2024/10/31 - The Gravestone

It was a poorly-kept secret. After 26 years of marriage, at the age of 49, my wife Dorrie had decided that marital fidelity was dispensable.

My name is Jeff Gamble. She was Dorothy D'Amato when I met her in high school. She was 15 and I was 16, and she was a ray of sunshine. Wavy dark brown hair from her father's Neapolitan heritage, and fair skinned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye and an open, friendly smile that mirrored that of her Irish mam. Shorter than average with a cute build. I saw her in the school lunchroom and never looked at another girl. After 8 years of dating, proms, college and promising career starts, we married. We had two sons and a daughter. We settled into a comfortable and contented life.

We never stopped being sweethearts. Her girlish build experienced the customary enhancements of motherhood. I was a lucky guy. My degree in finance led to a career in banking. A banking exec doesn't necessarily keep bankers hours, but close enough for my liking. I had decided from the start that I was not going to have a career where I worked myself to death. I got to go to all of my kids' school events, coached their little league, and kept a flexible enough schedule to allow me to support my wife's endeavours. She worked for a family friend who owned a small chain of regional clothing stores.

Dorrie grew up next door to Milt and Ellen Kaplan, and was a playmate of their kids. When she got her first high school job, it was at Kaplan's Apparel. Milt and Ellen saw promise in Dorrie, and tailored her hours to the requirements of school, marriage and motherhood. As our kids got older and required fewer of her hours, the Kaplans got older and required more of her hours.

When Dorrie was 49, Milt suddenly died. When the dust finally settled, Ellen took Dorrie aside and delivered the sad news: at the age of 80, she was in no position to run her small empire without Milt. By this time, Dorrie had been doing much of everything at Kaplan's anyway... hiring, advertising, purchasing... but even if Dorrie could do all the heavy lifting, Ellen didn't want the bother of overseeing the operation. It was time to cash out and enjoy retirement and her grandkids. Time to close down a couple of the underperforming locations and put the attractive remainder on the market and to lure a qualified buyer.

Now, there were many in the industry who knew full well who Dorrie was, so, with the closing of Kaplan's, word would soon hit the street that she was available. And she was well-positioned for a new opportunity. Our younger son Michael was away at college, our middle child Heather had just married her college sweetheart the year before, and our eldest, Stephen, was single, and earning his pay as a professional golfer. So being a wife was the only pressing family obligation that stood between Dorrie and any attractive job offers.

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

I remember the first time I heard his name.

It was a Thursday in March. It was supper time.

"Jeff, sweetie, while I was helping Ellen pack things up at the Pawtucket store, we had an interesting visitor. I guess you've heard of the Selby-Cross department store chain... well, who walks in but Richard Cross, their CEO!"

"Can't say as I've heard of him, but the stores are everywhere... that much I know. What the hell was he doing at Kaplan's?"

"Ha! Well, he said hello to Ellen. They seemed to know each other. He gave her a hug, but Ellen got, I don't know, kind of stiff and formal, like she didn't enjoy being hugged, and then she asked to what she owed the pleasure. He said he was there to see if, since she was closing down the Pawtucket store, maybe he could pick up some shelves and fixtures. Ellen laughed because she knew that he didn't come in for a boxful of brackets."

"So what was he doing there, Dor?"

"That's just it! He caught me away from Ellen for a moment and confessed that he was there to see me! He gave me his phone number and asked me to call him for details. I called him during the drive home, and he told me he's got a position available where he would train me as the head of purchasing for all his stores. He wants to interview me! I'm going to Boston to check it out."

"Boston?!? That's an hour's drive. I hope the job isn't in Boston... damn, I'd never see you!"

"Oh, how sweet.... Well, I'm not sure just what he's looking for... who knows? Maybe travelling store-to-store? Anyway that's why I'm meeting him for lunch tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Wow, this guy doesn't waste a minute!"

"Well, he said he's heard good things about me and wants to talk to me before someone else snaps me up. I guess I'm flattered."

So Dorrie went to Boston the next day. It was a Friday. March 24th.

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

I had long ago planned that as a day off, as I had been putting off a couple of projects around the house. My intention was to do my chores, then relax a bit before taking Dorrie out for dinner that evening. She left me with a hug and a loving kiss around 9.30 that morning. I wished her luck.

