24

 

Aaron found his wife sitting at their desktop computer next to the stairway when he came in that night. He’d been thinking that maybe this was the time to tell her. He had to come clean at some point—sooner rather than later. When he saw the stack of opened mail next to her—containing more than one bill, no doubt—his courage failed him. Context was everything and if she was worried about money, his news could wait.

When she looked up and gave him a full, happy smile, he was surprised. He couldn’t find a single trace of tension or concern in her face. “How come you’re in such a good mood?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I just am.”

They hugged, kissed. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” she said. “The usual joint aches. Nothing terrible.”

“Anything new?” he asked, jingling some change in his pocket. Aaron hadn’t been home since early morning. After breakfast, he’d driven up to his sister’s home in Burnsville to help his nephew fill out college entrance forms.

“No. Well, actually, yes,” said Holly. “A woman stopped by this morning. Her name’s Lawless. She’s a PI.”

“Lawless?” He turned the name over in his mind, remembering, though only vaguely, that he’d met her a few nights ago.

“Andrew Waltz and Eric Lindstrom hired her to find their son.”

“What was she doing here?”

“I’m not really sure. She wanted to talk to you.”

“Me? About what? I don’t know anything about that.”

“Honey, there’s no reason to get upset.”

“I’m not upset.” He pushed his glasses higher up on his nose.

“Tell me how your day was.”

With his eyes darting around the room, he said, “It’s a long drive. I think I helped my nephew, though. I’m glad I went.”

“Why don’t we crawl in bed and you can tell me all about it.”

“I’m kind of keyed up,” he answered. “Think I’ll spend a little time in my study. I’ll be up soon.”

She seemed disappointed.

“Won’t be more than half an hour. Promise.”

He kissed her, then picked up the mail. After removing a beer from the fridge, he headed down the hall to his study, the one area of the house that was off limits to his wife. Holly said she understood his need for a private space—it was the way she felt about her small room in the attic. They both trusted each other, and yet Aaron couldn’t help himself. From the first, he’d set up little booby traps to catch her in the act of trespass. He hated himself for his suspicion, but there it was.

Sitting down behind the desk, he was astonished to find that the tiny piece of tape he’d spread across the edge of his left bottom drawer had come loose. The shock caused him to sit bolt upright. The right bottom drawer, where he kept his private letters, remained locked. Unless she’d forced it open, which thankfully she hadn’t, the information inside was safe. It took a moment for the full impact of her treachery to sink in. If she’d read through his papers, then much of what he’d been trying to hide from her was no longer a secret. This was a disaster.

Aaron couldn’t remember the last time he’d checked the tape. Maybe a week? If she knew what was really going on, why hadn’t she said anything? She’d allowed him to make a perfect fool of himself as he lied repeatedly about teaching summer school, when, in fact, his contract had been canceled. He’d been trying so hard to keep the worst from her—not to hurt her, but to protect her. Then, of course, there was that little business about how deeply ashamed he was for the mess he’d made of everything. Okay, so maybe his silence had as much to do with shame as it did with altruism, but that was understandable. Wasn’t it?

Since April, Aaron had been unable to pay the monthly mortgage, a balloon payment that was about to sink them financially. With Holly unable to work for so long, and now with Aaron’s summer job canceled, it didn’t take a clairvoyant to see their future. It wouldn’t be long until the bank would begin foreclosure proceedings. What made no sense was Holly’s happy smile tonight. If she’d been in his drawer, she knew. Had the smile, the kiss, the hug been an act?

Remembering his beer, Aaron drank it down. Better, he thought. At least he could still afford a drink. He would need to have a talk with Holly. All he knew was that it wouldn’t be tonight. He simply didn’t have the courage.

Unlocking the right bottom drawer, he found the folder for Craig Gilkey, the principal of the middle school. Fifteen letters. Some just beginnings. Some twenty pages long. He opened a notebook and began a new page, writing the first thing to come into his mind.

Craig Gilkey

Winfield Middle School

Winfield, Minnesota

Dear Principal Freakin’ Douche:

I used to be a nice guy. Even tempered. A

live and let live sort of person. I loved

my job. Loved my students. Loved my

life. What you did to me last spring was the

final straw in a year filled with last straws.

Not sure what I’m going to do, but I’ve

been giving my options some serious thought.

When I decide on a course of action, rest

assured, buddy, you’ll be the first to know.

With sincere malice aforethought,
Aaron Eld