Surprise Surprise Pt. 02

Betsy didn't engage me any further that night. She steered clear of me, letting me settle into my study without renewing the argument. So far she had pretty much acted as I expected. But I knew the respite from our argument was only the calm before the storm. Make a plan, Execute the plan was the mantra I said to myself like a religious chant. Tomorrow was going to blaze new trails.

~~~@~~~@~~~

Nervous energy woke me well before my phone's alarm. Because of the great success with the Allied contract renewal, for now my shit didn't stink at MaxStaff. My boss immediately OK'd my request for a few unscheduled days off. Betsy was gone, but there were no signs that she was preparing to move out. I called my attorney to update her on yesterday's festivities, and to get her started on paperwork to require Betsy to move out. Most of the rest of my day was spent inventorying the household items, so I'd have a list for Kintner of what was mine, what was Betsy's, and what we owned together. I made sure the security system was working.

Betsy showed up in the late afternoon. She didn't acknowledge me as she headed for the bedroom to begin preparing to go out with Demerest. She sat before the vanity mirror, carefully applying makeup while her curling iron heated. I left her to her primping and headed to the family room, where I waited until Betsy appeared. She looked great. Better than great. Oddly enough, the war paint wasn't for Demerest. It was for me, to rub in what he would be getting while I sat at home. Cold, calculated, female cruelty. Betsy had set the rules of engagement. Game on.

"I can't physically stop him from pulling into the driveway," I told her calmly, "but don't you dare bring him inside my house."

Betsy tossed a dismissive look my way. "I still live here, and I'll invite in who I want," she said defiantly. "I told you I was going out with Vern tonight. If it bothers you then you need to go somewhere else. Suck it up or crawl away."

This was where I would make my stand. I didn't know for sure if Betsy was trying to rub my nose in the adultery, or if she just didn't give a fuck about my sensibilities any more, though just about everyone I've told my story to assures me that I was having it shoved in my face. I later learned that giving me a snout full of humiliation was her revised plan, and that wasn't the half of it. Either way, tonight the tectonic plates in my marriage were going to shift again, at least an 9-point-5 on the Shit Eruption scale.

I spoke evenly and calmly, albeit with a menacing tone. "It is not your house, and you're only still here because I've let you stay. Despite your hideous disrespect of me and everything I believe in and value, I've allowed you to live here for a few days so you could pack up and make arrangements to live somewhere else. That will change immediately if you keep it up. If you think I'm going to have that you and that piece of shit Demerest make me slink away from my own goddamn house on your accounts, think again. Don't test me, Betsy. That asshole is NOT welcome in my house. Consider carefully what you do. Very carefully."

"Oooohhh!" she crooned with theatrical sarcasm. "Should I be scared?"

Even though Betsy was acting as I thought she would, I was still dumbfounded by her refusal to understand her position. My plan accounted for the contingency that she would cease open warfare while she busied herself with making her post-Tom arrangements. Instead she decided on unrestrained hostilities. I wondered if her idiot friends were giving her of their sage advice, or if this was all Betsy.

The doorbell rang as I pondered that. Betsy waltzed past me in the family room to the front door. I wasn't sure where this shiteshow was headed. I opened up my phone's app to turn on the house's security monitoring system. It would record everything that was said at the doorways and inside most of the rooms simultaneously, along with high-def video at 4k resolution, something my phone couldn't do. I had meant to tell Betsy about that feature when I upgraded the security system a few months ago, but all she wanted to know was how to arm and disarm the security alarm. Having an audiovisual record of everything that happened could be a salvation if it turned into a he-said/she said.

The opened front door revealed Demerest, of course. He was visibly taken aback when he saw me enter the foyer from the hallway. I was wearing my Un-Welcome Wagon face.

Demerest looked at Betsy like she had lost her mind. "I... You didn't... You didn't tell me he was going to be here," he stammered at Betsy.

"It's alright, come in," Betsy said before giving him an exaggerated lover's kiss. Demerest hesitated momentarily, watching me out of the corner of his eye as he haltingly kissed my wife right in front of me.

"No, it's not alright," I corrected forcefully. "Listen carefully, Demerest. You are not welcome in my house. You may not come inside. If you do, I will consider it a trespass, and I will have you arrested." I pulled out my phone. "Gather up your trollop and be on your way."

Betsy's eyes flared before she turned to Demerest. "Well I say he can come in!" she barked as she grabbed his arm and literally pulled him inside. There was a hidden communication going on between them that eluded my understanding. My best read was that if he didn't do as she said, she'd make him miserable. And then there was her remark during her phone call about how he could "handle" me. Whatever her silent message was, he fell in line with the game Betsy was playing, though it was obvious he was wary. No big surprises so far.

"The lady says I can come in," he said to me with a smirk as he stepped fully inside my foyer and closed the door behind him. The phrase useful idiot sprang to mind as he did Betsy's bidding. She was playing him expertly. Welcome to the club, Vern.

I don't know why, but the ghost of Henny Youngman and a hundred other Vaudeville acts barged into my mind. "That's no lady, that's my wife!" I replied, chuckling to myself before regaining my composure. "Seriously, and I'm not fucking around any more. Get out of my house. Last time I'll say it. Don't make me call the police to have you removed by force." Betsy muttered "Oooh, tough guy" under her breath. I hoped the recording caught that jab, just in case.

My threat to call the police pushed a button. Demerest smirked at me again before defiantly crossing his arms in front of him. I still didn't know for sure what game he was playing, but almost certainly it was a joint power play for dominance. I wasn't going to be bullied in my own house by Betsy and her new cock. I took my phone out of my shirt pocket and called 9-1-1.

"Good evening. My name is Tom Matthews. I live at 2519 White Oak. There is a man here named Vernon Demerest who is in my home without my permission and refuses to leave....... No, no one is armed, so far as I know.......... Yes, I think violence is possible. The intruder is openly challenging my instructions that he leave....... Thank you......... I'll keep my phone on until the officers arrive."

I looked at Demerest. "I gave you several chances. For your sake, I hope she was worth what's coming your way." I shook my phone at him to emphasize the point.

Demerest suddenly got the crazy eyes. He knocked my phone out of my hand hard, causing it to fly across the foyer and into the glass door of a curio cabinet, shattering both the glass and my cracking the phone's screen. My hand throbbed slightly from the blow.

"That's assault, mister. You just bought yourself a night in jail."

"That's what YOU think!" Betsy shouted. "Our story is going to be that you got mad and threw your phone at me and missed! We'll see who goes to jail tonight! And while you're sitting in jail, Vern and I are going to fuck the night away in our bedroom! We're going to do it that study where you crawled away, too! And after, I'm going to rub my cum-soaked pussy on every piece of furniture and every counter top. I'm going to mark this entire house!"

I prayed that my fancy home security setup was catching all of this. Betsy had either gone nuts or her insane bitch booster shot had taken effect. I hoped the cops would at least look at the video before deciding to buy Betsy's story, so I wouldn't have to spend a night in jail. Or would it be their story? My attorney might have given me bad advice about refusing to move out. Nah, even if she had told me to move out, no fucking way I could swallow abandoning my own goddamn house to Betsy on top of everything else. I had a solid plan, the police were on their way, and the video system was recording it all and saving it to the cloud. Make a plan, Execute the plan. I would stick to the plan. It was on-track so far.

"Betsy, I don't know what your game is, but it won't work." I turned my attention to Demerest, who was still only a few feet away from me, jaw set and eyes burning. "And you, Demerest, if you leave right now I won't press charges for the trespass or the assault. Otherwise, it's on. By the time this is over, you'll be lucky if they let you fly model airplanes. Decide quickly. The police will be here soon."

He didn't leave. Instead he advanced toward me, pushing me with both hands at my shoulders. "You little prick!" he taunted, "Why do you give a shit where I fuck her? She made her choice! I'm in, you're out." He pushed at my shoulders again. I was getting close to being backed against a wall, which was in a bad tactical position. Make a plan, Execute the plan. Expect the plan to go off the rails. Demerest was too far into my perimeter, but I thought I was still OK.

"Don't do that! Do not touch me again!" I almost yelled it. Demerest scoffed and moved to push me again, but I deflected one of his hands by batting it away. That really pissed him off. He took a swing at my jaw, and I ducked as best I could so that the blow would land high, if at all. Luckily for me his punch mostly connected with the side of my head just above my ear instead of my jaw. I was disappointed with myself. I had anticipated Demerest would take a swing at me, but I thought I'd be able to move enough away that he wouldn't connect with my head. My miscalculation proved the rule: action always beats reaction.

I needed to get him away from me, to create some distance so that I had options. I shoved my arms forward as hard as I could, palms open, toward Demerest's chest. The force pushed him back a few feet. "Get away from me, Demerest! Do not touch me again!"

Betsy chimed in. "He's not afraid of you! I warned you, Vern is a real man!"

Demerest looked uncertain. As expected, Betsy primed the pump again. Of course she did. "You don't have to take any crap from him," she barked. Demerest hesitated. "Well???" she taunted.

Demerest took Betsy's bait. He squared his shoulders and came right at me, taking another swing that I barely deflected. He prepared to take another, so I squared up, again shoving my arms forward hard, palms open. Demerest made a half turn as I was driving my palms toward his chest. He dropped down slightly, causing the heel of my left palm to crash sharply into the front of Demerest's throat. I heard the sickening "pop" sound as his larynx fractured.

I knew immediately what had happened. Demerest dropped to his knees in front of me, clutching at his throat and coughing. His back was mostly to Betsy, who shouted at him to get up and get out before the cops arrived. Too late for that, you crazy stupid bitch, I said to myself. Demerest started wheezing as his rapidly-swelling larynx began closing off the air supply to his lungs. Betsy started screeching when she saw Demerest's eyes bulging as he slowly suffocated.

I ran to retrieve my phone that was on the floor at the other end of the foyer, but its collision with the glass curio cabinet door and then the tile floor put it out of commission. I yelled at Betsy to call 9-1-1 to have them send an ambulance, but she was too hysterical to be of any use. Wrenching her purse open I retrieved her phone, but the security was set for facial recognition and she had changed her PIN. She was on her knees now, shaking Demerest's shoulders and wailing as his reddening complexion mottled, then turned bluish. Demerest looked directly at me in abject shock, then in outrage. Betsy was totally fixated on Demerest, so she didn't see me approach before I shoved her phone in front of her face to open it using facial ID. She was moving around so much that it took several tries before the phone recognized her face. Her slapping the phone away in her frenzy didn't help. "Call 9-1-1 damn it, and tell them to send an ambulance right now!" Betsy finally unlocked the phone so I could call for help, and immediately went back to hunching over Demerest, bawling her eyes out.

The police cars' blue & reds became visible as they turned the corner onto my street, but my gut told me that help would arrive too late for Demerest. I remembered reading about how the caps of Bic-style pens have a small hole in the very top, so that if swallowed by a child a small amount of air might still get through to prevent suffocation. I knew a pen cap wouldn't do any good. But jamming the hollow plastic barrel of a pen through his throat and into his trachea might create an air passage. I dashed into the kitchen, finding nothing except sharpies and markers, nothing suitable to use as a breathing tube. Luckily for me, the security cameras were recording my efforts to save Demerest's miserable life.

I was in the kitchen when the officers bounded in. Two of them dragged Betsy away from Demerest, while another was on his radio, frantically telling someone to "bump the code" on the ambulance. It was all for naught. The EMTs tried an emergency tracheotomy almost immediately after they arrived, but Demerest was gone.

*** *** ***

Betsy was taken to the hospital in a separate ambulance, to be treated for shock. I heard she spent most of the night sedated and under observation. I agreed to answer questions with the assistance of my attorney. I thought I was going to be arrested, but they let me go home. The police had already taken dozens and dozens of photos of the "crime scene," which is how my foyer was now officially regarded. The first thing I did was pour myself three fingers of bourbon and check the home security system's recordings. It recorded everything. I saved the system logs to show nothing had been deleted, and sent copies of all the video to three separate cloud storage accounts. The video was too valuable for anything less than triple redundancy.

The police interview was as expected. Kintner didn't do criminal law, but she set me up with a trusted colleague, Oliver Best, who had been a felony prosecutor for a dozen years and a criminal defense attorney for twenty years after that. "Get the Best Defense" was his firm's tagline. I liked him. He was like Kintner, to the point and no nonsense. Best warned me that I had a good chance of being arrested and charged. Even though Arkansas was a Stand Your Ground state, and had a Castle Doctrine even before that, the new District Attorney had a strong philosophical dislike of both doctrines, and was one of a new crop of highly political elected district attorneys that have been popping up.

"Here's the situation in simple terms," Best began. "The DA is a classic California Leftist. She got her undergrad degree in Women's Studies from Bryn Mawr, and then to Bezerkly for law school, where she was active in every far-Left group there was. She was a research assistant for a professor who published a law review article that argued that all male-female sexual intercourse is actually rape because of the unfair social power advantage men have over women. The DA talks all the time about how criminal laws can be used to fight toxic masculinity."

"I don't see what that has to do with me," I said, puzzled. The Plan did not include getting prosecuted and going to prison.

"OK, so along comes you. Male. Straight. Former combat Marine. You don't like that your wife is having an open sexual affair with another guy, and you tell your wife she can't bring her lover into the house. Then you kill him, which she views as toxic masculinity lashing out to subjugate your wife, who is entitled to do whatever she wants with whoever she wants wherever she wants. In this one case she can go after men, the military, that evil Patriarchy, traditional marriage, Stand Your Ground, and the Castle Doctrine. You are going to get indicted for murder my friend, and the only plea offer you'll get will be for prison time."

"How the fuck does somebody like that get elected as a district attorney?" I asked, incredulous. "I'm the one who got cheated on and attacked in my own house by the guy she was screwing! I defend myself and it's me who might to go prison?"

"The full answer would take a while. Short version is there's a lot of special interest money flowing into these DA elections all over the country, and for the most part people vote for whoever is the candidate in the voter's political party. A few guys at the University of Michigan wrote a book about it back in the early sixties, The American Voter. The biggest predictor of voting behavior is the political party affiliation, and that hasn't changed in sixty years. That's how you get District Attorneys like her. It goes both ways. It isn't a partisan thing, it's a political party thing that applies to both sides. Anyway, sometimes these District Attorneys go too far and get kicked out of office, like in San Francisco a few years back, but otherwise no one pays much attention."

"So am I going to prison?" It was terrifying to hear where this was headed.

"I doubt it. In the end, there's your security video. Demerest refused to leave your house, your wife is egged him on to fight you in your own house, he assaulted you and attacked you twice. The broken larynx was an accident, and you tried to save his life. I don't make promises on outcomes, but I wouldn't be surprised if the judge throws out the case before a jury gets a chance to deliberate."

"So if that's true and the case against me is so bad, then why bother to prosecute me? Jesus! What about the recordings? Demerest attacked me! I was trying to push him away, damn it!"

Best laughed cynically. "Because, my friend, the process is the punishment. You're going to be made an example of, as a political exercise. Even if she loses in court, going after you will make her a hero in the political circles that matter to her and to the people and groups who funded her campaign. That's my bet."

"So what do I do?"

"You don't talk to the police. You don't talk to the media. You stay out of trouble. You lie low. You let me handle it, my friend."

"What if that grand jury thing doesn't indict me?"

"It will. The DA presents the evidence to the grand jury. We have a right to make a presentation to the grand jury, but that means showing the DA some of our cards before we're ready. There's a saying that the DA can get a grand jury to indict a ham sandwich. You, my friend, are ham on rye."

Best's crystal ball was spot-on. I was indicted for Murder in the Second Degree, and for Manslaughter. I was looking at as much as 30 years. The DA told the media, through "anonymous sources," that I killed Demerest in a jealous rage, and that the Castle Doctrine didn't apply because Demerest was Betsy's invited guest, so he had a legal right to be in my home. I went to trial about nine months later. It lasted three days from start to finish. After all the testimony was done, Best did something called a "Motion for Directed Verdict of Acquittal," but the judge didn't rule on it and sent my case to the jury to decide. Best told me the judge was likely giving the jury a chance to find me not guilty so he didn't have to make a ruling, and even if the jury found me guilty the judge probably would reverse it and send me home.

I didn't have to wait long. The jury came back Not Guilty in less than 15 minutes. I was a free man, but it cost me many sleepless nights and about $20,000 in legal fees, and that was at a monster discount because Best wanted the positive public exposure that defending me would bring. I heartily sang his praises to all who would listen.

By happy coincidence, my divorce from Betsy became final the same day I was found not guilty. That misadventure cost me another $15,000, but worth it to scrape Betsy off the bottom of my shoe. We didn't have any joint property to speak of, and there was no alimony given Betsy's adultery and that we'd been married for less than two years.

Strangely enough, despite the DA's effort to make me the poster boy for criminal toxic masculinity, I ended up a sort of folk hero, if only briefly. A few articles I wrote about my experiences generated some side income. Not enough to make up for the legal fees, but close. I regarded myself as a lucky man, and blessed my good fortune, such as it was.

