The Wrong Man

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Fighting my mother-in-law for the soul of my wife.
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BillandKate
BillandKate
2,470 Followers

When I was a senior in high school I was madly in love with the head cheerleader, and for a while it seemed she loved me. I thought we were the perfect couple and knew we were destined to be together for the rest of our lives. During the entire school year you couldn't put a sheet of paper between us, we were that close. Then one night in May I happened to drive past her car in the school parking lot; I couldn't understand why her car would be there, she should have been with the cheer squad at a baseball game that night.

As I approached the car it seemed to be shaking; looking in the window, my world collapsed. The love of my life was in the backseat on her back and some guy was pumping in and out of her, her legs kept pounding on his naked ass, just like a horseback rider urging a steed faster. Her fingers with those bright red nails digging into each side of his neck, maybe hard enough to draw blood, although I'd never know because I lit out of the parking lot as fast as my car could accelerate.

As I sped down the road, wandering without a destination, a part of me considered yanking the steering wheel hard to the right; there were plenty of trees I could smash into. I didn't though and started to head home; maybe my folks would have some good advice on how to handle a broken heart.

When I returned home, my parents weren't there; instead there was a note that they were going out for one of their 'date nights' and would be home late. It was as if a veil of sadness descended on me. I went into my dad's study and tried the door to his gun safe; I knew inside were his bird gun, a 12 gauge double barrel Barretta, and the service pistol from his days on the police force.

My father's precautions, locking up his firearms, probably saved my life that night; I was that distraught. Now as an adult looking back at that evening, I wonder why it affected me so hard, but the teenage brain isn't rational and what seems minor to an adult can be overwhelming to an eighteen-year-old. I laid down on my bed waiting for my parents to come home, but fell asleep.

I woke the next morning, still dressed and covered by a blanket. When I opened my window shade the morning sun came streaming into the room. It was a glorious spring day. Walking down the stairs and into the kitchen, I found my mom fixing breakfast and my dad reading the paper with the ever-present cup of coffee in his hand. You could just tell by the looks and body language their date night had been a success. These two people still loved each other after twenty-five years of marriage. I was filled with shame thinking how hurt they would be if they came home to find one of their children's bloody, lifeless body.

The three of us spent the next hour talking; I'm fortunate to have that kind of relationship with my parents. I came away from the breakfast table with a better sense of self worth and my plans for the immediate future.

I never said another word to the girl again. Any attempt she made to talk to me was met with icy silence. I thought about it but didn't even ask her to return the expensive necklace I gave her the prior month for her eighteenth birthday; that necklace had set me back a month's pay working part time at the local grocery store.

After a week of this treatment, she stood at my front door with tears falling from her eyes, my grandmother was at the house that day and answered the door. After listening to the young girl's pleas, grandma simply said, "What do you expect young lady? You were caught having sex with another boy! My grandson is not going to stand by and be made a fool of. You better get on with your life, because Jeff has." With that she closed the door.

It was too late for me to get a date for the senior prom. My ex-girlfriend went with the creep she was fucking. I don't know if they had a good time at the dance; but their after-prom activities may have been interrupted by the four holes in the asshole's sidewalls. When he got those replaced I'm certain the sugar in his gas tank may have further delayed their fun. Maybe they just left the car in the parking lot and screwed in the back seat. Who knows, who cares?

The whole affair did have a long-term effect on me. I became a bit colder, less emotional - and I swore to never be the goat again. More than one blooming love interest was severed when I felt the girl could not be trusted to be faithful.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ten Years Later

"Jeff, what the hell is this?"

My wife, Emma, was standing over my chair holding a piece of notebook paper in one hand, a used book in the other. I hadn't gotten around to reading the book, recently purchased online from a second-hand bookseller, it had been sitting in the bookcase with the others on my 'to-read' shelf.

For some reason I ignored the piece of paper and focused on the book because that's what I thought she was asking about; but I was puzzled since Emma never got upset when I bought books. In fact, she usually reads and appreciates the books I choose.

"It's 'The Wrong Man', James Neff's comprehensive investigation of the Sam Shepard trial for the murder of his wife; you know, 'The Fugitive'."

