Two Wrongs Cannot Make a Right

Deidre tried to ignore Scott’s cell phone, loudly buzzing on the kitchen countertop. She’d sworn off snooping for Lent and remained resolute about sticking to one self-improvement goal for the new year.

But there it was, vibrating—just daring her to react. When Scott’s call shifted to voicemail, Deidre edged away from the sink toward the grocery bags they’d brought inside from the car. I’ll peek at the notification, Deidre told herself, glancing toward the front door to confirm Scott’s location.

Still outdoors, chatting with their nosy neighbors across the rose arbor that separated their property from the Boomer retirees next door.

Deidre’s heart sank as she read the first five words of the message, which were clearly visible and needed no further explanation.

“Congratulations, you got the job…”

He lied. Scott bloody well lied to me!

Last week, they’d discussed Scott’s newly arisen opportunity, which had unexpectedly emerged. It'd mess things up considerably, she’d said, right now, within a few months of wrapping up another year of teaching English at a nearby high school. Childless, Deidre embraced each one of her 100 students as her own. Abandoning them before the end of the year was not an option.

Scott offered feeble assurance that he’d let this golden opportunity sail away. “I love on-the-scenes reporting,” he said, adding that he no longer cared about advancing to a larger news market. Still, Deidre assumed Scott had initiated the first contact based on some of his recent disappointments at WSNO-TV. A hotshot reporter from a competing local news channel scooped Scott on a story about high schools being lenient with their players’ eligibility requirements, which had resulted in at least one school losing its state baseball title the previous year.

Since the scandal involved Deidre’s high school, losing the scoop still stung.

Deidre panicked. She desperately wanted to hear the entire voicemail. There was no way this news could be anything good. Wait, she thought. What Scott doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Right? Aren’t most of these deals closed quickly? If Scott doesn’t respond by a specific deadline….

Deidre paced the length of the kitchen, from the pantry to the dining area, still holding two cans of chili beans. When Scott’s voice sounded louder, she glanced nervously through the bay window to ensure he was still talking to the neighbors. What to do? It’s not like I can phone a friend… I can’t trust a soul with this.

Quick, she thought. I’ve got to do something NOW!

She considered what was at stake. If Scott agreed to their terms, they’d leave the adorable cottage they were preparing to place an offer on. And she’d relinquish her teaching job at the best private high school in the parish. Move again. Deidre was the flexible one, always expected to acquiesce. “You can teach anywhere, Deidre,” he said, justifying his expectations.

Scott sounded agitated as he approached their front door with the neighbors in tow. Were the Roberts coming inside too?

“You still in the kitchen, Deidre? Audrey and Mac want to say hello,” Scott said, opening the door.

In one swift move, Deidre turned her back and quickly deleted the voicemail notification on Scott’s phone, only to drop one of the chili bean cans directly on her right foot. Had she not been dealing with the searing pain caused, in part, by her panic, Deidre may have realized she’d skipped an all-important step: the actual congratulatory voice message from WNSC-TV remained intact. For Scott to discover.

“You’re still putting the groceries away, babe?” Scott asked, rounding the corner into the kitchen. He’d offered Audrey and Mac a glass of white wine and a cold beer to smooth over his overzealous clipping of the rosebush that spilled into their yard. But as he discovered Deidre writhing in pain on the floor, serving drinks was the last thing on his mind.

“Oh, my God, Dee, what do you need? What can I do for you?” he yelled as Audrey grabbed a tea towel and ran to the freezer to gather ice. “You’ve got to get ice on her foot right away,” she told Scott. “Where’s your Ziplock bags, honey?” she asked.

Deidre managed a response through gritted teeth: “Second drawer, to the right of the fridge.” Mac found his way to the wet bar in the living room and poured each of them two fingers of bourbon. Before he handed Deidre her drink, he whispered to Audrey, “They need to elevate that foot of hers; can you find a couple of pillows?”

Deidre heard her neighbor’s whisper. “Thank you, Mac, you’re a dear. Pillows are in the hall closet – up top.”