~~~@~~~@~~~

My friends and coworkers at MaxStaff threw me a "Free At Last" party a week after my divorce was granted. It was a double celebration of my criminal acquittal and of my divorce, held at a local pub that we frequented for happy hour snacks and drinks. It started at noon, and was in full swing by two. There was a lot of drinking and back-slapping, and way too much bravado from my tipsy friends about how I settled accounts with Demerest.

Suddenly Betsy's voice rang out from the entrance to the party room. I wondered how she found out about the party, then I remembered the social media announcements telling friends to come have a beer and celebrate the conclusions of two rolling nightmares. Although I had blocked Betsy months ago, the party was known to our former mutual friends we had before Betsy's cheating went public in the trial.

"Who do you assholes think you're kidding?" she scoffed. "You're acting like Tom's a tough guy. He killed Vern by accident! He said so at his trial, shitheads!"

"Well, that is what my attorney said," I piped in. "Looks like the jury agreed."

"Well you better watch your ass!" Betsy shouted at me. "Vern's brothers and his friends are going to make you pay! You don't have the guts to face a real man in a fair fight and you sure as hell don't have the balls to kill somebody! God I hate you! Fucking coward!" Her tirade was impressive for its volume alone.

"So that's what you think, Betsy, that I'm a gutless coward? You're sure that Fly-Boy's demise was an accident?"

"Of course! Here's some news for you. I told you Vern was in the Air Force before he left to join the airline. His Air Force friends know that you killed him. When I tell them and Vern's family about this little party, they're going to get you! You are so fucked!"

At long last, it was time for Betsy's education.

"You and your idiot fuck-toy had no idea who you were dealing with, you stupid twat. You still don't."

"So why don't you tell me, macho-man."

"It might be clearer if I showed you." I thanked the assemblage for the party and slipped the manager a several hundreds, telling him to make sure the appetizers and drinks kept coming. Then I headed to my pickup truck, Betsy following on my heels while making lurid threats about my impending demise. I opened the passenger door. "Go on, get in." She looked at me warily.

"I'm not going anywhere alone with you."

I sighed heavily. "Then call one of your girlfriends and tell her that you left with me. Or call your mother. Tell them we went to Greenbrier. I'll have you back safe and sound by six o'clock. I'm not going to do a damn thing to you. Besides, there are at least a dozen witnesses here that saw you leave with me if you come up missing."

Betsy's curiosity was overtaking her fear. "What's in Greenbrier?"

"Perspective. Enlightenment. Answers. Besides, what have you got to worry about? I'm harmless, remember? Get in, Betsy, or go away and die in ignorance."

She called both her mother and an FA friend, Holly. I met Holly once. With a few drinks in her, she wouldn't shy away from telling everyone within earshot that men needed to be taught their place. I still suspected that Holly had been whispering into Betsy's ear that she was entitled to have her affair with Demerest. Betsy got in and we started the 30-minute drive. Betsy kept trying to pry out of me what was in Greenbrier, but she gave up after I told her to give her tongue a rest and enjoy the countryside. Betsy got a serious case of the freaks when we parked at the Pine Hills Gun Range. She didn't want to get out of the truck, saying she was afraid as gunshots rang out from the nearby pistol ranges.

"You're completely safe here," I told her gently. "Come on inside with me." She was really on edge now. "Betsy, you have a bad case of rectal-cranial inversion. You need an extraction. Let's get you squared away about me, and then you can have an informed discussion with Demerest's family and friends."

She followed me into the main building, still very confused and even more on guard. Kenny, the owner, was behind the counter when he saw me walk in.

"Well fuck me if it isn't Gunny Matthews. You don't have your gear, so what brings your sorry ass here today?"

"I'm here to burn up a few boxes on your 500 yard range, Senior Chief."

