“Gordon, are you sure you don’t want Molly or one of your children here with you?”

Dr. Bartle had been my physician for 15 years. From his gentle tone and hesitant manner, I knew that this wasn’t a persistent flu or something similar. I’d been losing weight, had steady abdominal pain and off and on nausea for more than a month.

The kids were out of the house and doing well in their careers and Molly was out of town helping her mother deal with the estate of her recently deceased grandfather.

I took a deep breath. “No, it’s fine. Just tell me.”

“It’s bad, Gordon.” He sighed and sat down. “Pancreatic cancer. I’m so sorry, my friend. I’ll be with you every step of the way, but I have some referrals for you for palliative care specialists. People I know and trust.”

Cancer? No, that’s crazy. It was a virus or something. I just felt rundown, not ... whatever it was that people with cancer felt. This was nothing. I just needed some vitamins or something. This couldn’t be cancer.

“Can ... can we look again? Maybe there was a mistake? I don’t feel that bad, really?” I hated how tremulous my voice got.

“Gordon, I wish it was anything but this. You can get a second opinion if you’d like, but the result is going to be the same.”

“Is it ... treatable?”

“I’m afraid not. Not in the way that you’re thinking. We can make it easier for you, but survival rates aren’t encouraging.”

“How long?”

“Maybe six months.”

“Can I ... Can I have the room for a minute?”

“Of course. I’ll come check on you in about five minutes.”

I was never going to see my grandchildren. I wasn’t going to grow old with Molly at my side. We’d never go on all those adventures we’d planned for when I retired. I wanted to cry, I tried to cry, but there were no tears. There should have been more, somehow. I didn’t know what there should be more of, but this felt oddly underwhelming. When you find out you’re not going to live out the year, it should be bigger, met with more ceremony. My world was ending, and I could still hear the traffic from the street and the muzak over the speakers.

Staring at the wall, I waited for the doctor to return.

There was a knocking and then he entered. “Gordon, I can get you in with a colleague this afternoon. She’s a therapist and can help you process this.”

“I, uh, no. Thank you. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. I need some time alone. What am I going to tell Molly? She’s supposed to be home tonight.”

“Just be honest with her. She needs to know.”

I couldn’t go home. Concentrating was impossible and I couldn’t let Molly see me like this. There was an Embassy Suites just outside of town. I felt incredibly tired and wanted to sleep, to rest and just ... sleep. Pulling into their parking lot, I saw my wife’s Jaguar with the distinctive MOLLYSCAT license plate. I’d never realized that it could be read MOLLY SCAT before.

Parked next to her was an Audi with a SPINEDOC license plate. I recognized the car. It belonged to Arnold Frost, a chiropractor who had been Molly’s college sweetheart. They were engaged before I met her, and he’d moved back to town about a year ago. I was numb. There was no emotional pain, no anguish, it was all just too much. Blinking slowly, I couldn’t tear my eyes from his license plate.

I guessed that this explained why we’d cooled off in the bedroom over the past six months or so and why she had to spend so much time with her mother. In the previous five years Molly’s sex drive had dipped three times and then picked back up after a few months. Who was before Frost?

I held out hope that I was wrong, that maybe they had just met for lunch. In my gut, I knew I was deluding myself. I parked far enough away so that I could see their cars but wouldn’t be noticed.

The woman I had loved for more than half my life walked out of a side entrance, kissed the man who had preceded me in her heart, got in her car and drove off. There was something there that my brain couldn’t work out, a symbolism that I was too tired to decipher. My refuge, my love, my wife had just destroyed me and drove off.

I reclined my seat and lay back. In the span of a few hours, my physician had given me a death sentence and emotionally, my wife expedited my death by six months.

Shivering, I awoke. Hours had passed and I was covered in a cold, clammy sweat. It was dark out and my back was stiff from sleeping in the car. It took me a few minutes to get my bearings and then I went inside and got a room for the night.

The repetitive knocking on the door woke me and I stumbled over to let the guy with my room-service in. I couldn’t seem to stay awake. After eating, I called my daughter, Amber. I needed to hear her voice. It was pathetic, but I needed to talk to someone who I was sure loved me, and it didn’t matter what we talked about.

