Under The Fish Pond

By Glenda Yarbrough

Under The Fish Pond, a novel based on a true story.

Publication of this book was banned for over five hundred days by a local judge in Decatur, Alabama. This ruling was overturned by the Alabama Supreme Court enabling publication of the manuscript. Under The Fish Pond is a novel based on a true story that kept the local community guessing where the young mother of three was. Rumors spread throughout the neighborhood, but no one could prove what happened to the young mother, but a determined sister would not accept the story her brother-in-law told about his wife. Virginia is a strong-willed Southern lady, driven by love for her sister and determination to ensure that Debbie's children know the depth of their mother's love. They must be assured that she would never willingly desert them.
At 2323, a house on a quiet street in Decatur, Alabama's, visitors are drawn to a small decorative fishpond in David's backyard. David's handiwork is a masterpiece with each stone perfectly placed, each flower planted with care. What they can not see just beneath the surface of the pond is David's other handiwork. They are too busy comforting him, whose wife according to David left him and their small daughters for another man. Then Virginia realizes just where Debbie is, but there's nothing she can do about it—but wait until...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Glenda Yarbrough
• Release date: Jan 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465817686

Glenda Yarbrough

Glenda Yarbrough is the author of novels based on a true story, but she is also the author of short stories, ghost stories, romance, and humorous romantic mystery. Most of her books are set in small southern towns where mysteries and secrets are always buried deep.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Monday Night

He sat in the lawn chair in his backyard, calmly waiting for his children.  Earlier his heart had raced like a horse pounding for the finish line. He didn’t see how it was possible to be this calm, knowing what had just happened, knowing what was upstairs.  But he was.  He had to be.  He leaned his head back, resting it on the back of the chair as he gazed into the heavens.  Billions of bright twinkling stars shone down on him, and the scent of wild honeysuckles filled the evening darkness.  The whiff came from Mrs. Moore’s vine across the alley, filling the hot, sultry southern night.  He took deep breaths of the sweet smelling air, filling his lungs as he watched the stars, waiting for two innocent little girls whom he had to keep away from the upstairs bathroom.  He must gather them before they entered the house, be certain they went straight to bed.  They could not go upstairs.

Today wasn’t supposed to end like this.  Oh, life wasn’t supposed to be like this! he groaned.

Fear gripped him again!  What if he had left some telltale sign of what really happened here tonight?  He couldn’t think of any, but he had always heard a murderer always made mistakes.  What was his—except the fact of being a murderer?  Did he leave something that would tell what had actually happened?

It was best to wait out here—just in case.  This really was why he was waiting for the children out here.  Just in case there was something his neighbors might notice when they brought the kids home if they went inside the house.

Ed and Kathy Callahan had taken Misty and Lora to the ball game with their own children.  They were good friends and neighbors, but he sure didn’t need them in the house tonight.  They weren’t that good of friends to understand why he killed his wife…why she was lying in the upstairs bathroom. 

He must have some reasonable explanation of why he was outside. What…what could he say?   Maybe tell them Debbie was rocking Morgan to sleep.  Morgan was in her crib, but Debbie did not put her to bed.  He did.  He did this while Debbie was  gone  during her tangent.  She was the one who started this…she started the whole thing.  If she had just listened to him, everything would have been ok.  He could still see the anger on her face when he came through the door…the pitch of her voice…

Do you know what happened today? she screamed as soon as he stepped inside the doorway.   In his haste to close the door, he fumbled with the keys.  A bold lance of sunlight darted inside as he twisted the brass keys.  He desperately wanted to get the door closed before the neighbors heard her shrieks.  He didn’t want them to know what really lived within these walls.  The discontent, the fights.  Finally, the key let go of the lock, and he closed the door on the outside world.

He looked at her—this woman whom he had lived with for the last nine years.  Anger seeped from her face, her mouth stern and eyes blazing.  She sat on the sofa, her legs intertwined.  He stopped—frozen in his steps.  He could not answer her—he could not leave the room.  He was her prisoner it seemed as he awaited her next outburst—waiting for the rage that was certain.  There would be no stopping her—he was well aware of that.

