Chapter 11

In spite of Aunt Delia’s words, I was still down emotionally. I just couldn’t come to grips with the fact that my daughter wanted to stay with them, especially him. I knew he’d be buying her off, literally. New clothes, new female stuff, new everything. I couldn’t compete with him in those kinds of things. All I had was love for my baby, and, for my wife, my former wife. I finally had to realize that I hated her and loved her at the same time. I would die for her and she knew it; she had to know it. Could he, my ex-brother, say as much?

Why had she done me this way? He was taller and better looking, okay, those were givens. But he’d long been a womanizer! She knew that too. And, I knew that he’d be cheating on her sooner or later for sure. And yet, she’d dumped me for him. The judge said that she and I would have to talk at some point. I guessed that that would be so. When we did, I would be asking a few more questions of her, well, maybe. I had to hope that she’d be straight with me, and at least give me some measure of closure for all of the stuff she’d done to me. Well, we’d be seeing.

I was pretty much a psychological basket case since the divorce. And seven months after being conditionally declared single, I got the official papers saying the divorce was final. I got drunk, well, why the hell not. A reason to celebrate right! Also a reason to cry my baby-ass eyes out and I did both: drink and sob. The big news was that, as would eventually become clear, things were going to get infinitely worse and that long before they’d be getting better. Well, it was ever thus I fucking supposed.

The Silver Spur wasn’t busy when I came in, for the fortieth night in a row. Anymore a good percentage of my paycheck was dedicated to the economic growth of the place. I hadn’t gotten my name engraved on my favorite bar stool yet, but I figured it that to be only a matter of time...

“Evening, good buddy,” said Hammond Greeley, head barkeep at the Spur.

“You too, Ham,” I said. “Got something around five hundred proof for me?” I said.

“Maybe eighty or a hundred, ran out of the heavy stuff,” he said, smirking.

“More’s the pity. Well, gimme what yuh got,” I said.

“You got it, man,” he said.

I watched the other early arrivals beginning to get into the scene as I sipped my Smirnoff blue label and nibbled on the pretzels my favorite drink master kept in front of me.

My favorite partner in misery came in about mid-second drink. I waved her over. “You look good Marianne,” I said. “I mean for someone who knows from experience how absolutely miserable I am.”

We’d talked a lot over the months since my divorce from Stacey. She acted as kind of an emotional anchor for me as I had once acted as one for her.

“So what’s up?” she said, plopping down on the stool next to mine. “Anything new?”

“No nothing special. I’ve decided to get me another place. I gotta get outta that house. I’ve only stayed in it this long for the kid’s sake. But, lately she doesn’t seem to want to be there that much either, don’t know why,” I said.

“Hmm, probably too many memories?” said Marianne.

“Maybe. Anyway, I guess I’m gonna sell it and use my half of the money to get into a condo some place. The other half I’ll be sending to the cheaters,” I said.

“I thought you said she gave you the house outright. Kinda of a consolation prize for her shitting on you,” she said.

“Yeah, but I ain’t takin’ nothin’ from her and sure as hell not from him. What they did to me is never going to be forgiven or forgotten, not ever,” I said. “No assuaging their betrayals or guilt with gifts, if they even feel any guilt, not even!”

“I can dig it, Dave, but on another level, you really need to let her go and get on with making a new life for yourself, same as I did,” she said. “Did you decide what to do with the cash award you got?”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. As for the award, after taxes I split it all with my two lawyers, Nathan and Winifred; they each got a hundred grand. I didn’t want any of that either.”

“Shit, that was a heckuva a lot of money to be dumping.” She said.

“Yeah, I guess, if you care about money. Like I said before, I don’t want anything from either of them, and I mean anything,” I said.

“I’m a woman, David, we know about this stuff a bit better than you men. Like I said, you need to dump the baggage and get on with your life. Things will even out in the long run, depend on it,” she said, and then she giggled. I had to wonder what she thought was worth giggling about. I didn’t ask.

“Yeah, well, I’m convinced of the truth of that,” I said, but I said it sarcastically. Now, she laughed outright.

I liked talking to Marianne. She was one woman that I trusted. Her and Aunt Delia were about it though.

My talk with Marianne actually decided me. I listed the house on the following Monday. I listed it to sell fast; I wanted out of there. My next days would be spent packing and getting ready for the move. I was actually getting anxious, looking forward to it.

My weekend with Jenna was coming up in three days. My ex and I had met a couple of weeks after the initial court date for a total of twenty minutes and made up my official visitation schedule. And, no I didn’t get any of the questions I’d intended to ask answered; that because I didn’t ask them; I was too chicken, go figure.

At any rate she’d, had Stacey, made an attempt to use the occasion of us meeting to get me to talk about, things, other things that were on her agenda; but I’d shut her down. I didn’t need the aggravation of her trying to get me to ‘lighten up’ as she’d termed it. Or, of being around her, seeing her, smelling her. I just wanted her the hell away from me at the earliest possible moment. She appeared frustrated by what I’m sure she saw as my stubborn intransigence; that was just too damn bad.