We shook hands before he noticed Betsy, who looked as out of place as a vegetarian at a BBQ cook-off.

"Aren't you going to introduce me, you uncivilized bum?"

"Take a Midol, I was getting to it. Betsy, this is Senior Chief Kenny Rathburn, retired. Kenny, this is my ex-wife, Betsy. Betsy Traditrice, effective as of last week."

Kenny stiffened. He did not extend his hand to her, offering instead a curt head nod. "So this is the one I read about in the big-city newspapers. Some story. Can't wait to hear the unofficial version."

"Another day, Senior Chief, another day. So, can I get a spot on the 500 yard range? This is spur of the moment, so I didn't have time to grab my rifle. I need the whole setup. Got a sighted-in M1A I can borrow, a pair of binos, and some glasses and muffs?"

"Sure thing. I've moved the rifle caliber semi-autos to the back wall," he said as he went to a gun rifle rack and unlocked a scoped Springfield Armory M1A. He placed the rifle on the glass-top counter, bolt of course open, along with two pair of amber-lensed eye protectors, two sets of headphone style ear protectors, sighting binoculars, and a paper silhouette target. I grabbed two boxes of Winchester 7.62x51 175 grain target ammo from a shelf. Kenny lit up at me when I reached to my back pocket to retrieve my wallet.

"Your money is no good here, Gyrene."

"Blow me, Buttshark," I taunted as I stuffed two Grants into the Wounded Warrior jar sitting on the counter next to the cash register. Betsy looked at us with a face that feared Kenny and I were about to duke it out. Clueless bitch.

I collected the slung M1A and the various eye wear, and motioned to Becky to carry the ammo and ear protectors. Betsy uneasily followed me out to the 500 yard range. She constantly asked why we were there and what I was trying to prove. And why did I call Kenny Senior Chief," and why did he call me Gunny?

"That's a stupid nickname!" she remarked snidely. "It doesn't go with either Tom or Thomas, and it doesn't go with your middle name or last name either. Is it because you play with guns to work out your manhood issues?" It was hard to tell whether she was trying to bait me, venting, or blowing off nervous energy. Like I gave a shit which. By this point, I really had my fill of her yap. I had my fill of all of her, and now officially divorced, I had zero reason to take any more inane crap from her.

"Betsy, close that hole in your face for a few minutes, will ya? You really don't know jack shit about me, and it's important that you get a fucking clue before you or the gaggle of morons you hang out with make more mistakes that can't be fixed. Got it?" Even during the melt-downs at the house leading to Demerest's death and the jousting over the divorce, my voice never carried the coldness it had that day.

Betsy looked at me like I was a total stranger. I suppose at that point I was. We made the rest of our long walk to the rifle ranges in blissful silence.

The green flags were up on the 500 yard range, so we had to wait to hang the target. Kenny had given me a six-foot, full-size silhouette, along with a small assortment of long-range orange bulls-eyes, and a Sharpie. For today I would only use the silhouette. While we waited I told Betsy to give me her phone.

"Why do you need my phone?" she demanded, apprehension showing.

"Because we're going to have a serious conversation, and you're not going to record it and then have some computer nerd mess with it so it sounds like things were said that were never said. Turn it off and hand it over."

Betsy actually complied, pulling her phone out of her purse and turning it off before handing it to me. I double-checked that it was off before slipping it in my pocket.

When the range went red we hiked out to hang the man-size target to the splintered plywood backboard situated in front of the backstop berm. Betsy wanted to stay back at the shooting stand, but I made her come with me.

"This place is safe because we don't leave children and idiots unattended. That means you come with me. Them's the rules." She flared but didn't argue. I thumb-tacked the silhouette to the plywood frame fronting the backstop berm, and used the Sharpie to draw an appropriately sized dick and nutsack on the man-shaped outline on the target sheet. Betsy rolled her eyes. She didn't understand. Not yet. Then I free-handed the rough outlines of kidneys, a liver, and a heart. I made a fat "X" right on the middle of the neck. Thankfully she remained silent on the long trek back to the bench rest stand.

We stood in silence for a few minutes as I waited for the range flags to go green. I think the odd mixture of tension and boredom got to her. She looked at the rifle with curiosity, then reached out toward it.

"DON'T TOUCH THAT!" I said sharply. She lurched backward. "The range is still red. You don't touch anything at all when the range is red. Got it?" She nodded, but she was ticked off at being instructed.

When the range went green I helped Betsy with her ear protectors before loading ten rounds into the magazine. I gave her the binoculars, and told her to focus on the target. The head-shot was first. Betsy jumped at the rifle's report. I was disappointed; the hole was nicely on the forehead centerline, except about a half-inch too high. It still would have been instantly fatal. The next round went about a quarter inch below the left eye; the third shot went almost perfectly through the right eye, but that was luck. Kenny's stock M1A was dialed in really good, but it wasn't capable of M40 accuracy with standard target ammo, even at only 500 yards. Number four went cleanly through the hand-drawn heart. Five and six nailed the left and right kidneys with nearly identical placement. I was getting back in the groove after more than a year since I had been at Kenny's range. I looked backwards to see Betsy biting at her lower lip.

I was disappointed in number seven; I cleanly hit inside the liver outline, but a good two inches to the left of my intended aim point. That one was all on me, as I was dividing my attention between executing the shot and keeping tabs on Betsy. Eight, nine, and ten were gifted to the hand-drawn nutsack and dick. I obliterated Lefty, but only nicked Righty, though on the inside rather than the outside. It would still get the job done. I was pleased with the last round for that magazine. I hit the dick dead-on, square on the bulbous head I drew. That one also was as much luck as skill with this rifle and ammo, but Betsy didn't know that.

Betsy was way past uncomfortable now. She let the binoculars slowly fall from her eyes and stared at me. She avoided my gaze when I mad-dogged her.

"OK, you told me that you used to be in the Marines before we met," she stated in a way intended to convince me she wasn't rattled. "Marines are supposed to be good shots, aren't they? Big whoop. I don't see the point of any of this. Am I supposed to be afraid of you shooting me or something?"

I told her to sit down while I maxed out the emptied magazine with the remaining ten from the first box of ammo.

"Betsy, do you remember telling me that I was a coward? That I--what was it--didn't have the balls to kill somebody?" She nodded, though with much of her open defiance gone now. "I never told you what I did when I was in the Corps, did I?"

"No. You said you couldn't talk about it."

"No, I didn't say that. You really should have paid attention to your husband when he told you things. I said I didn't want to talk about it. You didn't press me." I handed her my phone. "Look up Marine Force Recon." She looked at me, confused. "Google it. Force. F-o-r-c-e. Recon. R-e-c-o-n." I spelled out for her slowly.

Betsy stood before slowly taking my phone and began tapping. I assumed she was reading wiki articles or similar about MFR. Her mouth slowly opened as her jaw slackened. After about three minutes of furious scrolling and reading she looked away from her phone and eyeballed me.

"Now look up Marine Scout-Sniper." She didn't move. "Do it!"

Betsy tapped at my phone and furiously read something. The sudden rapid breathing signaled that she was starting to understand.

"What the hell! You killed people? Like, you specialized in killing people??" I tilted my head sideways in the direction of the target, never breaking eye contact.

"All Marines specialize in killing people. I specialized in killing one specific person at a time." I could see her mind churning.

"OK, so I was wrong, you can kill people, you sick fuck. But that doesn't mean you killed Vern! He wasn't shot! You accidentally hit him in the throat when he tried to hit you! I saw it with my own eyes! You had me open my phone to 9-1-1! YOU tried to save him! What bullshit mind games are you trying to pull on me??"

"Ah, yes. Vern's throat. Tragic accident. I doubt I'll ever get over it. It haunts my days and my nights."

I replaced my ear muffs and motioned for her to do the same. When she was fixed I pointed at the binoculars hanging from her neck. She brought the glasses to her eyes and looked downrange, her fingers fine-tuning the focus.

I steadily put the entire magazine into the "X" I made on the neck, right where the larynx would be. It was a decent grouping. There were only two holes that had a sliver of white paper separating them from the single ragged silver dollar-sized hole the other eight bullets made. Then the Eureka moment arrived for her.

"You murdering asshole!" she screeched. "It was no accident! My God, you murdered Vern!" I reloaded the magazine with ten from the second box as Betsy vented her outrage. "You won't get away with it, you motherfucker! I'm going to tell the police everything! And this time no one will believe your lies! You are going to prison and I'm going to be there to watch it happen!"

"Settle down, Betsy. First, I haven't admitted to anything. All we've done here today is prove that I'm handy with a rifle. My service record isn't a secret either. I testified about my time in the Corps at my trial, remember? I know you remember because you didn't miss a minute of it, hoping to see me convicted and sent to the pen. Anyway, in case you forgot, I told them I was proud of my service to my country, and what a privilege it was to protect America from her enemies. The jurors beamed at me, remember? Hell, after the trial was over, one of them even stayed to shake my hand. He got misty-eyed, and thanked me for my service."

Betsy was apoplectic. She realized that everything I said was true. "Second thing, Betts. Even if the police and the DA's office wanted to go after me, they can't. It's called double jeopardy. I was found not guilty. According to Oliver Best, attorney at law, I can't be tried again for what happened with Demerest. Not ever. I even had my arrest expunged, so even all the records have been erased. Officially, it's like the whole thing never happened."

"But you lied in the trial! You can't lie under oath! That's a crime! You said you weren't trying to kill Vern! That was a fucking lie!"

"Betts, you really need to settle down. You're going to give yourself a stroke. I didn't lie. Think back. The prosecutor asked me if I was happy that Demerest was dead. I said that I was ashamed to admit it, but God help me, a part of me was glad that he was gone. I was staring down at my hands when I said it. I didn't look at anyone, remember? That was a nice touch, if I do say so myself. She never asked me how big a part of me was glad, or how glad I was. Ooopsie!"

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" she said acidly. "You still lied about not wanting to kill him!"

"This is getting tiresome, Betsy. The prosecutor asked me if I killed Demerest to get revenge on him for the affair. No, wait, that's not quite what she asked." I closed my eyes to help recreate the memory in my mind's eye. "She asked if I agreed with her that the fight gave me my opportunity to get revenge on Demerest." I kept my eyes closed as I summoned the memory. "And I told her that if I was going to get revenge, if I was willing to kill a man over an affair, it wasn't going to be something I'd do by chance. It would be planned out, and that I'd make sure the guy knew not just that it was happening, but WHY it was happening. And I reminded her that Demerest attacked me in my own home, and I asked her how I possibly could plan on that, particularly when he attacked me and when I told him several times to leave. Then I pointed out that the video proved I was only trying to defend myself, and that I was the person who was responsible for calling 9-1-1 to send EMTs to try to save his life. Do you remember seeing some of the people on the jury nodding along as I explained all that? It was touching to see their empathy for me, don't you think? It was like we all bonded. Kum-ba-fucking-yah."