The four of them sat on the kitchen floor, sipping their drinks, staring at Deidre’s foot. It eventually occurred to Scott that handling his wife’s bizarre injury was beyond his paygrade, since the swelling continued despite their efforts to stop it.

When he stood up to search for his phone, Deidre’s hand shook. Audry offered to take the drink from her grip. “You don’t think you’re in shock, do you, dear?”

“Why would she be in shock, Audry?” Scott asked. Deidre watched her husband scroll impatiently through his phone and tried to control her breathing. “She only dropped a can of beans on her foot—if anything, there’s a hairline fracture.”

Audry and Mac exchanged a look, puzzled by this couple’s sudden behavioral shift.

Since entering the kitchen, Scott’s demeanor dramatically changed. Now, he appeared distracted and less concerned about Deidre. Because he’d made no move to get his wife the medical attention she required, Audry offered to help. “Perhaps a visit to urgent care is in order? If you need to handle something for the television station, Scott, we’d be happy to drive her. Isn’t there one about a mile from here, Mac?”

“Yes, over on Vine Street. Yes, I believe there’s at least one.”

Scott finally looked up from his phone and explained that he’d been searching for the nearest location of a care center.

“That would be very helpful, you two, if you wouldn’t mind. Something’s come up at the station, and I need to cover the 10:00 pm newscast.” Shifting his attention to Deidre, he said, “Do you think you can stand, babe?”

Deidre’s deer-in-the-headlights facial expression concerned Audrey more than the swelling in the younger woman’s foot.

“Yes, of course. I only hope I haven’t broken a bone, though it feels like I might have,” she said. “Help me to the car?”

“I’ll bring it around,” Mac said. “No reason for you to walk any further than necessary.” Audry followed her husband out, closing the front door quietly.

Once Deidre was leaning against the counter, Scott asked, “What's wrong with you? You’re white as a ghost, Dee.” Deidre was indeed a mess: a heart-racing, sweaty, heavy-breathing mess. She’d reformed her snooping ways before saying I-Do and only recently started spying on her husband again after sensing he was up to something.

Relieved now that Scott’s questioning only concerned her self-inflicted injury, she said, “I’m embarrassed, Scott…can’t believe I did this. Plus, my foot really, really hurts.” She glanced around the kitchen, searching for her handbag.

“It’s at the bottom of the stairs,” he said. “I’ll grab it.”

After guiding Deidre to the end of the driveway, Scott said, “Let me know what the doctor says,” then tucked her into the back seat of the Rogers' minivan. “Love you,” he added.

As Mac pulled onto the street, Audrey turned around to check on Deidre. Still concerned about her demeanor, Audrey asked, “Is everything all right… you know, between the two of you?”

It’s clear to everyone: something’s amiss.

“Lots of stress at the station,” Deidre answered, raising her foot to stretch out across the back seat.

“Maybe he needs a change,” Mac said. “A new job?” Audrey whispered to Mac that he needed to turn right, not left, at the stop sign.

Now, why would Mac say such a thing? He knows, and I don’t?

The throbbing in Deidre’s foot worsened, requiring her full concentration. After a nurse helped her onto the examining table, she had a few minutes to reflect on the last couple of hours. Though she’d deleted a notification, the voicemail from WNSC remained intact. She knew Scott would eventually hear it.

She expected to be questioned. And hadn’t a clue how she’d respond.

Audrey knocked on the exam room’s door just as the doctor was adjusting the boot he’d slipped around Deidre’s foot—a hairline fracture, he said. Healing would be natural and take time. “You ready?” she asked.

Deidre nodded and took care with getting settled back in the van. Scott hadn’t texted to check on her. Odd, she thought. Panic built as she considered being caught spying on her husband again, something she’d promised to stop doing. But when Scott began behaving cagey about things recently, she knew…she just knew he was hiding something from her.

Forgetting to remind her about the guys coming over after work on Thursday night to play poker was one thing: pursuing a job opportunity halfway across the country without further discussion was altogether different.

Deidre justified her actions, half-assed, as they were.