She held up crossed fingers and gave me a comical gritting of the teeth to convey nervousness. "Thanks, sweetie! Have fun with your projects. I should be back by 3."

It was the beginning of the end.

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

By 4 o'clock, she was not home. I called her cell and, when she didn't pick up, I left a couple of voice messages. Just before 5, she called me back and sounded nervous.

"Um, Jeff, sweetie?"

"I'm here," I deadpanned.

"Um, look, honey, I'm not going to make it back in time for dinner...."

Then there was silence on her part as she listened for what I had to say. I knew her well enough that she was going to tailor the rest of the conversation to my mood. She waited for some indication. I gave her none.

"Jeffy, baby? Are you there?"

I repeated, "I'm here...."

"Okaaay... I didn't want you to hold a dinner reservation or anything... um, fix yourself something... I'm tied up in a meeting... I've as good as got the job, we're just going over stuff. The lunch meeting started late and there have been some... interruptions. We've still got stuff to cover. Richard says he won't keep me too long..."

"Richard, huh?"

"Yes, yes. Richard Cross. I told you all about him?"

"Slow down there, Dorrie. You've told me nothing about him, other than that he is blowing off dinner with his own wife and kids to spend time with you."

"No, no, Jeff... He's divorced and has no kids."

"Well, there! See? Now I know something about the man. Tell me more."

"Jeff, listen, I really need to go, we need to leave for dinner."

I ignored that and pressed on. "So, how old is he, would you say?"

"Um, he just turned 37 on March 6th."

Hmm... she seemed to know a lot more personal stuff about him than you'd expect at the job-interview stage. I shifted gears to keep her off balance. I was already getting a bad feeling and I didn't want her to get too situated.

"So, he has essentially offered you a job, just not officially."

"Yes, Jeffrey," she huffed, "we are trying to talk particulars... we need to leave for dinner."

"Is it your plan to accept the offer if you like what you hear?"

I was sensing some attitude: "Yeahhh? What do you think?!?... I wouldn't be wasting the whole day just for some free meals if I didn't intend to take up an attractive offer!"

"How attractive does the offer look so far, Dorrie?"

"What are you getting at?! You're worried that he's attractive? So what if he is?!"

"Dorrie.... I really was talking about the job offer being attractive, and you just went straight for Dick Cross being attractive!"

"It's Richard, not Dick."

"I'll certainly reserve judgement on that. Were you going to come home and discuss it with me first, or were you just going to give him an answer tonight?"

Her silence was deafening. I don't know if she hadn't considered talking it over first and now this thought was new to her.

"Um, look, Jeff... I hadn't really given it that much thought. Do I really need permission from you to take a job?"

"Dorrie, you don't need my permission any more than you would if you wanted to take out a $100,000 loan to buy a new car, or if you wanted to buy yourself a beach cottage. But anything major in our lives affects us both. Common courtesy says we should talk first."

"Okay, okay... we'll talk. Right now I gotta go. Richard is tapping his watch. We have reservations and we need to get going. I'll see you tonight and we'll talk. Okay?"

"Yes, your dinner reservations with him are more important than the ones you had with me. Fine. Enjoy dinner. I'll go over to see Heather and Justin. Maybe she'll feed her old Dad."

Suddenly she brightened up, perhaps by the thought that she was almost done having to talk to me. "Sounds good, sweetie. Gotta run. See you tonight. Love you."

And with that lie, the call disconnected. I stood there with the phone in my hand. I suddenly felt separated from myself, looking at myself from a distance. There stands a 50-year-old guy with a phone in his hand who, for the first time, is having disquieting thoughts about his marriage. Earlier that morning he'd been a different man.

Then I quickly gathered myself and splashed some kitchen water in my face. I picked up the same phone and called my daughter to see if she had plans for the night. You know how young people can be about their Friday nights. They were eating in and she asked if Mom was coming, too.

There must have been something in the way I said "no" that made her greet me at the front door with a look of worry. I handed her a bottle of wine and shook Justin's hand.

"So!", Heather started right in, "What's Mom up to?"

I filled her in on what I knew. She asked no questions and let me finish.