I watched Betsy's face as she replayed my testimony in her own mind. First there was realization, followed by resignation. "Oh god, you never really answered the question! Instead you said something else that didn't answer the question but made you look like the victim!. You're an absolute fucking psycho bastard!"

I shrugged my shoulders, igniting her latest wave of invective.

"This is all still bullshit! You couldn't possibly have planned all that out."

"Yeah, you're probably right. It would take real planning and attention to detail. Then again, it's surprising the details some people will plan down to if properly motivated. For example, the Betsy I thought I married would never have tried to rub my nose in an affair. Hell, she would never have had an affair. Now, the Betsy I actually married, she's a real piece of work. She convinced everyone that her ex-fiance' stalked and terrorized her, when in fact he was merely trying to confirm whether she was fucking some other guy, which of course she was. Then she parlayed that bogus story to find try to find a new guy who she could train not to ask any questions about what she was up to. Someone trusting. Someone she could manipulate and control. Someone who'd pay the bills while she jetted around banging whoever. That where I came in, right?"

Betsy's eyes went wide open. I'd guessed right about her plans for me.

"I've given this a lot of thought. You figured my agreeing to the double-dates and me patiently waiting months before having sex showed that I would put up with a lot of shit, and that I was controllable. Then you tried to wall me off from checking on you with that crap about not wanting to be watched like you were on probation. That was very clever, by the way, positioning yourself as a victim of unfounded suspicions to condition me to ignore red flags and not ask questions." Betsy's eyes got dartier as I went along, silently confirming that I had called it correctly.

"But you didn't count on me showing up in Philly and catching you with Demerest. That was an amateur mistake, not factoring in the unexpected."

"You were in Philadelphia?," she asked, now concerned about what else I knew. "You were supposed to be in Pittsburgh!"

"Yep, I sure was."

"Why the fuck were you in Philadelphia if you weren't spying on me?" Betsy demanded.

"Happenstance. We wrapped up a day early in Pittsburgh after working out a big new contract, so I thought I'd surprise you. I snagged a cheap shuttle fare and I was waiting with a box of roses for you at your arrival gate. You remember, where you and Demerest were all smoochy before you went to the food court.

Betsy's mouth dropped open. She obviously didn't consider that people might not act as she expected, and got careless. The idea of random chance tossing a wrench in her plans never entered her mind. No wonder she was so openly affectionate with Demerest. Her coworkers knew what was going on, and they obviously were willing to keep silent.

"We still could have worked something out," she said in a voice that started in a whimper and ended with a knife's edge. "You didn't have to go crazy."

"You think I'm the one who was crazy? Get bent. Even after my talk with you about how I insisted on fidelity you thought I'd put up with an affair. You thought you could buffalo me into taking the back seat to Demerest. You even thought putting me in competition with him to win you back would keep me reigned in, especially if the pussy kept flowing. Now that there, that's some serious crazy."

Betsy bowed up. "I married you, but that didn't mean that you could boss me around and run my life as if you were my lord and master!"

"Boss you around? By telling you I wasn't going to put up with an affair? By refusing to allow the guy who was fucking my wife enter my house? Are you nuts?"

Betsy started to spin up again, her anger building. "Damn you! It wasn't just an affair! And even though I loved Vern, I still offered you a reasonable arrangement until things got worked out. But you had to throw it all back at me."

"Throw it back at you? Really? You were pissed off that I wouldn't accept being cuckholded, and it pissed you off even more when I wouldn't knuckle under to the rest of it. All that time you spent setting me up as your next sucker, wasted. Admit it, what really set you off was being told you couldn't bring Demerest around my house. You took it as a direct challenge to your plan to get me softened up to be cucked and still act as your human wallet. Well guess what--it was a challenge, and you two idiots accepted it. Thanks for being predictable, and thanks again for following through."

"Where did you get off telling me where and when I could see Vern? That was my home, too! How did you expect me to react?"

"What did I expect? After you dropped on me that you were going to keep fucking Demerest, I expected pretty much exactly what you did. I figured you probably would get a big heap of satisfaction out of watching me deal with Demerest banging you in my own house. Christ, in my own goddamn bed! I guessed you might even set something up where I'd have to either eat that shit sandwich or risk getting arrested myself for assault if he wouldn't leave. You thought you had set up a lose-lose scenario for me." Betsy was a lousy poker player. Her eyes told me I was right.

"The smart move for me was to be on the lookout for something like that, and to have a plan to deal with it. You know, just in case you lived down to my new expectations of you after catching you at the Philly airport. I knew I guessed right when you insisted that Demerest actually come into the house after I warned him not to. Damn you, woman, you even grabbed his arm to pull him inside when he tried to back away. You wanted a physical confrontation, and you pressured numb-nuts into starting one. Congrats, he did what you wanted, and you got the confrontation that you imagined would put me in my place and let you take control again."

"OK, I get it," Betsy conceded as her eyes welled with new tears. "You baited both of us. But Vern still didn't know he had been set up. He must have thought it was an accident too! You didn't get the satisfaction of him knowing you were getting revenge! And you could have made him suffer more by shooting him. Isn't that what you brought me out here to see, how you can shoot people and cause them agony? So much for your big macho revenge plot, you fucking monster!"

"You think it would have been worse getting shot? You're not just nasty, you're ignorant and stupid, too. Nasty is bad enough, but nasty AND stupid is dangerous for everyone around you. Given a choice between being shot in the head or instead suffocating like that arrogant twit Demerest did, I'd pick being shot in the head every time. A 7-6-2 round to the brain-box, that's an instant lights-out," I said as I patted the M1A's stock. "You don't even know that it happened. You exist, and then you don't. Head, heart, lung--doesn't matter. Same end result. You die, usually pretty fast."

Betsy's face contorted with that description.

"But slowly suffocating, that there's another story. The agony of your fractured larynx, your throat painfully swelling. Then you realize that no matter how hard you try, you can't get any air. Soon your entire body is screaming for oxygen. Then the panic takes over. Terror fills your mind as you come to grips with the inevitability of your death. Did you notice that he pissed himself before he passed out? I think he shit himself, too. That happens a lot with the delayed-fatals. Hollywood splashes a lot of fake blood around, but the PG-rated violence porn Hollywood churns out doesn't show the nasty details of what slow, violent death is really like."

Betsy was sobbing now. I might have dawned on her that she had misjudged just about everything. It was time to give her another sip of emotional cyanide.

"About the only thing that would make it worse for him would be if he saw me smiling at him when he was gasping out his last, jerking around on the floor in his own piss and shit before passing out from cerebral anoxia. You're an FA, so you know all about anoxia. The surveillance cameras couldn't catch my face from where I was standing, and you were on your knees looking at him, not at me smiling down at him. He was looking into my eyes, not yours, while you watched him die. There's an image to take with you to Hell."

Betsy was bawling now, her words coming between sobs. "You didn't have to kill him. You didn't have to do that! I'm the one who cheated. You punished the wrong person!"

"Did I? Is that what you think, that I punished the wrong person? I learned a long time ago that if you want to hurt someone--really hurt them--you hurt what they love. Demerest is gone and good riddance. But you get to live on. You will live knowing that he's dead and that he died a horrible death. A drawn out, painful death that you not only made possible, but caused. All that soulmate and deep emotional connection horseshit you were giving me? He's gone and you get to live every day knowing that your soulmate is literally rotting away in a cold, dark box all because you goaded him into a fight that was decided before it began. How's them apples?"

Now Betsy was back to seething. "This isn't over! When I tell Vern's brothers and friends about this, they'll skin you alive! You will not get away with this!"

I sighed with false exasperation. "Betts, you still don't understand who you're dealing with. Have you ever thought what it would be like to go through life without your right arm? Or without your feet? How about being an above-the-knee double-amputee?" I replaced my ear protection and gestured to her. She didn't have to be told to focus on the target after she was snugged up.

I took these ten more slowly, because I really wanted to make an impression. The first two went to each shoulder, about where the head of the humerus connects to the scapula. The next two hit the elbow joints, and the two after that each wrist. Seven and eight took out the knees. The last two pierced the ankle joint areas. A few shots were only technically "hits" because they were just barely inside the outlines, but I doubted that detail would register with Betsy.

"You tell Demerest's brothers and buddies whatever you want. But understand this: I already know who they are. I know where they live, and where they work. I know when they will be alone, and I know when they'll be vulnerable and defenseless." That was all a lie, but Betsy wouldn't know that. "That is nothing," I scoffed as I pointed at the target. "This here is a really good rifle," I said as I cradled the borrowed M1A in my arms. "But with my rifle, I can reach out and touch someone from half a mile away, no sweat."

"If I begin to suspect that anyone is going to try something, I will make examples. Those will be teaching moments. By the way, how is your kid brother, Nate? Still living in Memphis, isn't he? That was a fun trip. You can see his whole back yard from the woods in the hills that back up to his place. Great sight line from the woods to those picture windows in his back yard, too." Betsy went white as a sheet. "Consider carefully what you do. Very carefully, Betsy. Last time I said that to you, it was at the house, right before that oh-so-tragic accident that cost that shit-nozzle Demerest his life. You once said to me that you try to learn from your mistakes. Try harder. After today, I should never see you or hear from you ever again. Leave me alone, Betsy. Disappear into the mist."

Betsy transitioned into denial. "I still can't believe that you'd be so petty, so damn cruel, that you'd kill Vern over an affair, just to hurt me."

"Just to hurt you? Hardly. Did Demerest know that you were married?" She nodded. "Right, of course he did. Did Demerest think that I knew about what you two were up to?" She shook her head No. "Talk about a coward. That's why that shitheel snuck around behind my back. He didn't have the balls to face me, man-to-man. He left it to you to do the dirty work of handling me. You even had to drag him into the house, and then you had to shame him into coming after me. Thanks again for being predictable, by the way. So, tell me, did he enjoy fucking you behind my back?"

Betsy looked at me with renewed anger. "He didn't like the sneaking around! He was good guy! He never disrespected you."

