One Lie

By Marcus Wolf

This saga exemplifies that conflicts with personal and client relations can cause all hell to break loose in the most meticulously maintained legal career. We couldnt wait for the next chapter. Being in the legal profession, reading this was like watching a horror movie: you wanted to look away for fear it could happen to you but you were too captivated to do it.

-Tim and Carol Scholl


This is a truly great book and a fascinating read. I went from joy and laughter to tears and outrage. I felt like I have known these characters all my life. Also gives a lesson of life with a mistake effecting the lives of not one, but many one lie

- Cindi Wagner


Is One Lie a startling, honest description of the authors life OR a tale of pure erotic fiction? It is a robustly told narrative of an attorneys personal and professional life, complicated by his boundless sexual appetites. He succumbs to temptation at the drop of a hat. Descriptions of meeting and interviewing clients, wheeling and dealing with opposing counsel, preparing and appearing in Court are accurate and eye-opening to those not in the legal profession. Your voyage over the raging seas of his life will be unforgettable! The captain is Peeping Tom and the ships name is The Voyeur.

- Mae Gibson
Retired Secondary Educator
Business Education, Speech, Drama & Journalism
Nearly 50 years as a legal assistant and secretary in various law offices.


I read this book as the chapters were completed
And couldnt wait to get the next one!
It is intriguing, shocking, erotic and truly
Reveals the best & worst of small town politics.

- Sue Eddleblute

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 30, 2008
• ISBN: 9781469102115

Book preview

Copyright © 2008 by Marcus Wolf & Lisa Michalski.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in

any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission

in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

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Contents

About The Authors

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my family—Ariah, André, James, Zoren, and Azaria.

I wish to thank Susan, the mother of my children, for all she has given me as well as her acceptance of this book.

I also wish to thank all those who supported me during the most horrifying time in my life, which includes, but is not limited to, those who wrote letters and testified on my behalf. None of you will ever be forgotten.

Finally, special thanks to Lisa. Without her, this book would have never been written. You have been wonderful!

—Marcus A. Wolf

Words capture a moment, a feeling, or passage of time, as surely as a snapshot can contain a single expression. We, as a species, have built our existence and communications around them, both giving and receiving them in many forms. We have created languages and dialects in which to express ourselves, gesticulating in conjunction with our art in grandiose fashion in order to communicate our point of view.

Words can be signed for the hearing impaired, creating symbols for what might be spoken. We can offer our anger and love, fear and laughter to one another, all based in a verbal form of a written expression. There are too many variations to describe, and yet they can be as simple as a poem and as complex as a scientific manual. Words—they are our gift to one another.

The words I offer in this book tell a story. It’s mostly a true story—based on events that began in the year 1994—that document the painful repercussions of one man’s infidelity and how it affected his life, job, and family.

As I created this story, I did so with love and understanding for a man that I grew to care for and believe in deeply. With these emotions came an encompassing love, extending to every member of his family as I came to know them and speak with each of them. I was able to see the wonderful gift of forgiveness and how, with the passage of time, we can begin to heal and forgive others, as well as ourselves.

I’ve never given a gift of such magnitude as I have with this book, because not only are the souls of the people I love contained within these pages, but also my own. This story was woven, these words given, with the purest form of love I can offer.

This story is dedicated not only to Marcus, but also to Susan, Ariah, and Andre. I love you all, and I hope I’ve done you justice. Thank you for allowing me in your hearts.

I also dedicate this book to my children, Melanie and Maria Smith, who always believed in me and respected the times I struggled in the endless hours of predawn and late evenings. You’ve given me my greatest reason to continue on each and every day. I love you dearly.

Finally, I dedicate this book to Lesa Scoates, a childhood friend to whom I made a promise long ago. I don’t know where you are, but I’ve never forgotten.

—Lisa E. Michalski

About The Authors

Marcus A. Wolf, born July 6, 1946, is a practicing attorney in Mansfield, Ohio. He received his juris doctor degree in 1980 from Ohio Northern University, and his bachelor’s degree in sociology from Northeast Louisiana—Monroe in 1969.

He is listed in Marquis Who’s Who in the following areas: Who’s Who in America, Who’s Who in American Law, Who’s Who in Business and Finance; and he is a life member of the 2002 National Registry of Who’s Who. He is a member of the Elks Lodge, a Mason, and has served on the Democratic Executive Committee of Richland County. Marcus is an avid hunter (mainly white-tailed deer), boater, and enjoys fishing and morel mushroom hunting.

He is presently chairman of the Certified Richland County Grievance Committee for the local bar association.

Marcus’s sense of humor is known by all who have associated with him.

Lisa Elaine Michalski, born May 24, 1961, is a radiologic technologist and mammographer, who graduated in 1988, receiving her associate’s degree in applied science from Sinclair Community College. She has published numerous professional articles, and writing has been her lifelong interest, with poetry topping the list.

Lisa has two teenage daughters. She enjoys her passion for running. She loves animals, and also has a sense of humor.

Marcus was Lisa’s divorce attorney. Through that association, Marcus realized Lisa had a talent for writing, and after her divorce was final, he proposed that they write his story together. She agreed, and the rest is contained in One Lie.

Foreword

As events unfolded in late 1994, no one could have predicted where they would eventually lead. Least of all, successful attorney Marcus A. Wolf. With a flourishing practice, peaceful love of Lake Erie, and his beautiful wife and children, he appeared to have it all. Until that fateful day when Sherrie Johnson walked into his office.