Audrey and Mac helped Deidre hobble to the front door of their leased cottage and reminded her they were only a few steps away. If she needed anything, let them know.

“Stay off that foot,” Mac yelled from the end of the driveway. Audrey added, “Good thing you’ve got essays to grade this weekend.” She waved and smiled.

Yeah, good thing, Deidre thought. But she’d have to avoid taking the pain meds. Her red ink marks would make no sense to her eleventh-grade writing students. Once she had snuggled on the sofa and leaned her head back, Deidre fell asleep. It wasn’t until hours later that she woke and realized Scott hadn’t returned from WSNO. She checked her phone; there were no missed calls from her husband. No texts, either. Her text about the doc’s diagnosis didn’t go through, so Deidre should have heard something from Scott.

Great. Now I’m really worried. Within hours, their circumstances had undergone a dramatic change. Much more significant than a deleted notification.

Deidre hobbled to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and jumped when she saw Scott sitting in the breakfast nook, staring directly at her. She grabbed onto the kitchen island to steady herself.

“Scott! What the hell?” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Guess they gave you some serious pain meds, babe. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” He nursed his bourbon and branch, not taking his eyes off Deidre. “Pour you a drink?”

“Goodness, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I need a cup of tea, maybe coffee, to pull myself out of this fog. I’ve a stack of essays to plow through this weekend…don’t want to be confused in my head. She reached for her favorite mug from the cupboard, selected a Keurig tea pod, and pressed the "brew" button.

“Oh, my Deidre. I don’t think you’re confused in your head one bit,” Scott said, pouring another drink for himself. His tone had shifted from chatty to confrontational.

Deidre’s eyes flew open, but she didn’t dare turn to face her husband. Take a beat, she thought.

“Not following you, Scott,” she said. “Give me a break, it’s been an afternoon from hell.” Her tea needed to finish brewing.

“By the way, how did you manage to hurt your foot? Weird.”

Finally, Deidre turned toward Scott after adding a spoonful of sweetener to her mug. “I don’t know; I was watching your animated conversation with Mac and Audrey out by my rose arbor…I mean, you guys were at it for quite a while.”

Scott pushed his chair back and stood. Crossing his arms across his chest, he took a deep breath. “Remember, Audrey and Mac used to live in South Carolina? They’d heard some information about me from their daughter, who’s an anchor at a local station there,” he began. “I planned to tell you as soon as I got inside. But then, here you were, in the middle of a crisis.”

When Deidre lifted her mug, her hand was unsteady. Scott noticed and asked if she wanted to sit at the table with him. “No, I’m good here.”

Anyone viewing the couple’s interaction from outside might have assumed a standoff was underway. Perhaps that’s what it ultimately came down to. Neither one was interested in compromising for the other—both strong-willed souls, hellbent on prioritizing their careers over each other’s best interests. One looking to move at a moment's notice, the other committed to staying secure and grounded: a flavorful recipe for a disastrous marriage.

It took us five years to discover this?

Scott didn’t accuse Deidre of doing anything. When she turned slightly to brace her backside against a kitchen counter, she noticed Scott’s two favorite suitcases nestled by the staircase.

He took note and waited.

“The way I look at it, Dee, we’re even.”

“Explain.”

“Remember a few months ago when you applied for that federal grant? You know, the one that would have fully funded a writing center for your school? Which would have left you running in place for the next three years?”

“Of course. But why bring that up now? When my application was denied, you know I was crushed, devastated,” she said, holding back tears.

Scott walked to the serving table where his wallet, keys, and phone waited for him. “Yeah, someone called from the approval committee the night before the announcements were expected. Left a message. Said you were a finalist. They had one quick question…needed to hear from you by the end of the day. It didn’t matter how late you returned their call.”

Fury rose within Deidre as she realized what had happened—finally, an explanation for why her grant application had failed. “I never got the message, Scott. I cannot believe you did that to me!”

“Well, I got mine,” he said. After tucking his phone into his pants pocket, Scott opened the front door and reached for his suitcases.

“My lawyer will be in touch,” he said, winking. “Take care of that foot, Deidre."