"Uh-huh, sure he was. A paragon of virtue. Was that why this decent guy fondled you when you were on the phone with me that night in JFK after you two left Philly, because he was ashamed of what he was doing? Naw, no disrespect there."

Betsy had a small panic attack. "Oh my god--how did you know he... that we...."

"I heard you two playing grab-ass on the phone, and I heard you tell him Don't! just exactly like you used to do with me when I would grab your tits or squeeze your ass when you were on the phone with someone. You both had a grand time while cuckholding me. So fuck him, and fuck you, too. I'll see you both in Hell."

"So for that you killed him?? You really are a psycho!"

"Betts, I'm going to give you some friendly advice. It might help you decide what you will do in your next relationship. There are some acts of disrespect that cross a line. Some personal affronts that must be answered for, and a price paid. Some men get it in their heads that you can pursue a married woman without cost. That you can fuck her behind her husband's back and he'll forgive and forget. That the husband will shrug his shoulders and look the other way. Some suicidal morons get it in their heads that you can waltz into a man's house and lay hands on him, and he will take it."

Betsy started to speak, but stopped in mid-breath when I abruptly held up my hand.

"I don't know where these ideas come from that treating a man that way carries no price. Movies? TV? Magazine articles? I really don't know. But these ideas have infested popular culture, and idiots like you and Demerest apparently bought into it. The Women's Studies courses at the U don't account for what happens when feminist theory meets the real world. But you never know when you're going to cross the man who isn't like the other castrated sheep who have been conditioned to accept dishonor. You might want to give these things some thought next go-round, because I assure you that I'm not the only guy who won't tolerate your kind of behavior."

There's a look that people get when dozens of disjointed thoughts collide together to produce a new insight. For Betsy it was an amalgam of fear and panic.

"Hold on!" she commanded with renewed strength. "You said that I convinced everyone that my ex-boyfriend stalked me and stuff. Where do you get off saying that he didn't?" I couldn't resist letting a small laugh sneak out.

"I talked to your ex-boyfriend, Pete, just after the trial. He only heard about it after it was over, from a friend of a friend who reads the local paper in Little Rock, or something like that. Anyway, he reached out to me. Pete tells quite a story. Normally I'd be skeptical that a woman would hit herself in the mouth to get a bloody lip before making a 9-1-1 call to report domestic violence, but you got the job done, right? After the legal rodeo you put Pete through he was more than happy to let you and your previous fuck buddy carry on however you wanted. Too bad that meant you lost the nice gig you had with Pete paying most of your bills though. You're zero-for-two now."

Betsy bristled. There was still one piece of the puzzle that only Betsy could answer.

"Question for you, Betsy. Long before we married, I told you about what happened with Susie and with Elise, and I warned you that it was One-and-Done if you cheated. Why did you think you could convince me to go along with that ridiculous sharing arrangement?"

It was Betsy's turn to cause cause some pain. Or so she thought. "Are you kidding me? You can't' be serious! You told me about that girl in high school, too. Debbie or Debra or something? Anyway, it was always the same with you. They'd cheat, and you just walked away. You always walked away, like a sad little pussy bitch! They'd cheat and you sucked it up. That Elise girl, the one you were going to marry? The only price she paid was listening to one of your self-righteous lectures. Big deal! Even if I got caught, the worst I thought you'd do was slink away. And until that happened, all I had to do was give you enough pussy to keep you in line. You were getting sloppy seconds for almost a year. I just didn't know you were really a goddamn psycho!"

I pondered that. What did this crazy bitch expect me to do, kill a high school girl? "Except this time, Betsy. Never count on the enemy to do what you expect. Well, live and learn, right?" I said philosophically, as if we were mere outside observers to someone else's tragedies.

"Take me home!" Betsy demanded. I agreed with a simple nod.

I collected all the spent brass and policed our area before heading back to the shop to return the rifle and gear to Kenny Rathburn.

"How'd you do? Manage to hit the paper this time?" he groused out.

I handed Kenny my used target, already folded up so that no one could see the silhouette and the hand-drawn additions. "Real bad. So bad that this should be completely burned without a trace, you know?" Kenny nodded gravely.

"I'll personally get this rifle properly cleaned, too. Can't trust a job like that to a Jarhead. Better leave the spent brass, too, so I can run it through the tumbler for reloading." I nodded and headed for the door, Betsy anxiously trailing behind me. "Nice to have met you, ma'am," he called out to Betsy. "You take real good care, y'hear?" he said in a tone that sounded more like a warning than a farewell. Betsy pushed past me and hustled out the door.

The drive back was virtually silent. Betsy would look at me, swallow hard, and look away. She alternated between tears and suppressed rage. We pulled into the pub's parking lot just before six p. m. She agreed to join me inside, where I returned her phone to her in front of the manager. Betsy immediately rushed to her car. My only thought as she pulled away was "Adios, bitch."

~~~@~~~@~~~

A few months later I was sitting at our local airport's food court in Little Rock waiting to fly out for another client meeting. I saw this petite flight attendant. She was looking at me while trying too hard not to appear to be looking at me. She'd take a few steps, then pause before taking a few more. Her face was familiar, but she was still too far away for me to be sure. About 5-foot-3, shoulder-length auburn hair with a few strawberry-blonde accent streaks thrown in. It was the hair that threw me. I pretended to focus on my phone's screen while keeping track of her movements. She finally decided to approach my table and engage me. She stood near the table, but not so close as to crowd me.

"Hello, Tom. How have you been?"

"I've been okay. Doing fine, actually. You?"

"Doing alright. I saw you sitting here, and I decided that if I didn't come over and talk to you, I might never get another chance. I couldn't live with that."

"So here we are. You can sit down, if you like." She was nervous, darting her eyes around as if she was violating some taboo by sitting with me.

"I thought you looked familiar, but I didn't recognize you," I said as an apology. "You cut your hair and changed color. The new look is really good on you." She smiled faintly.

"Thanks. I've made some changes, and making more. I'm a work in progress. I'm not the person I want to be yet, but I'm trying."

"So, you said that you might never get another chance to talk with me. Is this a friendly chat, or is there something on your mind?"

Janine licked at her lips nervously. I had seen Janine angry, but I had never seen her so wound up. She needed one of those warning labels like they put on garage door coil springs, warning of serious injury or death if the tension isn't released properly.

"I have a lot say, Tom. I have for a long time."

"If you're planning to rag my ass about how things ended with Betsy, or bitch at me about Demerest's tragic demise, this conversation is over.

Janine blanched, her back straightening to create more space between us.

"Not at all, Tom! The opposite, actually. I'd like to apologize to you, and explain, if you'll let me."

I didn't expect that. I opened my palms, inviting her to continue. She fidgeted, as if merely sitting across a table might upset me. She started with a roundhouse right.

"I don't know what Betsy told you about cheating with Demerest and the other guy."

What the fuck did she just say? The other guy? My surprise must have shown in my face. Janine abruptly stopped talking. She didn't have to be The Amazing Kreskin to figure out that this was the first I'd heard about Betsy cheating on me with someone other than Demerest.

"Shit, you didn't know! Damn! I assumed Betsy dropped that on you, just to shove the knife in deeper." I slowly shook my head, then gestured for her to continue.

"He was another FA who crewed with us a lot. It started about a month or so after you got married. Betsy said that she was just having some fun and that I needed to keep out of her personal business. I didn't like what she was doing. It was so rotten. Honestly, I was furious about it! Then she started up with that man-whore Demerest. I told her that I couldn't hang out with you guys on double-dates and stuff, knowing what she was doing with those creeps but not saying anything to you. That's why I disappeared soon after you got married."

What Janine said sparked my memory. "I remember," I told her. "You and Betsy were like sisters, and right after the wedding we hardly saw you. I asked Betsy about it, and she said that you had a schedule change and the timing didn't work out any more. Then we didn't see you at all. Betsy said you two were on the outs because of a work screw up that you caused that almost got Betsy a written reprimand. So that was all bullshit, right? Stuff Betsy made up to keep me in the dark?"

Janine looked disgusted. "Bullshit is one word for it. She stopped seeing the FA after she hooked up with Demerest. I couldn't keep watching her cheating on you. I almost ratted her out. It made me sick watching how she treated a guy any sane woman would kill to have." I let that last remark pass.

"Almost ratted her out, eh? You could have said something, Janine. I had your back. Remember? I convinced Betsy to tell you about that guy with the weird name--Xander! I convinced Betsy to tell you about Xander wanting a three-way with Betsy and me. Betsy wasn't going to say anything. Damn, you owed me at least an anonymous heads-up! All it would have taken was an email from a burner email."

Janine was tearing up again.

"YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT??? It tore me up not saying anything. I didn't know what to do. My parents told me I should keep my nose out of it. So did my sister. My brother said to put myself in your place. I was so confused. I even talked to my priest, and I hadn't even been to confession for years. He told me to follow my conscience, and do the right thing. As if it were that simple. I decided I was going to tell you everything. But I wanted to give Betsy a chance to tell you herself. Betsy went ballistic. She threatened me that if I told you, she'd make my life hell. Get me fired somehow. With Demerest's help they could fake an air safety violation that could get me fired immediately, and maybe even arrested. That same week she changed a Passenger Special Needs Checklist after I had signed it to make it look like I screwed up documenting a passenger's wheelchair requirement. I only got an informal reprimand, but I got her message."

Knowing Betsy as I did, I believed what Janine told me.

"That's when I broke all contact. I gave up my good routes I had earned through seniority, just so that I could avoid crewing with Betsy or Demerest. I thought about sending you an anonymous email anyway, but I was afraid that Betsy would figure out I sent it and come after me. I was terrified someone else would tell you, and she'd assume I did it and come after me anyway. I was a coward, and I HATE myself for it. Not just for chickening out, but for the wonderful guy I hurt because of it."

Janine was about to crack wide open. Neither of us needed that, and particularly not in an airport food court. She was a wounded animal, begging for a bit of grace. I reached out across the small table to take Janine's hands in mine.

"Betsy brought misery to everyone around her. I bet she still does. I understand why you did what you did... and why you felt trapped." Janine looked at me hopefully. "So before you ask, yes, I forgive you." The relief visibly flooded over her as she squeezed my hands so hard I thought she'd break my fingers.

"Thank you so much for that, Tom. I feel like a got a big piece of my soul back." She released my hands and stood up shakily. "I really want to stay and talk more, but I have to scramble to make a flight to Sarasota, or I'm in deep doo-doo." She used the back of her hand to swipe away the beginnings of new tears, then reached into her handbag for a pen. She wrote quickly on a napkin. "This is my new number. If you ever get lonely or just want to chat with a friend, please call. You have no idea how much I miss your company. God, I wish I could rewind with you. There's so much I'd do different."

"You and me both," I sighed as I folded the napkin and put it in my shirt pocket. "I call, one day. I promise. It's all still pretty raw for me, especially the part about the other guy. Take care of yourself, Janine. I really mean that."

She leaned down to kiss my cheek. "I will. You take care of yourself, too. And don't be shy about calling. I'd hate never hearing again from the last of the good guys." With that she strode down the wide terminal hallway. I spent the rest of the day pissed off about Betsy's other fuck-buddy. So much for ever finding my way to making peace with Betsy. I'd forgive the Devil himself first. I wondered what Janine would think if she knew the truth about what happened with Demerest. I was one of the bad guys, but I could live with what I was.

