by Tracy Ellen
Is staying together as a miserably happy couple because you followed a biological instinct, mated, and possibly had a child or three really beneficial to anyone involved, other than possibly financially?
Is smiling though gritted teeth while pretending you are not bickering, or bored as a way of life, truly how we are supposed to live out our lifetimes as a result of falling in love?
Is no longer bothering to charm or be charmed by your loved one, having to be reminded by one’s soul mate to treat them with consideration and affection on special occasions, designating a night when you might actually try to spend time together with the person you love most in the world while racking your brain to figure out where to go and what you can talk about, and being routinely a hundred times more interested in your work or your computer screen--is that what it means to be half of a happy, devoted couple in a committed relationship—all in the name of love?
Or, would most humans be smarter to treat relationships like you do your cars--trade them in every few years for a newer model more suited to your evolving, individual tastes and lifestyles?
I hoped I never learned the answers to any of these questions.
I gave Crookie my full attention again at his next words. “Two months ago, I sunk to new, low depths. I decided to spy on Cheryl down here when she was coming to visit Tina, her sister.” He kept his eyes on our loosely joined hands.
His free hand was nervously opening and closing the lid of the peridot ring I always wore on my left middle finger. Trust Crookie to notice the miniscule hinges off to the side of the emerald cut stone. This very old, silver ring was a gift from NanaBel after a venture to Italy. It’s called a Borgia ring because the gem stone top opens to one side revealing a tiny compartment purportedly designed to secretly carry poison. I carried a breath mint in mine. Hiding my amusement, I amended that thought. I used to carry a breath mint in mine. Crookie had absently removed the mint, sniffed it suspiciously, and then popped it in his mouth.
He peered up at me and observed out of nowhere, “I am always so amazed when I see you in person and realize how petite you are compared to how I think of you. I could snap your finger like a twig, it is so delicate.”
“That was such a…” I pulled my hand back and securely latched onto my coffee cup with both hands, “totally creepy, Crookston thing to say!”
He laughed with me, but sobered up quickly. “Before I left for work that Friday morning, we were fighting again. Cheryl informed me she was leaving for Northfield to stay for the weekend.” He ran his hands through his brown hair, leaving it standing on end. “I have to say, things were so terrible by then it was a relief to hear she was going somewhere for a few days, you know?”
I nodded, and then took a big swallow of coffee to not say anything else. And then another. He didn’t need me adding to his misery by questioning why the hell he stayed with that hooker as long as he had.
He took a small drink of his coffee, too. I fondly watched him precisely wipe off his mouth with the precisely folded napkin. “After thinking about it all day, I decided I was going to get the proof she was playing me like I suspected for months. I knew it was true that she was, but I needed to see it for myself. That was my thought process. Probably the scientist in me needed the hard data to accept the cold facts.” I smiled sadly in my agreement. I’m sure that was exactly the reason. “I drove down here and arrived about ten o’clock. I went directly to Tina’s street. Do you know her, Anabel?”
“I met her once at a party a year ago.” I made a face. “She was really wasted on something and hanging on some dude I didn’t know.”
“That sounds like Tina. Listen, I will hurry to finish my story because I know I am taking up your time. This probably was not how you planned on spending your Saturday morning, right?”
He looked so morose and miserable. I got up and put my arms around him, rubbing his back.
“You will always be my friend, Crooks. You did right coming to me because I always have time for my friends. I’m glad I was home to answer your rude buzzing.”
He mumbled a “sorry about that”. He wrapped his long arms around my waist nearly twice and held on; burying his face against my, for this particular moment in time only, maternal bosom.
I stood there rocking us slightly and stroking his head. He was quiet for so long I was starting to worry he was silently bawling. Then he turned his head, and I was relieved when he spoke quietly with no trace of tears.
Sensitive soul that I am, I hate it when men cry. It gives me the heebie-jeebies.
