Strange Car in the Driveway

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He'd forgive anything for love, but he won't forgive that.
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edrider73
edrider73
1,059 Followers

Many thanks to HMAuthor for all the hard work in editing and improving this story.

Grateful thanks to Dowageroftwo for further edits, ideas and suggestions that made it much better and to Red_sky_reader for pointing out more errors and suggesting fixes.

*

I didn't see it until I was almost on top of it. I had to slam on the brakes.

My mind was preoccupied with work. A half-hour ago, my boss had told me to take the rest of the day off and report to her first thing tomorrow. That had never happened before, but what was worse was the expression on her face.

There were certain things she had to do but hated, such as firing people or dealing out any type of reprimand. She tried to do them without emotion, but her expression always gave her away. Anyone could tell that that she wished she could be anywhere else in the world.

That's the expression she wore when she spoke to me.

All the way home, I was trying to figure out what I had done wrong and what she would say to me tomorrow. I was having a hard time, because, well, I'm her best manager and I don't make stupid mistakes.

The car I almost ran into was a strange car in both senses of the word. It was strange to me because I had never seen it before. But even stranger was what it looked like.

It was so shabby that I wasn't even sure of the model. The cheap paint job was peeling off, showing ugly blotches of primer underneath, and there were dents all over it. The rear bumper looked like it might fall off completely if the car hit a bump.

The windshield had cracks, and one of the side windows was missing and covered with a sheet of plastic. The tires were nearly bald, and two hubcaps were missing. It was a complete wreck of a car and covered with a greasy coat of grime.

It was parked in the middle of my driveway, just close enough to my garage door to block my way in. I got out and walked up to it feeling baffled. Then something punched me so hard in the pit of my stomach that I had to lean against the car for support.

That's what it felt like when I realized that the car was his.

And that my marriage was over.

*****************

I first met Vera when we were both seniors. We never talked about our first three years in college, except once. It was on our fourth date, and both of us were dying to get at each other, me more than her -- although she always claimed the opposite.

That's when we both discovered that, although we were good students, our personal lives had been absolute messes before we met each other. By the end of the evening, I knew she had spent much of the last three years in a haze of drugs, booze and sex, and she knew that I was ahead of her in all three categories.

I think that conversation made us sick of ourselves. We were too depressed to have sex. But we had also cleared the air, and on the next date nothing stopped us. We found we were compatible both mentally and physically.

A couple of months later, when we got engaged, Vera put it best.

"I thank God I didn't meet you earlier, because I might have blown the best thing that ever happened to me."

I felt exactly the same.

No marriage is perfect, but I couldn't imagine one more perfect that ours. Even the arguments were perfect because when we made up, the sex was even more exciting than usual. And the usual sex was fantastic.

How could it not be? Vera was still a knockout after having three children. She was smart and funny, and she lied like crazy, always telling me I was sexy, smart and funny, too.

Sometimes we played little pranks on each other, but it was all innocent fun. If we embarrassed each other it was never to the point of humiliation. And most importantly, our play never involved others.

One reason for this a couple of other things we had in common. We were both more sensitive than the average person, and we tended to over-dramatize trivial things. We decided the best way to deal with that was to always say what was on our minds and always tell each other the truth, no matter what the consequences. Even if the truth hurt, we knew that -- at least for us - discovering a lie would hurt more.

When the children began primary school, Vera started taking evening classes. She had an English degree that she had never used, and she really enjoyed creative writing classes. Before taking the first class she asked me if I wanted her to resume her interrupted successful career in retail management.

But she knew the answer before she asked. We were doing great financially.

Her classes at the college were all with writers who had published and whose work she liked. Most of them were also professors. I liked the stories and essays she wrote, but she said I was too easy to please and should be more critical. When I asked why, she said it was because there was no way she could tell whether anything she wrote really affected me like it would an anonymous reader. Since I thought everything she did was good, it might all be bad.