~~~@~~~@~~~

It seems lately that the significant events in my life happen in airports. It had been several weeks since my chance meeting with Janine, and I was back there again waiting for a flight to Orlando to massage a troublesome client. I was reviewing our contract when I heard a familiar voice tentatively call out my name. I turned to see my ex-girlfriend from San Diego, Elise Harrison. She was older of course, and slightly more filled out in places where young-thirty-something women fill out, but it only made her more attractive. She had traded her mid-back cascade of blondish hair for a smart shoulder-length reddish auburn mane. Her lively hazel eyes with a hint of mischief were the same. Hell, she looked great. She strode over to my table where I had papers spread out and asked if she could join me. I cleared away some space and gestured for her sit.

The conversation was awkward at first, but we soon found a familiar rhythm. She was in Little Rock to go house-hunting, having accepted a teaching position at the University of Arkansas. She would teach psychology, of all things. We spent the next 30 minutes catching up on each other's lives. Like me, she was divorced, no kids. The time blew by, and I found myself wishing that I had a later flight. Somehow the passage of time had dulled the hurt over how things ended for us years earlier. Elise lightly grasped my wrist as I gathered my papers and prepared to say a final goodbye to her for a second time in my life.

"Tom, five more minutes, please." I remained seated, wondering what was so important.

"I have some things to tell you, and I beg you to hear me out. I didn't take our breakup well. It almost wrecked me. You were right to end it, because what I did was wretched. But no guy since you has measured up, even my ex-husband. I knew when I got married I was settling. On our wedding day I told myself I was making a huge mistake, because I knew I didn't feel for him what I felt for you. I know, I know. You're saying that's a load of crap because I wouldn't have cheated on you if I loved you that much. All I can say is that I was stupid and immature and selfish. I despise that person. That dumb bitch ruined what could have been our life."

"Elise, if you're trying to apologize, there's no need. I'm over it. Believe me, I went through far worse from my ex-wife," I said with light sarcasm. That remark promoted a curious look from Elise. I regretted mentioning it.

"It's not just another apology, Tom. Please let me finish. I still think about you. It's random, but it happens all the time. I'll be watching a Rom-Com and it will remind me of how we used to cuddle up on the couch and watch silly movies. I see a Marine on TV and I think of you. Sometimes you'll just pop into my head for no reason at all. All the time I wonder how you're doing. It got so bad I hired a PI to find you a few years ago. Turns out there are a lot of Thomas A. Matthews out there, including ones who used to be Marines." She ventured a slight smile. "I know, don't say it--once a Marine, always a Marine! Anyway, the PI found you, but when she told me you were married I decided to leave you alone. I didn't want to complicate your life. That made it even worse, knowing how to get in touch but not doing it."

"So, Tom, I want to propose something. Let's go out on a date. Let's see if something's still there. I know there is for me. I think there could be for you, too. There aren't many second chances." Elise sat more upright in her seat, collecting herself. "OK, I've had my five minutes. Think about my proposal. Tell me No and I'll move on and won't bother you ever again. Or take a wild chance. Say Yes and you'll get that woman who will choose you, every day, every time."

Elise reached into her portfolio to retrieve a business card. "There's my email and my phone. Please think about it."

"I'll think about it, Elise. Really, I will."

She reached out to touch my face, then headed down the terminal, her roller-bag trailing behind her. I nearly followed her right then.

*** *** ***

I kept my word to Elise. I thought about her proposal endlessly. It was on my mind whenever I wasn't focusing on something that had to have my full attention. The promises and betrayals made by the significant girls and women in my life replayed in my memory like an endless newsreel of the greatest of times and the worst of times. Elise was right, there was a spark in there, buried under the memories of disappointment and betrayal and anger and resentment. I thought about who in my life had made me happy. I thought about lazy afternoons in San Diego. I thought about my wedding. I thought about not seeing hidden gems because you're too busy looking at the shiny diamond. I thought about women who made mistakes and owned them entirely, expecting nothing but hoping their mistakes won't define them forever. And I thought about possibly finding that woman who would choose me, every day, every time. I finally made a decision that I had been pushing away for months. I sure am glad I never in my life took a chance on a woman, said no man on his deathbed ever.

Rummaging through a pile of papers and notes on my home office desk, I found her telephone number. I was so nervous I felt like a boy of 16 not a man of 36. I tapped out her number quickly, before I could change my mind.

"Tom, is it really you?" the soft, timid voice asked, more seeking confirmation than asking a question.

"Yep, it's me. If this is a bad time, I--"

"No!" she exclaimed, "this is a great time! I'm so happy you called. I've been hoping you'd call from the moment I left you at the airport."

I jumped right to it. "Did you mean what you said?"

"I meant every word."

"Good. Because I've been churning something over in my head so much that I'm close to becoming obsessed over it."

"That sounds ominous," she said with trepidation. "Churning over what?"

"Over taking a wild chance. Saying Yes to the possibility of finding that woman who will choose me, every day, every time. Of you saying Yes to possibly finding that man who will choose you, every day, every time."

"Tom, oh my God! I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll take that chance with me, Janine. I've looked at this from every angle I can think of. Answer's the same every time. Of course, if you're seeing someone, or not interested in being anything more than being friends, then I underst--"

"Hush!" she burst out. "Do you remember what I said at your wedding? About taking Betsy's place if she stood you up? You thought I was only teasing. I wasn't."

"I had no idea, Jan. I honestly thought you were just messing with me."

"Of course you did. You're a guy. These things have to be tapped out on your forehead!" she said with her familiar playful sarcasm before switching gears. "Have you really thought this through? We have a lot of history, and some of it isn't good. Can you really forget that I failed you when it mattered? I had a chance to choose you over me, and I chose me."

"I forgave you for all that, remember?"

"Forgiving isn't forgetting. Or trusting."

"True. But I really have looked at this from every angle. If we try this, what matters is what happens going forward. If that's more of a gamble than you're comfortable with, then--"

"Tom!" she cut in. "I'm all-in for taking a wild chance, but on one condition. No wild monkey sex until maybe our fifth date. You're going to need time to prepare before you can handle what I've got!"

We had to end our call because she was about to get on board for a flight. I dreaded the next call, but couldn't put it off any longer. I had already made that decision long before I called Janine.

"Hello, Elise. It's Tom...."

*** *** ***

Janine and I took it slow. Our first date was a movie at one of those dine-in theaters. Nothing extravagant. We were cautious, but not so cautious that the topic of Betsy was avoided. Betsy was too big an elephant in too small a room. I told Jan that I hadn't seen or heard from Betsy since my Free at Last party. I asked if she still had any contact with Betsy. I had guessed she hadn't, or surely Jan would have heard all about the trip to the gun range. If that wouldn't have scared Jan away, what would?

"Not a peep since she set me up with that safety violation bullshit and I got reprimanded," she reported. "Which is fine by me," she added with acidic certainty. Then Jan's whole demeanor changed, an odd mix of contemplation and conspiracy. "I have heard things, though," she ventured, her eyes meeting mine as she sipped at her iced tea. "I heard that she quit and joined another carrier right after your trial. Like within two weeks after. From what I hear, she didn't say a thing to anyone, she just finished out her schedule and vanished. I've heard that she's with a regional partner of one of the majors based in Dallas. Living there now is the rumor."

I decided to wait before filling Jan in on why Betsy vanished into the mist, and simply said that I was glad she was gone and far away.

Our second date was to an Arkansas Travelers baseball game in North Little Rock. The Travelers were only a Double-A affiliate of the Seattle Mariners, and the closest thing we could get to a professional sporting event in our area. It was the perfect second date for us. We had mindless fun watching the game. The lukewarm stadium beer helped. We didn't talk about Betsy or anything connected to her. This time the awkward part came when I dropped her back at her condo.

"Tom, I'm not going to invite you in tonight," she said apologetically. "It's not that I don't want to. Despite all my flirting and teasing, I don't want us to just fall into bed together, my damp panties be damned! I did tell you no wild monkey sex until our fifth date," she said with a coy smile. "Is that OK?"

I answered by taking her hand and kissing it. It crossed my mind that I might be repeating past mistakes by letting another woman parcel out intimacy as a means of controlling me, but I wasn't going to let my past with Betsy run me, either.

"Just because we're not sleeping together tonight doesn't mean I'm going to settle for a gentlemanly peck on my hand!" she chastised with a smirk. She leaned across my truck's the center console, laying a kiss on me that made me dizzy.

"So do we get a third date?" she asked, hopeful. I nodded with enthusiasm. "I'll call you to set it up," she chirped as she hopped out of my truck. I waited until she was inside before driving away.

I was barely two blocks down the street when my cell chimed. "Hi, it's me! I said I'd call." Janine was buoyant. I saw her playful smile in my mind. "Shakespeare in the Park is performing Much Ado About Nothing next Saturday, and I'm not crewing that weekend. Picnic lunch and paddle-boating? I make a killer Southern Chicken Salad Sandwich." It took me two seconds to accept. "Great!" Janine exclaimed. "I'll pick you up at noon."

The third date was better than the second, and that wasn't counting the world's best chicken salad sandwich. After the play and lazy hours paddle-boating around the lake we went for a late dinner at Bruno's Little Italy, which was close to Janine's rental condo. Janine suddenly got quiet.

"Tom, I wasn't thinking when I suggested Italian. I don't want to stir up bad memories. That first double date with Betsy was at Ciao Baci. Want to go somewhere else?"

