That man was gone. 10 minutes later, headlights swung across the living room. A car door slammed. Fast footsteps hit the porch. The front door flew open.
Betty stood there in the doorway, barefoot, her heels in her hand, dress wrinkled, hair undone from running. She looked nothing like the woman who had walked out an hour earlier. Her voice cracked. Randy, what did you do? I stayed seated.
Exactly what you told me to. She stared at me, confused, desperate. You sent me divorce papers? Are you out of your mind? No, I said.
I'm listening. To what? She snapped. To you. She flinched at that.
Her eyes darted around the room like she was searching for a version of me she knew how to argue with. She only found the one she didn't recognize. You can't be serious, she said, voice shaking. Randy, that was just words. I didn't mean them.
Then why did they come out so easily? She opened her mouth, closed it again. I could see her replaying everything she'd said before she left. Her defenses were cracking one by one. I was mad, she said.
You were questioning me for no reason. No reason? I tilted my head. You hid your plans. You dressed like you were trying to impress someone who isn't your husband, and you walked out after telling me to divorce you.
That's not nothing. That's not She stopped mid-sentence, the lie dying in her throat. I just needed a night out, Crystal said. Crystal covers for you a lot, I said quietly. Her face drained of color.
Don't, she whispered. Please don't do this right now. Do what? Tell the truth? Ask why you deleted conversations this week?
Or why your phone's always face down when you get a message after midnight? Her eyes filled fast, the panic turning into something heavier, fear. Randy, I swear it's not what you think. Then what is it? I asked.
She breathed out a shaky sound, part sob, part surrender. I messed up, she whispered. I messed up and I didn't know how to fix it. I didn't think you would ever actually leave. There it was, the first honest sentence she'd given me in months.
And it was only the beginning. Betty stood in front of me like someone waiting for a verdict. Her breathing was fast, uneven. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing what was left of her mascara. Randy, please sit with me, she whispered.
I'm already sitting. She swallowed and lowered herself onto the edge of the couch, hands shaking so badly her heels clattered to the floor. For a long moment, she just stared at her fingers twisting together. I didn't go to Blue Ember for Crystal, she finally said. Her voice was small, stripped of all the attitude she'd left with.
I was meeting someone. I nodded once. Your co-worker, Frank. Her head snapped up. How do you Patterns, I said simply.