Three months before I saw the car in the driveway, she had started a play-writing class. Larry and Kara joked about it one night when we were at a restaurant. They asked if there were any actors in the class. When Vera told them she was one of the few students who wasn't either an amateur or professional actor or director, the ribbing started.

Their point was that actors and anyone connected with their profession were like rabbits and I had better be careful or one of them would make a play for Vera. Vera laughed and said it was a tough class and everyone was too scared about the final for any hanky-panky.

The final was writing a one-act play that was either true or realistic enough that the teacher could believe it was true.

The teacher had divided the class up into teams of two. Each person would read to the other to get feedback on how the play was sounding. Vera could use her partner's critiques and suggestions to improve her play, but actual collaboration wasn't allowed.

I asked who her teammate was, and she said it was a guy named Reg. Kara said that sounded like an actor and Vera said he probably was, although she didn't know for sure because they hadn't had their first meeting yet.

Kara asked if he was handsome. Vera laughed, looked at me and answered "Yes" to me instead of Kara. Then she dissolved into the giggles that always broke everyone up, including me. The whole table was laughing.

That was the first time I heard Reg's name. After their first meeting, Vera told me he wasn't an actor but a successful stockbroker who was married and had two children. Writing was a hobby for him like it was for her. The next time I heard his name was one evening when the kids were asleep and Vera was in class. The phone rang, and it was Larry. He didn't sound happy.

"Hold on, Gary," he said. "Kara has something to tell you."

I heard Kara's voice in the background saying something, but I couldn't make it out. Then Larry spoke to her. I could hear him clearly.

"Goddammit, Kara, you're going to tell Gary. Come over here and take the phone."

Then I heard nothing for a while. Larry must have put his hand over the phone. The next thing I heard was Kara.

"Hi Gary," she said. "I'm sure this is nothing to worry about. Stop yelling, Larry. I'll tell him in my own way. And I'm not going to tell him what you think, because you weren't there."

"Tell me what?" I asked.

"I saw Vera with that man again."

"What man? What do you mean 'again?'"

"I'm sorry, let me start at the beginning. Two weeks ago, I ran into Vera at a coffee house. I was in the neighborhood to meet a client and stopped for a latte.

"She was sitting with this good-looking guy. I watched them for a minute, and they were deep in conversation. He was saying something to her, and I could tell from her body language that she was uncomfortable with what she was hearing. She kept shaking her head.

"I decided to go over to their table. She was surprised but didn't seem that upset to see me. She introduced me to Reg and asked me if I would like to join them. She said they were talking about her play before they went to class.

"I chatted with them for a few minutes. Vera sort of steered the conversation and got him to tell me he was married and has two children. It seemed important to her that I heard that. I think she was sure that I would tell you about running into her, but I decided that there was no reason to call you and say anything.

"I happened to be back in the same neighborhood tonight, and I saw the coffee house. I didn't need a coffee, so I don't know why I went in, but I did, and I saw them again. This time they looked a lot different. Vera wasn't frowning and shaking her head. She was smiling and nodding. And so was he. They seemed to be having a good time.

"I don't know why, but I quickly walked out. Afterwards, when I thought about it, I realized I had no idea what they were talking about. I should have gone to their table again, and I'm sure they would have told me. I didn't see anything wrong. They weren't touching. They were just talking. I overreacted and I shouldn't have told Larry anything because he has a suspicious mind."

"Is there anything else you saw either time?" I asked. My voice sounded strange to me.

"No," she said, "and now that I've told you, I hope you forget it. I'm sure there's nothing going on. Don't listen to Larry. I don't think you should confront her with something this trivial."

"Thanks, Kara," I said. "Is there anything else you or Larry want to tell me?"

"No," she said, "except please think before flying off the handle. Has Vera ever done anything to make you doubt her love and loyalty? I'm sure there's a good explanation for what I saw, and you'll hear it."

"I'll be listening," I said. Then I hung up.

I felt dizzy. My stomach was in knots. I sat in the dark for a couple of hours thinking and trying to calm myself down.

Then I heard Vera pull into the garage and quickly turned on the lights. She seemed to be in a good mood until she saw my face. Then she got concerned.

