Chapter 3: Married to the Moll

I spent the rest of Saturday alone in my motel room, keeping to myself, except for an hour I spent searching for something to read in the library. Whenever I was bored or had nothing to do back in my earlier days, I would turn to reading to keep myself busy and out of trouble.

My trip to the library turned out to be a waste, as did my stop at the chain bookstore in the shopping center. I wandered the aisles of both places but couldn’t find a single thing that held my interest. I went back to the room in the end, watched baseball on the TV, and later walked next door to buy microwave popcorn for dinner.

Sunday proved to be no better. I had decided by noon to grab something to eat at KFC and head to a county park not far from the motel. I went through the drive-through and ordered a small serving of original recipe chicken, two sides, and a soft drink. After driving through the park for a while, I found a picnic table tucked away where I could eat, read, and watch people without being noticed.

Lunch was good, and I relaxed for a time, sitting back and observing families enjoying their afternoon together. There was something peaceful about watching other people enjoying themselves. I almost felt part of it.

That feeling lasted until a familiar SUV pulled in not far from where I was sitting. My afternoon quickly unraveled. Out stepped my soon-to-be ex-wife and a man who looked familiar, though I couldn’t place him. It was a good thing that she didn’t see me. The day could have ended very differently with the personal protection order she had against me.

I gathered my trash and my book, and prepared to make a quick exit if she happened to look my way. She fortunately was paying far more attention to her companion than to her surroundings. The two of them had chosen a bench no more than twenty yards from where I sat partially concealed.

I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but close enough to record them on my phone. I switched to video mode and spent the next ten minutes filming them kissing and clinging to each other on the bench. It felt strange, sitting there unnoticed, watching a scene that confirmed what I had already suspected.

Her lover boy eventually stood and took her hand, pulling her to her feet. They walked off toward the sports fields and the winding paths beyond. I stood once they were a safe distance away, and made my way quickly to the parking lot where I had left the Honda. I tossed my trash into a receptacle as I passed and pulled out before my soon-to-be ex-wife had any chance of spotting my unmistakable car.

I stopped at a local grocery store on the way back to the motel, and picked up a couple of frozen dinners to heat up later. I wasn’t about to take any chances of Andrea being nearby, spotting my car, and reporting me.

I kept the trip quick, grabbed what I needed, avoided lingering in the aisles, and was back in the car and headed to the motel in less than twenty minutes.

I dined on a meatloaf entrée that I was fairly certain was mostly soy, drowned in tomato sauce, alongside a scoop of microwaved mashed potatoes with the consistency of cream of wheat that evening. It was filling, but that was about the only compliment I could give it. I wouldn’t be buying another.

My thoughts as I ate drifted back to what I had seen at the park. How long had Andrea been seeing the man I had recorded her with? They seemed far too comfortable with each other to have only just started dating.

I would show the video to Rose come Monday, and get her take on it. Knowing my luck, nothing would come of it. I still told myself that it was something., I felt as though I was at the very least taking part in my own defense.

I called Rose’s office before my 10 AM class Monday morning, to see if my video might help with my proposed counter-filing. I had just told Rose’s receptionist, her granddaughter, that I needed to speak with Rose when I was informed that Rose urgently needed to speak with me.

Rose was online with me in a second. Her tone was curt, demanding a quick reply. “I was just getting ready to call you,” she said. “This is serious, and I need to know: have you applied for any personal loans, or acted as a cosigner on a loan?”

Panic shot through me. Something had caused Rose’s sudden concern, and I knew that it wasn’t trivial. I fumbled for words, acutely aware any delay answering could affect the outcome of my divorce.

Rose’s question hit me hard, and a sick feeling suddenly knotted in the pit of my stomach. “No, I should be debt-free. The only outstanding loan I have is the mortgage on the house. What’s going on?” I asked, my voice tight with nervousness.

“As a standard procedure, I always run a credit check on both my clients and the opposition,” Rose explained. “It helps with the settlement of cases like yours. You’d be surprised how many people try to hide assets during a divorce.”