We stayed on the phone for 45 minutes, talking about everything and nothing. When I said my goodbyes, she paused.

“Dad, is everything okay? You sound, I don’t know, just ... are you okay?”

I flashed back to Girl Scout projects, soccer games and father-daughter dances. I was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling as we spoke and the realization hit me again that there would be no miniature Amber for me to spoil, no granddaughter to take to Disney or watch grow up.

Struggling to keep my voice normal, I replied. “Sure, honey. Everything’s fine. I’ll call again in a few days, okay?”

We hung up and I was going to call my son, but I couldn’t summon the energy. Still clothed, I curled up and went back to sleep.

Waking up again around 10 PM, I drank the water that had come with my meal and texted Molly.

Had to go out of town. McMillan is threatening to pull his business. Dead zone for cell phones. Couldn’t call. Back in a few days.

For the hell of it, I checked. She hadn’t called or texted me in the four hours I should have been home. I could be dead in a ditch for all she cared. I watched ESPN for a while and went back to sleep at one AM.

For the first time in a long time, I woke up feeling rested and hungry. I ordered some eggs, bacon, pancakes and orange juice, went to the car and grabbed my laptop. While I ate, I started making lists.

I owned Allied Riley. My wife’s name wasn’t anywhere near it and she had no position or stake in the company. My grandfather started the business, my mother took over from him and then when my parents were killed by a drunk driver about a decade ago, I stepped up and took her place.

Sheila Riley, my mother, shepherded the merging of Riley Accounting Services and Allied Financial, our largest competitor. It was soon after, that Molly became more materialistic. It was slow at first. We needed a home in a better school district. That was logical, but we didn’t need shaped topiary, the faux chandelier or the couches no one was allowed to sit on. She needed a larger car to run the kids to and from activities. It didn’t have to be a Range Rover.

Eventually, the pretenses stopped. Molly wanted the good things in life and assumed that we could afford them. No one really cared; not me, not the kids. The reality was, we could afford most of it, and while she was hung up on status symbols, she was still the same loving woman we’d always known. We let her have her status symbols while we continued to live as we always had.

For most of the kids’ lives, she was the perfect mother. She gave up her own promising career to be a stay-at-home mom and if sacrifices were necessary, Molly and I made them. We’d go without new clothes for a few extra months to ensure that the kids always dressed well, we’d do without get-aways so the kids could go on school trips.

There was never a complaint on her lips. They were our kids, and that’s what you do.

As our affluence grew, so did her sense of self-worth and importance. Over the past few years, it was as if she felt that she was entitled to make up for the sacrifices we’d made earlier. Sadly, it wasn’t just financial. Within the past few years, she started marginalizing us, spending more and more time on her own and bristling whenever anyone pointed out how she missed family events, or seemed disinterested.

The kids were out on their own and slaying dragons in their respective fields. Molly pushed off most attempts to get together for long weekends and vacations. I’d even offered to fly the kids in a few times, and she’d tried to persuade me not to for at least half of those. I bought their plane tickets anyway, and what little time she carved out for her family was done grudgingly.

I’d wondered what she’d been doing with all of her time, but that became apparent when I pulled into the parking lot.

Finishing half the glass of juice, I started typing.

<ol> <li>Have company assessed by third party</li> <li>Sell company</li> <li>Sell house</li> <li>Cash out everything of value</li> <li>Get rid of money</li> <li>Leave her NOTHING</li> <li>Hospice for destitute?</li> <li>Prepare kids</li> <li>Lock her out of my life</li> </ol>

My life. Well, that was a bit of a joke, wasn’t it?

I picked up my phone and made the first call of the day. “Craig? Gordon here, how are you?”

“Good, how about yourself? Shake that bug yet?”

“Uh, I saw the doctor about it yesterday. Listen, I need two favors; I need a recommendation on a firm that can evaluate the worth of the company and I need you to keep this to yourself. Scott Billings sold his brokerage a few years ago. You stay in touch at all? How were the people he used?”

