MY HUSBAND TRADED ME
By
Laran Mithras
Cover Photo by www.Shutterstock.com
My Husband Traded Me is a work of fiction. Names, locations and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2015 - All Rights Reserved
Denying your desires will make you unhappy. Indulge them.
CHAPTER 1
"What? Is this some joke or something?" Did I really just hear that out of your mouth? Molly shook her head.
Her husband, Trent, was looking at her excitedly. "This'll be great."
Are you serious? I'm being traded for a truck? This has to be a joke. They were, however, in dire financial straits. Being evicted in less than a week, neither had been able to find work. Trent was overqualified for everything with a Bachelor's of Science in Business Management and also possessing a Microsoft Engineering Certificate they had spent a couple thousand to get hoping it would pave the way to instant riches.
Instead, he had lost his job as a car salesman while waiting for something to break. She had lost her job as a short order cook when the breakfast house had decided to hire in early-release convicts.
The landlord had apologized when he taped the eviction notice to their front door.
Molly rubbed her eyebrows. "Wait a minute. Traded? You can't trade me. I'm not like a TV set or something; we're married."
Trent was bubbling with enthusiasm. "It's temporary, Molly. Don't worry, I still love you. But Gary called me and said there was still work in North Dakota in the oilfields. We're talking two thousand dollars a week, baby."
She sighed. "I thought you were going to see if Deacon Ford had a position—"
"They don't. And even if they did, the paycheck would be too late. What are we going to do? Sleep on the streets? We don't even have a car."
They had been forced to sell their old Pinto just to have money to eat.
She held out her hands. "Why am I being traded?"
"Blake has a truck with a camper shell on it. I can live in the truck. Renting is way too expensive up there." He said it as if it were obvious.
"I can go with you."
"I need the truck, first: you're the trade."
"You can't trade a wife." This is crazy.
"Like I said, it's just temporary. He'll put you up in the guest bedroom and you help around the house."
"I have to slave for him?" I don't want to be picking up someone else's dirty underwear.
"Consider it like any other work. Cook, clean, laundry."
"And he's giving you a truck for this?"
"Baby, it's almost a hundred thousand a year. This is the big break we've been waiting for. We just have to make some sacrifices."
She coughed. "And I have to be a slave for it."
He held out his hands, palms up. "Look at it this way; you get to sleep in a bed and I get to camp in a truck."
She sighed. I guess that is better than both of us sleeping on the street. "Cooking, cleaning, and laundry? He's not expecting anything else, is he?"
Trent laughed, looking relieved. "That's all, promise. Blake's a good guy."
She had met him before – a nice-looking man who was interested in hunting and the like. Sort of odd in a quiet way. "He can't clean on his own?"
"Last I saw, his place was immaculate. But he said for the opportunity of having a live-in cook for a few months, it was worth the trade."
"A few months? Can't I just go stay with mom?"
Trent took her in his arms. Not much comforted them anymore with all their money worries, but hugging at least reminded them of their love. "You have to do your part. Two thousand a week will solve all our problems. Maybe we can start our own business when I get back."
That sounded better to her. "Doing what?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I can always find something in one of those magazines selling franchises and the like."
I hope it won't be another get rich quick scheme that requires a twenty thousand dollar investment. "Our own business?"
"We just need some starting cash."
It was true, she knew. It took money to make money, but they had never had much money with which to begin.
She pouted against his neck. "Will you activate our cell accounts when you get paid? I already feel like I'm missing you." It was more than that. Despite their discomfort with finances and their uncertain future, their bond was the only thing that kept her somewhat sane. If he was going to be leaving, how would she cope?
"Of course. Consider it done."
"Are you sure about this? Can't I come?"
"The only reason I'm getting the truck is because you're going to take care of his house."
She sighed. "This isn't fair."
He stroked her hair. "It's our only chance."
~ ~ ~
Molly looked around the apartment. They had nothing left but a couple boxes. The TV had been sold at a garage sale and the couch along with it. The entertainment center that had made them feel as if they were rich was gone, too. They had needed money for food.
She had a few books and her personal papers. Her clothes amounted to a small pile that would make a street person think twice about accepting them. She had a ragdoll from her youth, well-worn and frayed from hugging and clutching. The leather-bound Bible her father had given her before he died topped off her pitiful possessions in a single box.
They had tried lottery tickets. Spent hundreds on them. One man had chided her in the minimart at the gas station that the lottery was a tax on people who were really bad at math. But she had been filled with hope to win big. They spent over eight hundred dollars on them and collected about fifty-five in return. The man had been right.
Then they couldn't even afford lottery tickets. The power had been shut off. The rent went unpaid. It was everything they could do to put food on the table. Getting welfare turned out to be nearly impossible for a citizen with no children. They had applied for Section 8 housing, but the wait was over a year. They didn't have a year.
Trent had been planning on taking her to the tent city with all the other homeless people on the outskirts, but they didn't even have a tent. Nor could they afford one.
