The Sweetest Revenge Novel – Amy, I was feeling hopeful that day, well downright springy. It was spring and it was the Friday before spring break at the university where I worked. I was supposed to be out late that night with my department at the country club, entertaining a potential donor this rich guy who we hoped would become a major donor after we plied him with wine and country club food and young junior fundraisers too green to know that part of their reason for being was to lure old geezers into the donor pool. But the rich guy cancelled late that afternoon because his mother had died. She was eighty-two, and I figured she had had a good long life. But sad she died, of course. So, I was sad for the guy, but I have to admit, very glad for me to get out of a long evening of a witty toast by the president and chicken Florentine with pine nut risotto.
On the down side, I got elected to attend the geezer’s mother’s funeral in the big show of support from his alma mater. I had been stupid enough to tell everyone that I was planning to spend the break watching movies and working in the garden. Our annual fund coordinator, Blond Ambition, was ordered to go with me and the higher-ups—who had already left town for spring break—didn’t care if she had any plans. I knew for a fact that she was planning a week at the beach with her boyfriend because she had told me all about it in the coffee room. It was getting serious between them, Kate had said. I saw her face fall for just a second—probably no one else noticed—and she said she’d be happy to go to the funeral. You poor schlub, I thought.
So, I was ready to get my spring break started, grateful that I wouldn’t be out late that night with an old guy leering at the young chicks. Even if I had to travel to the mountains to attend a funeral on Sunday, I’d get right back to my vacation Sunday night and have the whole week! It took me exactly seventeen minutes to drive from the university to my house on Pine Street. As I pulled in the driveway, I noted the big branch from the pine tree that still lay in the side yard, the now-brown needles poking around to the front. Jim had assured me he would take care of getting it removed – he knew somebody’s brother or uncle who would do it real cheap. But that was six months ago and I guessed I would just have to do it myself, along with everything else I had to take care of. Since our house was built in 1875, we did not have the luxury of a carport or garage. I pulled to my spot on the driveway and got out, thrilled to be free! I opened the kitchen door and was greeted with a pile of dishes in the sink. No rest for the weary, I thought. A woman’s work is never done. I would have to clean up before I could start supper.
I had my mind on the New York strip steaks in the freezer that I had planned on for tomorrow night, but now a celebration was in order. Midnight came out from under the table and started rubbing against my legs, ready for some supper. I pushed her out of the way as I walked to the freezer and took out the steaks to thaw. That’s when I heard it. A low moaning sound which scared out of me. I turned to go out the door when I saw a splotch of red through the trees beyond the driveway. I realized it was Jim’s Toyota 4Runner parked on the little back road we have that doesn’t connect to the house property. What is he doing parking back there, I wondered. That’s when I knew it must be him upstairs. I dialed his cell phone just to be sure, and I heard it ringing in the den. I went in there and saw his jacket thrown without care as usual on the back of a chair.
The jacket had hit the table and pulled a corner of my jigsaw puzzle off. Pieces lay on the floor. I’d have to fix that later. What is going on? I took off my shoes and stepped on tiptoe to the stairs, then silently up them. I was careful to miss the step that always squeaked. I turned first into our bedroom, but it was empty. Then I heard laughter and a little yelp like someone was being tickled. It was coming from the spare room. It couldn’t be anyone but Jim, but why was his car outside and his cell phone in the den? I tiptoed across the hall. careful again to miss another squeaky part in the floor. The door was partially open, and I peeked in. A woman jumped up pulling the bedspread—my grandmother’s chenille spread—around her. Even in my stunned stupor I could see she was beautiful, something I would torture myself with. Now, this is the part where you think she was young and blond, like one of our many student workers. But she wasn’t that young and she wasn’t blond.