Craig and I had been golf buddies for almost 20 years. We both worked in the financial sector and our relationship was both personal and professional. Scott was a mutual friend. He’d had a disastrous break-up and divorce, and his ex-wife tried to kill herself. She eventually moved to California and he’d moved away right after ruining her career. I’d heard he was back in town. Maybe he and Craig spoke. Either way, Craig would get me someone good by the end of the day.

Next, I called my doctor back. I needed to know exactly what was going to happen to me, when I was going to be unable to function and how I should best prepare to face the end alone. He gave me the names and phone numbers for the experts he’d recommended, but he insisted on making the appointments himself.

“That’s ... that’s very kind, doc, but I can handle it. You don’t know my schedule and...”

“Gordon, listen to me. Your schedule no longer matters. This is your priority now. If I have to take the time off and drive you or get Eileen to take you, I will.”

Eileen was his wife. They were friends who’d been to the house a number of times. It wasn’t lost on me that this man was going so far out of his way for me when my wife hadn’t bothered to call, text or email in almost 24 hours.

“Okay. Thanks ... it means a lot.” I had to pause before I continued. “I won’t be needing the therapist, but please get back to me about the others.”

I called my P.A. next. “Carla, I’m going to be out of the office for a week or so. You know who to reach out to. Within the next couple of days, we’re going to have some auditors come in and check things out. It’s all good. I’ll get back to you tomorrow with their names and other info. You can reach me on my cell. Call if there are any problems.”

You can’t run a business like mine and not have security on retainer. Most of our internal people that kept an eye on things were more pencil pushers than the hard-boiled Sam Spade type. I went to our outside company. They filled in the gaps where our employees were out of their depth. A full-service operation, they had multiple divisions. They had to have someone that worked plain-old vanilla adultery cases.

It wasn’t for me; I didn’t need to build a case. Divorcing someone when you’re going to be dead in six months would be a ridiculous endeavor. What I wanted was proof for the kids so that I couldn’t be portrayed as the villain.

The weird energy I was filled with prompted me to go see the firm in person. I had the CEO’s personal number and could have handled everything over the phone, but there was a drive and frisson that I didn’t completely understand that was pushing me. As I drove, I realized that with Molly, I had something in my hands that I could impact and shape.

Approaching the receptionist’s desk, I took out my business card and handed it to the woman. “Gordon Cordel to see Avery Bistle.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. I’m hoping he could carve out five minutes for me.”

“Please have a seat, Mr. Cordel. I’ll call his P.A.”

Ten minutes later, Avery himself came down and escorted me to a well-appointed meeting room.

“This is a pleasure, Gordon. What can we do for you?”

“Not so much of a pleasure for me, I’m afraid. I need you to get me as much information as possible about my wife’s fucking around on me. I need proof of what she’s doing now and information on who she was with before the current guy.”

He sat there, stunned. I found some odd pleasure in how uncomfortable he was. This was clearly the last thing he was expecting.

“Uh, of course. I’m sorry to hear about your ... difficulties.”

I signed what felt like a tree’s worth of papers giving them permission to do everything short of a colonoscopy. The cars were in my name and so was the house. They’d both be wired. Her finances would be examined, as would the back-cracker’s, as far as was legal. Avery implied that they had relationships with most of the hotels in the area and could exert a little pressure to get copies of records.

“Avery, I need this information as soon as possible. Spare no expense, okay? If you need to put more people on it, do so.”

“Okay, Gordon. We’ll make it a top priority. For what it’s worth, I hope that you’re wrong.”

“I’m not.”

He just pursed his lips and gave me a small nod. All in all, I was out of there in an hour.

Craig called me back while I was still in Avery’s parking lot. “Gordon, I’ve got someone for you for the evaluation. Market Financial Services. I spoke to Maddie Albright. She’s the CEO in all but name, and no, she’s not related to Madeleine Albright. Can you meet her at three?”

“Yes, absolutely. They’re good?”

“The best. They’re just off 25 and 96. I’ll text you the address.”

“Thanks, Craig. I owe you.”

Mrs. Albright exuded professionalism. We sat and talked for about 45 minutes and I signed another stack of papers. She said that they’d start their evaluation of my company the next day. She had photos on her desk of her family. Her husband seemed to be a doctor and they had two children. I envied them the future they had. Hopefully it would be longer than what I was granted.