“When I got near Tina’s, I parked down the street and walked up to the house. There were a few lights on and a couple of parked vehicles in the driveway. One was Cheryl’s BMW; the other was a red truck I suspected was your brother’s. It had a white logo on the door, but it was too dark out to decipher the writing.” His head rose and fell with my deep sigh and he patted me in comfort this time--on the butt. I cuffed his head, but only lightly due to the extenuating circumstances. “Ouch! I walked right up to the front bedroom window and looked in through the curtains. I saw Cheryl with a man on the bed.” He made a choking, scoffing sound. ‘I finally had my proof in the flesh, all right. I did not even have to break a sweat figuring it out. Shit.” He paused a second. “Anyway, I could not be totally certain from the angle, but the man was blonde and approximately the size of your brother.” Crookie looked up at me, his face anxious. “I need to know if he was the man I observed with Cheryl. He is my only clue to go on. She has not been in contact since that night, Anabel, and I am really fucking worried now.”
Hearing Crookie swear so much this morning was almost as alarming as his story. He normally spoke very correctly and properly, rarely using contractions, much less curse words.
I pulled back in disbelief, my hands on Crookie’s shoulders. “What do you mean ‘worried now’? Didn’t this happen two months ago?”
“Correct, but I left immediately after seeing her in that bedroom. I called her cell from my car on the way home and it went directly to voicemail.” He choked out another bitter laugh. “She was otherwise occupied, remember? I left a message telling her not to bother coming home because I was divorcing her. From that moment on, I would not be speaking with her again except through our attorneys. I told her not to attempt to get her belongings because the locks would be changed on the doors of our house. I was finally, irrevocably done with her.” His eyes were cold behind the reflection in the lens of his glasses. This was a grown-up Bob Crookston I was gazing back at; no more illusions of love clouded his vision. “I did have all the locks changed immediately that next morning. I paid a hefty premium to have the job done on a Saturday, too. I retained a divorce attorney immediately, and followed every step he outlined for my situation.”
Crookie gave my waist a shake in emphasis. “Do you know what, Anabel?”
“What, Crookie?”
“It felt fucking fantastic.”
We both laughed a little hysterically at that statement. Man, I couldn’t blame him for any retaliation he took to nut up at that point. In fact, I cheered him on wildly for remembering he had a set of balls after being so systematically emasculated.
His next words made me stop smiling when their full import set in. I patted his shoulder and left him to go sit back down in my chair, needing to think.
“Cheryl has not called once. Neither has her attorney, if she has one. Tina finally called me back a few days after this happened. She made Cheryl leave her house that same Friday night when she got home from her job because they got into a screaming match.” He snorted, saying dryly, “Apparently, Cheryl drank Tina’s liquor. Tina has not spoken with Cheryl since that night around eleven. She said good riddance, as far as she was concerned.” Crookie paused and started to drink his Latte, then stopped. “Could I please get some water, Bel? I am not a coffee drinker.”
I chuckled, “Sure.”
I went to the fridge behind the bar and brought us back two bottled waters, my brai
n buzzing over what Crookie had just related.
A frisson of foreboding ran through me thinking about the fact Cheryl hadn’t contacted him, or been to the house to get any of her stuff for over two months.
We drank some water in contemplative silence. “Has she taken any money out of the ATM or used any credit cards during this time?”
He shook his head. “No credit cards. She withdrew several hundred dollars before going to Tina’s on that Friday, but nothing since. She also has money at her disposal in the checking account I left open. I have been depositing a regular stipend on my lawyer’s advice for Cheryl’s living expenses, but no money has been withdrawn.”
I was quiet again and Crookie sighed. “I know this seems strange that I am only now getting anxious she has not been in contact, but you have to know Cheryl. She would think nothing of stringing me along, not answering her cell and trying to heighten my worry by disappearing.” Crooks abruptly stood up, then started pacing back and forth in the aisle in front of our table. “It has been great having her gone. I have thrown myself into work on a big project and have not even thought about her for a week or two at a time.” He scrubbed at his face with both hands while making a growling noise. “This is so messed up. I do not have a clue where she is, I do not care where she is, yet I know I need to find her so I can move on and get the damn divorce.”
