The Rendezvous

The rain orchestrates its own symphony as it drops on Wesley’s umbrella and the variety of objects one might find lining a city sidewalk on their way home. A healthy middle-aged man, with chiseled features and light grey eyes that look black because they set deep in his brow; broad and tall with a lengthy stride, shortens his steps and takes his time to enjoy the weather that few appreciate. Just the night prior, he had spent the evening on the porch watching the lightning flash and tear the sky asunder, something he has always found beautiful and enjoyable.

Wesley crosses the street to the old Victorian home that has been passed down through the generations just as the postman shuffles off. He grabs his mail and ascends the steps to the house. He closes his umbrella, kicks off his galoshes, and takes a seat in the wicker rocking chair that crackles under his weight. Most of the mail is of the usual nature, plain envelopes with printed labels or transparent windowed sections, but one stands out as disparate. It is of high-quality beige paper, trifold and wax sealed as if from days past with a red bow tied around it. It is addressed to Ashlynn Baker, his wife, and must have been hand delivered.

Wesley is a construction manager and is only home today because of the rain. Normally Ashlynn retrieves the mail, but she is out shopping with her mom and sister. Maybe this isn’t unusual. It probably has to do with her book club or is an invitation to something, he assumes as he looks the letter over. He gathers up the mail, takes it inside, and lays it in the basket on the entry table.

Wesley heads to the kitchen to get a glass of sweet tea, but he cannot stop wondering what the letter concerns. He stands at the entry to the kitchen, drinking his tea, pondering the contents of the letter as he stares at the mail in the basket. It’s not in an envelope, he thinks to himself. I can peek into it without breaking the seal. Wesley expands the letter just enough to peek through the side and read the words, “My Love” and “affairmatch.com”. Wesley breaks the seal in a fury and begins to read.

My love,

           For months, since meeting you on affair.com, I haven’t been able to think of anything other than when I might gaze upon you again; hold you in my arms and listen to your laughter. And the rush, the excitement! You have to admit it adds to the passion we have for each other. The risk, the possibility of getting caught, the sneaking and the lying. And then there is the sex, heart pounding, toe curling, out of this world, sweaty sex. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced with my wife, nor is the genuine intimacy of opening up to each other afterwards the way you and I do. You have brought me back to life. My wife is away at her mother's. This week, on our normal Thursday night, when you tell your husband you are at a book club, I want you to come to my place for the evening. I will cook for you. We will drink and dance and make love by the fireplace. You know where I live. I will text you tonight.

Love,

           Andrew

Wesley was overcome with anger, red in the face, gritting his teeth. He wrinkled up the letter and started to throw it away but thought differently about it. If this was going to lead to a divorce, he wanted evidence, so he took the letter upstairs and hid it in his golf bag, where Ashlynn would never look. He sat down on the bed and starts contemplating things. “Andrew” was wise not to put his address on there, he thought, gripping tightly to the comforter. That eliminates me from doing what I feel like doing. I can confront her, or I can wait it out and confront them both, catch them in the act. Catch her in the act. Like hell if she gets anything, he thought. He decides on catching them in the act and taking out his anger on her boyfriend.

“Wes, I’m home baby. Can you help me get the bags in?”

Wesley looks in the mirror and takes a deep breath, relaxes his tense muscles, and fakes a smile. “Be right there,” he shouts down the stairs and takes another cleansing breath.

Wesley gets downstairs and takes a look at his wife. She’s beautiful with an athletic build from hours of yoga each day, has wavy sandy-blonde hair that frames a face with dark green eyes, high cheekbones, and full, pouty lips. She smiles. It’s wide and charming.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me, or are you going to help?”

Wesley moves past her without the usual slap on the bottom and retrieves the bags from the car. “Looks like you bought out the store,” Wesley comments.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. I hit mostly sales. Everything okay? You look grouchy,” she says making a playfully grouchy face.

“I’m just tired, have a headache. I’m going to relax and watch some TV,” he says, walking into the living room.

“Okay. I’m going to go get the mail.”

“I already got it. It’s on the table by the door.”

“Oh, anything for me.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really look at it.”

Ashlynn stretches out on the couch and plays on her phone while Wesley watches the game. Her phone dings with a message. She giggles and gets up to go upstairs.

“Where are you going,” Wesley asks, knowing good and well where she is going and why.

“Upstairs. It’s Becky from the book club. I don’t want to disturb your game.”

“You can stay if you want.”

“Nah, I’ll go upstairs.”

#

It’s Thursday and earlier in the day Wesley took Ashlynn’s car in for an oil change at the local Walmart. While there, he purchases a cheap mini magnetic GPS tracker that he places on her car. So, when Ashlynn tells him she is off to the book club, he is in no hurry to follow her. He just sits on the porch in his rocker listening to the rain and watching the lightning.

Once her car is out of sight, he pulls out his cell phone and watches her until she stops moving. He goes upstairs, grabs his camera and his nine-iron out of the closet, and sets out to break up his wife’s little rendezvous. He plays it over in his head. Either they will be having dinner, making googly eyes at each other and he smashes the romantically set table before smashing Andrew's face in, or they will be dancing to some romantic tune (or worse, Ashlynn will be grinding on him) and he loses his cool, knocks the guy out and destroys his home, or he catches him penetrating her and he flat out beats him to death. Wesley is so worked up; he’s beating the steering wheel and is screaming as he pulls onto Andrew’s street.

He cuts his lights and looks for a place to park on the crowded street. He finds a spot a couple houses down from the driveway where his wife’s car is parked. He grabs the nine-iron and says to hell with the camera. Approaching the house, the shades are pulled close, and the house is dark. The worst-case scenario runs through his head. His blood boils and he trembles from a rush of adrenaline. His fist tightens around the golf club, knuckles turning white. He tries the doorknob wanting to sneak up on them, catching them in the act. It's unlocked. He slowly opens the door and steps into the pitch-black living room when a light flicks on. There, standing in the middle of the room is Ashlynn, and she’s surrounded by people.

"Surprise! Happy Birthday'" they shout, and Wesley drops the golf club, his jaw dropping open, dumbfounded.

Ashlynn runs and jumps into her husband's arms. “What’s the club for baby,” she says with a mischievous smile and a playful giggle.

“You are the meanest… (kiss), most horrible…. (kiss), and nasty woman I know… (kiss),” and he puts her down. “You’re lucky I didn’t file for divorce right off the bat!”

“I know you. I knew everything you were going to do before you did it. If some guy was messing with me, you’d want your vengeance first.”

“Still, this was risky.”

“Not my fault you were born on April 1^st.”