Set against the backdrop of restless small town politics as well as a manipulative legal undertow, Marcus uncovers a plot of such magnitude that he becomes swallowed up in a game too large to win. With one roll of the dice, he stands to lose it all.

One Lie, based on actual events in the life of Marcus A. Wolf, is a sex thriller of seduction and devastation. It tells a cautionary tale woven in a tapestry rich with intrigue and passion, as seen through the eyes of Marcus Wolf. As we follow him through the web of deceit and trickery that he must unravel, trying to save his family as well as his practice, we are witnesses to how one wrong choice can sometimes destroy everything in our path.

Chapter 1

They say in times of distress, your life flashes before your eyes. The only thing I could think of were those afternoons I would cut law classes to make love to Susie. Most men would kill to explore a body like hers and I had her every Tuesday, all day long. Most men that were thirty-one would kill to make love to an eighteen-year-old, period. I was no exception. And there she would be, on my doorstep with those damn rats to feed my boa, Martha. A perfect ten with a soft little girl giggle. How could I turn her away? She was infectious then, an innocent. I had only to make a suggestion and she was good to go. I wanted to love her right there, as she loved me; but there was all the time in the world for those sorts of things. My life was complicated, not at all like hers. We were different; and yet somewhere in the years between right and wrong, justice and punishment, sunrises and sunsets, my love for her grew.

We would spend those Tuesdays playing, making love. At times, I would watch her and could not quite comprehend the fiery intensity behind her blue eyes. It burned as quicksilver, quick and fleeting as the momentary burst of a bright flame igniting. Her passion would surpass every fantasy I had; and as I would lay with her afterwards, I found myself tracing her soft perfection with my fingers. Her anger was the only thing that could come close to matching that passion, and I would come to know it also in the years to come. I would come to understand it all too well—for if her passion was my destiny, her anger would become the legacy.

I stared down at the floor, waiting. I remembered her eyes as she had walked away yesterday. The years had melted into the hurt and anger that was reflected back. I could tell her I was sorry more times than I had made love to her, and it would make no difference. I read that in her eyes, in every strand of her perfect black hair, and in her smooth beautiful face. I had lost her a thousand times over, and I had no words left to give her that could remove the betrayal. I had lost all the way around.

I had left the courtroom so many times with a client, and waited. I knew from experience that sentencing was tough to wait for. The word had been from the start that I would receive sixty days but I had found that hard to believe. I had not wanted to believe it. I had over fifty letters on my behalf, most from judges and other attorneys. All spoke of my good character and work ethics. Several of Judge DeWeese’s political backers had spoken to him before the sentencing, friends of mine who were pulling for me. In the end, none of it mattered. Sixty days was the maximum, and sixty days it was. I had wanted Susan there and the kids, but they were conspicuously absent. I had hoped she would find some small grain of mercy inside of her, some still-present instinct to at least appear as though she cared. I had scanned the courtroom, praying she had changed her mind. She had not.

They took me straight from the courtroom down to the jail, still in my suit and tie. The ride in the elevator down was the longest in my life; and when the doors opened, my feet were glued to the floor. It was with effort I would take the first steps. I felt as a baby again, learning the ropes, taking those first tentative steps into a new world. I would have to learn to walk all over again, and the large deputy next to me was going to make sure he was there to catch me if I fell.

This way, Mr. Wolf, his voice boomed. I thought in an abstract way of a Carney worker with a loud megaphone, announcing the winner of an ill-fated game of chance.

Alan was at least a six footer, and I had to look up to him. His size alone was intimidating, and he was as dark as a ripened plum on a summer day; but his smile broke the tension. He wore it as a valuable prize, with pride and ease; and perhaps, in his line of work, it was something to be won.

He led me into the entrance of the jail, and I couldn’t help but think of how many times I had been in this exact jail as an attorney, but never as a prisoner. It was the same, but was I? That was a question I would ask myself over and over in the days to come. I would have ample time to ponder the answer.

Alan handed me the issue orange jumpsuit I would change into—compliments of the county. I was told to change, and I did so, wordlessly. I had found that with all my training and arguments that proved so clever in the courtroom, I was devoid of any profound revelations. There was not much to say at that point. All the perfect dominos had been aligned so carefully, one against the other; and one wrong word had sent them toppling. I had watched the last fall to its final resting place as I had stood in front of Judge DeWeese. The very system I had worked so hard for had the last word. Who was I to argue?

I stared ahead at the door of the holding tank. It seemed much larger and more barren than I remembered. I tried to quell the feeling of nausea that overtook me, but I felt a trickle of sweat make a path straight down my spine. It felt appropriate that the dog days of summer would arrive just in time for my booking. It was over ninety degrees outside, so it had to be close to the proportions of hell in that holding tank. As my luck would have it, I would make my peace with that certain hell for four hours.

What do you think of when you are faced with sitting on that bench in that small hole for hours? There was the irony in serving a system that had not served me, and I had all the time in the world to issue my gratitude. Was it the need to prove a point that made them decide to put me in D-Cell? Did I really need solitary confinement? I had complained bitterly and was finally told I had the misdemeanor range. I felt a small twinge of relief, if any relief was to be found on that day from hell. When the door finally opened, it was Alan again that led me to the book-in room.

This is Attorney Wolf. Show him respect and do it fast. His voice reverberated against the cool brick of the walls.

