Butterflies Never Die

By Trudy Falls

Butterflies Never Die is the first in a series of books of one woman's account of her personal journey to find love and happiness. Written for a mature audience, it chronicles the twin lives of her and her future lover, growing up in the same city, but never meeting until later in life. Often humorous and poignant, the author describes the exploration of her own sexuality, culminating in her finding love in a most unusual but gratifying way. This book resonates with all women, as well as men who seek to pleasure their own lovers on both an emotional and physical level.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781646289264

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Butterflies Never Die

Trudy Falls

Copyright © 2020 Trudy Falls

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-64628-925-7 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-64628-926-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

THIRTY

THIRTY-ONE

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTY-THREE

THIRTY-FOUR

THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-SIX

THIRTY-SEVEN

THIRTY-EIGHT

THIRTY-NINE

FORTY

FORTY-ONE

FORTY-TWO

FORTY-THREE

FORTY-FOUR

FORTY-FIVE

FORTY-SIX

FORTY-SEVEN

FORTY-EIGHT

FORTY-NINE

FIFTY

FIFTY-ONE

FIFTY-TWO

FIFTY-THREE

FIFTY-FOUR

FIFTY-FIVE

FIFTY-SIX

FIFTY-SEVEN

FIFTY-EIGHT

FIFTY-NINE

SIXTY

SIXTY-ONE

SIXTY-TWO

SIXTY-THREE

SIXTY-FOUR

SIXTY-FIVE

SIXTY-SIX

SIXTY-SEVEN

SIXTY-EIGHT

SIXTY-NINE

SEVENTY

SEVENTY-ONE

SEVENTY-TWO

SEVENTY-THREE

SEVENTY-FOUR

SEVENTY-FIVE

SEVENTY-SIX

SEVENTY-SEVEN

SEVENTY-EIGHT

SEVENTY-NINE

EIGHTY

EIGHTY-ONE

EIGHTY-TWO

EIGHTY-THREE

EIGHTY-FOUR

EIGHTY-FIVE

EIGHTY-SIX

EIGHTY-SEVEN

EIGHTY-EIGHT

EIGHTY-NINE

NINETY

NINETY-ONE

NINETY-TWO

NINETY-THREE

NINETY-FOUR

NINETY-FIVE

NINETY-SIX

NINETY-SEVEN

NINETY-EIGHT

NINETY-NINE

ONE HUNDRED

ONE HUNDRED ONE

ONE HUNDRED TWO

ONE HUNDRED THREE

ONE HUNDRED FOUR

ONE HUNDRED FIVE

ONE HUNDRED SIX

ONE HUNDRED SEVEN

ONE HUNDRED EIGHT

ONE HUNDRED NINE

ONE HUNDRED TEN

ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN

ONE HUNDRED TWELVE

ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN

ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN

ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN

ONE HUNDRED SIXTEEN

ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN

ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN

ONE HUNDRED NINETEEN

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-ONE

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-TWO

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-THREE

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FOUR

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SIX

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-SEVEN

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-EIGHT

ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-NINE

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-ONE

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-TWO

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-THREE

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-FOUR

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-FIVE

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SIX

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SEVEN

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-EIGHT

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-NINE

ONE

What are we doing? I asked although my ESP and my general woman’s intuition told me exactly what we were doing.

Just come this way, was his reply as I found my hand inside of his.

Holding hands was certainly not unusual for us; in fact, not holding hands would be unusual. In any event, I knew that something was different. Was it the slight trembling of his hand, or was I just imagining that?

We walked silently down the hall of his law office, very slowly, as I felt his hand gently curve around my waist. I could feel a slight tingle in my breasts and a fullness in my vag. Was he getting hard?

We stopped at the conference room, the only light being the lazy late-afternoon sun peeking through the blinds. Suddenly, our mouths were together, and we engaged in the start of a very long, very delightful, and very delicious kiss. His hands were firmly holding my back, our bodies pressed together, and I could feel the front of his pelvis grinding into me. He was very hard, and I so wanted him to take off my clothes, but first he told me, I love you. I love you completely and deeply. I love you now, and I will love you forever. Dan was always talking sweet to me, but never had I heard anything from any guy like this.

