Thursday, January 26, 2006
Grace Triumphant 009
March 9, 2005
It's five a.m. There's nothing to do but write. I have been up all night.
Greg has been having an affair. I caught him last night. He left his wallet home, and when I called him on his cell phone, after dinner, the young woman who does the drawings for the firm answered. I think I knew then. They weren't at the office at all. And I heard Greg say, before he thought, "That's my cell phone. And she said, "Yours is on the dresser." But she was wrong.
I hung up, and I ran to my computer. Greg handles our finances with a software program these days. But I know the password for his online account on his credit card. I logged on and looked at the bill. There it was, in a neat little column: one charge after another for a motel room in town, night after night. And flowers, and wine, and room service.
By that time, Greg was speeding home. He knew it had been me, and he knew that I knew.
In the short stride from our room to the front door to dead bolt it, I passed the photo of him and me on our honeymoon, another of him with the children, one of the four of us at Table Rock state park. They sat next to his certificate from the Bible Study Alliance.
I dead bolted the front door and closed the garage door, locked it from the inside by turning the handle so that the bolts slid through the slots, and came through the door to the kitchen. Then I made sure the broom handle was propped in the sliding glass door in back. Then I disconnected the door bell buzzer.
I went back to our room and pulled open the drawers. I yanked out all his things in the first drawer, opened the bedroom window, and shoved them right through the window onto the bushes.
That was when I heard him knocking on the front door. I pitched his undershirts especially hard through the window, and he saw the white silhouette fly through the dark night. I heard him run around from the front door to the bedroom window.
"Grace, let me explain---"
"Get out of here!" I heard myself scream at him. It sounded like another person. "Getoutgetoutgetout!"
I heard Rachel suddenly wail, because I was screaming, and I'd never screamed before, not like that. But the wail from her sounded almost like something predestined, like Rachel, deep in her mind, was wailing at some great fear she had always feared.
"Grace, you're scaring the children! You'll wake the neighbors---"
"Get out!" I screamed at him "Get out of here!"
Then I remembered the rear garage door. It opened onto the back yard, and the lock was broken. If he got in there, he would come in through the kitchen door, which I'd left unlocked. I abruptly turned and ran to lock it, and I heard him turn and run as he realized I'd left the back door unlocked.
I heard him race into the garage. He got to the kitchen door just as I did and for a moment we wrestled, with him trying to get in and me trying to hold it closed. He finally jerked the door towards himself so hard that I came with it and bounced off his chest. I fell backward onto the kitchen floor. I heard screaming and didn't know who it was.
"Grace," he began, because he thought I might be hurt. Then I was up on my feet, throwing things at him to drive him back through the door: dish towels, dish cloths, plates, glasses, silverware, the salt and pepper shakers, anything in reach.
Then the door was closed, and I saw the last of my dessert plates explode against the smooth surface. He was gone.
It was hard to write this. I have to stop now.
|
It's five a.m. There's nothing to do but write. I have been up all night.
Greg has been having an affair. I caught him last night. He left his wallet home, and when I called him on his cell phone, after dinner, the young woman who does the drawings for the firm answered. I think I knew then. They weren't at the office at all. And I heard Greg say, before he thought, "That's my cell phone. And she said, "Yours is on the dresser." But she was wrong.
I hung up, and I ran to my computer. Greg handles our finances with a software program these days. But I know the password for his online account on his credit card. I logged on and looked at the bill. There it was, in a neat little column: one charge after another for a motel room in town, night after night. And flowers, and wine, and room service.
By that time, Greg was speeding home. He knew it had been me, and he knew that I knew.
In the short stride from our room to the front door to dead bolt it, I passed the photo of him and me on our honeymoon, another of him with the children, one of the four of us at Table Rock state park. They sat next to his certificate from the Bible Study Alliance.
I dead bolted the front door and closed the garage door, locked it from the inside by turning the handle so that the bolts slid through the slots, and came through the door to the kitchen. Then I made sure the broom handle was propped in the sliding glass door in back. Then I disconnected the door bell buzzer.
I went back to our room and pulled open the drawers. I yanked out all his things in the first drawer, opened the bedroom window, and shoved them right through the window onto the bushes.
That was when I heard him knocking on the front door. I pitched his undershirts especially hard through the window, and he saw the white silhouette fly through the dark night. I heard him run around from the front door to the bedroom window.
"Grace, let me explain---"
"Get out of here!" I heard myself scream at him. It sounded like another person. "Getoutgetoutgetout!"
I heard Rachel suddenly wail, because I was screaming, and I'd never screamed before, not like that. But the wail from her sounded almost like something predestined, like Rachel, deep in her mind, was wailing at some great fear she had always feared.
"Grace, you're scaring the children! You'll wake the neighbors---"
"Get out!" I screamed at him "Get out of here!"
Then I remembered the rear garage door. It opened onto the back yard, and the lock was broken. If he got in there, he would come in through the kitchen door, which I'd left unlocked. I abruptly turned and ran to lock it, and I heard him turn and run as he realized I'd left the back door unlocked.
I heard him race into the garage. He got to the kitchen door just as I did and for a moment we wrestled, with him trying to get in and me trying to hold it closed. He finally jerked the door towards himself so hard that I came with it and bounced off his chest. I fell backward onto the kitchen floor. I heard screaming and didn't know who it was.
"Grace," he began, because he thought I might be hurt. Then I was up on my feet, throwing things at him to drive him back through the door: dish towels, dish cloths, plates, glasses, silverware, the salt and pepper shakers, anything in reach.
Then the door was closed, and I saw the last of my dessert plates explode against the smooth surface. He was gone.
It was hard to write this. I have to stop now.