"Not on your life. We both like Italian. Betsy is history, and her ghost isn't going to run my life. Besides, if not for those double-dates, I wouldn't be here with you now." She ran her instep along my calf, her eyes twinkling.

We had a leisurely meal, chicken parm for me and Lasagna al Forno for her. Dinner was spent talking about our families, our childhoods, and the quirks of our jobs. She insisted on paying, reminding my that she invited me out. I grumbled, but let her because she gave me a look that didn't brook argument. On the way home she took the wrong Highway 167 exit, heading away from my house. My confusion showed.

"I didn't miss the exit," she said casually. "We're going to my condo. I bought you dinner, and now you're going to put out." She gave me the wickedest smile I'd ever seen on her.

I took her right hand from the wheel and held it in mine. "Jan, you sure? Big step, y'know? No pressure from me, no expectations. I can wait."

"I know you can. So can I. But I stayed awake almost the whole night after our last date, wishing that I had invited you in. By three in the morning I wanted you so bad I nearly drove myself to your place," she said with a self-derisive laugh. "We've waited long enough," she declared to the windshield. "I want this. I want you," she said, now averting her eyes from the road. "Besides, when's the last time you had a virgin?" Her eyebrows playfully arched.

"Say what?" I asked, perplexed.

"Twelve Month Rule," she deadpanned. "My maidenhead doth grown back, my lord, and then some!" she giggled out, trying to sound Shakespearian. I wondered if her dry spell had her as edgy as my own drought had me. "Tom, I know I'm being nosy and it's none of my business, but--

"Just before Betsy left on that fateful trip to Philly."

Janine gave a low whistle. "Am I ever gonna have fun with you!"

"Jan, I'm still a one girl at a time guy."

Janine squeezed my hand. "I know. That's just one of the reasons I was so jealous of Betsy. And before you ask, I'm a one guy at a time girl. I choose you. Only you."

I slowly awakened from a contented sleep to soft kisses across my cheek and Jan's soft palm cradling my jaw. After our first few passionate couplings, sex with Jan was like coming home after a long time away. The indescribable something that was missing with Betsy coursed through us like an underground river, nurturing our bond.

A few months later we exchanged keys. We moved clothes and toiletries into each other's places, and seldom spent a night apart if Jan wasn't on a RON or I was on a rare business trip. Jan and I were humming along. And buried just under the surface, that made me nervous.

*** *** ***

A coincidence of schedules set the tides in motion. Jan's airline was to have its annual holiday bash on the same Saturday that I had to travel to Tampa for a client meeting. I hated that Jan would have to go alone, but there was no way out. Jan took it in stride, and even mentioned it might be awkward for me, with so many friends of Betsy's who would be there, and even some of Demerest's. She insisted that it didn't matter to her what others thought, but I had to wonder if her concern was for me or for her. And the first time I wondered if Jan regretted hitching herself to me.

Fate likes to play its games, and Fate certainly wasn't done playing with me. El Nino brought a tropical storm in Florida that shut down all flights to the entire Tampa area, forcing a cancellation of my trip. By the time I got back home Jan would already be at the party, and I couldn't reach her by phone. She probably had the ringer off, as she did when we were out together.

I wrestled with whether I should make the trek to the Westin Hotel's ballroom to join the party, or stay home so Jan could enjoy the party without my being at her side becoming an unwelcome distraction. I decided to go. Running and hiding was no way to live.

I arrived at the crowded ballroom a few hours after the party started. Most of the attendees hadn't met me, so my presence didn't draw attention as I searched for Jan. My heart sank when I found her. The surprise visit curse had returned in all of its sickening glory. She was at a small round elevated table, standing next to a tallish man, both of them with their backs to me. They were close--too close. An intimate distance, shoulder-to-shoulder, heads leaned in together. And unlike most of everyone else, they were speaking quietly, obviously absorbed in a private conversation.

I instantly recalled what Betsy said, that I always turned tail and took the gut punch--at least until I meted out payback on her and Demerest. This time there would be no intricately plotted revenge. Just erasure. I walked toward them, to tell Jan we were done, that she could fuck off and die, and forewarn her to stay clear of me, because I'm the last person on Earth she wants to fuck with. Then I'd go back home to cut out yet another woman from my life like a festering cancer. I didn't have energy for anything more.

Jan and the guy were too engrossed in their conversation to notice that someone was standing close behind them. What I heard made me stop dead in my tracks.

"For the very last time, Jere, I am NOT going to sleep with you." Jan had that edge to her voice that only came out when someone was really pissing her off.

"Come on, Janny! Didn't we have a good time before?"

"That was over two years ago. Ancient history. Let's keep it that way."

"That's no fun. Besides, you know you wanted to."

"No, Jere, you wanted to. I was drunk and I let you get handsy. I shouldn't have. Be glad I walked away instead of kicking your nuts into your throat."

"Are you worried about that guy you're seeing finding out, the crazy one who killed Vernon Demerest? I've heard all about that. Don't sweat it. I can book a room, and we go up separately. No one will know, unless you blab. Let's make a night of it and never look back."

Jan laughed at him, a dry, mocking laugh so filled with derision that I almost felt sorry for the guy.

"Tom isn't crazy, and you're an idiot if you underestimate him. I'm going to say this one time. I love Tom. I will never betray him, not even a little, and certainly not with a slimy worm like you. The ONLY reason I haven't already slapped you into next Tuesday is because I don't want to make a scene and ruin the party. But if you don't crawl back under your rock, I'm going get Gail's number and give her chapter and verse about tonight."

"Go ahead, call her," he taunted. "Gail and I split last month." Jere's oily-smooth cajoling voice was gone, replaced by anger at being cut off at the knees.

"Then she's a lucky girl. Now leave me alone, before I relocate your balls."

Jere strode off in a huff while Jan went the opposite direction, shaking her head as one does when trying to make sense of another person's stupidity. I waited until she got a several feet away before calling out to her. She stopped mid-step and turned, her face breaking into an incandescent smile as she flung herself fully into me.

"What are you doing here??" she squeaked out between a torrent of kisses.

"Weather got worse. All flights to Tampa were canceled. I tried to call you."

Jan rolled her eyes theatrically, while pulling her phone out of her clutch purse.

"Dumb Bunny me," she smirked. "I had it on silent." Jan's hand found mine. "Come on, let me introduce you around."

Instead of following I gently pulled her back to me. Her expression mixed confusion and curiosity.

"Jan, I love you. I choose you. Always." She hugged me tight around the neck, and whispered Same here, cowboy in my ear before dragging me off to a small cluster of men and women.

Reactions to my introduction were mixed. One man, obviously a pilot, refused my offered hand and abruptly walked away, practically dragging his wife with him. But another quickly shook my hand vigorously. "I'm Paul. Never mind him," he said looking in the direction of the departing couple. "He'll sing a different tune when he learns one day what his cute little wife does on her overnights."

Paul's wife blanched and swatted him lightly on the shoulder. "Paul! You promised not to gossip," she said in a low voice.

"Damn it, Christie," the stranger said in a stern tone, "I'm not imagining what I've seen coming in and out of her room, or his, either, and I won't cover for them. They deserve each other. And I for damn sure won't condemn Tom for protecting what was his."

Another voice chirped in, a thirty-something brunette with purple highlights who a moment before had her arm around tightly wrapped around the waist of another thirty-something woman who wore a menacing expression like a badge of honor. "Jesus, Paul, you sure carry the flag for the patriarchy. Protecting what was his? Really? Betsy wasn't some man's property. He didn't own her!"

Out of nowhere Jan spoke up. "Of course he didn't own her, Evie. But Tom's dignity is his property, and so is his self-respect. Betsy was a serial cheater, and people knew all about it and looked the other way. And worse, some even stayed friends with Betsy and cheered her on. What does that say about them, Evie?"

Evie looked away, clearly embarrassed by the implied rebuke. Jan didn't let the moment fade.

"Betsy even rubbed Tom's nose in her cheating, and that gutter snake Demerest did, too. Demerest's death was an accident, but as far as I'm concerned, he deserved what happened, and that slut Betsy got off easy. Feel free to tell anyone you want what I said, and if they don't like it, then too bad." Evie and her partner walked away in a huff.

Jan got so worked up that she was slightly out of breath as she entwined her arm with mine. There was an uncomfortable silence until one of the men in the circle spoke in that light manner intended to relieve tension through humor.

"Tom, I'm Joey," he said introducing himself and extending his hand. "Whatever you do, don't let Jan get away." Joey released my hand and gave Jan a chaste hug. "Jan, you wouldn't happen to have an unattached sister, would you?" Those still in the gaggle laughed lightly and the conversation turned to the holidays and family trips. Similar versions of that encounter played out with other introductions, but none came close to matching the ferocity of that first one. I was concerned that it was taking a toll on Jan, but she insisted that she wanted to stick it out.

"I wouldn't have invited you in the first place if I was worried we couldn't handle it," she explained. "You're my guy. I stand with you. Every damn time." There was steel in her eyes, but it melted when she leaned in to kiss me. "I give you a choice," she declared coyly. "We can see if there's a room available here, and after we've mingled enough we fuck each other senseless until checkout time, or we drive home and lose an hour's worth of playtime. I'm not giving you a third option. Please choose quickly, because just thinking about your tongue teasing my pussy has my panties squishy."

For the sake of the people in the suite next to ours, I hoped the pillow Jan stuck in her mouth muffled her screams enough to let them sleep.

* * * *

One lazy January evening, curled up in a wicker love seat on my patio next to a pile of orange-glowing embers in a cast iron fire pit, Jan threw me a curve ball.

"My condo lease is coming up for renewal," she announced with forced casualness. "How would you feel about taking in a full-time housemate?" she said into my shoulder as her body tensed slightly against mine.

I disentangled enough that we could talk face-to-face. "I'd love it! But are you sure you want to move in to the house I shared with Betsy? To be honest, I wanted to sell the place from the minute I found out about her cheating, but the market has sucked so bad I didn't want to take the hit. So instead I've worked on wiping away all of the physical reminders that she ever set foot in it. You sure that's where you want us to live?"

"Well, when you put it that way." Jan went silent while the gears churned in her mind. "So don't sell it. Rent it out until the market picks up, and sell it then. Or keep it as an investment rental if the numbers work out."

"Then I'd need a place. Would I move in with you?"

"You could," she mused. "But my condo is a bit small for the two of us, and I know how much you'd miss having a basement man-cave," she said with a playful smirk. She took a long pause before continuing. "We could look for a place together. I could move in with you until we got your house ready to rent and we found something we both like." She looked slightly away, tentative now. "Unless you're not ready for that big of a commitment. I'll understand if that's it."