She was dark—Italian looking—with long straight dark hair. She must have been our age, late thirties. I was speechless as I took in the house of horrors. Jim just stared open-mouthed. I matched his open-mouthed stare. All I could think to say was, “That’s my grandmother’s bedspread.” And I turned and walked out. Down the stairs, stepping hard on the squeaky boards. I was out the door before Midnight made it over to my cushy calf again. In the car, hands shaking, I started the car. I backed out blindly. It’s a wonder I didn’t run into a car on the street. Straight to the 7-Eleven on the corner where I bought a pack of Marlborough Light 100s. I had given them up in college. Back in the car, I drove straight for the old mountain highway. That’s when my cell started to ring. It was Jim’s ring—“I Don’t Want To Miss a Thing,” the Aerosmith song that was a hit when we got together in college. We knew every word of that song. I didn’t answer. The phone rang over and over – he must have been hitting the number one button, reserved for me, over and over and over.
I got on the highway and had no idea where I was going, what I was doing. Finally, the phone stopped ringing. Well, I guess the jerk gave up, I thought. About halfway to the mountains I stopped at a picnic area Jim and I had discovered when we first met over seventeen years ago. It was off the road and hidden by some big bushes so the cars on the road couldn’t see it. It wasn’t used much anymore, but I did see condoms packages lying about. I sat on the ground and started to smoke. Aerosmith rang again. I ignored it again. It started to get dark and a car drove into the clearing—teenagers wanting to sleep, no doubt. They must have been surprised to see a woman sitting on the ground with a cigarete hanging out of her mouth, and they screeched off. “Oh,” I heard a boy shout. “What is that fat lady doing here?” That was my cue to leave—I didn’t want to get into any confrontations with rowdy teenaged boys—though I was so angry I felt I could take them on. I got up, brushing the dirt off of my now-ruined work suit. My cell phone rang the entire thirty minutes it took to drive home.
I hated that Aerosmith song now. I most definitely had missed a thing—Jim having an affair. Right before I turned in the drive I reached into my purse and turned my phone off. Jim didn’t know it, but I knew who the woman was. It got dark quickly, as it will in the early spring, and it was almost seven when I drove into our driveway. The house was lit up outside and in. I walked in the kitchen door, Midnight now meowing in greeting because she still hadn’t been fed. What was Jim doing, not even feeding a hungry cat? Jim was in the kitchen. “Where have you been?” he asked, as if he had a right to know. “As if you have a right to know,” I said. Then he crumbled, tears running down his face. “Please forgive me,” he begged. He knew there was no point in trying to say what I saw was anything different than what I saw. It was what it was. “Who is she?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer to that. I wanted to watch him squirm. “Just a client,” he said. “I’ve been working on an estate matter for her.”
I screamed, surprising both of us with the volume of my voice. “Well, this is hells of a matter you’re dealing with now!” I shouted. At first he wouldn’t tell me her name, but finally said her name was Mary McClure. A lie. I knew what her name was. “Where did you pull that name from? Out of a hat?” “You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” he said, as if this were the reason we were going through this hells now. I had come home unexpectedly, messing everything up. “Well, excuse me for coming home to my own house!” I yelled. Finally, I told him that I knew exactly who she was. “The gig is up,” I said. “Uh, don’t you mean jig—the jig is up?” he said. I could have killed him then and there. I covered embarrassment with fury. “No, I mean gig. Your little gigs. Your play times. As in gig. Get it?” That put him in his place. “I know she’s your old girlfriend, Kimberly Williams.
I know exactly who she is and there is no use in denying it. I saw you with her that night of her reception, so you can stop your lying now.” The rest of that night and into the early hours of the morning were spent with Jim coming clean about the whole thing. I asked accusatory and detailed questions about their sexuality and how it was—what did they do? I demanded to know the answers. I didn’t want to leave it up to my imagination, as painful as the truth was. “Did you do those things to her that I taught you? To try to make you a decent lover?” I yelled. When he wouldn’t answer, I demanded and screamed and hollered until he gave in.
He hung his head in shame as he admitted it. The steaks sat untouched in the sink. We drank wine and whisky. I smoked openly in the house, even though Jim was allergic to it. Toward the end of that long night, Jim got on his knees and grabbed my plump legs and begged forgiveness and swore it was over. He had been crazy, going through a midlife crisis or something, even though he was only thirty-seven. Didn’t know what he was doing. Lured by the old relationship. On and on and on.