She wasn’t on the couch.Opening the French doors to let Ginger out, I said loudly, “Marissa?” to an apparently empty house. Was she still at the neighbors? Ginger looked at me questioningly as she crouched over the lawn to pee. “I guess your mistress isn’t here,” I told her.After the dog came back in, I found my phone and noticed right away that there were no messages before dialing my wife’s number. It immediately went to voicemail. “Shit!” I exclaimed; she’d obviously spent the night at Tony’s. “Well, fuck her,” I muttered, pissed. I wasn’t about to crawl over there to get her.Noon came and no Marissa. But instead of getting angrier, I was starting to get worried. Finally, at two in the afternoon I swallowed my pride and drove back over to Tony’s.He answered the door wearing an untied black terrycloth robe with nothing underneath. “Hey neighbor how’s it going?” Just like nothing was wrong.“Is my wife here?” I said a little testily.“Of course, she is. Come on in. We’ve been kicking. " Yeah. Thanks for joining me. I'd like to do this again sometime."She looked at me for a moment before answering. "Sure. Whenever you get a chance," she said as she rose from the chair. I couldn't read the expression on her face, but it wasn't one of happiness.I watched her walk out and turn toward the bank. That feeling in my gut wouldn't go away. You don't spend fifty years with someone and not have a strong pull whenever they leave. I wasn't about to let that happen, but I wasn't about to rush it either. I was risking our future on letting her mature, hoping that she wouldn't find a different Mr. Right before she was ready for the one Mr. Right I intended for her to discover: me!I returned to my routine at school and home. On a sunny and warmer-than-usual late November Saturday, I took advantage of the weather to wash and vacuum Mrs. Pontiac. All the while my brother was sitting on the rock retaining wall, watching me work. We were back speaking to each other again.Against my.
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