brought a bat to a gun fight. He had a small twenty-two pistol. We stood facing each other, me holding the bat over my right shoulder, Bert holding the little gun in his right hand.
He smiled. “You’re a little outmatched. Drop the bat and I won’t shoot you.”
I pretended to drop the bat, but I swung it with all my might at his right arm. The gun shot and the snap of the bone in his arm were almost simultaneous. I felt something hot and stinging hit me in the stomach.
Both Bert and I were on the ground writhing in pain when the first police car arrived. Officers held us both down, then the fire engine arrived and a paramedic began putting a splint on Bert’s severely broken right arm. Another paramedic was placing a pressure bandage on my stomach. Marilyn and the kids were all over me. Marilyn went and slapped Bert as he lay on the ground. The two ambulances arrived almost together and we were loaded up and taken to the hospital. We were placed in separate trauma rooms, and a police detective took my statement. I told him that I honestly didn’t know who acted first. Then Marilyn and my kids ran into my room. The nurses were getting to know my kids fairly well.
Marilyn swore out a statement that Bert had drawn his gun and fired first. I wasn’t sure what was true, but I was proud of Marilyn, at least for a while.
I was given a ticket for “simple assault.” At the time, I didn’t know what Bert was charged with. He was actually arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. Marilyn was nearly arrested when she tried to enter his room. I kept her under control after that by holding her hand, at least until I went into surgery.
The bullet had gone through both walls of my stomach; it lodged near my spine in the back muscle. The surgery took two and a half hours. They got the bullet out and saved it. My stomach was stitched up and then my skin was sewn back together. I had an ugly four-inch scar.
I woke up, thoroughly bandaged and all alone. Unknown to me, the police had made Marilyn take the kids and go home. She had made a terrible ruckus and I was, frankly, quite proud of her.
Bert was discharged that night and was taken to jail. He had no one to pay his bail. I was kept two nights at the hospital and Marilyn came twice a day to see me. Even when I begged her not to, she had no business driving or walking so much after just losing the baby. Again, I was quite proud of her. I was beginning to think that Marilyn was what I wanted.
When I got out of the hospital and Marilyn and the kids had taken me home, everyone in the neighborhood had brought us food and dessert. My problem was, I couldn’t eat any of it. I was on a liquid-only diet for ten days.
Four days later, it was dark. Marilyn had put the kids to bed. She rubbed my head. “You fought for me. That means a lot to me.”
I smiled. “You have come a long way too. Want to put our marriage back together?”
“Yeah. Do you think we need counseling?”
“Naw, we will do fine. We just need to love each other.”
She stood up and began to pace the floor. I knew something important was coming.
“Brandon, I have only been unfaithful with Bert; I haven’t done anything else wrong. Do you believe me?”
I made a face, then smiled. “Yes, honey, I believe you, and just so you know, I have been totally faithful to you.” If I was not above lying, was she?
She sighed, then took a deep breath. “I am so sorry, baby, He tricked me, then used me. He constantly threatened to tell you about the affair. I was so afraid. I am glad it’s over, and I promise you that it will never happen again.”
I stared at her brown eyes. “Tell me about the night in Chicago when you missed the plane.”
She stopped pacing. “I just went to the bar to have one drink, but that turned into two, then three, then I missed the bus to the plane. I took a taxi to the airport but the plane had already left. I knew what you would think and I went back to the hotel’s bar and, well, I got very drunk. To be honest, I was drinking with a man. He helped me to my room and then he left. I promise you, there was no sex, nothing!”
I didn’t believe her, but said nothing. As my heart tried to believe her, my brain knew that she was still lying to me. I looked up at her and smiled. “Good!” I knew that if I was drinking with a very drunk woman and she took me to her room, something bad would happen. Then I thought about Sharon. Maybe the guy did leave like a gentleman.
We were in bed. Marilyn was asleep and I was staring at the ceiling. I didn’t trust her at all now, and I had given her a glimmer of hope that our marriage could be saved. I was a fool, and had no idea what to do about anything.
I slipped out of bed and went into the living room. I found my phone and thought about calling Sharon, but it was nearly two in the morning, so I put my phone back down. I wanted to talk to Sharon in the worst way.