It was all cool cotton candy to him, I was sure. He spoke with the authority of yet another underpaid county employee grasping at any opportunity to feel important. I tried to suppress the bitter bile that rose in my throat; but the mental image of Alan standing over a shallow grave, shovel in hand, would not leave me.

Still, I was grateful. I was even more grateful when the sheriff made a showing to leave his calling card in case I had problems. I had an edge, even if it were a small one. I guess if Mother Nature would not grant me a reprieve, Jim would. I had known him and dealt with him for years, but not in this capacity. I was not quite sure what to say to him, and the moment was awkward—even painful.

Marcus, call me if you need anything, day or night, okay? He paused for a moment, and I sensed his grasping at words. Things are going to work out. I know this is tough, but you’re a tough guy.

His eyes softened, and his shuffling manner told me that if he could do more, he would. I wanted to keep my poker face and brave stance, but I was beginning to falter.

Thanks, Jim, I said, managing a weak smile. I wanted to say more, but my mouth felt stuffed with the wisps of cottonwood that had floated in the air only a couple of months before. That time was another lifetime and was as far from me as my beloved Lake Erie. Perhaps that life had been a dream after all. This was the reality of my world now.

These guys are going to finish getting you booked in. He nodded toward Alan and another uniformed man standing nearby. I nodded at each and gave an obligatory smile. I was unsure if I was supposed to be grateful to them for doing their job, locking me away. It all seemed ludicrous to have manners at a book-in, especially my own.

We got you out of D-Cell, did you hear? he added.

I heard. Why the hell where they going to stick me in there anyway?

I could feel the annoyance creep back into my voice, and I tried to quell it. It was over, and I knew I just needed to let it go. Jim read me with sympathy in his eyes.

You’re high profile, Marcus. Jesus, it’s been all over the news and papers for months! You know that. The TV cameras would be down here now if they could be. It was more for your own protection than anything, but we got you covered. Just hang in there, okay? It’s all going to work out. I’ll be back in tomorrow to check on you. In the meantime, have them call me if you have any questions.

His voice held the finality that conversations take upon departure, and I tried to smile at him. It was no good, though. I had fallen down into a giant quarry, rocks tumbling down on all sides. There I was, clinging to the sides, trying to climb. Each time I grasped at a handhold, the safety was shattered by a new landslide of rubble. I was left at the bottom, lying in a heap.

The sweat stains that had formed under Jim’s arms as we had spoken were slowly taking over the sides of his shirt. They spread like a small growing lake that began to saturate and overflow, the edges becoming wider and wider. I was mesmerized by the growing pattern and the rose hue of exertion on his face. Small beads of perspiration that had developed on his forehead were now making their way down the meaty sides of his face. Was it just the heat that was making him uncomfortable or was it perhaps his lack of answers that my eyes pressed him for?

He continued to wither under my scrutiny. I hope this weather breaks soon, hotter than hell out there, he said with a small chuckle, trying to break the moment. I was sure his head would pop off with the pressure as he wiped his steaming brow with the back of his hand. We both felt the discomfort, but for distinctly different reasons.

Yes, well, thanks again, Jim. I appreciate everything you’ve done. Thanks again for coming down. I had no choice but to release him from his discomfort.

I watched his back recede down the small hallway, and I felt a momentary sense of desperation. I remembered freedom and knew that I would not savor the exquisite taste of it for the next sixty days. What was sixty days of my life? It was nothing, right? I had lost Susie. Ariah hated me. It was about survival now, and I had to learn to shove the voices down.

Well, I’ll be damned! That’s the first time that has happened, Alan exclaimed. I was jarred from my reverie.

What? I asked, glancing up at his grinning face.

"That’s the first time he’s shown up for a book-in!" I managed a grunt of acknowledgment to show my appreciation.

They led me to the small crowded room that held the tripod, placing me up against the back of the door for my pictures. Was I to smile, or not smile? Perhaps I would give them all a Grim Reaper smile. My prints were next, rolling the fingers in the ink, rolling onto the card. I watched with fascination as each fingertip was pressed with force. I thought how much the distorted image resembled some hideous smiley face. I wanted to laugh, but it would not come. This was not supposed to have happened. I was the one that put guys like this away. What were Susie and the kids doing? Had they heard? Did she care at all? I could not dwell on it. It did me no good to try and figure out what she thought. I had not managed that in all these years, so why should I care at this point?

Still, my thoughts pressed toward Susie and the kids. I could not stop myself. Hey, I need to make a call home. I need to check on a few things. Is that possible? My eyes met Alan’s, and he broke out into a lazy grin.

Sure, he answered. Take your time, Mr. Wolf, take all the time you need.

He led me around the long desk we had passed on our way in. The phone was sitting just out of my reach next to the clerk.

I found myself waiting for privacy that never came. After all, society’s small courtesies were lost on prisoners. My rights had been suspended the minute DeWeese had slammed his gavel down.

I walked to the side of the desk where Linda sat. Her name was announced in cheap gold tones on a piece of blackened plastic that was perched upon her ample chest. I momentarily lost myself in the tide of motion that dipped with each long breath. It was a slow and easy rhythm, one that matched the movement of her hands as they moved the phone toward me.

Her smile was as fluid as her hands, and I was reminded of a bland and calm summer day out on the lake. The water would be faultless, not a ripple passing in the stagnant air. Linda was the lake, her liquid smile giving away nothing. Perhaps she had grown used to dealing with criminals. Was I a criminal, or was it just that I had been held to that higher standard? That was what Judge DeWeese had said. I was held to a higher standard. No one spent time in jail for sexual imposition, yet here I was. I was a world away from the lake and my life. I no longer recognized who I had become.