I pressed upon her the need for expediency and she told me that if I preferred speed over quality, I should find someone else to do the evaluation. In retrospect, it was a great response.

It had been a productive day so far and I drove back to the hotel to relax and maybe take a nap. During the drive, I thought of how much was out of my hands and how it felt good to have something concrete I could wrestle with.

My death was coming. It seemed inevitable and there was no plan, strategy or purchase that would deter the Grim Reaper from his rounds. With my demise, I had absolutely no control. But with Molly? Yeah, I could micromanage that as much as I’d like.

Picking up the phone, I laid back on the bed, dialed and waited for the automated voice.

“Thank you for calling the PFC James Dunn VA Clinic. If this is an emergency, please hang up and call 911. We are located at 4776 Eagleridge Circle in Pueblo. If you know your party’s four-digit extension, please enter it now. If not, please hold for the operator.”

After punching in the number, I waited until she picked up.

“Dr. Gruwel’s office, may I help you?”

“Hey, Marlene, it’s Gordon. Is he in?”

“A patient just left. Give me a moment to see if he’s free, Mr. Cordel.”

“Gordon is fine, Mar...” She had already put me on hold. I spoke to the woman twice a week for years and I was still Mr. Cordel. Sighing, I waited.

My friend’s voice came over the line. “Gordon, what can I do for you?”

“I, uhm, Ekam, I need some help. Your sort of help.”

“I’ll clear my schedule. Do you want to come in tonight?”

“No, I ... Listen, can we just go get some dinner or something, maybe talk there?

“Of course. Chili verde and beer? Batty’s Bar and Grill at seven?”

“That works. Thanks, Ekam.”

“Gordon, if ... if you need me this afternoon, I’ll shift things around.”

“No, my friend. Seven is fine. Thanks.”

It wasn’t hard to spot him when he walked in. There aren’t too many Sikhs in Pueblo. I waved and he walked over and sat down opposite me. The waitress was there almost immediately with some chips, salsa, and two waters.

“Do you need some time or are you ready to order?”

I smiled to myself. Yeah, I needed time. How about more than six months? I’d take a few years, but it wasn’t on the menu.

She was a pretty girl, probably working her way through college. “You have stuff from Avery Brewing Company?” She nodded. “Great. I’ll have an Uncle Jacob’s Stout and my friend will have an O’Doul’s. We’ll need two bowls of the chili verde, one vegetarian and some garlic bread. Thanks.”

She took our order and walked off. Ekam looked over at me, rested his hands under his chin and batted his eyes. “Ordering for me? How romantic.”

“Shut up. You order the same thing every time.”

We were quiet for a minute and I looked around the restaurant. There was definitely a younger vibe and I was confident that we were two of the oldest men there. Ekam must have seen something when I looked at the couples with families. He paused for a moment and just watched me.

“Talk to me, Gordon. What’s going on?”

“You know how someone gets a flat tire, is late to a meeting and then spills some coffee on their shirt? They go home with some variant of ‘what a day I had.’ Well, I’m pretty sure my day yesterday is hall of fame category.”

“Okay, what happened?”

I told him. The cancer, finding out about Molly, the weird ennui and emotional exhaustion and everything else I could remember. Then I explained how I woke up with a greater sense of purpose than I could remember in months. I knew that he wouldn’t be happy with my decision, but I was going to destroy her. There was some synergy at play. I was going to die, and Molly was going to wish she was dead.

“Saying I’m sorry sounds pathetic, doesn’t it, Gordon? But I am. You don’t deserve this. Let’s just talk tonight, okay? Like the friends we are. But I want you to come in on Saturday and we’ll start to plan some things out.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Dr. Ekam Gruwel was a psychiatrist who worked at the VA treating his fellow veterans. We met while in the service. There weren’t a heck of a lot of us from Pueblo and we became fast friends. He was older than me by a decade, but that was never a barrier to our friendship. I was probably one of a handful of people that knew he had a Bronze Star.

“There’s some sort of fair thing happening in the parking lot Saturday. Just come in and have someone at the desk call me.”

“Sounds good.”

