No Reply: Answered

After that, we didn't shout or insult each other. We just didn't talk. We barely said ten words a day to each other. Debbie looked like she was crying a lot, and I looked ten years older. I spent as little time at home as possible. I ate supper in town. The food was terrible compared to what Debbie made for me, but I guessed I'd better get used to it.

We both knew we were headed for divorce. Neither of us wanted it. Hell, we'd been great together for more than twenty years. Debbie was still the only woman I wanted, and I could tell she hated what was happening as much as I did, but we just couldn't find a way back. She still couldn't see what was wrong with playing house with the little fucker for a week, and I was supposed to just say okay, whatever. No fucking way. I mean, what would happen in a couple of years when little fucker's little brother turned eighteen, and my mom came by for another talk with my wife about family fucking traditions? I loved Debbie, and I knew she loved me, too. I hated where I saw our lives headed, and I hated seeing Debbie with that sad, longing look all the time, but I couldn't accept what she'd done. I just couldn't, and worst of all, I couldn't figure out a thing to do about it.

Debbie was waiting up for me one night when I pulled in. "You know I've been talking with my sister," she began. "She thinks she and I should take some time and visit my mother in Ohio. We haven't all three been together in a while, and I think it's a good idea. She's picking me up day after tomorrow. She told me to tell you she's giving you a chance to see what your life would be like without me." She turned and left, not waiting for a reply.

That's when I got the idea.

Debbie's sister Sue tried her best to rip me a new asshole for the way I was treating my wife. I just smiled and nodded; I wasn't really paying attention. Debbie looked at me a little wistfully, I thought, before she got into the car; I smiled and waved as they left. That evening, after I knew they would have gotten to her mom's, I called Debbie's cell.

"Debbie, you remember Amy Emerson, Janice Burrows' granddaughter? Little fucker's big sister? She's looking for some work, and she's pretty good in the garden, so I thought I would hire her to dig a bed and plant some flowers there on the north side of the house. Remember you always wanted a flower bed under that kitchen window?"

I smiled down the silent line for a few moments. "Is that the same Amy who's flirted shamelessly with you ever since she grew boobs?" Debbie was clearly seething.

I chuckled heartily. "Yeah, I guess she can be a little forward sometimes, and they're darn nice boobs, but you know you'll always be the only one I love. You've been a wonderful wife and lover. I have far too much respect for you to lie to you, or do this behind your back." I grinned as I said her own words back to her. The line was silent for a few seconds.

"So when do I get my chance to say 'no' to this?"

"You already had it." I was deadly serious now.

"When?"

"When you agreed to let the little fucker fuck you."

She hung up. I was half-afraid she would make her sister take her back home, but she didn't. She was gone the entire week. Amy proved to be good company and pretty good in the kitchen, too, so I spent more time at home. The new flower bed looked great.

I was waiting around the corner of the house, out of sight of the driveway, when Debbie came home. I heard Sue drive off, then went around to look. Debbie stood staring at the new garden, crying her eyes out as the pretty flowers smiled innocently up at her.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" I had walked quietly up behind her. She just nodded, and kept crying.

"They're annuals," I said. "They won't be here next year, unless you and I plant them together." Debbie looked at me funny for a moment, then nodded, understanding. "Thank you," she whispered.

"There's something I want to show you." I took her by the hand and led her around to the back of the house. The newly planted apple trees lay uprooted on the ground, their root balls carefully preserved.

"I had intended to just dig them up and burn them," I told her. "We can still do that if you like, but I think I have a better idea. If you agree, we can plant them together. The way it should have been done in the first place."

Debbie and I looked at each other for a long moment. Then she was in my arms, sobbing into my shirt, holding on to me for dear life. This was my wife, my best friend, the mother of my son, the woman I'd loved for so many years, and now I knew she was mine again.

Neither of us even thought about supper. We didn't set foot outside the bedroom (and the bathroom next to it) until morning. Late morning. I didn't have to reclaim my wife, or show anybody anything. The little fucker wasn't there: not in my bed, and not in my wife's heart. We would always know he had been in both places, but he wasn't any more. We even tried that scissors thing. I showed Debbie how to make it work, and she asked me where I'd learned. Hey, I'm a 21^st century thinking man. I looked it up on the Internet, of course. She said it was better than what the little fucker did. When she called him that, I was pretty sure we were going to be okay.

