A Date With Fate (14 page)

My friends assure me, as they take their separate vacations and pursue their separate friends and hobbies, they are as happy with their marriages at five, ten, or fifteen years as they were at one year; they’ve just grown and it’s a different kind of happiness. According to our body’s chemical engineering, they aren’t wrong.

My friends tell me as a couple you are not alone; you have someone to share your life with—for money, sex, affection, moral support, household chores, to cook for and eat with, the bills, the kids, the vacations, and old age.

I don’t tell these friends what I think of their marriages or committed relationships—what do I know what makes them happy? I get the general idea is to grow old together having shared all these small and large moments of a lifetime. I get in your forties-fifties-sixties these couples will sit outdoors in individual claw foot tubs. They’ll hold hands across the grass. They’ll relax overlooking a pond on the edge of a forest; after popping a blue pill and waiting for life to kick back in.

After what I have seen with my own eyes, this old idiom seems to regularly spout off in my head like a nervous refrain, “There but for the grace of God, go I.”

Unfortunately, all I have to do is hang around ninety-nine percent of people around me that are happily committed, roommate love couples to be reminded there are stereotypes out there for a reason. These are the solid marriages I’m talking about. These aren’t the truly miserable ones with the extra problems of addictions, sexual or emotional infidelities, or mental and physical health issues.

Is staying together as a miserably happy couple because you followed a biological instinct, mated, and possibly had a child or three really beneficial to anyone involved, other than possibly financially?

Is smiling though gritted teeth while pretending you are not bickering, or bored as a way of life, truly how we are supposed to live out our lifetimes as a result of falling in love?

Is no longer bothering to charm or be charmed by your loved one, having to be reminded by one’s soul mate to treat them with consideration and affection on special occasions, designating a night when you might actually try to spend time together with the person you love most in the world while racking your brain to figure out where to go and what you can talk about, and being routinely a hundred times more interested in your work or your computer screen--is that what it means to be half of a happy, devoted couple in a committed relationship—all in the name of love?

Or, would most humans be smarter to treat relationships like you do your cars--trade them in every few years for a newer model more suited to your evolving, individual tastes and lifestyles?

I hoped I never learned the answers to any of these questions.

I gave Crookie my full attention again at his next words. “Two months ago, I sunk to new, low depths. I decided to spy on Cheryl down here when she was coming to visit Tina, her sister.” He kept his eyes on our loosely joined hands.

His free hand was nervously opening and closing the lid of the peridot ring I always wore on my left middle finger. Trust Crookie to notice the miniscule hinges off to the side of the emerald cut stone. This very old, silver ring was a gift from NanaBel after a venture to Italy. It’s called a Borgia ring because the gem stone top opens to one side revealing a tiny compartment purportedly designed to secretly carry poison. I carried a breath mint in mine. Hiding my amusement, I amended that thought. I used to carry a breath mint in mine. Crookie had absently removed the mint, sniffed it suspiciously, and then popped it in his mouth.

He peered up at me and observed out of nowhere, “I am always so amazed when I see you in person and realize how petite you are compared to how I think of you. I could snap your finger like a twig, it is so delicate.”

“That was such a…” I pulled my hand back and securely latched onto my coffee cup with both hands, “totally creepy, Crookston thing to say!”

He laughed with me, but sobered up quickly. “Before I left for work that Friday morning, we were fighting again. Cheryl informed me she was leaving for Northfield to stay for the weekend.” He ran his hands through his brown hair, leaving it standing on end. “I have to say, things were so terrible by then it was a relief to hear she was going somewhere for a few days, you know?”

I nodded, and then took a big swallow of coffee to not say anything else. And then another. He didn’t need me adding to his misery by questioning why the hell he stayed with that hooker as long as he had.

He took a small drink of his coffee, too. I fondly watched him precisely wipe off his mouth with the precisely folded napkin. “After thinking about it all day, I decided I was going to get the proof she was playing me like I suspected for months. I knew it was true that she was, but I needed to see it for myself. That was my thought process. Probably the scientist in me needed the hard data to accept the cold facts.” I smiled sadly in my agreement. I’m sure that was exactly the reason. “I drove down here and arrived about ten o’clock. I went directly to Tina’s street. Do you know her, Anabel?”