They disconnected the electricity! she shouted at him.  He glanced around the room.  The drapes were drawn—she refused to allow the sun light into the room.  The gray shadows of the room embraced the approaching night.  There was no electricity, no light to chase the shadows away tonight.

He braced himself.  She stared at him—a hard, cold, callous stare, waiting to see what his answer would be as her own anger escalated.   Any answer he gave would only reinforce her anger.  No longer would she live in this turmoil—never knowing when bill collectors would bang on her door.  He knew this was what she would say…she was always saying that…always ready to blame him.

She looked at him as if she felt like running through him.  She wanted to physically attack him.  But what good would it do.  Even as she beat on him with her fist, he would just have another excuse…one more reason why some essential bill was not paid.  She watched him, waiting for his excuse this time why there was not any money for the bills…but there was always money for him to blow on whatever foolishness he desired.  He didn’t care about the bills!  The shame that filled her soul erupted as she once again demanded an accounting of why!

They came here, told me our check had bounced.  Bounced!  She repeated again in a harsh, coarse, sonorous voice, drawing out each syllable of the word ‘bounced’ to force him to feel her anger.  She wanted him to feel the pain, the shame of the humiliation she felt when that fat, short little man sneered at her, and told her their check bounced.

Do you really know how embarrassing that is?   They came out here and turned off the lights, and when I told them I had paid my bill, they waved that piece of paper under my nose, and a weasel of a little man informed me it had bounced.  ‘Just like a rubber ball’ he said, she snarled the words.  David, I will not live this way.  I’m not going to be the talk of the town just because you can not manage money.  If you would stop all this high spending of yours, we would not always be in such a mess.  And having checks thrown back in our face. You are going to have to find a job that will support the kids and me.

I’m not leaving my job! he retorted.  You said you wanted to live in Decatur.  Fine.  We’ll live in Decatur, but I will not leave my job, he said sternly.  Then as if an after thought, he added, I’ll think of something.

Yeah, she jeered.

Look, Debbie…I’m…I’m…sorry.  He took a deep breath and sighed.  He hated to apologize.  But if it would just shut her up.  I’ll …I’ll think of something…I’ll… he stumbled over his words.

You’re always thinking of something, David.  Always some way to wiggle out of the mess you create for us.  Well, I’m not going to wait this time for you to wiggle out of this one.  I’m finished!  I’m through—I’m not going to live this way.  I’m not going to live in the shame of having my lights turned off…the shame of never knowing if there will be water running out of the faucets, or if there’s any food in my cupboard.  I’m not going to live this way, David."  She threw the words at him.  Each word thrown like a fast ball across home plate, and she scored a strike each time.  This time her words were going to be more then empty promises, ludicrous threats.  This time she would leave—this time she would stay gone—this time she would get the divorce she had threatened in the past.  This time she would create a new beginning for herself and her three children.  This time…this time was the climacteric of it all. 

He stared at her.  Now it was his turn to give the cold stare.  He spoke coolly, his voice deepened.  Calm.  No desperation.  Instead, it revealed his own determination.

I told you, Debbie, I’d take care of it.  You don’t have to worry about it.  I will take care of it.

No, David, that’s not good enough this time, she crossed him.  I don’t need you to take care of anything any more—not for me, not for these children.  I’m leaving!  Do you understand, David?  I AM LEAVING…YOU!  She rose from the couch, grabbed her purse from the cherry oval coffee table and pulled out her keys.  She looked at them for a moment, then closed her fingers around them tightly. Then, as if she were pushing him away, she shoved the air in front of her with a forceful wave of her hand, marching toward the door.  She did not say where she was going, nor how long she would be gone.  She just slammed the door behind her.

 He watched from the window, peeking from behind the pulled drapes.  She got into her blue Ford, eased the car out of the driveway, and headed west. 

