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Driving home after dinner, she thought about all the years that she had been without Joe. Two marriages, and one child later, she still could not get him out of her head.
Opening the window to clear her mind, she turned on the music, and was singing along with Deborah Harry when she pulled in to the driveway.
Throwing her handbag on to a chair, she kicked her heels off, and walked over to the phone to check her messages.
Two messages. One from her gyno's office, reminding her to keep her appointment on Monday, and another from Joe.
She took a deep breath and backed away from the phone. He must have hit *69 in order to get the last number calling him. He was polite, and wondering who the person was, or if, perhaps, they had simply dialed the wrong number.
The cat was rubbing up against her leg, and grabbing her, she went over to the couch to consider whether she really wished to call him back. She was very afraid that either he was "taken", or that they would no longer have anything to say to each other. God, she could procrastinate forever.....had always been exceptionally good at that.
That had been part of the problem with Joe.....
Joe had changed after her miscarriage. He began drinking more, and staying out until the early hours of the morning. She also thought that he might be in to drugs, although she couldn't be sure. Still, she said nothing.
When he was away at a gig, she sometimes heard the voices of women in the background, when he called her from his room. She never asked him about those voices. She knew he felt guilty about what had happened to her, and she was hoping that he would work his way through it, even if it was killing her.
Still, she cried herself to sleep many nights, missing the way it used to be, and wondering whose bed he was in. She didn't think that she could take much more.....the pain was consuming her life.
Finally, it all came to a head. One evening, a friend called her, and told her where Joe was on that particular night. She could no longer ignore it, no longer pretend that everything would be the way it used to be.
She waited for him to come home, and when he walked in, she pointed to the suitcases she had packed for him, and told him to get out. He begged her to reconsider, promising her the moon, the stars, and fidelity, but she was adamant. She wanted him gone. Now. No more lies, no more excuses, she was through with him. He finally left, and she, feeling as cold as ice, virtually cut out her own heart.
The naivete of twenty-three was gone.
She decided to make a decision tomorrow. Scarlett O'Hara had nothing on her. Turning off the lights, she went upstairs and was soon asleep.
Continue reading "Joe - An Original Short Story - Part 4 - The End" »
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