I went back to bed, and Marilyn had thrown an arm over my side of the bed. I moved her arm over and she sprang up. “Baby, are you all right? What is the matter?”
It was dark, but I could see the fear in her eyes. “Honey, I just had to get a drink. Go back to sleep, everything is fine.”
She lay back down, but kept a hold of my arm. We stared at each other, but neither of us said anything else. It was an uneasy truce, but I wasn’t sure why.
Finally she spoke. “Honey, I don’t like you getting up by yourself. If you need something, wake me up and I will get it for you.”
I nodded and just said. “Okay.”
Two more weeks passed by. I could pretty much do anything that I wanted to, except call Sharon; Marilyn was staying close to me as if she was glued to me. I didn’t see how she could suspect anything, but she seemed to. We were both off work on short-term disability.
That next Sunday we went to church for the first time since I had been shot. Sharon was there. She sat across the aisle from us. I peeked at her as often as I could—at least I did until Marilyn caught me; then I faced the preacher for the rest of the service. When it was over I had a multitude of people wanting to talk to me. I chatted with them, but kept one eye on Sharon. She never came close to me. I wondered if she had given up on me.
When we were home, eating lunch, Marilyn stared down at her plate. “Why were you looking at Sharon?”
I nearly choked. “Damn, Marilyn, I looked at nearly everyone. They all wanted to visit with me. What was I supposed to do, ignore all the women?”
She never looked up. “I caught her staring at you!”
I looked at my two kids. They weren’t paying us any attention. “I take it you don’t trust me anymore.”
She finally looked up at me. “I am not stupid, Brandon. I know that you are attracted to her.”
I let my face become as angry as I could make it. “Marilyn, you are a fine one to pick on anyone.”
Then she totally stunned me. “Brandon, if you don’t want to be married to me, just say so. I don’t blame you at all; I deserve it.”
It was at that moment that I realized that she had just baited me into saying what she wanted to hear. I said it: “I love you, Marilyn, and I don’t want a divorce.”
For the first time that day, she actually smiled at me. “I love you too, Brandon, and I don’t want a divorce either.”
The crafty little snit had just suckered me, and I thought that I was so smart. She was pretty darn smart herself. I asked, “Why are you picking on me?”
Her smile widened. “I don’t want to lose you, no matter how I have acted in the past. From now on, you will be proud of me.”
My divorce bubble was officially burst. I smiled. “I am proud of you, Marilyn. I always have been.” She had really outfoxed me. I didn’t want the divorce to be about me, but if she was now the perfect wife, I was in trouble.
Monday morning, I went back to work. Marilyn also went back to her job. We dropped the kids off and had a fun time going into work. I played with her and she giggled constantly.
When she dropped me off at the office I went straight to my desk and called my attorney.
“Hold off on the divorce papers; something has come up.” I then called Sharon and talked to her for a good fifteen minutes.
I had three new documents to process, and I knew that it would take several weeks to do all three. I was proofreading and correcting grammar. The documents were for a trainee helicopter, a CH-53 Stallion, a Marine heavy transport helicopter. I was proofing the training manual for secret instruments that “see” at night. The document was well-written by someone who knew what he was doing and understood English grammar.
I called Marilyn’s office and asked to speak to a second-level manager. I got Reginald Watkins, apparently a black man. I told him of the affair between Bert and Marilyn, and that I wanted Bert fired. Reggie took all of my information, but I got the distinct feeling that he wasn’t going to pass the information on, nor do anything about it. I was stumped and didn’t know what to do.
Monday, Tuesday and the start of Wednesday were nearly perfect days for the two of us. Marilyn and I played, loved, teased and just generally enjoyed each other. Then it happened again on Wednesday afternoon: I got a strange phone call from Marilyn.
“I am going to be a little late today. I will call you when I am free.”
I smiled but was angry. “Okay, honey. Don’t forget about the kids.”
About four that afternoon my phone rang again. It was Salva. “Mr. Thompson, what is wrong with Marilyn? She called in sick today and she isn’t taking my phone