West—um—she’s probably going to Virginia’s.  Bitterness washed over him.  Got to tell Virginia everything that happens…got to get her approval.   If Virginia wasn’t always there for Debbie to run to, maybe things would be better between them.  He didn’t like Virginia—never liked her from the first time Debbie  introduced him to her older sister.  Virginia meddled.  Yeah, that was the word for her.  Meddling.  He didn’t like her…she didn’t like him.  Debbie always defended Virginia, saying she had nothing to do with their problems.  But he didn’t believe her.  Was she not over here Saturday?  Here it is Monday, and they’re fighting again.  Virginia had probably even been here today…meddling into their business…putting him down.  Anything to make him look small…anything petty…anything to make him look bad in Debbie’s eyes.  All of this was Virginia’s fault.  And Debbie’s.  Debbie shouldn’t have gotten so angry about the stupid lights, he’d fix it; he always managed somehow.

A faint whimper came from the room at the end of the hall.  It was the room across from their bedroom…the nursery.  Morgan was waking.  Debbie had not even given one thought to their three-month old daughter.  She had stormed out of here without one word as if she were a free woman with no responsibilities!  Well, she’s not a free woman!  She has a husband and three little girls!  She would not destroy their home just because she was on one of her rampages.  No, there would be no divorce.  Of this, he was certain.

Soft cries came from the baby.  He moved toward the nursery, and picking up the infant, laid her gently on his chest, cooing in her ear.  That’s daddy’s baby.  Daddy loves his little girl.  Daddy loves all his little girls, and mommy and daddy will always be here for their little girls…their precious, precious little girls.  We will both be here.

He whispered the words softly as his mind began calculating what he could do to salvage what was left of today.  He would patch things up with Debbie—soothe her troubled nerves and her eroding temperament.  He could.  He had always been able to side-step Debbie.  He could always convince her to think his way, to go alone with whatever he came up with.  This time would be the same.  She would come around. 

She was different, though, ever since she gave birth to Morgan.  It seemed as if she kept falling deeper and deeper into depression.  Her temperament was shorter, ready to snap at the slightest thing.  Tonight was a prime example of her irrational attitude.  It didn’t make sense.  She didn’t suffer from postpartum depression with the other two.  Now she was either edgy, snappy, or in a deep silence as if she were trying to withdraw within herself.  She pulled her children close to her, locking him out.  He wasn’t going to let her do that.  He would never be out of her life…never.

The medication was supposed to make a difference, but it didn’t.  The doctor just kept saying be patient, give it time, and things would be back to normal.  Normal.  What was normal?  For so long things had been bad…no, not just bad…sometimes the word was torment.  Sometimes it got so bad he played with the idea of solutions…dark solutions that frightened him.  

He didn’t want to think about it, not while he was holding this innocent little darling.  He ran his finger gently down her cheek.  It was soft, and the baby down was still on her little cheek.  She was three months old—only three months and a mommy yelling divorce.  That was a ridiculous idea!   He kissed her cheek gently, then grabbed the diaper bag.  Throwing it over his shoulder, he grabbed a small blanket, wrapping it around the infant’s legs.  The hot southern July afternoon did not require any extra clothing, but since she was a newborn, he knew he had to protect her from the hot sun.  The only place he knew to go was to his own mother.  He would see if she would watch the baby while he paid the electric bill.  But first, he would have to borrow the money from her.  He’d tell them he had a newborn baby…for the sake of the children…turn the power back on now. 

Surely with the bill paid, Debbie would settle down.  Things would get back to normal.   There was that word again, his brain reminded him.  Just how normal did he really think things would ever be?  Lights in their house.  That was all the normalcy he was looking for tonight.  Lights on—Debbie settled.  It was that simple.

As he and the baby rode down the quiet streets, he reminded himself of the $200 he owed his mother for the car insurance.  He hated to ask her for more money, but he had no choice.  She would give it to him…she always did.  He just hated to ask her…especially with the car insurance money still not repaid.

David, she said, her voice low, I don’t know why you can’t manage your money better.  You have a good job…I know you make good money.  You and Debbie are just going to have to learn to live like everyone else, and stop all this foolish spending.