The lake, my lake. It did not just seem far away, it was far away, just as the beach was and my boat. There had been points I was not sure if I would ever walk that beach again, if I would ever feel the sand between my feet or watch the boats out upon the fading horizon. Would I ever see a hazy sunset highlight Lake Erie again with Cujo barking next to me? Would I ever make love to another woman again? Would I ever practice law again? The answers were slow in coming, just as my freedom would be.

Thank you, Linda, I said, smiling warmly at her. I watched for even the slightest hint of an accusatory look. I found none, only an innocuous current of pleasing professionalism. I was certain I could have done worse as I dialed the home phone. It rang longer than usual, but I finally heard someone pick up.

There was an uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line as I waited for someone to speak. I finally could stand it no longer, waiting for some sign of welcome recognition. Hello, Susie?

What do you want? I barely recognized her voice. There was an unmistakable venom present that made me cringe. Linda was watching me with cool anticipation. I wondered if she had read the papers, seen the news. I was sure she knew something, and I tried to push the paranoia down.

I’m at the jail. It’s over. Daryl was right, they gave me sixty days. I can’t believe it, but they did. I stopped, trying to catch my breath. For some reason the wind had left me. Susie said nothing. Daryl is bringing my car home. I need you to give him a ride back up here so he can get his own car. Can you do that for me?

I turned my back to Linda, trying to gain some balance. I was teetering on the edge of that quarry again, reaching for some small sign from Susan. I wanted her support so badly, some small flicker that she and the kids felt something. I wanted to speak to Andre, Ariah. If I could just feel a small token of love, perhaps I would not be extending my hand into yawning emptiness.

Susie’s voice was a flat monotone. We heard about the verdict.

I waited for her to continue, but her voice dropped off. Of course, I was sure it was all over the television. I would not have put it past the TV crews to be lined up outside of my home to get my family’s reaction. I could not blame her for her anger. I had never blamed her for it. If I could take back the lies and deceit, I would have. I would have given anything to have her love again, the love and support of my children.

Susie, I’m sorry, I whispered.

There it was again, and again. It was all I could say, and I was still saying it, only it sounded hollow, even to me. I was not sure how it sounded to her. Please . . . I started, but the word stuck just as I uttered it. Susie took the opportunity to pounce.

Fuck you! Fuck you, and I hope you rot in jail! I hope you get butt fucked in jail. I would enjoy that image! Her words were a stabbing hiss, and hit their target head on.

I’m not taking Daryl anywhere. Someone needs to take care of our children, and since you’re in jail, I guess I am the one to do it. Ariah and Andre are upset, and I’m not leaving them. Let Daryl find his own way back to the jail! Her sarcasm ended the conversation with an abruptness that left my ear stinging.

With Linda forgotten, I felt a rising panic. I had to speak to the kids. I had no idea when I would get phone privileges, and I was sure they were frightened. Susie, are there TV cameras there? Let me talk to the kids for Christ’s sake! At least let me speak to Andre!

I tried to hide the desperation, but she had me. She had me by the balls, just as she had on so many other occasions. I just wanted to hear the kids’ voices, if only for a few seconds. Susie, don’t do this. Susie . . . Susie? I heard the click, and then silence.

I glanced up to find the deputy and Linda watching me. Linda’s smile still had all the placidity of a vast empty body of water. I imagined her floating out into the lake, alone and empty. Alan seemed stuck in a bad rerun of The Andy Griffith Show, smiling inanely.

Are you ready, Mr. Wolf? he asked with exaggerated cheerfulness.

Sure, I was ready, why not? I had nowhere else to go, nowhere I had to be. I no longer had a home or a family. What would the harm be in letting him lead me to a nice jail cell, perhaps it would be a welcome reprieve to my home life.

I laid the phone down and looked him square in the eye. It was about survival at this point. I had always wanted to get away from it all. This was my chance.

The voice that spoke was not my own. I was unsure of whom it belonged to, perhaps some stranger that had overtaken my body.

"I’m ready."

Alan took me to get my issues, and I stared glumly at the limp mattress. Next came the issue toothbrush, comb, sheet, blanket. If I had thought the issues were tough, the cell was even tougher. I stood outside the communal range, seeing it for the first time through the eyes of an inmate, not as an attorney. One toilet, one shower, many beds and roommates. It had been a tough day, and I was ready to just have some down time but I was to find out, that would not come. There was no downtime, no silence, darkness, or solitude. At 11:30 PM, my roomies were still going strong. We were fourteen men with fourteen stories, and no one was in a big hurry to sleep. We were one big happy family.

The TV blared, people talked, and the lights stayed on at all times. How the hell did anyone sleep around here? I slumped over on my bed, feet planted on the ground, staring at the floor covered in a layer of thin grim. So much for our tax dollars at work. I wondered if they ever mopped the floors. I shoved my hands through my hair. What was Susie doing now? The kids? Sherrie? Did anyone care? Did anyone miss me? Why was I the one prosecuted?

"You fucked her! You fucked her!" Susie’s eyes were steely agates that glittered with ferocity.

"Susie, we’ve been through this. God, give it a fucking rest," I pleaded. I wanted to escape her. I wanted to just shut her up.

You’re a slut! You’ve probably fucked half of Mansfield! Why don’t you just admit it? she flung back. Her eyes challenged me to reply.