Now it was Emma's turn to be puzzled. "Not the book, mister" she stuck the notebook paper under my nose, "this, this!" She was practically shouting now.

I went to grab the paper, Emma seemed reluctant to let it go; as if it was something important, but she finally released it. I sat up from my leather reading chair, put down Kafka's 'The Trial' I was reading and read the words on the paper. It was hand written in an obviously female cursive.

Jeff

What you need to do is divorce that witch you're married to before she drives you nuts enough to murder her one day.

I'll wait for you, but I won't wait forever.

Your love,

Teri

P.S. Just so you know, you've fucked me for the last time until I see those divorce papers - signed!

I read the note twice, trying to make some sense of all this. Was this someone's idea of a joke?

I looked up from the note and saw the fire in Emma's eyes.

"Emma, I have no idea who this came from or what it means. Where did you find this?"

Emma handed the book to me. "It was in your book, don't play stupid just because you were too damn dumb and left it in there."

I spent the next half hour trying to explain that the book was purchased on line and I hadn't had a chance to look through it. The note must have belonged to the previous owner, but what are the odds the owner's name was the same as mine? Talk about the perfect storm; the timing of this couldn't have been any worse.

Number one, last year I made the mistake of getting a little too close to one of the women at the office. Sharon Roberts and I did a bit of flirting and it ended one night when we went out to dinner; our first dinner together. Sharon cut to the chase and propositioned me. I was tempted; it was during a time when my marriage to Emma was at a low point, we both were spending too little time on our marriage and too much time at our respective jobs trying to gain favor with our bosses; plus Sharon is built like a wet dream come alive.

I didn't succumb to the temptation; if anything, Sharon's proposal threw a bolt of reality and conscience into my fuddled brain. I knew I had to get home and fix my marriage; I loved Emma.

When I arrived home that evening, I told Emma we needed to fix what I felt was broken, but I made the monumental mistake of confessing my near indiscretion. Things were rough for a few weeks, but I managed to convince Emma she was the only woman in my life - she seemed to believe me, until this evening when Emma found the note inside the book.

Number two, for the past three months I've been putting in longer hours at the office. This was legitimate; I was in line for a nice bonus and maybe a promotion if I could get my current project complete on time and under budget. I had a number of good reasons for wanting this promotion, but one of those reasons superseded all the others.

It was no secret that Emma's parents thought she married below her station. Emma's father was the CFO at the largest independent bank in the state. He was all Ivy League, Emma's mother was a Vassar grad, Emma went to Princeton, I graduated from Kent State. My MBA from Wharton barely made a ripple in her parents' world. With a promotion, I'd be on my way to the top. But the time away from home has been a point of contention lately.

Number three, Emma has been spending more time with her mother of late, a woman who has never warmed to me or my relationship to her daughter. Last week Emma and I had a pretty bad argument regarding the time spent at work. Words were spoken, some nasty on both sides. But worst of all, when Emma said her mother was right about me, that I was a cheater and wasn't worthy of her, I called her mother a 'witch'. Yes, I used the same word that the author of the mysterious note used to describe (the other) Jeff's wife.

Could this nightmare get any worse? Yes, it could and it did.

By now, you the reader are probably doubting my story. Many of you (and almost all the women reading) are thinking, "give it up - you've been caught!" But I swear I'm innocent.

I ended up sleeping on the couch after failing to convince Emma the note wasn't mine. Emma locked our bedroom door.

Thursday I went into work and told my boss I needed to back off the extra hours for a bit. He's divorced himself and said he understood. I brought Emma a bouquet of flowers. At least she didn't throw them in the trash, she even thanked me as she put them in a vase.

We slept together that night, but the frost in the air remained.

By Friday night things hadn't thawed. Emma decided to spend the weekend at her folks' house. This wouldn't help. I asked Emma not to go, but she said she needed time to cool off and think. I almost said her mother was the last person she should be with to 'cool off and think', but I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. No sense getting her defensive, which always happened when the topic of her folks came up.

I spent the weekend staring at those flowers and wondering what would repair my marriage. I took our dog, Sampson, out for a long walk and gave this a lot of thought; I really did love Emma. Saturday night I sent her a text, "Would you consider counseling?"

