Authors note: For all of the reality Junkies out there Corbraxicodone doesn't exist. It like everything esle in this story is fiction. Except for the 302 Boss Laguna Seca (which is real) I made it all up. Please don't take it too seriously. It's only a story.
It was hard to stop my eyes from tearing up as I took my last walk-through of the house I'd spent over 15 years adding to, building on and maintaining. There were so many happy memories here, and very few sad ones. Even the sad ones had been spent together, just the three of us, united against what the world would send us. I looked over the furniture one more time, to see if there was anything left behind that I might want to lay claim to or need. The living room seemed empty without my giant flat-screen. The basement likewise, without my weight machines and treadmill. I hadn't taken any of the family pictures, but all the ones of Shelby were remarkably gone. When that girl got a mad on she was a force to be reckoned with.
"Come on Dad, it's time to go. On to better things. It's time to leave the past behind. There's nothing left here for us. We already made sure we got everything. Let's go home." I nodded to the voice of my 14 year old daughter behind me. I didn't turn to face her because I still needed to put up that strong front. She needed to know that her dad was still the man she respected, not some wimp left a quivering, crying emotional wreck, by a cheating wife.
"Race you to the car," I said. Her response as expected, was a peal of girlish giggling and a mad dash out to the triple wide driveway, where my bright red Mustang 302 Boss Laguna Seca waited. I'd traded in my older Mustang GT for the new car as part of Shelby's scorched earth campaign to rid us of everything that reminded us of her mother.
The Laguna was a special limited edition of the 302 Boss, the rear seats were removed to save weight. The car even had adjustable dampers on it. It hearkened back to the high powered cars of the late 60's and early 70's that could be driven all week, and then taken to the track and raced on the weekends. The car only having 2 seats was also Shelby's way of getting me used to the fact that there were only 2 of us now. Although in reality that had already been the case for God knows how long.
The wounds were still so raw and still bleeding, just thinking about the pictures I'd seen and the detailed descriptions of Darla's actions that I'd received in the PI firm's report still hurt. I'd had a few suspicions brought on by things that truckers had mentioned from time to time, but nothing concrete. When I read the report it was like a scene in those old Kung Fu movies, where the hero in his final deadly move thrusts his hand inside his opponent's chest cavity and hands the man his own heart. All the opponent can do is look at it, still beating as his life ebbs away in front of him. Only in my Case, my wife Darla had handed me my heart, by her betrayal of our marriage vows.
I guess I'd just blanked out that evening, and sat there in front of my desk drinking Scotch, with the report's incriminating pictures splayed out there in front of me. Fortunately the next day was Saturday and I didn't have to work. My job as a diesel mechanic required a lot of focus and concentration that I couldn't have mustered in my condition. Actually what had awakened me was Shelby telling me, I needed to get up and into the shower. I staggered into the bathroom, and showered and shaved, not realizing that I'd left the file on the table. Surely I'd picked up the pictures and stuck them back in the envelope. I was sure that I had that much sense. As I heard Shelby moving around in the kitchen and smelled the aroma of coffee brewing, I decided to check on the file just to make sure. I tiptoed back down to the den and looked at my desk. All of the pictures and other evidence were inside the folder. I did have some sense left. That only left me the problem of deciding what to do about it.
My name is Jim Mason, I'm 42 years old. I'm 6'1" 210 lbs. I used to be both a trucker and a hell raiser, but life can often change us when we least expect it. 15 years ago I was driving trucks and thought it was a great life. My girlfriend Darla loved trucking and often went with me on long hauls. After she got her license, she even took over some of the driving duties. We started to make really good money and bought our own truck which had always been a dream of mine. I never thought it would happen as soon as it did because alone I only had about 60 percent of the money I needed. A friend suddenly came forward with about 15 percent of the money needed, with the provision that I'd pay him back within two years, and Darla came up with the remaining 25 percent. We paid Darryl back his money with interest in less than 18 months and settled in on our life's adventure. About a year after we got married Darla gave me the news that she was pregnant. I was so happy I couldn't stand it. Darla was less than enthused but settled in to becoming the best mother she could.
She stayed home while I went on the road until Shelby was about 5. As soon as I got home each time, we were all over each other. But after taking care of our hormones, all I wanted to hear about was how Shelby and Darla had spent every second of the time I was away. Shelby would latch onto my hand and never let go of it until she fell asleep every day that I was home. Darla on the other hand was bored out of her mind and missed the road. I started taking classes at a university near us and got my state certificate to work on trucks. I wanted to get a job that would allow me to stay home with my wife and daughter. It took me two years but by the time Shelby was 7, I was a normal 9 to 5 working Dad.
I was about to sell the truck when Darla came up with the idea, that she'd like to take it out on the road every now and then. Every now and then increased to the point where she was doing it nearly full time. And that was where we'd found ourselves a few months ago. I was fixing some broken hydraulic lines on a rig from out of state when the trucker came into my repair bin to ask about how the repairs were going and could I possibly get him out by the end of the day. "Are you going to be late picking up a load?" I asked him, knowing that a missed load meant missed money.
"Nope, but I'm in a hurry to drop one off in Chicago," he said.
"But you don't even have a trailer," I said puzzled.
"I'm talking about a different kind of load," he smiled patting the front of his pants. He then started telling me about this Red headed female trucker. Rusty was her name, and she wasn't much to look at he'd said, but she could probably suck a golf ball through a garden hose. He described her in detail, but he really hadn't needed to. Two of his details left me hoping that there were two female truckers out there like what he'd described. Rusty was my nickname for Darla because of her Red hair. The tattoo of my name under her left breast though let me know that he was describing my wife.
That was when I'd hired the PI firm and it took them about 3 weeks to get the evidence. I hoped with all my heart that they'd come up with nothing, but I think I knew from the way that trucker had described her that it could only be her. Darla was usually on the road about 3 days a week. The other four days she was at home with us. There were the occasional longer hauls where she'd be gone for a couple of weeks or so but those were very few and far between. When she was at home, I hadn't noticed any differences in her. Her sex drive was probably about the same as it always had been, even though at her age it should have been slowing down. Darla is 7 years older than me. She's Short and stocky with big tits and short red hair. There couldn't be two female truckers out there that looked like that, could there?
Shelby had made me pancakes and bacon, and strong black coffee that morning. As we sat down at the table together to eat breakfast together as we always did, I was glad she was there. Shelby was a study in contrasts. She was very responsible, and smart as a whip, but could sometimes just fall into the giggling silly teenager that she was. When something had to be done, or a decision made, she sometimes shocked us all, with the speed and clarity of her mind in reaching a solution. So it was that morning, as she shocked me yet again.
I had just started chewing a mouthful of pancakes, when she spoke. "I made us a list of lawyers," she'd said, as coolly as if she was asking to watch TV after doing her homework.
I spat out the mouthful of food and just looked at her.
"There's no way we're staying with that bitch, dad. She cheated on us. There were at least 4 different guys over 3 weeks. In my book that makes her a whore. We need a divorce and fast. She'll be home by next week so we don't have a lot of time," she said.
"Shelby you can't talk about your mother like that," I said quietly.
"Excuse me dad," she'd said looking me straight in the eye. "But she's never been my mother. You've always been my only parent. A mother is supposed to put their kids first, before everything else. You loved trucking didn't you? But you put it behind you so you could stay home with me. As soon as you got the chance to do that, she started going back out. You went to school, gave up your dream, and changed your life to stay home with me. She jumped at the first chance she got to get away from me. Even when you were on the road, you called home constantly to talk to me. She never does. Didn't you ever wonder why I never wanted to let go of you when you were home?"
.... There is more of this story ...