The well-manicured sneer had returned that she had worn earlier in the day. It became a litany, over and over. How many times had I screwed so and so? How many women had I screwed? How many could I screw? I probably could have recited it for her had she not done so many times herself. She was like a well-sung song that the whole room knew the chorus to. Let’s all sing along folks; we know what she’s going to say.

Shut the fuck up, Susie, just let it go. This does us no good. I felt anger mixed with disgust, and it showed it my voice.

I turned to leave the room, walk away, but she was in front of me like a mighty little powerhouse—all five feet and one inch of her. She stood, feet firmly planted, her eyes boring into me with a hatred so intense I could feel the slice of her stare.

Get out of my way, Susie, I said, trying not to lose the calm edge I had held. I was losing, though, big time. I tried to pull back. I always tried to pull back where she was concerned, but how many times could I walk away?

"I have had better than you, do you know that? You think you are God, but you are nothing! You want to fuck her, go ahead, I can find better than you. I have better than you, so go ahead, fuck your little client!" She spat with hatred.

Her body stood taut, ready for action. Every inch of her held a loathing so intense I could taste it. The eyes of passion of the one I had made love to so many times now held nothing but disgust. There was an intensity to them that frightened me.

I laid my hand on her shoulder to simply push past, her but she flung it off with a hard jerk. I felt her hands on my chest, shoving me with a hard thrust. You could never please me, do you know that? You are a fucking loser! she screamed. Her voice became shrill and grating. I was losing every shred of control I had.

Something within me, fragile and nameless, broke. It began as a small fissure and broke into a gaping fault that could never be healed. "You fucking cunt, get out of my way!"

She had pushed my last button and, in return, I pushed hers back. She hated the word cunt. It enraged her every time. This time was no exception.

I tried to get past her, but she began to thrust her body at me in tight little jerks, each word coming with the force of her body. Her phrases and the colors of her words were alive with her motions. She reminded me of a dancing little marionette that was controlled by a pair of mad hands. There was no escape from her this time.

Fuck you! I hope you rot in hell! We’re better off without you. Do you know that? We’re better off without you! You don’t care about anyone but yourself! You claimed to love me and the kids, but it’s yourself you love the most, isn’t it, Marcus? You love yourself and fucking around! Each word came faster than the last, and I found myself against the wall with her accusations. She was a roller coaster of hatred. My breath was rising with each dip and fall of the track as it disappeared around the corner. I was unsure of where the ride would eventually end, but I was getting a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

But not anymore, she said with chilling finality, her face inches from mine.

Her hand darted out with lightning speed, and I felt her nails dig into my dick. How her hand had gotten down my pants with such speed, I was not sure. I only knew I felt her grip with sudden and complete certainty.

"Is this what you want to give the slut? How would she like you with no fucking dick? Would that please her? Would Sherrie want you with no dick?" I could feel her hot breath on me with each word, her nails digging in harder. I couldn’t breathe. I had reached that ultimate hill on that coaster, and there was nowhere to go but down.

"Goddamn it, Susie! Let the fuck go!" I cried, trying to grab her arm. My efforts only caused her to cling harder, and I felt the sting of her nails embedded in my cock.

"Susie, let the fuck go!" I wailed.

As I cried, a curtain of blood red passed in front of my eyes. I thought for a moment I might pass out. I grabbed at her shoulders, trying to get her to release me, but she was toxic. There was a poisonous death that shrouded us both as I felt each nail that dug into me, drawing blood.

I tried again in vain to get her to release me. "Susie, let go . . . LET GO!"

My pain drove her pleasure, and I felt my hand draw back. I felt myself go over that edge I swore I would never go, but there was no turning back. My instinct for survival outweighed any second thoughts I might have as my hand fell with force.

The slap came down hard, but the relief was almost instantaneous. Susie stumbled backward away from me, hand held to her face.

Mommy? I heard the soft whimper before I felt it, for it hit me with a physical force when I looked up.

I saw Andre. Ariah stood next to him, pale and quiet. Her dark eyes were distant and accusatory. As inappropriate as it was, I was struck by her exotic beauty and how much she looked like Susie in that moment. I wanted to explain, to say something, but there was simply nothing there.

It’s okay, baby. Mommy is okay. Susie had tears in her eyes as she looked at me. I wanted to hold her, escape her, run as far from her as I could. Mostly, I just wanted it to be like it had been before, when she loved me. I knew it never would be that simple again. My life would never be that simple again.

I was finally able to close my eyes and shut out the glare of the lights, though I could not say what time it was. I lay there in my narrow bunk with the tears of my discarded rationality staining my sheet. It was a beginning, as well as an end. I was just not sure which was which and where I stood in all of it. In my mind there were the voices of my children laughing and calling out in to me. I pictured them young and in a time of unstained innocence. I tried to listen, but their voices became distant and out of focus, fading, and then being replaced by a steady single murmur that beat as a tribal drum. The rhythm quickly overtook the pulse of my thoughts, and as I lay, I tried to understand what it was that was being asked of me. The question had no tangible voice, and I had no answer to a mere sensation. I was left to close my eyes and begin my search in a game with no rules. Where are you, Marcus? Olli olli enfree, come out, come out, where ever you are. Tag, you’re it!

Chapter 2

Wake up, sleepyhead, she whispered. I felt her soft breath against my ear. I moaned and felt a good stretch coming on.