I thought over what he had revealed for a few seconds. “I can tell you this, Crooks. She is not living with my brother.” I frowned. “What about other friends and family? Nobody’s heard from her or seen her?”
Crooks smirked. “What friends, Anabel? I used to buy her stories that other women were jealous and mean to her. Tina is the only other family.” He sat back down; long legs sprawled out in the aisle while his eyes stared up at the ceiling. “You did not like Cheryl from the beginning, did you?”
“No.” I made a moue of distaste at the memory. “You married her before I could talk sense into you. I doubt I could have made you see reason, but I really regret being gone on vacation right before you lost your ever-loving’ mind and eloped.”
He angled his head to the side and smiled at me. “I appreciate your honesty. It is refreshing, that is for sure.” He smirked again. It was a look I would be happy to see erased from his repertoire of expressions. It spoke of hurt and rejection. “If anyone could have convinced me to slow down, it would have been you with your outstanding reasoning capabilities.”
“Cute. When you didn’t listen, O Thee of Little Faith, I would have laid a smack down on you.” I shot him a sly smile. “I then would have driven you far away, and straight to a talented, pretty prostitute with a heart of gold. Yep, I would have locked you up with Goldie for a few days, or weeks, of compiling raw data for scientific comparison.”
When Crookie’s indignant guffaws died down, I tapped my fingernail on his upturned palm resting on the table. “Seriously listen to me, old friend. It’s not your fault Cheryl is what she is. You fell in love, you had faith, and you believed her to be the woman she pretended to be.” I spoke softly and soothingly stroked his arm. “It’s so her loss. You are such an amazing man. Any woman would be lucky, and so honored, to be loved by you. Why, Snookie-de-Crookie, I’d scoop you up for myself if I didn’t know for a fact you recite the periodic table out loud while having sexual intercourse.”
“God, you are a wonderful, terrible, rotten, little girl!’ exclaimed Bob “Crookie” Crookston while laughing loudly, blushing, and then groaning in despair. He began to bang his forehead against the table. No small feat considering his height. “Oh, Bel, help me here. What am I going to do?”
Alarmed with the head-banging, I got out my cell and pressed 5, holding up a gimme-a-minute finger at his look of inquiry.
“Hi, Reg. Serious question for you. Yes, I said serious, not spurious. Can you talk?”
Crookie sat up quickly and reached for my phone. “Let me talk to him!”
I shot him my special Librarian frown--reserved expressly for grabby, excitable men. I stood up and walked out of his reach zone, but close enough he could still hear my side of the conversation.
“This is important, but you are not going to like me asking. Please bear with me for a minute, alright? First, I’m going to need you to swear to God here, okay? Yes, a blanket swear to God is exactly what I am asking for, that’s correct. Thank you. Yes, I do appreciate you. Now remember, don’t be mad I’m asking, but have you ever … umm…” I glanced at Crookie and shrugged in apology, “had sex with Cheryl Crookston?”
I winced and held the phone away from my ear so Reggie’s shouted response didn’t break my eardrum.
Puzzled, I answered, “No, I’m not calling for Anna. What does Anna have to do with anything?” Then I got sidetracked as he continued shouting.
When he showed no signs of winding down, I interrupted. “Geez, you said you wouldn’t get mad, so enough all ready! You know I don’t normally get up in your business, so can you just answer my question, please? I said it’s important.”
Reggie’s shouted response, “No, I swear to God I haven’t sonofabitchin’ had sex with Cheryl Freak-Show Crookston, that fuck-any-dick-with-a-wallet, ditch digging whore!” was audible probably in the next county.
I winced again. Crookie’s face was set in stone. He sat with arms crossed and was staring down at the table. He had his answer from my brother.