"Huh! Dad, this sounds kind of odd. Of course, I'm hearing your impressions. I'll bet she'll have a different slant when she tells me her side."

We had a nice night. College basketball playoffs were in full swing. I lost track of the time. It was the buzzing of my phone announcing that I had a new text message that made me take note of the hour. It was 10.15.

"Dinner meeting ran long. Had a few drinks. Too late to drive. Spending the night in hotel. See you tomorrow."

I showed this to Heather and she just shook her head, slack-jawed, and said nothing. I thanked my daughter and son-in-law for a nice supper, and headed home.

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

The next morning, I got up and went to the Silver Plate Diner for breakfast. Hash browns, bacon and eggs. I got home before 9. Still no Dorrie. Not a phone call. Not even a text. I went out to run some errands. Hardware store. Milk at the convenience store. Office Supply Warehouse for some pencil leads and a print cartridge. Back by 10.30. Still no Dorrie.

Back to the diner for lunch. Chicken rice soup. Turkey and Swiss on rye. Apple pie and coffee. Back home by 12.30. Still no Dorrie. I called Heather. She hadn't heard a peep from her mother. I could have pestered my wife to find out where she was but I thought that a long period of silence from my end would make it more uncomfortable for her when she finally did decide to contact me. I was feeling nervous and it just felt right to share the pain.

I went to Duffy's to have a beer and watch one of the basketball games. When I left Duffy's, I didn't bother going home. I went straight back to the diner for a third time. I ordered supper. Caesar salad. Chicken parm with ziti. I took a few bites from my second apple pie of the day. My phone rang. It was 5.55pm.

I picked up.

"Yes?"

"Hi baby, it's me. I'm home. Where are you?"

"What difference to you does it make where I am."

"I guess I had that coming. I should have called."

"You think?"

"Richard met me for breakfast and we talked some more, and then we had lunch and talked some more..."

"Met you for breakfast, did he? So you didn't drive there together, eh?" Silence. I listened hard to see if I could hear crickets chirping over the phone.

I continued: "Well, assuming you got up at 7, you've been awake for 11 hours. Two hours for meals, and we are looking at 9 hours of talking. Not once in those 9 hours did it occur to you to let me know what you were up to." I disconnected the call, threw some money on the table and left without finishing my dessert. I was home in 5 minutes.

Dorrie was in the shower when I got there. I saw her luggage sitting on the bed. The hamper was empty and the washer was silent, so I knew she hadn't unpacked. I had an idea. I sat on the bed next to her bags and waited. Minutes passed.

Then she suddenly appeared in the bedroom wearing a terrycloth gown, towel-drying her hair. She jumped when she saw me.

Not a word was uttered. Then she noticed that I was sitting between her suitcases, with an arm draped over each one. She opened her mouth to speak, and after a couple of tentative grunts, words came out.

"Jeff, baby, I'm sorry I didn't call you. Let me dry off, unpack my stuff and get a load going in the washer. Then I'll get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning. I'm really, really tired."

"Yes, I can just imagine your fatigue... what, with all those hours and hours of talking."

I saw her swallow hard as she realized that I wasn't buying it.

"Here, tell you what, you're tired, so let me help you unpack." She looked like she was ready to faint.

"Let's see, Dorrie, which bag should I help you with?" And just like that, she tipped her hand: she practically lunged at the one she didn't want me to open.

"Here, Jeffy, let me have this one, and you can do that one." I ripped it from her hands and reached for the zip.

"No, no, no," she moaned.

"What is it you don't want me to see in here, Dorrie?" I started to unzip it and she let her arms fall limply to her sides, dropped her head and started to cry.

"Evidence," was all she managed to get out.

"Evidence of what?" It was a question I needn't have asked. By now, the bag was unzipped and the unmistakable aroma had hit me it the face.

"Evidence of what I was doing in Boston... why I was gone so long... why I didn't come home... why I didn't call."

I lifted out the offending undergarments. "Dick Cross's handiwork, I take it..."

"It's Richard..."

"I told you I'd reserve judgement on that. The jury is in. The guy's a dick. A guy who fucks a married woman is a dick by definition. You accepted the job offer, didn't you!?" She stood there and nodded her head without looking at me.