My back was facing her, but I could feel the warmth of her body pressing against mine. I savored it for a moment before rolling over to her clear gaze. I could never get enough of her eyes. They were the color of a clear Alaskan Sea, a frozen sun reflecting an icy perfection. They held every expression she wore, and today, they were cloudless to a fault. I would enjoy it while it lasted, before the storms had a chance to roll in.

Her smile was soft and playful, and I felt my immediate arousal. I smiled back at her, seductively, sliding my arm over her, and gently pulling her body into mine.

Hmmmm, and a good morning to you too, I murmured invitingly, pressing my hips gently against her warmth.

Oh no! she exclaimed with an evil grin, bouncing away from me. We have to get up and get ready! You have to get Ariah to the tournament. Then we have to get out and get a birthday gift. Andre has that party to go to this evening. You didn’t forget, did you? As quickly as the moment had begun, it ended. I could not contain my disappointment.

Susie tried to leap from the bed, but I pulled her back, my hand sliding around her waist and pulling her until I felt the softness of her abdomen next to mine. She acquiesced, if only for a moment, and was once again pliant in my arms.

"Why do we always have to be on the go? What if I said I could plan us a weekend away, next weekend? Just you and me? Mom would watch the kids. We could have time for a little fun, a little one on one?" I let the idea fall with husky need in my voice. My lips were pressed closely against her ear, and I let the whisper tickle her with the possibilities. All I could do was pray she would take the bait.

I did need, I needed my wife. We had vowed, just as every other couple did, that it was for better or worse, richer or poorer, but Susie was silent on the subject. I sensed the tension in her body, and I knew the reply before it ever left her mouth.

You know we have things planned next weekend. You want Ariah to do well in the karate tournament. How’s your mom supposed to get her ready for that? She rolled petulantly to her back, away from me.

The years had put the distance between us, and it seemed to grow with each day. The question rested heavily in the morning air, and I felt that familiar curtain of conflict rise between us. It was like a flag of surrender. She would wave it, and I would retreat.

"Susie, we have to have time for us. I love the kids too, but when is there time for us?" I wanted her to see the answer, the logic of the conclusions I had come to, but there was always that line between us. If I saw black, she saw white, and where the kids were concerned, her answers were the correct ones. I would entreat, she would rationalize. I would give up.

Children are a responsibility, Marcus. We made that commitment when we had them. There’ll be time for us later, she said, very matter-of-factly. Not waiting for a reply, she stretched and then turned her back to me as she sat on the edge of the bed.

It was as though the conversation had never taken place. Perhaps it hadn’t. Maybe I had imagined the whole thing just as I had imagined all the other conversations about us and time away. Each time I brought it up, it became more and more like a distant dream. I found I brought it up less and less often.

I have to get the kids up, she said. It was more of a pronouncement than anything.

I watched her slide from the bed and grab her robe. She moved with a feline grace and a wealth of remarkable beauty. She was thirty-five, and even after two children, there was not a mark on her. She had given birth to Andre, and two days later was back into a bikini. She must have weighed all of ninety-eight pounds. With her cascades of wavy black hair and tan body, she was as stunning now as she had been at eighteen. I figured my hard-on was going to have to wait a little longer. Perhaps I would have to say hello to my hand a bit later. I lay on my side and watched her leave the room, then I rolled back on my back. I let a long sigh escape me through pursed lips.

I stared up at the ceiling as I listened to the sounds of the house. Houses made sounds, like people. They settled into their old age, just like people. They sighed and moaned, sat and gathered dust. It was an unsettling thought. Was that what Susie and I did, settle? I didn’t want to settle like the house, become old and used up. I was forty eight. It was difficult to reconcile with the thought that fifty would be right around the corner. How had I gotten so old so quickly? What the hell was I doing? Begging my wife for a little time with her? Was that where I was at in life?

I was Marcus A. Wolf, attorney at law, living the American dream. Some men liked to say they had it all—only I really did have it all. I had our beautiful home on our quiet little street, nice neighbors, safe neighborhood, Susie, our two kids. I even had Cujo, my toy poodle. He was not just a dog, he was my companion. He spoke to me, and I spoke to him. At times, I swear he was human. He would look at me and cock his head to the side and let out his little whimpers and whines. I knew what each one meant, and I liked to think he understood me too. We had a bond, that was for sure.

I had my boat at Lake Erie, West Harbor. It was one of the nicest harbors in Ohio. We had been there for six years. We spent our summers there from May to September, and the lake was in my blood. It was a part of me as sure as Susie and the kids were. From Thursday to Sunday each weekend, we would be a part of a close-knit group that lived the lake life. The people that docked there were like family. We were all linked to each other through those everyday little occurrences that bind people together. It was like a small neighborhood of its own, and we all shared each other’s successes and failures, like good neighbors did. There were deaths, births, heartache, illnesses, and every other event and emotion that intertwined our lives together. The lake and its people, happenings, became a tightly woven tapestry of our lives. It was one I grew to love and depend upon.

I would walk the beach for hours, looking out at the lake. The sand would catch between my toes, and the lake breeze would become an imagined ghost that drifted along with the boats on the horizon. That phantom would make love to the waves and sing to those boat sails. I thought I could surely lie upon that beach and watch the rest of my life. On days such as those, I would take Ariah and Andre fishing in our little boat, and we would enjoy all year long the perch that we caught. Cujo would even go with us, and we would all be rocked to sleep with the gentle motion of the boat each night.