"Is everything all right?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Are the children okay?"

"Yes, they're fine."

"You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I dozed off on the couch and had a strange dream," I said. "It was like a nightmare. I just woke up when I heard you come home."

Vera sat down beside me on the couch.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked.

"I'm fine now, but it seemed so real to me. In the dream, I was insanely jealous when one of your college boyfriends called you. We had a big argument about it, and you walked out. I had to stay home with the kids and you didn't get back until late. You told me you slept with him to punish me for being suspicious. I told you we were through, and I was about to leave the house when I woke up."

"That's wild," she said. "Have you ever dreamed anything like that before?"

"No," I said. "Can you think of any reason why something like that would come into my mind?"

"Maybe it has something to do with our age." she said. "Sometimes things we've worked hard to forget come back to haunt us."

"Like what?"

"Like college. Occasionally, I see a movie or TV show or read a book that reminds me of myself in college and what my life might have been like if I had never met you. I get really scared. I've told you that."

"You think it was something like that?"

"Maybe."

I didn't say anything more, but my mind was racing as we went upstairs and prepared for bed. I was sitting up in bed and rehearsing my next speech in my mind as she brushed her teeth. When she sat down next to me, I brought up the dream again.

"You know what was really weird? I was in character in the dream, but you were completely different. The way you acted, the way you talked. It was totally unlike you."

"That's for sure," she said. "First of all, none of my old hookups would ever call me. I don't even call them boyfriends. They were all losers, and the only reason I was with them was because I was a loser, too. I have no curiosity about what happened to them, and I'm sure they're trying to forget me, too.

"But let's say one of them did call. That would be the shortest conversation in history. Just thinking about any of them makes my skin crawl.

"The clincher is me having sex with anyone else but you. Before we married, we both talked about how much loyalty and integrity mean to us and no matter what happens, the one thing we would never do is cheat."

As she spoke she stroked my right arm in a sensual way. She does this almost unconsciously, and sometimes I have to remind her to stop when we're in public.

"Since my love for you is stronger than ever now that you're a wonderful father, as well as an amazing lover and partner in life, I can't imagine ever falling out of love with you, but for the sake of argument, let's say one day all the rivers in the world start running backward and I find someone I love more than you, and I want to be with that person. I would ask for a divorce, but the last thing I would ever do is cheat on you. Don't you feel the same way?"

"Yes," I said.

"What a horrible end to a great evening!" she said. "We can't go to bed feeling like this."

"What happened earlier in the evening?"

"I'll tell you about it later," she said. "But we've got to get this nightmare out of our minds before we go to sleep."

She exhausted herself and me in bed and fell asleep with a smile. Even though I was spent, I couldn't fall asleep right away.

*****************

I thought about what Kara had said on the phone once or twice, but then I forgot about it until the day before yesterday. Vera and I were in the kitchen cleaning up from dinner. The kids were all in bed.

"Have you had any more nightmares?" she asked.

"No," I answered, feeling ashamed for having made up the nightmare story.

"I've been thinking about your dream. One interpretation is that you think I've cheated on you. Could that be what caused it?"

I tried to sound sincere when I replied, "Why would I think you've been cheating?"

"There's no reason for thinking that. I mean, there is a classic reason, but it doesn't apply to you."

She looked at me and smiled, but her smile was a bit off. Was she joking with me, or was she serious?

"What doesn't apply to me?"

"You know. When a man suspects his wife is cheating on him, it's often because he is cheating on her."

"I'm not cheating on you,"

"I know you aren't, but I have to be honest. I've thought about your dream a few times, and it hurts me. I know it isn't your fault, but it does."

I looked at her and thought about what I was about to say and almost didn't say it.

"What if you found out I was cheating on you? What would you do?"

"Other than divorce you, you mean. I don't know. I think I'd go crazy. There's no telling what I would do. I might forget I had children and do something really crazy."

"Like cheat for revenge."

"That would be nothing. I might do a lot worse things."