We ate, drank, talked about our children and he tried to distract me for a few hours.

When will u b back?

Her first attempt at communication in almost two days. Bitch. She likely wanted to know how open her schedule was to continue fucking the chiropractor. I ignored the message and instead called my office.

“Carla, there’s a file on my computer called CBO. I need you to email me the contents.”

“Okay. You’ll have it in 10 minutes. Anything else?”

“No. Everything all right over there?”

“Yes, sir. Your department heads are picking up the slack. Smooth sailing.”

“Great. Call me if you need to.”

The file was a compilation of buy-out offers I’d received over the years. It had company bios and general overviews I’d had done. After reviewing the file for an hour or so, I did some digging online into the companies to ensure the information was still valid.

I composed an email letting them know that I was interested in hearing offers and was having a third-party evaluation conducted. After customizing each letter, I sent them off with information about Maddie Albright’s company so they could do their due diligence.

Next, I called my doctor back. His receptionist put me on hold, and he picked up in a few minutes.

“Gordon, I sent you the information for the palliative care specialists. Did you get it?”

“I did, thanks. This is something different. Listen, under no circumstances is Molly to know anything about my condition. I’m not joking about this. We’re friends, Jim, and I value that friendship, but there’s no wriggle room here. I’m telling you as a patient that I expect complete confidentiality. If I need to get a lawyer involved, I will.”

“That’s ... Look, your wishes will be respected, but I have to tell you, I think you’re making a huge mistake.”

“It’s my mistake to make, doc. I appreciate the referrals.”

By the time Saturday rolled around I had liquidated most of my assets. We still had our cars, my business, the home and our vacation condo in Honolulu. I was sitting on a huge chunk of cash and we hadn’t even gotten to the large ticket items yet.

I’d texted Molly and told her that I’d be back on Wednesday. She texted back a simple “OK.” How sweet. That was the loving wife I’d come to loathe over the previous week.

After dressing casually, I drove down to the VA to see Ekam. Half the parking lot was taken up by some sort of festival for vets and I did a walkthrough before going in for my appointment. They had live music, representatives from businesses and charities who had services for veterans and vendors giving away free food to those that served.

Seeing the sign for “Mookie’s Hous of Taco’s” I wondered where the missing “E” was and why they used an extra apostrophe. The vendors all had tip jars for customers who weren’t veterans and I tipped heavy for a mango lassi from a place doing up samosas.

Listening to something called the Poplin Family Jug Band, I watched Mookie’s operation. He had a huge sign advertising that he wasn’t selling Dr. Pepper and a smaller sign listing his tacos and salsas. Every once in a while, he’d hug someone who approached and hand them a brown paper bag.

“They’re veterans. He hooks them up with weed. He says it’s some sort of super strain, but almost everyone selling in Colorado has been saying the same thing since 2012. But Mookie’s the real deal. He gives it to them for free. He’s got a soft spot for vets and old people. You’re Dr. Gruwel’s friend, right?”

Looking up at the security guard, I reached out my hand and we shook. “Yes, Gordon. Good to meet you.”

“Try the tacos, Gordon. They’re surprisingly good.”

After buying six, I let one of Mookie’s employees convince me to buy some of their cannabis salsa. I got two jars of the red and two jars of the tomatillo. When he looked over, I gave Mookie a thumbs up and stuffed two hundreds in the tip jar. I’m going to have to get rid of millions, I might as well start with someone who’s looking after veterans and old people.

Two chicken and one carnitas for me and two sofritas and one bean for Ekam. I was concerned that he was going to need to ventilate his office if we went long. After getting two waters for 10 bucks in tips each, I made my way to the building. Halfway there, someone called my name.

“Gordon!”

Turning around, I saw Scott Billings jogging my way. Shifting the bags to my left hand, I extended my right. He looked good. I’d heard rumors that he’d fallen apart after his divorce and had dropped a lot of weight. Supposedly he’d been travelling, trying to find his way out of his mental morass.

I suddenly sympathized a great deal.

“Hey, Scott. Great to see you. You back in town now or just visiting?”

“Yeah, I’m back. Bought a new place and everything. I figured it was about time. My niece and nephew are getting older. I wanted to be with them for a while before they head off to college, you know? How about you? What’ve you been up to?”