The reply was short, "We'll talk when I get home Sunday evening."

Sunday came and went. Sunday night I received a second text. "Drank too much at dinner. Will be home Monday."

I was starting to get pissed. I was innocent, damn it! I knew a weekend at her mother's was a bad idea. Emma did get home early Monday just before I left for work. I got a lame kiss and a 'We'll talk tonight" before she ran upstairs to change for work.

I put in a full day Monday, but left work in time to have take-out Chinese ready for when she walked in the door at seven. The meal was quiet, not friendly, but relatively polite. We opened our fortune cookies, I poured a couple glasses of aperitif, Emma started the conversation.

"Jeff, I don't trust you; and that's a lousy way to feel about a husband. Mother says I should cut my losses and leave."

"Let's not bring your mother into this discussion. You know she's never liked me. Let's keep it to what you and I want and need."

"I need space and time to think. I suggest you move into the spare bedroom until we get it sorted out."

I hated this idea, what married couple fixes things sleeping in separate rooms?

"What about what I suggested? The counseling?"

"Maybe, but not right now. Right now I need time to think on my own."

I couldn't help myself. "Does 'thinking on your own' include your mother?"

"Mother only wishes the best for me. If I need to talk to my mother, I will."

That was the end of it that night. I moved my things into the spare room and didn't get much sleep that night.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Looking Back - One - A Little Background

I met Emma when I was doing consulting work for a non-government organization (NGO) where she was an intern. It was a full year after I graduated from Wharton, one of the big four accounting firms hired me, and after my first full year of employment I was assigned to help the NGO with their computer systems. It was a pro-bono job; our regional manager was on the NGO Board and I was assigned to them for the duration of the conversion.

It turned out to be a winner all around. The NGO had a new server system and I met my future bride.

Emma Taylor would be a senior at Princeton in the fall and was spending the summer as an unpaid intern. The more time I spent with this woman, the more I was falling in love. We dated throughout that summer. Emma was smart, confident, and best of all, had the body and face of a Victoria's Secret Angel.

Although Emma came from an upper-class background, I was especially impressed by how well she treated everyone in the office, from mail clerks to the president; there was always a please, thank you, or other kind word.

Physically, Emma wasn't out of my league. I'm a good looking guy and big enough to have played tight end at Kent State. Emma's 5'9" looks good next to my 6'4", even when she wore her five-inch heels. Where we diverged was in social status; Emma is the only child of two WASPs whose background usually didn't mesh with my more middle-class parents. My mom taught second grade at a Catholic school, Dad owned a machine shop. I'm one of four children, all college grads and all fairly accomplished in a middle-class kind of way. Mom and Dad were rightfully proud of their children.

Dad and Mom taught us a work ethic that helped me succeed; within two years at the accounting firm I was recruited by one of our clients. We just completed a successful consulting engagement at TMG2 Engineering, Inc. in which we saved the company millions on their conversion from mainframes to a server based computing system. TMG2 offered me a job, it meant I wouldn't have to travel and my salary was comparable.

I'm still with TMG2, now working as a project manager in the IT department. My project at the time of this story was to convert our systems to what was then the new concept of cloud computing. Few companies our size had made the conversion to the 'cloud'; I was responsible for convincing the Board to do it, if it worked out as well as I expected it to, and as well as I promised our Board, I had a shot at the proposed CIO title. Until now, the IT department was managed by the CFO and he was a strong proponent of creating the new position.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I woke up Tuesday morning in the spare bedroom, it took me a few moments to get my bearings, but when I came downstairs the coffee was on. Emma was upstairs in the shower, for a brief moment I considered joining her, but decided to give her the time she requested. With a cup of coffee I went into the guest bath and got ready for work.

All week long, things stayed tense. Emma was spending long days at work, so I decided to do the same and went back to my project. I think my boss was happy, he probably thought my marriage issues were resolved and I didn't let on any differently.

Friday afternoon I sent Emma a text. "Can I take you to dinner tonight? Your choice of the restaurant."

Ten long minutes later I received her reply. "Going to Mother's, spending the weekend."

