said, "I see you're still wearing your rings."

She held her left hand out in front of her the way women do. She looked at the rings. She didn't look at me. She said real softly, so softly I could hardly hear her, "Yes."

I didn't say anything.

Woodrow was always tired so almost every day he left early. Then it was just me and Leslie. We never said anything. Every day she brought her lunch. Every day it was something nice, something I'd always liked. Every day she offered me half her sandwich, and every day I declined.

We weren't fighting. We weren't talking. We weren't anything. Sometimes she'd look at me, but she never said anything. I guessed if nothing out of the ordinary happened everything would be all right.

Foolish, stupid me; when does anything ever not get out of the ordinary?

~~~V~~~

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised if she decided to dig back in and rejoin the community; the woman had lived here half her life. Over the next several days people were knocking each other over trying to tell me what Leslie had done next. She'd rejoined the church choir; Advent was approaching and she had a great voice so church morality went right out the door. I'd been led to believe adultery was one of the 'big ten', but I guess it didn't matter if they got to add another versatile soprano. Leslie and those descants; it was going to be a long tedious fall, her up in the loft, and me, if I went, down in the sanctuary.

To make matters worse she'd volunteered to teach the primary school kids in Sunday school. That meant there'd be no way I could slip in and out for the early service.

I sort of said something to the reverend about Leslie singing and teaching. He went into this long song and dance about Jesus, Mary Magdalene, first stones, and forgiveness. I wanted to throw up.

Dad was the worst. He called all worried and nervous. We had an emergency call service, a kind of hot line, not 911, but something for lonely desperate people to call. Suicide wasn't a big thing in our area, but, like spousal abuse, drunkenness, and addiction it was a thing.

Dad told me, "Francis it scares me that Leslie's getting back involved with people with all those problems. You remember how she was before."

Yeah I did remember. There was something about Leslie; she had this 'rescue mentality', she saw someone in trouble and she had to be there. I remembered her talking about some bunch of Hispanic kids when she was in college and how they'd all died in front of her. Back when we were still 'official', and before she fucked up our lives I did worry that she sometimes got in over her head.

She had prescriptions for things like Xanax, and they helped keep her on something of an even keel. I'd always kept a pretty close track of what she bought and what she took. I remembered she'd run spells. Usually I could tell when she was down; it was most often in the fall and early winter when we didn't get much sunlight. I talked to our family doctor a couple times when we weren't real busy, and he'd said to keep lots of lights on and to not let her be by herself too much. He said the best medicine for what he said she had, he said it was clinical depression, was to stay busy. He said the more projects she had the better. He even said the 'call center' wasn't bad as long as she didn't let things get to her. He'd said lots of affection and attention, things like back rubs and hand holding and intimacy always helped.

I wondered, 'What if Leslie tried to say the pills made her do it? No, not her. She'd never try it. She'd know I'd never go for it. If Leslie had an excuse, any plausible excuse it wouldn't be something as stupid as drugs. I was interested, in a morbid sort of way I guess, to hear what her excuses might be. Damn I would've given anything to hear something last spring. I would've forgiven almost anything last spring. Now, no, waste of time. We are so over.'

I told my dad not to worry, and I told him not to be hassle me about Leslie again, she wasn't my problem. He got mad and hung up. Well fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck me.

~~V~~

Damn me, I should have known Leslie would be the 'queen bee' again at church. She had half the town and my whole family on her side. Aside from being a terrific cook, a great story teller, a passable athlete especially with stuff like softball and soccer, and having my mom and Mrs. Bielson cooking for her she was always so pretty. Yeah, warm and pretty and nice, the little ones idolized her.

What was I supposed to do? I'd always gone to church; been an usher, collected the offering, counted the money. I'd been on the household committee. I couldn't remember the number of windows I'd fixed, how many times I'd mulched and planted the flowers, or how often I'd been called to open the church and help out when something went wrong with the furnace. Guess what? I stopped going. Guess what else? Nobody called. I wasn't missed.

People noticed Leslie though; she sure wasn't being missed and my mom sure wasn't reluctant to let me know. Halloween was nigh upon us. Someone at church decided we needed a Halloween party; a party with games, costumes, and contests. Guess who was on the committee to organize it, and guess who asked me one afternoon before she left work if I'd help out? I told her no I was busy.

Of course they had the party. Victoria was there and she told me all about it, every grisly detail. Leslie was the center of attention. Was I surprised? Not hardly. She had 'that way' about her; especially with children. The little ones adored her, teenaged girls sought her advice, and the teenaged boys mostly just drooled. She wore a princess costume; it wasn't new. I remembered it. I sure remembered it.

~~V~~

It was a small town and word about Leslie's infidelity had leaked out months earlier, but she was back and it was like nobody cared, or they blamed me. It was equally clear we weren't likely to reconcile. So I was sitting in Madigan's one afternoon after work when Joe Morgan walked in; he spotted me and came over.

Joe sat down; uninvited I might add, and said, "Here you and Leslie are separated."

I replied, "You got that."

He said, "I checked. Legally she can't get it on with anybody till the thing's final, but she can still go out and all."

I answered, "If you say so."

He got up; as he started to walk away he said, "You don't mind then?"

I was getting bored with this. Who did he think he was? She never much liked him. Him? Her? On a date? Not likely. I told him, "She can do what she wants," smart move huh. Guess I showed her.