I started to get wet. I wanted him inside me—now. But we took off each other’s clothes very slowly, with each other’s kisses on our naked bodies, knowing that this would be the first of years of happy lovemaking ahead. He guided me onto the conference room table and was a complete gentleman; he was first on bottom as I slowly lowered my wet, aching womanhood on his manhood. Not that I hadn’t felt it before, but somehow it just seemed larger than usual. His hands grabbed my butt as I lay mostly flat on top of him. We developed a nice rhythm, and our moaning was soft and sweet. Anybody could have walked in on us on this late Sunday afternoon, but we knew that wouldn’t happen. God would look over us as our bodies became one. We switched positions, but instead of lying on top of me, he grabbed my ankles, held them up in the air, and slowly thrust in and out of me. His thrusting became more rapid, and my joy and release was overcome by a sweet orgasm, which was quickly followed by another. My titties were hard, his manhood was hard, and then suddenly he came; it had been a long time for him. Afterward, we just lay in each other’s arms, still on the conference room table, and gently nodded off.

I had never enjoyed sex before, but now, after my fiftieth birthday, I was absolutely, positively hooked on sex with this man.

TWO

He came home one night in one of his typical moods. Nothing was right; he was screaming and yelling about everything, and the kids were hiding.

Where’s dinner?

Jim, I just got home. I cringed after I said this because I knew from the past that this comment would only enrage him further.

I make the money, and you just can’t get food on the table?

Listen, I work too, and I take the kids to and from day care, and I clean the house.

What do you mean? This house looks like a pigsty!

I started to cry and just shut down. He had won again. He always won. If he didn’t win, things would only be worse.

I’m going to watch my show, and you better have dinner on the table in thirty minutes!

I didn’t know what to do, except to do what he said. I had left him shortly after the birth of our second child—could have been the smartest thing I had ever done if I hadn’t gone back. But I soon realized the difficulties of being a single mom with no family support. Dad worked, Mom kept the house and played bingo, went bowling, etc., with her friends. She just couldn’t be inconvenienced to help out. He sent me flowers to woo me back—his standard MO when even he knew that he had pushed too far. So I relented and went back; he was nice for a while, but as the old saying goes, a tiger does not change his stripes. Then Mom criticized me for going back to Jim, not realizing her own inconsistency. Whatever. Women had put up with worse, right? Most men were troglodytes, right? Except my dad—a working man who was kind to everyone and somehow put up with Mom’s antics.

THREE

So you may ask, why did I crawl back into bed with Jim? His personality sucked, and he was lousy in bed (although I evidently pleased him since he had no problem coming). But I loved children. I had two boys whom I adored, and I really wanted a girl. Let the old goat please himself, that was okay, as long as I got the girl. And unbelievably, even miraculously, a year later, I had my girl. We named her Abigail—Abby for short—and I always called her my diamond. Now diamonds are not perfect; there always seems to be some flaw or imperfection, but a little work and polish can make a gem truly outstanding.

FOUR

I sure hope it’s a boy!

I was just beginning to go into labor and the last thing I was thinking was the sex of the child. If Jim wanted a boy, that’s fine, so long as the baby was healthy.

From the beginning, Jim wanted a boy to carry forward the name. If it was a boy, he wanted the son to be named after him. You know, firstborn boy and all that meant to him. Indeed, Jimmie was the apple of Jim’s eye, did well in school, and, from all outward appearances, was normal and well-adjusted. Just a good kid. But unfortunately, even good kids can stumble when presented with a tough challenge.

FIVE

From the beginning, John was different. Not merely because he was the middle child but because, even at an early age, he displayed ADHD. Couldn’t sit still. Always in motion, quick to react. And unfortunately, could never measure up to Jim’s standards. As you will see, whether it was Jim’s negative feelings toward John or something inside of John, or both, trouble lay ahead.

SIX

Ms. Watson, you need to come to the office.

As usual, Jim was away, out of the country, doing classified stuff. His company sold radar to US allies—at least that’s what Jim said. He was always happiest when he was away, doing his secret stuff, whatever that might be. He had a big expense account and hobnobbed with important foreign leaders, and it was always a letdown for him when he came home. Actually, things were happiest when he was away—no yelling, no put-downs, no weird sex.