She would give him the money, he knew this.  She just always had to give the lecture first.  It was her right.  Her money—her right.  He listened to her lecture, then she came through with the money.  He just wished she would give him the money and keep her lectures.  Look, Mamma, I need to get down to the light company before they close.  He waited for a second, waiting for her to forget the lecture and just give him the money. 

She gazed at him in silence—then turned from him.  In the bedroom she removed three one hundred dollar bills from behind the picture of Jesus, the Beggar, and the Rich Man.  Sometime she felt as if David could portray both men.  He wanted to be the rich man, yet he was always the beggar. She returned to the living room.  David was standing near the front door, eager to leave.  He gave her Morgan as she gave him the money. 

I’ll pay you back, Mamma, I promise…

She looked at her son.  She loved him.  She wanted him to be happy—to be a father to his children.  They needed a strong father…every child needed a strong father whom they could trust.  But David wasn’t strong—not with money.

No, David, keep the money, she told him.  She knew she would probably never see the money again anyway…so she might as well not care.  Love for a child weighed more then all the gold in the world.  No, David, keep the money, she told him.  This isn’t a loan.  I want you to not think of this as a loan.

He was puzzled.  Why?  He did not know if he had been insulted or not.  If he was honest with himself,  he didn’t have the money to pay her back, but his pride didn’t like the idea of him, a thirty four year old healthy man taking money from his seventy four year old mother.  I’ll pay you back, Mom, promise.  You know I’m good for it.

I know…I know, son, she lied.  I just don’t want you burdened, and besides, it’s been a long time since I’ve given you anything.  Think of it as a gift to the two of you.  You get a little ahead, you and Debbie do something special for your family.

David smiled.  He leaned and kissed his mother’s cheek.  Thanks, mamma.  The words were quick and simple, but David meant his words.  He loved his mother.  He wished he could give her something, treat her to something that she would normally not buy.  Maybe later….

You’re welcome, son.  Just go pay your bill, she smiled at her son, and held her granddaughter close to her heart.   She watched him leaving, hoping David would some day grow up, take responsibilities.

David picked up the baby from his mother and arrived home around 6:30, but Debbie still wasn’t home.  He thought she would have returned by now.  A rush of anger spilled over him as he made his way up the front walk. She never stayed gone this long when they had one of their fights.  That’s ok, he told himself, cause this only gave him more ammunition to use against her when she did return.  The tables would be turned.  He turned the key in the lock, hot stale air flushed his face as he opened the door.  The steady humming of the heat pump told him the electricity had been restored.  How long before this hot air disappeared was another question.  When he and Debbie were arguing, he hadn’t noticed the temperature of the room.  Only the hot, angry words between them.  Maybe when she returned, the house wouldn’t be the only things cooled down.

He carried Morgan to her nursery, and laid her in the crib.  The light blanket was thrown into the corner of the crib.  David walked into the hallway, looked at the thermostat.  90 degrees.  No wonder Debbie was so mad—sitting here in this heat.  But still, he reminded himself, she had no rights to scream divorce.  It was one thing to be mad, but another to start this foolish talk about tearing-up their family.  That was a completely different matter.  She had no business leaving either—storming out of here without one word of where she was going, showing no concern for him or the children.  If he had done that, she would have thrown it in his face for weeks. 

No business doing that all at, he said to the thermostat as his fist gave a light hit to the wall.  None at all!  She will not be doing this again.  If she wants to fight, fine, we’ll have it out, be done with it, but she’s not going to storm out of here with me not knowing where she is going.   I should have driven by Virginia’s to see if that’s where she went. 

He turned and walked to the entrance of their green bedroom.  He stepped into the room, picking up a jump rope off the king size bed.  This had to belong to Lora, his middle daughter.  At five, she fancied herself the jump rope champion of the block.  He smiled.  Maybe she was.  She was like her old man, always knowing she deserved the best, could be the best, so why not be the best.  He grinned as he threw the rope onto the bed.  It surprised him Debbie had allowed the rope to lie here.  She was an immaculate housekeeper, allowing nothing to be out of order.  Everything had to be in its proper place.  She taught her children that if they didn’t keep their belongings in the proper place, then they must not want it.  It then became the property of the trashcan.