This was ridiculous, I called her immediately; she had the courtesy of answering.

"How can we work on our marriage or on your trust issues if you're not home?"

"I told you I need time, it's only been a week. You need to respect my wishes."

I did my best to stay calm and give her reasons for sticking around for the weekend, but all my reasons fell on deaf ears. In the end she agreed to consider my third request for counseling.

"Will I see you before you leave this evening for Manhattan?"

"No, I already packed my bags. I'll probably be back Monday night. I'm staying through the weekend and going straight to work from New York."

Another weekend - just Sampson and me; another two days trying to think of ways to fix what's broke.

Saturday, I had an idea. I looked up the number of the used book store I bought 'The Wrong Man' from and talked to a clerk.

"Hi, I bought a used copy of 'The Wrong Man' from your store, you shipped it to me three weeks ago. There was a romantic note inside written to a 'Jeff', which also happens to be my name. My wife found the note and is accusing me of having an affair. I need to talk to the Jeff that owned the book."

The clerk actually had the gall to laugh. "Man, what are the odds? A book with the title, 'The Wrong Man' owned by two guys named Jeff and with a love note inside."

The clerk was pissing me off. "Listen, it's not funny. My wife needs some assurance I'm not the Jeff who received the note from this woman. Does your system keep track of the buyers and sellers?"

"Yea, if the guy is registered with us. Lots of people who sell us their used books have accounts and are in our system. But I can't give you the name or phone number."

"Well, what if you take my name and number, contact the other Jeff, and ask him to call me?"

"I can do that. What's your name so I can trace the book?"

"Jeff Parker."

"Like the author?"

I was stumped, "What author?"

He laughed again. "T. Jefferson Parker. He writes mysteries."

This conversation was idiotic, but I had to ask. "What's the 'T' stand for?"

"I don't know. Maybe 'Thomas'? Your guess is as good as mine."

"Never heard of him. I don't read fiction mysteries. OK, forget this Parker. I'm Jeffery Parker, not Jefferson and I don't have a 'T' in my name."

I gave him my phone number and was pleasantly surprised to hear my phone ringing twenty minutes later.

"My name's Jeff and I was told you have a note you found written to me. Is this some kind of blackmail?"

"No, this isn't blackmail. I bought a book, 'The Wrong Man', that you owned. Inside was a note from a woman named Teri. I need you to tell my wife that the note was written to you and not me."

"The note was in the book? Shit, I looked all over for that stupid bitch's note. If my wife found it, I'd be toast. I can't believe it ended up in that book."

"Jeff, pay attention. I need you to tell my wife what happened."

"No way, man. I dodged that bullet. Teri's history, I'm still married and I'm going to keep it that way."

He hung up. It took me five minutes to calm down and get my thoughts together. I dialed the number that showed up on the 'received calls' log of my cell phone. He answered it. "Hello?"

"Jeff, this is Jeff. I changed my mind. This is blackmail. If you don't send me a notarized statement that Teri sent the love note to you, your wife is going to receive a notarized letter from me with a copy of Teri's note. How does that grab ya, MAN?"

"That's cold."

"Probably not as cold it's been around my house since Teri's note was found by my wife."

"OK, OK, but you'll promise that this is the end, right?"

"I promise. Just send a statement, remember, it has to be notarized or my wife won't believe it. Here's my address. Don't dawdle, get it done early this week."

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Looking Back - Two - Becoming Lovers

Emma and I were working at the NGO and dating exclusively for five weeks when we made love for the first time. It was very vanilla. No oral, straight missionary and I'm certain Emma didn't get off, although she said she did.

Although the sex the first time was vanilla, it was different from any of my previous encounters with women. My senses came alive all at once. My tongue tasted the red wine we consumed with dinner, my eyes saw something special in her eyes as she looked back at me. I could smell her scent, unique to her (I later learned it was Creed Millesime, it became my 'go-to' gift for years to come). I listened to her breathing change and the small quiet moans as she raised her hips to meet my thrusts. And the feeling that passed through my body as she gripped my cock with the soft, wet sleeve of her vagina sent a bolt of pleasure up my spine and into my brain.

BillandKate
BillandKate
2,470 Followers