Her voice sounded strange. I tried to remember if I had ever heard her speak in such a harsh tone.

"Oh."

"What are you thinking right now?" she said calmly but in that same tone.

"I'm thinking this whole subject is scary, and I don't know why we're talking about it. I think you're sounding suspicious of me, and I'm sounding suspicious of you. I'm asking myself why we're doing this to ourselves."

She came to me and put her arms around me.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's all my fault."

"What is?"

"You had this strange dream, and I'm making a big deal out of it for no reason," she said. "I'm going to make it up to you."

She did when we went to bed, but again, I had a hard time falling asleep.

******************

Yesterday we had a conversation that upset me even more. Once again, it began after the children were asleep. We were sitting at the kitchen table having some coffee and she was reporting on her class.

She said that for the last several weeks as the students were discussing their plays, she had been shocked. Most of the plays were about personal experiences, and a lot of the plots involved cheating by husbands, wives, boyfriends or girlfriends. Many of them were depressing, but the a few of them were uplifting despite the subject matter.

"I analyzed the ones that I liked the most, and do you know what they all had in common?" she asked.

"I can't begin to guess," I said. I wasn't enjoying the conversation.

"They all involved forgiveness. After the horrible things these people did to each other, some of them would forgive the person who had betrayed them, and everybody was crying from happiness at the end -- the actors and the audience. I was crying, too, even though I couldn't relate to any of the plots.

"After I saw the first couple of plays, I thought about our marriage, and three things occurred to me. Each play after that only confirmed my feelings."

When she said the words "our marriage," I shivered. I wondered if she had noticed.

"What were the three things?" I asked.

"One, our marriage is boring compared to a lot of marriages. Two, I'm so happy that it is boring, because I never want it to be interesting like the relationships in those plays were. And three, you've never forgiven me -- or at least if you did, I can't remember."

I stared at her.

"Forgiven you for what? What have you done?"

"I've done a lot of things," she said, "and so have you. Neither of us is perfect. So why haven't I ever forgiven you, and why haven't you ever forgiven me?"

"I don't know," I said. "Tell me."

"Because we've never done anything bad enough to each other that one of us would ask for forgiveness," she said. "And I'm glad we haven't. But it did get me to thinking."

I wondered what she was leading up to. Aloud, I asked, "Thinking about what?"

"I was thinking about what would happen if I did something that really hurt you. Would you forgive me?"

"Like what?"

"I don't want to be specific," she said. "But let's say that I did something terrible. Maybe I did it unintentionally. I know you'd forgive me then.

"But what if I did it on purpose? What if I thought it was a good reason, but actually I was being selfish. And what if it really hurt you badly? Would you forgive me? That's what I want to know."

She looked at me expectantly. I didn't answer. I felt numb, and my tongue felt like it was swollen and was filling up my mouth so I couldn't talk.

As she looked at me, I saw her expression change. Suddenly, she looked worried. She began to open her mouth, but I finally got hold of myself and responded to her, even though I didn't answer her question.

"What if I did that to you?"

She let out a deep sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank God!" she said with feeling. "I was worried there for a second. I'm glad you said that, because you have every right to ask me the same thing as I'm asking you. And I have my answer for you, because as you can tell, I've been thinking about this.

"The answer is that I would forgive you. I'm a hundred per cent sure. Depending on what you did, I might angry for a day or a week or even longer. But I would eventually forgive you. Do you want to know how I can be so certain?"

"Yes," I said.

"Because I know that you would never do anything to me that I couldn't forgive," she said. "You're not like the guys in those plays I've been watching. You're my husband and the father of my children. I know you, and I know what you would never do -- you'd never hurt me so bad that I couldn't forgive you."

"Do you want me to hurt you, so you can forgive me?" I asked. "I am confused. Are you telling me this is something we need to experience so our lives can be complete? What do you want?"

"The only thing I want is the answer to my question. Is your answer the same as mine? I don't care if it is or if it's a different answer. I just want to know the truth, even if it hurts."

edrider73
edrider73
1,059 Followers
12