He stared at his surroundings, taking in the room with a fine eye for each detail.  The carpet was a pale fawn; the bedspread and drapes a deep green, accented with different shades of rose in the throw pillows scattered around the room.  She took each item and pulled it all together, down to the pictures on the walls and the towels in the master bath.  Everything must match.  Debbie was good with color and she was very creative.  She was always making something for the kids.   Saturday she had painted little bunnies on the girls’ sun visors.  She was always painting something.  He wondered why she didn’t take up watercolors or some form of painting.  She needed something…something that would keep her off his back when she got in one of her moods.  There were many things that she was good at when she wanted to be.  She was a good mother to the kids, that he would have to admit, and she was good with the house.  He smiled.  Yeah, Debbie was good, but she also had it made.  She had a beautiful home, beautiful kids, and a good hard working husband.  She knew she had it good.  There was no way she would throw it away.  And she had an easy life.  Not once did he ever remind her she was a registered nurse, go get a job and help out with these bills.   He got up, went to work, not her.  She didn’t have to hop out of bed, and hit the street in all kinds of weather going to some job like a lot of women.  No, Debbie did just as she pleased, filling her day as she saw fit.

And what about this house?  This house was big—he’d built an upstairs, put a huge bath up there.  It didn’t matter he had fallen short of his deadline date for completion.  He was also behind on the fishpond he promised her.  He planned to finish it by the 4th of July.  He wanted to have a huge cookout, invite her entire family.  Instead, he’d never even had time to start the pond, but he would, he told her he would.  She had this huge home, all this nice furniture.  She should be thankful, not complaining about his job.  Debbie was just spoiled, that was her problem.  She was the baby of her family, and she had been spoiled all her life.

He could feel the anger building.  Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with her, and when she gets back here, he would remind her she wasn’t Miss High and Mighty…not the Sweet Sixteen Queen anymore.  She was his wife, she had been for nine years, and she would be till the day she died.  She could forget about her threats…her empty threats…threats that were designed to manipulate him.  This was his home too!  He wasn’t going anywhere, nor was she!  He could feel his face warming with anger. 

Settle down, David, he said to himself. Never let emotions rule you, rule your emotions.  How many times had he told his clients this statement?  He took a deep breath, walked calmly over to the green wing back chair.  Red leather bound encyclopedias were housed in a bookshelf near the chair.  He removed one of the books.  Usually if he allowed himself to be caught up in reading, his mind and spirit found a comforting peace.  He opened the books, staring at the page.  The printed words faded as the turmoil in his mind came rushing forward.  He could still see Debbie, hear her angry words, feel his own emotions raging.  He snapped the book closed.   It would not give him the peace he sought, not this time.  He rubbed his forehead, his eyelids as he tossed the book onto the bed.  It would not work this time.  His mind was filled with the words of the argument, of the words he planned to retaliate with.  Each word seemed to grow in strength as a brewing storm, waiting to crash down upon the unexpecting earth, hungry waves pounding the beaches of his soul.  He stood, walked around the room.  The soft fawn carpeting silencing his steps.  There had been times he thought about ending the marriage.  But not like Debbie.  There would be no divorce.  He would not go through the shame, humiliation of divorce, make his children live with one parent—visit the other parent.  Every other week-end father and mother.  No, he would not live that way…his marriage was till death do us part.  It was the idea of death, the sympathetic friends, society’s acceptance of death compared to the stigma of divorce.  People understood, offered their friendship when death stole a mate, but when it was divorce, it was a disease they were afraid they might catch.  They either stayed away from you, or chose sides, ruling who was the victim and who was the villain.  Debbie would be the victim.  Everyone thought she was such a sweet, loving person.  Yeah, Debbie would definitely be the victim.  That left only one role for him to play in a divorce.  The part time parent—the partner who all their friends avoided.  No, he would not play that game.