She closed the box. One box: it would fit in a grocery cart. How fitting.
Trent was watching her. "I love you, Molly. We need this."
She was gazing at the single box. "I know." She moved with no energy into the bathroom. A shoebox waited there. In it was a plastic freezer bag with the handful of pictures she owned. On top were her toiletries and a bottle of perfume with two uses left in it. She had no make-up left; it was an unaffordable luxury.
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had forfeited her saltine cracker to Trent so he could have energy this morning to drive.
Her husband said, "I don't think this could have come along any later. We're just about rock-bottom."
And they were. Everything of theirs was gone – sold for food. Their only remaining possessions were the mattress in the bedroom with its blankets and their cheap kitchen table with only two squeaky chairs. They had sold the other two that had made the set.
She placed the shoebox on top of her packed box and lifted both. So light. So nothing. She went out to the empty living room. Only a box remained there: Trent's things.
A cheap picture hung on the wall that no one had wanted to buy.
There was a knock on the door.
Trent took a deep and excited breath. "This is it."
She stood there, box in arms, and watched him open the door with a shaking hand.
Blake stood there, looking with curiosity. "Hey, bud. Still want to do this?"
Her husband couldn't speak fast enou
gh. "Oh yeah. No problems. I'm looking forward to work."
She had met Blake before. He was a handsome man with short sandy-brown hair. He was wearing a tan canvas hunting vest over his dress shirt and bottomed off with jeans. He saw her holding the box and came in.
He said, "Are there more boxes? Let me help you. I made a space in the barn—"
She said, "This is it."
Blake stopped, the stun clearly showing on his face. "Are you sure? I have room."
"This is all I have. That box there is Trent's."
Blake's mouth was open in shock and she saw the pulse beating rapidly in his neck. He closed his mouth, looking down and nodding. "All right." He looked around furtively, the shock growing on his face. "Any…furniture?"
Trent said, "Nothing. We're leaving the rest. It's just a table and mattress and a few dishes. The landlord can have it."
Blake shook his head slowly, clearly not believing what he was seeing. "Are you sure?"
Her husband grinned like a schoolboy. "I'll be buying all new things."
Consideration crossed Blake's features and he nodded. "Well, then." He reached for Molly's box. "Let me carry that."
Why is he looking at me with horror? I'm not ugly. She let him carry the box. He's disgusted with me; this isn't going to work. She gave Trent a longing look.
He was already out the door with his box.
Blake looked at her expectantly.
What? She looked down and followed her husband. She walked out of the apartment that had been home for four years. She would never see it again.
CHAPTER 2
"You didn't have to bring a trailer." Trent was shaking his head.
The truck and camper had a hitch that was currently towing a trailer for any items they might have had.
Blake shrugged next to Molly. "I didn't know. Figured you had furniture."
"Nah, I told you we didn't have anything."
"Yeah, that's why I brought the small trailer."
Molly was sitting between them in the cab of the Chevy truck Trent would be driving. She sat quietly, hands clasped together in her lap. She frowned suddenly at her jeans: they were so worn her knees were showing through.
They pulled into the Conaco gas station and Blake climbed out to top off the tank.
She whispered, "I don't know if I can do this."
Trent looked surprised. "Of course you can."
"I don't think he likes me."
"Sure he does."
You didn't see the look of disgust on his face.
He said, "Look, just a few months and we'll be set."
"A few months?"
"Enough to set us up with a franchise of some sorts. I'll be scouring the entrepreneur magazines as soon as I get there."
Great. Those things are filled with money pits. "Why not start our own? From scratch?" I don't want to be in this situation again.
He tilted his head in consideration. "Well, we could. There's so much money to be made." His eyes were shining.
She sighed quietly and looked down at her hands.
He said, "If I stay longer, maybe we can really do things right. A house, a car. Two, even. A business…"
Her eyes widened. A house? Cars? And a business? That's not three months. She started to say she couldn't do it, no way.
Blake opened the door and climbed back in.
The door shut and so did her mouth. She was more on Trent's side, touching close against him.
"All topped off," Blake said.
"It'll be enough to get me there," Trent said.
Molly's eyes were unfocused. Their lives rested on a single tank of gas and her husband's enthusiasm. Shouldn't she be feeling the same? What would it be like with her own home? A real car? Would it be a dream come true? Or just a dream?
~ ~ ~
Trent hugged her. Molly could feel him trembling with excitement. They stood outside Blake's old ranch house in the suburbs. Trees shaded them from the sun and Molly suddenly didn't want to let go.
She whispered to him, "What are you going to eat?" He had eaten the last of the crackers that morning.
He put his lips to her ear. "I'll dumpster-dive, if I have to. People throw all kinds of good food away."
She squeezed harder, not wanting him to have to suffer that.
He said, "It's only for the first week until the paycheck anyway. Don't worry."