Two nights later I got a call from mom. She was all angry. I asked her why, she asked, "Have you been telling men to call Leslie and hit her up for dates? Because if you have you better stop. She's been crying all night thinking you're trying to hand her around."

'Jesus H. Christ,' I thought, 'that bastard Joe Morgan.' I told my mom, "Joe Morgan asked me if we were still together, and when I told him no he asked if he could ask her out, I told him she could do whatever she wanted."

My mom answered, and she wasn't real nice about it, "Well it's all over town that you've put your wife up for auction. What, you think she's some piece of meat? Thanks to you every no good ornery cuss around thinks he's entitled to a turn. Darn it Francis she's trying to restore her reputation and you're trying to make things worse."

"Mom," I responded, "All I said was she could go out if she wanted. I didn't tell anybody to ask her."

"I'm just a little ashamed of you Francis," my mom started, "the poor girl's working hard to get herself back together. Everybody's been rooting for her. You had no right."

I tried to answer, "But mom..."

She hung up.

Leslie never brought it up when we were at work, and I sure didn't either.

~~V~~

So they had the damned Halloween party. I missed it. I thought now maybe people would leave me alone. Yeah, right, sure.

All right, so what always happens the fourth Thursday of November? O...K. So mom called first to forgive me for being so mean about the dating and about the Halloween party. Then Richard called. He said he'd met a new girl; a girl he really very seriously liked and he wanted me to meet her this Thanksgiving. Victoria called; sure I expected that one. Finally my dad got me on the phone. His call wasn't an invitation; it was an order.

Come on, I'd been arguing with my dad since I learned to talk. He and I disagreed on almost everything. Ask him who the greatest president was; his answer never changed - FDR. Man my dad could name every program FDR ever started from the FDIC all the way to the USO and a million other socialistic things in between. I once told him I kind of liked Reagan. He almost belted me. He told me the only thing Reagan was responsible for was the need for two incomes in every family budget. I knew I'd never win that one.

He'd rattle off the top six presidents. He said they were all 'left wing'. He even named them: FDR, TR, Lincoln, Washington, Jefferson, and Madison.

I thought I had him on that. I told him G.W., Jefferson, and Madison were all conservatives. He blew up! He said, 'Oh yeah, well who wrote the Constitution? Who wrote the Federalist Papers? Who did the Bill of Rights? Who broke the law and bought Louisiana? Who was the general who led the army that won the Revolution? A Revolution! Who wrote the Declaration?' I remember he yelled, 'Tell me that stuff was conservative! Not when they were alive it wasn't!'

I gave up a long time ago. A person can't win arguing with a man like that.

Dad told me when I should get to their house for Thanksgiving dinner, what to wear, and to bring some flowers for the table. No argument from me; I said "I'll be there dad."

Well the whole afternoon was awful, just awful. First Leslie looked terrific. She had on this dark blue polka dot dress with pleats, three quarter sleeves, and slightly scooped collar. She wore a necklace, earrings, and small bracelet set; a set I'd bought her once. I couldn't remember the occasion. I don't think there'd been one; back when we were married I never needed a reason. I only stopped buying her jewelry and junk like that, flowers and all, after we lost all our money in the crash. She and I had agreed we needed to save.

Her hair was in, of sure, a ponytail, and it looked gorgeous. She'd been putting a rinse in it, and the color was good again. Damn, she just looked good all over. I couldn't help it; I kept thinking about, what if...well...if we... No that was over. So over.

Before dinner dad, Richard and I sat around and argued about football. Richard loved the Ravens. Dad hated the Colts and the Cowboys. Me? I didn't know. I was sort liked the Redskins, dad called them the Deadskins, but I'd been leaning toward the Ravens. I kind of liked the Steelers too.

Dinner came. We all sat down. Mrs. Bielson was there and she said grace. Leslie had made her oysters, and I had two helpings. No one said anything when I asked them to pass the oysters. I didn't look up, not exactly, but I could tell out of the corner of my eye Leslie was quietly pleased. She was stupid. She thought she'd win me back with oysters; after what she'd done? They were good though.

Dinner was great; it always was. Every time I looked up from my plate I saw Leslie was watching me. I'd look up and she'd, real quick, look down. She was like that at work too. No one said anything. Everyone was pretending like nothing was happening.

Nobody said much during the meal, but between the meal and dessert we all got to talking. Leslie didn't say much at all. Dad got off on Iraq and how much he hated 'W'. I tried the defend him. Richard took dad's part. Dad said some asshole wanted to bring back that bastard Patraeus; he was the man who got credit for settling Iraq problem, the surge and all. He was also the philanderer who'd slept around with that whore Broadwell.

Looking back, I think the whole conversation was staged. I told them the guy Scott Broadwell was a real wimp for taking his adulterous wife back. Leslie blushed. I wanted her to. Dad said he thought her husband was a real man to take her back, to protect his sons, and keep his family together. Richard agreed with dad, but it was mom who split open the watermelon.

Mom looked at me, then at Leslie and said, "I could just bet that girl, that poor Broadwell girl, was all messed up. I mean out in another country, hanging around with some big shot general, her husband nowhere around. She was almost forty, probably feeling a little insecure..."

I interrupted her, "There's never any..."

Mrs. Bielson interrupted me, "I know what you're going to say. Never an excuse. I agree, but I disagree too. I think that poor girl got in over her head, what a war hero, a man others all admired, her feeling all alone. I bet he filled her head with notions. She got all starry eyed. I guess..."

I interrupted her right back, "There's never an excuse for adultery."

Just then Richard's date, a pretty girl; she looked a lot like Leslie, said, "May I say something?"

My dad and everybody looked her way. Dad said, "Of course dear."