Instead, he thought about death.  Debbie was a healthy human being, so her death would have to be helped along.  He let his mind play with ideas, like the time he told his co-workers Debbie had a lover.  Debbie didn’t really have a lover, but if they thought she did, and then just up and left him and the girls, a lover would be the motive.  It sounded much better then Debbie being killed in a car crash.  The cops might find out it wasn’t a real crash, but murder.  Decatur’s cops weren’t the smartest, but why risk it.  Besides, he liked the idea of being a double victim.  First his wife leaves him, then being a devoted father, he must raise his children alone.  Any man who raises three children alone deserved respect.  It was all a fantasy…a plan for murder if he ever had the nerve to carry out his fantasy.  But he didn’t.  It was left sitting on the back burner of his brain…waiting. 

Sometimes he told himself it was just a game to release tension, usually after one of their fights—usually about money. She blamed him for spending too much, not earning enough.  He blamed her for never being satisfied.  But she never had a lover.  Debbie had never shown any interest in anyone since their marriage.  She was devoted to her children, their home, her craft, and the little do-dads of her life.  There was no room for a man in her life…sometimes this included him…even her  own husband did not  fit into her life…especially these last few months.

He knew that her plans would leave him out of everything concerning the children, except at her discretion.  It would leave him powerless.  He knew there wasn’t another man, but she was always talking about divorce.  This worried him.  Repeatedly she threatened divorce, and he always refused to take it seriously.  She always yelled empty threats.  In the past, he never let it worry him.  It was such an anticipated attitude on her part.  But now, the doubts sprouted the fear of the horrible words, what if.  

What if she decided to leave, taking his children?  What if she decided to use her family’s money to hire the best lawyer, and here in Decatur, Alabama, with their prestige, he would lose.  Heck, the judge would probably be a golfing buddy of Virginia’s.  They could pull the strings, use some sleazy lawyer who knew all the dirty tricks, all the loopholes of the law, put him in the courtroom of some red-neck judge who loved to take a little money under the table.  The case would be hers.  He would lose everything, including his children.  She might even decide to leave town!  With his children!

These thoughts stirred his imagination, and he began to mull over again how he would end the marriage.  There would not be a divorce.  He would make sure she understood this.  If she didn’t, there were ways to end a marriage that had nothing to do with divorce.  There would be no conniving slick lawyer that would influence the judge.  No…instead Debbie would just disappear.  If she pushed him—pushed him hard enough with this so-called divorce then he—not her—would take control of the situation.  She would not take the kids away from him…he would not be a part-time dad who saw his children being raised by some other man when she remarried.  He would not have his children calling another man Dad, while he would be their ‘week-end dad’.  No, she had another thought coming if she thought she could force that kind of life upon him. 

It would have been easier if there had been another man…some man that Debbie could have become infatuated with.  Then she could have just left.  He didn’t really want Debbie to leave, but he could carry on his life without her better than he could without the children.  He could not bear losing his children.  If she didn’t want him, fine, he could make a good life without her, his ego assured him, but not without his children.

David looked at his watch.  It was 6:45.  She had been gone about an hour.  He cut his eyes toward the living room.  Did he hear something?  There was some kind of a clanging sound.  He strained to hear, turning his ear toward the living room.  He heard it again.  A faint clanging sound.  It was the keys dangling against the steel door.  She was turning the lock.  Debbie was back!  He noticed she did not look for him anywhere, but was coming down the hall to their bedroom.  She  stopped momentarily at the nursery door, eased the door open, then gently shut the door. 

He quickly glanced around the room. He did not want to be standing here as if he were waiting for her return, waiting for her to come back and tell him everything was all right.  It was his place—David’s place to tell her everything was all right.  He quickly sat down in the wing-backed chair, and in the same motion grabbed the book off the bed.  He quickly flipped the pages.  It opened on the mating habits of the honeybee.  He glanced down as if reading when she waltzed through the bedroom doorway.  She did not pause, nor did she acknowledge him. She ignored the man sitting in the reading area of the bedroom as if he was not even there.  Instead she walked into the bedroom closet and began to rummage through the closet.  He could hear her moving things around, pulling something from the back.  He knew what it was even though his mind denied it…until he saw it.  She flung the gray suitcase upon the bed, flipped it opened, and walked to the dresser.  From the oak drawers, she withdrew scarves and panties, which she gingerly tossed into the suitcase.  She turned again to the dresser, withdrawing items. 