I know Reg was being truthful about not having sex with Cheryl. Not only because of the sacred ‘swear to God’ clause used in our family of mainly atheists, agnostics, and general heathens to determine the ultimate truth; but because he rarely got mad. One reason he would flare up was if he suspected his word was doubted by someone he loved, meaning one of his sisters. In his anger, he was known to string together colorful swear words. These curses often make no literal sense yet, somehow, they get his point across quite concisely.
I was taken aback by his immediate anger in this case, and the Anna reference, but I shelved that thought for another time to think about.
I rushed in to calm my brother down. “I hear you, Reg. I didn’t believe you’d touch her with a ten-foot pole. Here’s the problem. Bob Crookston hasn’t seen Cheryl in two months. He was under the impression you may have.” I nodded over at Crookie. “Yes, he mentioned he had called you. I’ll tell him that, but I have one more question. When did you see or talk to Cheryl last?”
I listened to his succinct answer with raised eyebrows. Unfortunately, it was both my eyebrows. I flashed on Luke, thinking of his warmth and strength upstairs in my room.
‘Was I crazy to have slipped out of bed?’ I had a sudden, sharp pang to be up there cuddling with him instead of down here; dealing with the serious, fast becoming ominous threat of the missing hooker wife. Then the realist in me shook off the unprecedented yearning to be held and protected from life’s little peccadilloes, and I snapped out of it.
I listened to my brother relate what he knew for a few seconds longer. My relief he hadn’t been involved with a married woman was more intense than I had anticipated. I don’t know why I am always surprised when people show their ethical side. It’s not as if I have been constantly battered with deception or immorality to be as skeptical of human nature as I am. Maybe it’s from all the reading I have done over the last twenty years. I should have watched more television.
“Yes, I agree. Jack will definitely be next on our to-do list after I talk with Crookie. Thanks for being cool about this.” I laughed at my brother’s pithy, one-word response to end the call.
“When did he see Cheryl?” Crookie asked, leaning forward intently. He looked tired but hopeful, eager for some definitive answers at long last.
“Reggie saw her later that night.”
Crookie shook his fists high in the air. His grin stretched from ear to ear. “Yes! You do not know how relieved I am to hear someone actually has seen her since Tina’s. What happened? And who is Jack?”
I drank some water, thinking I wasn’t as sanguine. I grasped
the more far-reaching consequences of Reg’s story, but I understood Crookie’s elation. I filled in the gaps by repeating Reggie’s story of that night.
“Okay, first of all, Reggie says sorry for not getting back to you, but he’s been super busy with work and forgot. Secondly, it wasn’t Reggie with Cheryl in the bedroom at Tina’s with the candlestick. Maybe it was Colonel Mustard, but it wasn’t my brother.”
Crookie shrugged acceptingly. “Okay.”
“Cheryl, however, did stop over at my brother’s that night after Tina kicked her out. He was putzing around in his kitchen when he heard the knock. Reggie remembered the time since it was late and he’d glanced at the microwave clock.” I paused to recall accurately what Reggie had said. “It was Friday, the fourteenth of September, at 11:33 PM. I’m sorry, Crooks, but she hit on him the minute he opened the front door. Reg told her ‘Thanks, but no thanks’, and tried to send her politely on her way.”
Crookie blew out a breath, “I am fine. I have had a long time to get used to the idea. Go on, please.”
“Cheryl went off on him in a rage about Tina throwing her out. Then she screamed at Reggie about liking the sex he had with her the previous weekend after the bars closed, so why was he turning her away that night?
“Reg said she was nuts because he’s never touched her. The most personal contact he’s ever had with Cheryl was to reluctantly buy her a drink over at the Contented Cow the week before this happened. He made her leave that night, and she drove off. End of story. That was the last time he has seen or heard from her.” I took another long, satisfying drink from my bottle of cold water. “In answer to your second question, Jack Banner’s a friend of my family. He’s a cop. You’ve met him over the years. Don’t you remember him?”
