He’s so helpful, good old Buck. But still, I smile and do as I’m told. I scan the words—sole custody, property, rights, dissolution. As I expected, she keeps everything except our home in Columbus. But that’s fine. There is plenty left to liquidate, even with the second mortgage. There is a treasure trove of expensive furniture, antiques and art from her parents. I’ll be fine starting over. And I’m good at this, beginning anew and being patient about revenge. I know there is always more than one way to skin a cat. Now probably is not the time to tell you about my own pet’s premature demise. Tommy was heartbroken. We’ll save that for another time.
I finish with the papers and pen and Buck collects them from the table. I sit back in my chair and watch the show. Without breaking eye contact with me Buck holds the papers in the air in my wife’s direction. He says, “Mia, take a look. Be sure we didn’t miss a signature line.”
I watch Mia reach for the papers. With steady hands she slowly turns each page. She places the document on her thighs. “All signed.” I watch as she swallows. She looks relieved. She’s no longer crying. She looks at me unblinking, unafraid. She places the pen on the coffee table.
For now, she has won and she knows it.
“Time to go, sport. You will check in and stay the night at the inn. Understood?” Buck says. He stands and stares down at me.
“Fine. I’m happy to get out of here. Where did you say you took my stolen belongings?” I ask. I grab the pen and stand. I am eye to eye with Buck, nose to nose.
“The Lakeside Inn. The nice one on the lake. Talk to Scott. He is holding your things behind the front desk for you until you check in,” Buck says.
I take a step back and then turn and walk toward the kitchen. Foolishly, my wife has left the unconsumed snifter of brandy and sugar on the kitchen counter. I start to reach for it as a firm hand yanks my shoulder backward, holding me in place.
“Don’t even think about it. You know as well as I do that even though we allowed you to lace her drink with sugar, it’s still evidence.” Keeping his hand on my shoulder, Buck forces me to the back door, opens it and almost pushes me outside. He tosses my car keys onto the driveway. Rude. These are things I will not forget. Ever. I hear him slam the back door shut behind me and turn the lock in the knob. Like that type of lock could stop anyone from coming inside. He’s dreaming. I roll the heavy pen in my pocket.
I’m tired of both him and my wife. Good riddance. I stand in front of the closed garage door. Surely he will know, if he has been doing good spy work, that I cannot enter my garage through the broken side door, that I must enter by pushing the button inside the kitchen.
Ah yes, he’s watching. I hear the garage door moan, and start to open. I stand with my back to the house, waiting for my chance to escape. Still, as I climb into my car and back out, I see Buck watching me through the kitchen window. I wonder if he’ll sleep there, at my cottage, with my wife, tonight.
I wonder how confident Buck will feel about closing his eyes, now and forever.
1:00 a.m.
28
I drive, too quickly, down our street, checking my rearview mirror to see if I’ve been followed.
I’m almost certain Buck will remain with Mia, comforting the poor woman. She is a mess, that’s for sure. Good riddance. I turn my blinker on to take a left at the corner, pausing for a moment to stare into the Boones’ now dark cottage. I guess the party is over for tonight. I wonder if Greg lost at euchre again. If I had more time, I would go inside and have a little talk, or something, with Greg and Doris. Perhaps demonstrate to them the trouble you can get into when you’re a gossipy nosy neighbor. Unfortunately, they will need to learn their lesson when we’re all back in Columbus.
I take a left onto Second Street and drive to the old stately inn. We stayed here once with the kids, before we were owners. It’s a passable place to stay for some people, once you get past the musty smell. I will not be a guest. I just need to collect my things. I park in a spot out front labeled “check-in only” and turn off the car. As I step outside, I look around, checking my surroundings. The lake is behind me, just beyond the expanse of green lawn that belongs to the inn. A large stone fountain gurgles water, making an oddly eerie sound in the otherwise silent night. Across the street is the beginning of the park, and farther down, I see the outline of the boathouse and the dock. It is very dark, very still out here.
There is no one else around; I’m certain I haven’t been followed as I make my way up the steps and into the lobby. Directly across from me behind a large wooden desk with a sign that says Reception, a bored teenage boy, cheeks covered with acne and sallow-looking, stifles a yawn and says, “Hello. Are you checking in?”
His lack of tension makes me realize I’ve been holding my shoulders tight and I smile and relax a bit. “Hello, son. Some friends of mine kindly dropped off my suitcase and belongings here, but I’m afraid I can’t spend the night,” I say. I am using my best and friendliest face, my most polite words. I am imitating the waiter from tonight. I am overly kind.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Okay, then, do you want your stuff?” the boy asks. He is wearing a name tag that says “Scott.” The name tag is gold and shiny. The word is printed in black.
“Please, yes, Scott,” I say. I’m friendly. Just a patient, weary traveler who needs his shit now, Scott.
“Your name? And I need to see some identification, too,” Scott says.
I wonder how many people drive up to a hotel at 1:00 a.m. and try to retrieve a stranger’s things. In Lakeside? I suspect the risk is low, but Scott is only doing his job. I tamp down my brewing impatience and slide my driver’s license over to him.
“Be right back,” he says, barely glancing at the license. I collect it and slip it back into my wallet. I realize I have not a dime to tip this kid, nor do I have a working credit card for gas. This is not the best scenario as I must hurry back to Columbus. I look around for a camera, but of course I don’t see any. Lakeside Inn is a trusting, folksy place devoid of crime and suspicion, apparently. Slowly I walk around the counter, and see what must be the cash drawer, slightly ajar, just in front of where Scott had been sitting.
I reach over, open the drawer, and extract all of the twenty dollar bills and the one fifty dollar bill in there, shoving them into my front pocket. I push the drawer closed and return to my original place in front of the reception desk, making sure my face is still kind, and friendly.
Only once I’m safely back in position on the customer’s side of the desk do I realize I should have stolen his tip. Oh, well. Poor kid will just have to survive on my smile.
“Here we are, Mr. Strom,” Scott says, appearing through the same door he’d disappeared through a moment before, now rolling out a luggage cart containing my suitcase and briefcase. “This is your stuff, right?”
“It is. Thank you, son,” I say as he pushes the cart around to my side of the desk. I grab my suitcase, yank up the handle, slide my briefcase on top and, nodding to the helpful boy, roll quickly to the door.
“Sir, are you sure you won’t be checking in? There’s still a room reserved for you.” Scott calls to me as I am almost through the door.
“No, son, change of plans. But thank you. Have a good night,” I say, with another big smile for the lad. I feel a little terrible he will be accused of stealing the money in his drawer, and no doubt be fired. But it’s a good life lesson. He should have been more careful, should have locked that cash drawer before he left his post. You just never know who you’re dealing with, despite appearances.