When it stormed, I would lay there in my bed upon the water and listen to the rain hitting the deck above me. I could sense the turbulence of the water beneath us and imagined how like that swirling water my marriage was. Susie would lie next to me, and I could hear her soft breathing. I would reach out and touch that sleeping warmth and think that Susie was that storm. Her anger and accusations, at times, shattered the peace, just as those storms did the lake on those summer days. Still, there was a bond between us, and we shared it all—the good and the bad. I would allow that hollow rustic creak of the boat to put me to rest, thoughts of Susie and our life together becoming my dreams. How could a man ask for anything more than that?

The lake was full of tiny mysteries I shared with Susie and the kids. That was the way I had wanted it. Childhoods were made with memories, and I wanted my children to remember the beach, the water, the time we spent together as a family. I wanted them to build strong relationships with people who had been a part of their lives forever. I gave them that with the lake. There were people there who watched them grow and would remember them, people who would tell them stories in the years to come. We were a tight-knit family. I did love that. I would never want to give that up. I just wanted a piece of something stronger with Susie. I wanted our love back. I wanted her support, her need for my touch.

I had my hunting when the boat season ended, and that gave me a newfound peace that I so badly needed. Bow season started the first part of October. I would have that small lull between the end of September and the beginning of hunting. My anticipation for that first frost was that of a child on Christmas morning. Hunting was that package I could not wait to open each year. I never tired of that excitement that would come with each autumn. I would be up long before the sun, imagining that crispness of the air and the leaves beneath my feet. It would be a full year before my feet would touch the moist ground of the woods, but it was worth waiting for. I would find my tree stand, and when the sun finally made an appearance, I would be listening to hear the woods stirring to life. I was in those woods from that point on, every chance I had. Susie even supported me in that. You can’t say that about every woman. Most women would complain, but not Susie. Perhaps she was just glad to get rid of me. I didn’t know. So where was the hitch? Why was I restless?

I thought of my partner, Dick Thompson. I couldn’t ask for a better partner. We had a beautiful office in the center of town, and for the last fifteen years we had covered it all. Mansfield was like any other midsized north central town. It offered an eclectic mix of possibilities. I was raised and felt comfortable here, and when Dick and I joined together, we both knew it was right for us.

Dick handled the estate matters, real estate, collections, and bankruptcies, both corporate and personal. I did criminal and domestic relations along with personal injury cases. We were both considered extremely reputable and competent by the public. I was fielding thirty to forty calls per day and actually instituting, with retainers, three to four domestic violence cases per week. The private investigators were coming in with steady criminal cases, and every one from the court personnel to the judges showed me respect. I even had my own television ads. No one else in town had those. They were done so well, most of the other law firms in town even endorsed them.

If you have an attorney, call them. If you don’t, call us at Thompson and Wolf at 522Laws. Why go out of town when full legal service is available right here in the Mansfield area?

You could tune me in fifteen times a week for the last four years, and I would tell anyone that would listen. I was tasteful. Even Susie thought they were tasteful. Not like some of those overzealous used-car salesmen. They were harsh and overbearing—tacky. I was a household name. There was nothing else I could ask for in this life, nothing but the love of my wife.

I could hear Susie waking the kids. There were footsteps and creaking stairs. The house was talking again, and if I could imagine words they would be an expression of weariness. Andre was cranky, my little man of seven. He was not the cute chubby baby anymore. He was growing so fast and changing so much each day.

I don’t want to get up, he cried, his voice husky with sleepiness.

I could hear Susie trying to talk him into getting up. Andre, you have to get up. I know you’re tired, but don’t forget, you have a party tonight! Her voice held a mock expression of eagerness that was meant to ply him into the needed excitement to face his day.

He had had a rough go of it lately sleeping. He was in our room more often at night than in his own. Susie had taken to sleeping with him at times, which drove the wedge of distance in between us even more. She didn’t seem to mind sleeping with Andre, though she did eventually return to me sometime during the night. I was unsure of what bothered me more, Andre not sleeping or Susie not wanting to sleep with me. I heard her leave Andre and walk to the doorway to shout at Ariah.

Ariah, hurry up in the bathroom, your brother has to go! she shouted with impatience.

I heard quick footsteps and then a steady rap on the door as the warning for Ariah to get a move on. I imagined Ariah standing behind the door, smiling her fifteen-year-old antagonistic smile. That was what sisters did, wasn’t it?

Ariah was beautiful, just like her mother; her looks bordering on the exotic with her round Asian eyes and dark olive skin. Like her mother, her hair was black, only long and straight to Susie’s medium length and curls. She wore it almost to her waist, and when she wore her bikini at the lake, she closely resembled a beauty that could have stepped from the silver screen of some James Bond flick.

Her emotions rode the roller coaster, just like her mother’s, but her smile was the most amazing sun that arose with each day. Her mouth was wide and pouty, lips full like ripe berries. I couldn’t resist her when she took that smile out. Neither could the boys. It was a role I had never quite gotten used to, and when she brought the first one home, I wanted to chase him away with a stick. Let a boy try to pluck any kind of berry she had and they would answer to me first.

I never believed in a love that was worn on the outside of the heart until I laid eyes on her. She was mine. I would never believe anything different, and I knew she wouldn’t either. She took my breath away.

I’m pregnant, she said. Her words fell with a blunt force.