“I uh, I’m selling the company. Maybe we can get lunch sometime and you can walk me through what you learned?”

“Yeah, sure.” He gave me his card. “Call me. If I have plans, I’ll clear the schedule. You here for the fair?”

“No, a friend of mine works here. Stopping in to say hi. You?”

“Yeah, sort of. You ever meet Liz Armigido? The lawyer? We’re sort of seeing each other. Her niece is Shannon Poplin, of the Poplin Family Jug Band. Shannon and her dad play a lot of charity gigs, so we came down to support them. I’ll let you get to your friend, but it was great seeing you. Give me a call.”

“Sure. Great to see you too.”

Seeing Scott made me think of Nancy, his ex, the former LPGA star. I hadn’t thought of her in years and decided to Google her when I got back to the hotel.

Ekam seemed happy to see me, but that might have been due in part to my bringing food. We spoke for two hours and got into some deep shit that I’d have difficulty discussing with anyone else.

“Okay, Gordon, brass tacks time. For the majority of your marriage, Molly was a great wife and mother, right? This is the time of your life when you need her the most. Why not talk to her? Give her the opportunity to correct course and be with you for the time you have left. If she takes the opportunity, you win. She has a violent reintroduction to reality, gets to view what she’s been doing and how it impacts the people she loves, and you have the woman you love with you for whatever time you have left. If she declines, you haven’t lost anything. You’re back in the position where you are now.”

I looked at the floor for a full minute before grabbing my water bottle and taking a swig. “That’s not going to happen. I ... I just can’t. The thought of going to sleep and knowing that the next day I was going to be with a woman who did this to me and our kids and she was now with me because I’m dying? No, I can’t do it.” I sighed and then looked him in the eyes. “I’m going to burn it all down and let her live in the smoldering ruins of what was once our life.”

Leaning back in his chair, he looked me in the eye. “Poetic phrasing, I guess. Stupid, but poetic. So, you’re planning on finding strength in your hatred? You really think that’s a healthy approach?”

Smiling, I replied. “How healthy does it have to be? We don’t really have to be concerned about long-term effects, do we? In six months, I’ll be in a grave.”

“My friend, forget reconciliation for now, you don’t have to spend time with her. I can talk to you about coping techniques, warn you about what’s going to come up for you emotionally, I can be there for you as a friend; but the single best thing I can do for you is to suggest that you find peace. Talk to her. Let her know what is happening and let her know you are aware of what she’s been doing. Put it out there and see how she responds.”

I think we both knew that I’d be ignoring that suggestion.

“I appreciate the advice, Ekam. What about the kids? How should I prepare them?”

We talked until it was dark out and I was exhausted by the time I went back to the hotel. I had room service deliver two bottled waters and two beers and made a call I’d been dreading.

“Hey, William, it’s dad.”

He laughed. “Even if I didn’t recognize your voice, you name pops up on the phone. How you doing, Dad?”

“Missing you. You and your sister. Listen, if I send you a ticket, can you fly in and meet me at your sisters next weekend? I need to talk to you guys.”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t think I have anything going on. Everything okay?”

“Sure. Sure. It’s all good.”

“Dad, it doesn’t sound like everything is good. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I need to talk to the two of you about some business stuff. I just have a lot on my mind. I’ll send you the info on the ticket, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Dad? I love you. You can call and talk whenever you want, you know that right?”

“I do. I love you too. You and your sister are the best things in my life. Have a great night, William.”

After hanging up, I lay down and stared at the ceiling. He’d been a great kid. At least once a week I’d thought William was going to break his neck. Even as a child, he rode his bike like a maniac. Then he got into skateboarding and I’d take him to skateparks and make him wear his helmet and pads. I would have preferred full-body, industrial bubble-wrap, but I took what I could get.

He was a man now. After another 20 minutes of feeling sorry for myself, I decided to make some videos offering him whatever advice I could that he could play at seminal times in his life. How to tell if a woman was the one. Actually, any advice I had in that area would be suspect. How to get past the early hurdles in a marriage. What to do about the sheer panic when you find out you’re going to be a father.