“I met her once at a party a year ago.” I made a face. “She was really wasted on something and hanging on some dude I didn’t know.”

“That sounds like Tina. Listen, I will hurry to finish my story because I know I am taking up your time. This probably was not how you planned on spending your Saturday morning, right?”

He looked so morose and miserable. I got up and put my arms around him, rubbing his back.

“You will always be my friend, Crooks. You did right coming to me because I always have time for my friends. I’m glad I was home to answer your rude buzzing.”

He mumbled a “sorry about that”. He wrapped his long arms around my waist nearly twice and held on; burying his face against my, for this particular moment in time only, maternal bosom.

I stood there rocking us slightly and stroking his head. He was quiet for so long I was starting to worry he was silently bawling. Then he turned his head, and I was relieved when he spoke quietly with no trace of tears.

Sensitive soul that I am, I hate it when men cry. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.

“When I got near Tina’s, I parked down the street and walked up to the house. There were a few lights on and a couple of parked vehicles in the driveway. One was Cheryl’s BMW; the other was a red truck I suspected was your brother’s. It had a white logo on the door, but it was too dark out to decipher the writing.” His head rose and fell with my deep sigh and he patted me in comfort this time--on the butt. I cuffed his head, but only lightly due to the extenuating circumstances. “Ouch! I walked right up to the front bedroom window and looked in through the curtains. I saw Cheryl with a man on the bed.” He made a choking, scoffing sound. ‘I finally had my proof in the flesh, all right. I did not even have to break a sweat figuring it out. Shit.” He paused a second. “Anyway, I could not be totally certain from the angle, but the man was blonde and approximately the size of your brother.” Crookie looked up at me, his face anxious. “I need to know if he was the man I observed with Cheryl. He is my only clue to go on. She has not been in contact since that night, Anabel, and I am really fucking worried now.”

Hearing Crookie swear so much this morning was almost as alarming as his story. He normally spoke very correctly and properly, rarely using contractions, much less curse words.

I pulled back in disbelief, my hands on Crookie’s shoulders. “What do you mean ‘worried now’? Didn’t this happen two months ago?”

“Correct, but I left immediately after seeing her in that bedroom. I called her cell from my car on the way home and it went directly to voicemail.” He choked out another bitter laugh. “She was otherwise occupied, remember? I left a message telling her not to bother coming home because I was divorcing her. From that moment on, I would not be speaking with her again except through our attorneys. I told her not to attempt to get her belongings because the locks would be changed on the doors of our house. I was finally, irrevocably done with her.” His eyes were cold behind the reflection in the lens of his glasses. This was a grown-up Bob Crookston I was gazing back at; no more illusions of love clouded his vision. “I did have all the locks changed immediately that next morning. I paid a hefty premium to have the job done on a Saturday, too. I retained a divorce attorney immediately, and followed every step he outlined for my situation.”

Crookie gave my waist a shake in emphasis. “Do you know what, Anabel?”

“What, Crookie?”

“It felt fucking fantastic.”

We both laughed a little hysterically at that statement. Man, I couldn’t blame him for any retaliation he took to nut up at that point. In fact, I cheered him on wildly for remembering he had a set of balls after being so systematically emasculated.

His next words made me stop smiling when their full import set in. I patted his shoulder and left him to go sit back down in my chair, needing to think.

“Cheryl has not called once. Neither has her attorney, if she has one. Tina finally called me back a few days after this happened. She made Cheryl leave her house that same Friday night when she got home from her job because they got into a screaming match.” He snorted, saying dryly, “Apparently, Cheryl drank Tina’s liquor. Tina has not spoken with Cheryl since that night around eleven. She said good riddance, as far as she was concerned.” Crookie paused and started to drink his Latte, then stopped. “Could I please get some water, Bel? I am not a coffee drinker.”

I chuckled, “Sure.”

I went to the fridge behind the bar and brought us back two bottled waters, my brain buzzing over what Crookie had just related.