I laughed out loud. "Not ready for that big of a commitment? Hang on, I'll be right back." I was gone and back within a minute. I walked to the love seat and knelt beside her. The whole bended knee thing. Jan didn't see the small, black velvet ring box until I opened it and held it out to her. Her eyes went wide as saucers as she took in a huge breath.

"Janine Caroline Blake, will you--"

That's as far as I got before she threw her arms around my neck. "Yes, yes, oh hell YES!" she babbled into my ear. When she finally released me, remnants of tears were smeared across her cheeks. I took her left hand and slid the ring onto her finger. It wasn't how I'd planned to pop the question, but it turned out better than what I imagined in every one of my mind-movies.

Jan spent the next hour splaying her fingers so the light from the embers caught in the diamond, accompanied by a silly grin. Somewhere in that hour she popped her own question.

"Tom, what made you decide to propose?"

It seemed like a good time, what with us deciding to move in together and you being unsure of my commitment to us."

"I get that, but you obviously already had the ring. When did you decide to get it?"

"The night of the holiday party. You didn't just choose us, Jan. You really chose me, big time.

"People needed to know where I stood. I lost some so-called friends over it. Good riddance."

"Not that, though you made me so proud I thought my heart would burst. It's what you said to that guy Jere."

Panic washed over Jan's face. "Oh, my god! You heard that?"

"I heard enough. In less than a minute you showed me more genuine loyalty than every serious relationship I've had since I was ten years old combined. I bought the ring the next week. I've just been waiting for the right moment. It was going to be on our trip to Memphis next weekend for the concert, but I couldn't have you doubting my commitment a second longer."

"Whelp," Jan said jokingly, "nothing says commitment like Will you marry me!" She splayed her fingers again to admire her engagement ring before snuggling into me.

We found a three-bedroom fixer-upper not far from my old place that Jan said had "charming possibilities" and "room to grow into." We took it and made renovating it our shared hobby. We also made a pact. No wild monkey sex in a room until we had finished it out. As a room completed we went at it like Viagra-popping bonobos on crack. The renovations proceeded quickly.

~~~@~~~@~~~

Not all of the significant events in my adult life happened in an airport, but this one did. Jan and I were having a drink at a bar & grill in the "E" terminal at DFW, on a layover for a flight to Vancouver, on our way to a two week sightseeing cruise to Alaska. We were huddled over a pamphlet describing the ship's ports of call, oblivious to the person who suddenly loomed next to our table.

"Well, isn't this precious!" Betsy snarled before turning her attention directly to Jan. "So you finally got your hooks in him. I'd run, if I were you," she snapped. "He murdered Vern. Not killed. Murdered."

"I know," Jan said casually, locking eyes with Betsy. Betsy's jaw dropped as she took a half-step back. I felt a flash of heat run to my cheeks as my heart rate skyrocketed.

"Fucking hell! You know? Did he tell you?" Betsy sputtered, wide eyes blinking.

"He didn't have to," Jan said calmly. "You really didn't know who he is, did you?" It was an honest question, not a taunt.

"I didn't know he was a psycho, if that's what you mean!" Betsy barked out. "What makes you think YOU know so much?"

Jan leaned in, as if confiding in a co-conspirator. "Remember that night at the comedy club, and my jackass date, Richard?" Betsy nodded, remembering. "Richard kept pressing Tom about the Marines, and then he asked that horrid question about whether Tom had killed anyone." Betsy cocked her head slightly, unsure where this was going.

"That's when I knew the kind of man Tom is. I saw it on his face when he avoided answering. Tom did tough jobs that needed to be done. Jobs that no one else wants to do. But he wasn't going to brag about it, or tell stories to entertain idiots like you and Richard. You didn't see what was right in front of you. A man like Tom wasn't going to put up with the disrespect you and that man-slut Demerest heaped on him."

"Disrespect? That's bullshit! Since when do you get to kill somebody because they had an affair? You're as crazy as he is!"

"Over an affair? That's what you thought it was about? Get real, bitch. I was at the trial, too. You didn't notice me because I sat in the back and blended in. Not like you, right in the front row, licking your lips waiting for a conviction. I heard all of it. Every disgusting detail about what you and that sack of shit Demerest did. You're not just a cheating slut. You're a disgusting little skank. He should have killed you, too."

"Just you wait until he turns on you!" Betsy countered.

"I'm not worried," said a smiling Jan as her left hand took mine. Betsy's eyes went wide as she noticed Jan's engagement ring for the first time.

"Jesus Christ!" Betsy snorted. "If you're going to get married at least pick a guy who knows how to use his cock."

Suddenly the restaurant's manager appeared at our table. He told Betsy she was causing a disturbance and needed to leave before he called security. Betsy glared at us before turning away, sputtering something over her shoulder about how Karma was headed our way as she stomped off down the wide terminal passage. Betsy's wheeled FA luggage bounced against her heels as she angrily zigzagged around the throng of other travelers.

Jan suggested we take our drinks to a table where no one could eavesdrop. We found a space where no one was within earshot.

"You knew?" I asked Jan quietly. "You knew and you still agreed to date me?"

She sat in silent contemplation for what seemed like an eternity before answering.

"I watched the whole trial, Tom. You probably didn't notice me sitting in the back either. It took me a quite a while to put it together. There were things that just didn't add up. The surveillance videos were too conveniently perfect. They showed a lot of Betsy and Vernon's faces, but not much of yours. But there were a few angles that caught your face. I know your facial expressions, Sweetheart. You weren't surprised at what they said and did. You looked like it all happened just like you expected. Did you slip when you told the prosecutor that if you were going to kill somebody over an affair that you'd do it intentionally, not by accident, or were you just messing with him?

I think Jan saw my panic rising. Just when you think you're so damn clever, someone shows you that you're not the smartest person in the room after all. Jan pressed on.

"You shook your phone at Demerest, which you had to know would piss him off, and that also made it be easy for him to grab it from you or knock it out of your hand. And then you telling Betsy to unlock her phone so you could call 9-1-1? All cell phones allow emergency calls, even if it's locked, so you didn't need to get Betsy to help. What did that medical examiner guy say? Something about how if the EMTs had gotten there even a minute sooner, the emergency tracheotomy probably would have worked and Demerest would have lived? Real bad luck for him that you were in such a panic that you forgot that you could make a 9-1-1 call without unlocking, and that Betsy was in a full-on freak, right? Maybe I'm full of crap, but I think those district attorney people completely missed the stuff that really mattered. Oh well!" she said with a nonchalant shrug.

"And you're OK with this? Really OK with this?" I was nearly shaking now. I don't know whether I was more upset that Jan had it figured out, or that I might lose someone I'd come to love through and through every fiber of my being.

"Hell yeah I'm OK with it! Don't forget that I also heard all that nasty from Betsy about fucking Demerest in your own bed and marking every inch of your house with their... you know." Jan's face twisted into a disgusted grimace at the memory. "And that weasel Demerest trying to push you out of his way in your own house so they could go to your bedroom to screw! What a piece of shit." She took my hands back in hers. "Tom, my love, I would have been okay with it if you had pulled out a gun and shot both of them dead right then." Her eyes turned ice cold. "I would have."

I felt the waves of nausea that had been building in my gut ebb away. "So we're good, then?" I asked as calmly as I could with my heart still about to explode.

"Better than good," she said with a reassuring smile. "Now let's never mention this ever again, and go see some glaciers."

~~~@~~~@~~~

Epilogue

I was getting our son, Kenny, ready for Pre-K, while Jan helped his older sister, Elaine, get changed out of a dress that Kenny had accidentally anointed with chocolate milk. Jan got pregnant about six months after our wedding, which meant the nursery jumped to the top of the renovations list. The kids were four and six now, and full of boundless energy. I had advanced steadily at MaxStaff, enough that my salary and bonuses enabled Jan to be a full-time mom, which Jan loved even when the pace wore her out. "I'd rather spend a day with our kids than a day in Paris," she said often and with complete sincerity. Most spouses say I love you. We did, too, but just as often we said I choose you.

One night after the kids were settled in their beds and asleep, Jan plopped down next to me on the couch, cell phone in hand.

"I have something you might find interesting," she said dryly. "A friend from my FA days forwarded it to me."

I took the phone and began reading a news story.

Airline Pilot Fatally Stabbed in Mugging

Daniel Ehebrecher, 41, was found fatally stabbed in an employee parking structure used by several airlines at Dallas Love Field. Ehebrecher, a senior pilot for local regional carrier GreenJet, had been reported missing by his spouse a week earlier. Ehebrecher's wallet, keys, and vehicle were missing when he was found. The Dallas Police Department is investigating the incident as a robbery, and have no suspects at this time. Ehebrecher's spouse and family declined to comment.

I handed Jan's phone back. "Should I know this guy?" I asked.

"Hang on," she said as she tapped on her phone, pausing briefly before handing it back to me.

Addison Woman Found Fatally Shot in Preston Hollow Mansion

Betsy Traditrice, of Addison, Texas, was found fatally shot yesterday morning in her fiance's home in Preston Hollow. Traditrice was discovered in the master bedroom of a home owned by Dallas businessman Vincent Messina. Messina's housekeeper called police when she arrived at the home early that morning and discovered broken windows from an apparent break-in. A safe located in the home showed signs of unsuccessful attempts to gain entry. The Dallas Police Department is investigating the case as a botched burglary. There are no suspects at this time.

Traditrice, 37, was a flight attendant for GreenJet, a regional passenger and cargo carrier based in Dallas. Messina, a private investment advisor, is a founding partner of Messina & Russo LLP, headquartered in New Jersey, with offices in New York, Chicago, Kansas City, Detroit, Philadelphia, and Dallas. A Messina & Russo spokesman stated that Messina was in meetings with clients in Atlantic City for the preceding week, and plans to return to Dallas. Messina's office declined further comment.

I read it twice before handing Jan her phone.

"Wow. There's a lot packed in there, lurking between the lines," I said neutrally. "What do you think?"

Jan's sardonic smile spoke volumes. "I think leopards can't change their spots, and somebody got some payback."

Jan was right. Payback is a bitch, and her stripper name is Karma.

~~~@~~~@~~~

Hope you enjoyed my tale. For those so inclined, look up the German word Ehebrecher, and the Italian word Traditrice. I look forward to your comments and constructive criticism.