We had our talk the next morning, or more like afternoon. I insisted on going first. I apologized for putting her through a week of hell. After all, I knew exactly what it felt like. What I didn't say was that I was pretty sure she would prefer that to the only other choice: divorce.

"I understand, Bill. Finally, I really do. To tell you the truth, I already regretted the affair before I left. I should have told you that, but we weren't saying much just then, and I still didn't think I had done anything wrong. I only regretted it because it looked like it might cost us our marriage. Your mother had promised that wouldn't happen. That's why she and Janice Burrows were here the night you came home, so they could calm you down if you were upset.

"Then when you wore me out in the kitchen that night, we all thought you had worked out your anger and we would be fine. Your mother kept saying you would eventually get over it, and I kept waiting, but you didn't. So I decided I needed to tell you the whole truth, because sticking to the tradition thing wasn't working. I read the death of our marriage in your eyes that night, but I still didn't think I'd done anything wrong. I just thought you were being unreasonable.

"You probably wonder how I could do that. Despite what your mother said, I was sure some of the other men in your family had figured things out by now, and they all seemed fine with it, so I thought you should be, too. I hoped that a week by yourself would remind you of how much you stood to lose if you couldn't accept what I had done.

"Then came your phone call. I'm ashamed that's what it took to show me that I had truly cheated on you. I understood then, and it hurt like hell, but I'm glad you did it. It made me doubt that I'll ever be enough woman for you when you could have Amy, and then I understood why you were so angry at Jeff. I'm so very sorry, Bill. I'm sorry I did it, and I'm sorry for demanding that you accept it. That's why I stayed away the whole week after you called, so that you could get even with me if you wanted to, even though it hurt.

"I came home and saw the flowers, and then I knew exactly how you felt about the trees. I kept reminding myself that I deserved this; I'd done the same thing to you. Then you really shocked me. You said they were annuals, and you said we could replant the trees together if I wanted.

"My darling Bill, Janice Burrows didn't teach you how to be a good husband, or even a good lover. You are those things because you love me. I let your mother and Janice talk me into doing something terrible to you, but they were wrong, about everything. So was I, and I'm very, very sorry. Thank you for giving me a second chance. I love you, more than ever, and I'll do everything I can to make sure you never regret it."

I believed her. I was confident that if my mother ever came around again with her bright ideas about family traditions, Debbie would tell her she could put them where the sun don't shine. Little fucker's little brother could share his week of sex ed with someone else's wife. Or perhaps not: Debbie tells me that my mother is finding that many of the wives in the family are suddenly getting cold feet when it comes to family traditions. Oh, and Uncle Steve's weeping willows seem to have disappeared. I hope his drains are running better now. The maples still line my parents' driveway, though, and my mother and I haven't spoken since Debbie came back from her mother's.

I did have a long talk with my son. I didn't want him blind-sided like I had been. He had already connected some of the dots, but was pretty upset at the idea that a few years down the road, his grandmother would set his wife up to have an affair. Once he calmed down, though, he did me proud: he wrote a letter to Nancy Fullmer and her husband, apologizing for his affair with her and offering to remove the trees if they wanted him to. They did, and he did, and a heavy job of work it was, too. Debbie wouldn't tell me anything about her talk with our daughter in law, except she was sure our son would never come home to find strange trees on his place. 'Nuff said.

Debbie and I did replant the apple trees together. Her pies are still to die for, and are even better with apples that are truly ours. We plant annuals under the kitchen window together every spring. No, we aren't like we were before. When Debbie first called me about hiring the little fucker, I felt that the dynamic of our marriage had already changed, and I was right. On the other hand, we both know how close we came to losing our marriage, and we're never going to risk it again, no matter who tries to talk us into it.

So, did I spend that week plowing Amy's pretty little garden? No, I didn't. I admit that had been my idea at the beginning, and Amy was perfectly willing, but I found I couldn't go through with it. I spent my evenings and nights alone. I had enough regrets already: things I'd said to Debbie since I got home, my affair with Janice Burrows. I didn't want to do something else I'd regret. Debbie certainly got the message, and that was the whole point. Now any horticulture, or anything else, that gets practiced around here, we do together. Just us.