A frisson of foreboding ran through me thinking about the fact Cheryl hadn’t contacted him, or been to the house to get any of her stuff for over two months.

We drank some water in contemplative silence. “Has she taken any money out of the ATM or used any credit cards during this time?”

He shook his head. “No credit cards. She withdrew several hundred dollars before going to Tina’s on that Friday, but nothing since. She also has money at her disposal in the checking account I left open. I have been depositing a regular stipend on my lawyer’s advice for Cheryl’s living expenses, but no money has been withdrawn.”

I was quiet again and Crookie sighed. “I know this seems strange that I am only now getting anxious she has not been in contact, but you have to know Cheryl. She would think nothing of stringing me along, not answering her cell and trying to heighten my worry by disappearing.” Crooks abruptly stood up, then started pacing back and forth in the aisle in front of our table. “It has been great having her gone. I have thrown myself into work on a big project and have not even thought about her for a week or two at a time.” He scrubbed at his face with both hands while making a growling noise. “This is so messed up. I do not have a clue where she is, I do not care where she is, yet I know I need to find her so I can move on and get the damn divorce.”

I thought over what he had revealed for a few seconds. “I can tell you this, Crooks. She is not living with my brother.” I frowned. “What about other friends and family? Nobody’s heard from her or seen her?”

Crooks smirked. “What friends, Anabel? I used to buy her stories that other women were jealous and mean to her. Tina is the only other family.” He sat back down; long legs sprawled out in the aisle while his eyes stared up at the ceiling. “You did not like Cheryl from the beginning, did you?”

“No.” I made a moue of distaste at the memory. “You married her before I could talk sense into you. I doubt I could have made you see reason, but I really regret being gone on vacation right before you lost your ever-loving’ mind and eloped.”

He angled his head to the side and smiled at me. “I appreciate your honesty. It is refreshing, that is for sure.” He smirked again. It was a look I would be happy to see erased from his repertoire of expressions. It spoke of hurt and rejection. “If anyone could have convinced me to slow down, it would have been you with your outstanding reasoning capabilities.”

“Cute. When you didn’t listen, O Thee of Little Faith, I would have laid a smack down on you.” I shot him a sly smile. “I then would have driven you far away, and straight to a talented, pretty prostitute with a heart of gold. Yep, I would have locked you up with Goldie for a few days, or weeks, of compiling raw data for scientific comparison.”

When Crookie’s indignant guffaws died down, I tapped my fingernail on his upturned palm resting on the table. “Seriously listen to me, old friend. It’s not your fault Cheryl is what she is. You fell in love, you had faith, and you believed her to be the woman she pretended to be.” I spoke softly and soothingly stroked his arm. “It’s so her loss. You are such an amazing man. Any woman would be lucky, and so honored, to be loved by you. Why, Snookie-de-Crookie, I’d scoop you up for myself if I didn’t know for a fact you recite the periodic table out loud while having sexual intercourse.”

“God, you are a wonderful, terrible, rotten, little girl!’ exclaimed Bob “Crookie” Crookston while laughing loudly, blushing, and then groaning in despair. He began to bang his forehead against the table. No small feat considering his height. “Oh, Bel, help me here. What am I going to do?”

Alarmed with the head-banging, I got out my cell and pressed 5, holding up a gimme-a-minute finger at his look of inquiry.

“Hi, Reg. Serious question for you. Yes, I said serious, not spurious. Can you talk?”

Crookie sat up quickly and reached for my phone. “Let me talk to him!”

I shot him my special Librarian frown--reserved expressly for grabby, excitable men. I stood up and walked out of his reach zone, but close enough he could still hear my side of the conversation.

“This is important, but you are not going to like me asking. Please bear with me for a minute, alright? First, I’m going to need you to swear to God here, okay? Yes, a blanket swear to God is exactly what I am asking for, that’s correct. Thank you. Yes, I do appreciate you. Now remember, don’t be mad I’m asking, but have you ever … umm…” I glanced at Crookie and shrugged in apology, “had sex with Cheryl Crookston?”