"Promise you'll eat better than crackers and food from the trash?"
He nodded. "I will, really."
She squeezed again.
He put a kiss to her lips that was rushed. "I need to go."
Everything in her melted in despair. I don't want you to go. Her eyes pleaded.
He let go and turned away.
She gazed at his back and hugged herself with her arms. He had lost so much weight, though he had never had much to begin with. His shoulders were bony under his shirt. His black hair was short, kept trimmed by Molly's scissors. She felt a pang of melancholy, wanting to trim his hair one more time.
He shook Blake's hand.
His friend had a curious look on his face, as if wondering something, but she did not know what.
Her husband said, "Thank you so much for all of this. You really saved us on this one."
Blake's nod was slow and sad. "Go and get back on your feet."
Trent's smile was happy and hopeful. He climbed into the truck and drove away.
~ ~ ~
Blake stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and stared at her.
Molly looked down and tried to hide her face from his gaze.
He said, "Let's get you settled in, huh?" Grabbing her two boxes from the walkway, he motioned with his head.
How can I do this? He already thinks I'm gross. Does he think I'm going to put something in his food?
He said, "We'll go to the store in a few minutes. I wanted you to come – see if there's anything you might need that I don't have for cooking." He led her inside.
She stopped in the doorway. Her eyes popped out, stunned.
He said, "I understand you're a really good cook?" He turned and saw her expression. "Is something wrong?"
Molly shook her head. Trent had said his place was immaculate, but that didn't really describe it. Almost as spare as her previous home for lack of furnishings, the place was not just neat, but clean and very well-ordered. A leather couch filled the living room with a wonderful leather aroma. A leather recliner accompanied it. A mahogany lampstand held a polished brass lamp that looked like it cost more than their old Pinto. His coffee table was also mahogany, and richly carved.
From the outside, the place looked like an old ranch house for the surrounding orchards. Inside, it was fresh and up-to-date. The carpet was a rich Berber – the type that lasted. A large circular Persian rug sat under the coffee table and looked to be an inch thick.
His walls were wallpapered in an old country-pattern that looked original. A single sepia family photo of people most likely dead hung on the wall – its curved glass cover speaking of a bygone era.
The inside smelled of leather and incense.
Molly blinked. "No, nothing's wrong. But, maybe you should hire someone to mess the place up, first."
His eyebrows drew down.
Uh oh, wrong thing to say. He must think I'm really stupid.
"I'm something of a neat freak. A fault of mine, maybe. Didn't have much growing up. I like to keep things clean and orderly. Will you be able to maintain the place like this?"
She nodded quickly. "Oh, sure. It'll be easy. I just thought…"
"Thought what?" He led her through a dark hall.
"Well, I thought you being a bachelor and all. I don't know. Maybe it would be messier."
He said nothing. He shifted her box and shoebox to one arm and opened a door. Light spilled faintly out. A loud lightswitch snapped and warm incandescent light spilled into the hall. "This is your room."
She peeked in. The bed was a high one – the type you had to climb into. A heavy
quilt that looked as old as the house but in excellent shape topped the mattress. A polished wood dresser faced it and an armoire with a mirrored door angled in the corner. Light from an old bell-glass light fixture on the ceiling cast a warm glow. A small lampstand with an elegant looking lamp was between them and the bed. The pink lampshade was hung with little crystals, and for some reason began to bring tears to her eyes.
He set her box down by the dresser. "The bathroom is right across the hall there. It's all yours; I have my own bathroom." He looked at her askance again. "Do you…need a few minutes to get settled in?"
Molly was battling a desperate sense of nostalgia. She said, "I'm sorry?"
"I wanted to take us to the store. I can bring the Jeep around if you need to use the bathroom or unpack your box. Or whatever."
She felt very alone and abandoned at that moment. Can I run away and die? "Maybe just the bathroom. I can unpack when I get back."
He nodded as if he expected the answer.
Am I going to be able to do things right? She followed his gesture to the other side of the hall. She went in and shut the bathroom door. Everything was old and very clean. The claw-foot tub had a shower curtain hiding a large shower head that almost looked comical due to its size. The sink was on a pedestal and a cabinet on the wall promised the things you normally put under the sink.
She washed her face and wondered if he would mind her wrinkling the towel hanging from the towel ring. She pulled it and dried her face. Looking at herself in the mirror, she wondered if Blake had looked disgusted because of her face. Was it her nose that was a little too big for her face? Her wide cheekbones? Her long, plain brunette hair? Is this going to work? Will I be able to do what he needs so my husband can finally make something for us?
Blake was waiting for her when she came out. "I got the Jeep out. Let's go for a ride."
Great. A ride? Sounds ominous. Isn't that what they say in the movies before they kill you? "All right."
He was looking at her with a curious expression on his face – a scrutiny that made her wonder what it was he didn't like or found distasteful.
My Husband Traded Me Page 1
