Page 24 of Dear Debbie

Definitely not. “I just want to go home and get this over with.”

“You’re going to tell Debbie?”

Christ, the last thing I want is to tell Debbie. What I’d really like is to start searching for another job and not let her know until I’ve secured something. But God knows how long that will take. And it’s not like I’m not keeping secrets from her already. Something has to give.

“I’ll figure it out,” I say.

He frowns at me. Like my wife, Jesse is a problem solver. When something is wrong, his instinct is to figure out a way to fix it. “You know, this could be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Really,” he insists. “I mean, you said yourself that it was turning into a dead-end job. Now you can find something better.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” I say, not feeling at all sure that he’s right.

“We should do something this weekend,” he says. “So you don’t sit around the house moping all day.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

I can’t think of anything I want to do. It will take all my effort not to lie on the sofa wallowing in despair. What I should be doing is posting my profile on all the job-hunting websites and contacting recruiters. All stuff I hate, but I have to do it.

Still, I can think of one thing that might cheer me up.

“Let’s go to the firing range,” I say.

Jesse grins at me. “Yeah?”

“Sure, why not?”

“You’re on.”

Yes, I do own a gun. One of the major sources of discord in my marriage is the fact that I purchased one a few years ago after there were a few burglaries in our neighborhood. Debbie was adamantly against it, citing admittedly accurate statistics about how people who own a gun are more likely to shoot a family member than an intruder. But in the end, I won out and bought it. The compromise is that I keep it in the garage, locked up, and I only use it at the firing range. The kids don’t even know it’s there.

And I enjoy firing the gun. After everything that happened this week, it will feel good to quite literally blow off a little steam.

I take a quick shower at the gym and throw on a change of clothes. I’ll be home before dinner but not early enough for a long conversation before we eat. I still don’t quite know what I’m going to say to Debbie. Lately, she has seemed different. More…fragile. More distracted.

That’s why I can’t be entirely honest with her. Not now.

I return to the front desk to sign out with my card. That woman from the elliptical who had been smiling at me earlier passes by, somehow even more alluring in her jeans and sweater than she was in her skintight workout outfit. My gaze is drawn to her like a magnet, and it’s only when she winks at me that I manage to rip my eyes away.

Not a good idea, Coop.

“Have a good workout today?” Cindy, the woman who works the front desk, interrupts my thoughts.

Am I imagining it, or is there a bit of an edge to her voice? “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“You know,” she says, “your wife was here earlier, working out.”

Yes, that was definitely an edge to her voice. But she wouldn’t tell Debbie I was ogling some other woman, would she? I barely looked! “Oh. Okay.”

“Well,” Cindy says, her tone back to neutral, “have a great evening!”

I nod wordlessly and head straight home before I can do anything else stupid.

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