"Oh, Susie . . ." I was not sure what I was supposed to say. I watched her eyes fill with tears, and I found myself struggling to think of something to say. Instead, I put my arms around her, pulling her close to me. As I did, I felt the tremble of her body. I wanted to protect her from her fear, take it, and put it somewhere far from us both, but I just was unsure of how I was going to do that.

Susie, I want to say the right things, but I’m just not sure I’m ready to be a dad, I said with uncertainty.

I knew instantly the words were poorly chosen. They came out sounding weak and pathetic, a cliché excuse. She pulled back from me, looking at me with incredulous eyes.

So what are you saying? Are you saying you won’t take responsibility for this baby? she asked. Her eyes were sharp as they scanned my face for my reply. I felt the scorch of her scrutiny, and denial rose in my throat. I wanted to refute my uncertainty and tell her I would help her—only I couldn’t lie to her.

"NO, that’s not what I am saying. I’m only saying, I guess I wasn’t prepared for this. I’m still in my first year of law school. Shit, I just got divorced. I just wasn’t ready for this . . . that’s all." My sense of reason trailed off at the end.

I wanted to be honest, yet reasonable and fair. That’s what law was all about, and that was my world. There were undeniable truths and laws for justice. It was all black-and-white, answers for every question. I needed her to see that. There were alleys and avenues, and each and every one had a name and led a certain direction. I wanted my life to be like that, and this particular path was not on the map.

Do you think I WAS? I’m nineteen, Marcus. She watched me with a hint of whispered bitterness, and I could not suppress a feeling of guilt. I had let her down.

With angered disgust, she rose to leave. I quickly stood to stop her. Susie, don’t go. Let’s discuss this. You know there are options! I was scrambling now, pulling rabbits out of my hat. Anything to stop her from leaving. You could get an abortion. I would pay for it.

She was silent, and I knew she probably would never opt for an abortion anyway, but she couldn’t support a baby. Even at nineteen, she would have a rough time.

I have to go, she said, turning from me abruptly. I didn’t want her to leave, not like this. I let the next words go with reckless abandon. I didn’t care.

Does Steven know? I asked, boldly. It was a question that had to be asked. I had to know. She stopped and turned slowly toward me. Our eyes locked, and I thought for a split second she would not answer.

No, I haven’t told him yet, she replied, her chin raising the slightest in defiance.

Her reply had been spoken defensively and with one long exhalation. I could tell it came as a relief for the words to leave her, as though some invisible burden had been released. I felt a momentary sense of calm. After all, the baby could be Steven’s. They were engaged. He could take the responsibility as easily as I could, more so since they were going to be married, perhaps.

Don’t you think you should? I could not keep the slight hint of contriteness from my voice. As though shamed, she looked down at the floor, breaking our eye contact. Her energy disappeared, and she pulled out a kitchen chair from the table and sank down.

The baby could be Kent’s also. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, and it was my turn to sink down, shot from the sky like a wounded bird. I stumbled backward slightly, my feet hitting the back of my living room chair. I let my knees buckle as I sat, my breath escaping in one long gasp.

What? I stuttered. What do you mean, Kent’s? Kent who? My brain registered a dull sense of shock as I attempted to recall if she had ever mentioned a Kent. I had known about Steven, of course; and while we were not exclusive to one another, I had not thought there to be others.

Don’t act innocent, Marcus. Do you think I’ve thought for one minute I was the only one YOU were seeing? Her bold declaration of our lack of fidelity to each other caught me off guard, and it was my turn to look away. It was a given, if even an unspoken one.

I love YOU, she pointed out. It was an observation as simple as one would point out a bright red bird in a tree to a nearby onlooker. However, it was not a declaration that I was prepared for. Love was not supposed to come into play here.

I looked back up at her, and she was staring at me with her crystal eyes. They were the eyes of a child, yet there was a depth to them I had not noticed before. Perhaps I had been ignorant and never looked beyond the beautiful exterior. I got up and paced over to the window, looking out. The street was empty today. The air had become bitter with the cold, and there was a light snow falling. The window fogged with my breath, and I wiped the mist away angrily. Why was I suddenly angry?

Of course there had been others. Susie and I were not committed to each other. She understood that. I was not in love with her, and I had never pretended to be. She was free to see others, and so was I. That was the way I liked it—no rules, no jealousy. What we had was lust, plain and simple. Lust was easy to explain. It was easy to follow. It was pleasure. You enjoyed each other, and that was it. You moved on to better things, better people. Nothing more, nothing less—until now. That fact was undeniable, staring us both dead center between the eyes.

What are you going to do? I asked. My breath fogged the window again, but I didn’t bother to clear it this time. Instead, I turned and looked at Susie.

Her chin was up in a defiance I had scarcely noticed about her before. Suddenly, I wanted to hold her. I was across the room in a few steps, kneeling before her. As I pulled her from the chair into my arms, both of us tumbled toward the floor with the effort. There was a trembling essence within her body that I felt, and I was unsure if it was a manifestation of her fear and uncertainty, or if I had caught the edge of a wave of desire. I only knew she turned her tear-stained face to mine, and I became lost in my own undeniable need.

This is my baby, Marcus. Do you understand? It doesn’t matter who the father is, this baby is MINE! Her passion and vehemence took me off guard. It will not go away. It will not be gotten rid of. It’s mine, and I won’t make it just GO away! she whispered, her lips trembling as she spoke. I had to taste that iridescence, capture it, if only for that second.

I took her words away with my lips, pressing them against hers. I felt her breath become lost in mine, and I did not relent until a