He watched her steadily before he asked, What do you think you’re doing?  There was no reply as she continued to pull things from the drawers.  Again he asked, What do you think you’re doing?

She continued to ignore him as she opened another drawer and removed two pairs of jeans.  These she placed into the suitcase.  David slammed the book closed. 

I asked a question, Debbie.  I demand an answer.  Just what are you doing?

She turned, stared defiantly into his eyes.  Coldly she replied.  I told you, David, I’m leaving.  You can do whatever you want. But for me there’s not going to be any more ‘make do’, patchin’up’, ‘won’t happen again’, ‘love you so much’—not any more.  I told you, and I meant it.  I’m through.  First thing in the morning, I’m gone!  I have lived through my last embarrassing moment with you.  As she spoke, she continued to bring clothes from the dresser and calmly place them in the bag.  Her voice did not hold the normal hysterics she exhibited when she was upset.  Her words were cold, steel, confident words of what she planned to do.  Her eyes were blazing with emotion, but her voice was steady as the deep waters of the Tennessee River—words that ran deep—words with meaning.   This time Debbie was serious. 

You can have your country clubs and Junior Leagues, fine with me.   But I’m tired of you trying to play bigshot when half the time you can’t afford a loaf of bread for your own home.  It takes money to play the games you want to play, David, money you don’t have.  She went to the closet, removing four dresses, which she laid next to the suitcase.  Oh yeah, you can keep the red dress, she sneered.  I hated that dress—hated that Junior League mess you made me join.

 The dress was a beautiful red that David had insisted she buy last December for the Junior League’s Christmas party.  He had thought the dress elegant, and Debbie looked lovely in the dress.  Her own red hair accentuating the flowing red gown.  She had been a beautiful sight.  He didn’t realize how much she loathed the dress until now.  This only added fuel to the already hot fire between them.  It was almost as if she detested anything that concerned him.  It was outraged!  She throws this in his face along with saying she’s leaving.  Never!

You can’t be serious.  I won’t let you leave.  Do you actually think I would let you destroy our marriage just because you’ve had a bad day?  You aren’t going anywhere!

She whirled around.  Her eyes bore into his.  You can’t stop me! she retorted.  She had a hand full of scarves, which she was folding neatly one at a time before putting them inside the bag, but now she threw them into the suitcase.  I’m getting out of here!  The children I and are leaving.  I’m going to a lawyer, David, in the morning and have  papers drawn up.  I’m getting a divorce.  You have a choice.  You can either sign the papers as I have them written, or you can go before a judge and he will tell you to sign them as they are.   Either way, the children and I are leaving.  There’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.

The children…you aren’t going anywhere, do you hear me, Debbie? he shouted.  Do you hear me? he shouted louder.  He could feel it.  He was losing control…she was in control.  In control of her voice, in control of her emotions, in control of her actions, she continued to place her clothes in the stupid gray suitcase.  The heat of his body was rising—his voice began to crack—his hands were shaking.  He rose from the chair, the red book clutched tightly in his hand.  He was out of control; she was winning.  This made no sense.  Never was she the one in control of their lives…their home.  Now here she was telling him what was to be!

Debbie looked at him, her eyes ablaze—fire in them—that was what?  Hate?  Was it hate he saw in those emerald eyes?  On the other side of that beautiful face—the face he once loved so dearly—was there now hate for him in the pit of her soul? 

You’ll either do it the way I want, David, or you will never see the girls again.  I’m not going to be dragged into a divorce court.  Do I make myself clear? 

He saw the book sailing through the air.  He wasn’t sure if he threw it, but it had to be.  There was no one else in the room except Debbie…unless some unknown creature had stepped into his body, using his arm, sailed the book across the room with such a mighty force.  He had never been able to throw anything else as hard as this book was thrown.  But it didn’t really matter.  The book was sailing across the room like