"You didn't discuss this with me, even though I insisted. Ha ha, I told you that you owed me the common decency of discussing things before you told the guy yes. I was talking about saying yes to the job. Looks like you said yes to a lot more than that. Looks like common decency isn't in your playbook. What the fuck, Dorrie! We've been married 26 years. We were high school sweethearts going back 8 years before that. 34 fucking years, and you fuck some guy who's not much older than 34 years himself. Fuck's sake, we've got three kids! What the fuck is wrong with you! You took a job and fucked your boss on the first day! That's assuming you didn't fuck him first to get the job. Anyway you slice it, sex for money makes you a whore. Look it up in the dictionary... see if your picture is there..."

And then I broke down. I sat on the bed and cried. She stood in front of me and cried. "I'm sorry, baby. I won't sleep with him again."

"That makes it sound like you'll be seeing that dick, just not fucking him."

"Yes, I am taking the job in Boston."

"Boston! Just like I thought. How convenient. For all I know, you'll leave here every morning, drive for an hour, fuck him all day, and drive another hour each evening back home, and sit at the supper table and tell me how you worked all day."

"Actually, I'll have a small apartment there so I will only have to drive home some nights."

"And there it is! The love nest. But of course you'll never fuck him again, is that what I heard you say?" At least she had the decency, if it can be called that, not to lie. Instead, she elected to say nothing.

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

Over the weekend I pondered the state of my marriage. I had to find a way to wrap my head around the idea of disconnecting myself from the woman who had been the centre of my universe for the last 34 years. She had disrespected me in so many ways. She had taken a job without discussing it, had fucked her boss, had arranged to live elsewhere, had promised not to fuck him again, and had lied at every turn. It was not looking good.

I spent Saturday and Sunday nights sleeping with my back to her, and slapped her hand away the one time she showed an affectionate gesture. "Jeff...baby..."

"No damn way! Listen...you whored yourself out. I don't want a whore's diseases." She softly sobbed herself to sleep as she watched 34 years of love evaporate into thin air.

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

I had final words with her on the morning of Monday, March 27th.

"Dorrie, I'm not sure whether our marriage can be saved, I mean, in light of what you've already done. But I will say this. If you leave this morning and go back to him, I can guarantee that you will have killed the marriage. There will be no hope after today. I'm only holding out this olive branch in consideration that we still have a family. A family that may yet be saved. Three kids, maybe grandkids someday. You gave me 34 wonderful years until you suddenly went off the rails a few days ago. Call him. Be professional. Thank him for the job offer. But tell him your family is worth more to you."

Then I left for work and left her standing there.

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

When I got home that night, she was gone, her car was gone, and most of her clothes and stuff were gone. I had my answer. The emptiness of her closet fed an emptiness in me. Nevertheless, for two days I went through the motions of life.

Then after work Wednesday evening I showed up unannounced at my daughter's place. Justin saw the look on my face and made himself scarce. I explained the whole sordid tale to Heather. To say she was mortified was an understatement. I asked her not to discuss this with her siblings or to reach out to her mother until we had a clearer idea of her intentions.

One night during supper with Heather and Justin, they shared the news that Heather was two months pregnant with my first grandchild. I never got a chance to share the news with Dorrie as I never heard a word from her. She did not come home that first weekend.

By the middle of the following week, I had decided to do my own recon.

I took a few days off from work. One lovely early April morning I drove to Boston. At first I staked out the offices of Selby-Cross. I didn't see her car there. That doesn't mean she wasn't there. Maybe she took a cab or The Dick picked her up. I stopped at Selby-Cross's flagship store. Still no sight of Dorrie's car.

As the day wore on I stopped in a little spaghetti restaurant to recharge my batteries and have an early-bird supper. Then, as if by magic, a thought crossed my mind.

We shared a phone plan and it had a find-my-phone app. I hit the appropriate commands and a blue dot pulsed on a GPS map. At length, I found myself that evening in front of a high-rise condominium on the city's outskirts. It looked pretty upscale. So much for the "small apartment" she'd be living in.

Getting in was proving to be an issue. I looked like a burglar or stalker or something. So I ran down the street to a supermarket, bought a bag of cheap groceries and positioned a bunch of celery and romaine lettuce so it was poking out the top. Then I waited outside the condo building juggling the sack of groceries whilst pretending to look for my key.