So Jim was away, which would make the visit to St. Thomas easier. Not sure what it was all about, but whatever it was, I thought I could handle it. Boy, was I wrong.

Ms. Watson, your daughter stole an American Girl doll.

I was stunned. Why would she steal? At first I tried to stick up for Abby, but the nun was insistent.

You need to do something. Stealing is just not acceptable at St. Thomas More. We not only educate our students but we also try to instill in them VALUES, and if the children are not getting those VALUES at home, then there is a problem.

I started to cry, then just bawled right there in the office. Abby was only six, but she had purloined something of infinite value to a child—a doll. And not just any doll but an American Girl doll, one of the priciest dolls on the market. I was not going to argue with Sister Anne Marie, but where was this coming from?

Trudy, have you seen this behavior before?

I wracked my brain to answer the ultimate question—why? If Jim were here, he would blame me, but I was really trying to figure out two things: why she did this and what would Jim say.

I said the first honest thing that came to mind, and it was right on target, Sister Anne Marie, I will have to pray on this and ask for the Lord’s guidance.

Good idea, and please pray hard because this cannot happen again.

As I drove Abby home, I didn’t know what to say. Finally, I broke the silence. Abby, do you know that stealing is wrong?

She shrugged her shoulders. La la la la, she sang over and over. This was bad.

Mommy, why are you crying?

I don’t know, Abby. Mommy is just very sad.

Don’t be sad, Mommy.

What would Jim say? Did I have the strength to tell him? Could I not mention it? Fat chance on that happening. I would have to tell him because, frankly, I needed his help.

SEVEN

They’re both so cute!

If I heard it once, I heard it a thousand times. And it was nice to hear. In fact, it was great. To have your sons be the heartthrobs of every girl in school, well, it made you proud. Not that looks are everything, but it reflected more than just looks. They were polite to their elders, they dressed in a nice preppy style, and as far as appearances were concerned, everything looked fine. And it was great to see them interacting with their peers. Our house became the party house and safe house. The kids could congregate in the basement and play their music, and we did not frisk them when they came in through the basement door. I tolerated the drinking to a certain extent, but no drugs. I went through the same analysis that every parent goes through; if the kids are going to drink, better that they drink in a safe place, where they can be monitored. And all car keys were collected from the kids so that I could determine who (if anyone) was safe to drive home.

The parents were grateful. Not only were the kids safe but they were also out a long time—sometimes until 5:00 AM. Jim would go to sleep early—It’s your responsibility!—but I really didn’t mind. I would talk to the kids and cook breakfast for the kids. I truly saw the good in all of them. When they left, I gave everyone hugs just to let them know that they were loved and appreciated. They were all God’s children.

EIGHT

Jim’s trip to who knows where finally ended. I wished he had stayed longer because I absolutely dreaded talking to him about Abby and the American Girl doll. When the driver dropped him off at the house, he was already grumpy, jet-lagged, and hungry, and he actually seemed a little tipsy. He barely said hello before he launched into another lecture about the male-dominated culture of the Middle East.

Where’s my meal? You know that in the Middle East, the wife always has the meal ready for the husband no matter when the husband returns home.

I knew better than to interrupt. Better for the volcano to blow out completely before saying anything about Abby.

And the wife always walks BEHIND the husband as a sign of respect. Pause. And she does all the chores, including walking miles to obtain water and carry it back on her head.

Clearly, Jim had been drinking. If he wanted to live in the Middle East, all I could think was, good riddance. It would be easier raising the kids, but that daydream ended when I thought about the time I left him before and had only two children.

When was I going to tell him about Abby?

And the wife has to squat in a corner, serving the husband, until the meal is finished.

Should I tell him now while he is drunk?

And only after the husband is fully SATISFIED is the wife allowed to eat.

Jim, Abby stole another girl’s doll.

I think Jim was shocked more about the fact that I interrupted him than Abby’s transgression.

What was that?

I said, Abby stole another girl’s doll, an American Girl doll.

Jim was silent for a moment. The proverbial pin could be heard hitting the floor. He looked at me.

And then he shrugged his shoulders. No comment, no change of expression, just shrugged his shoulders.

Jim, did you hear what I said?

Yes, I heard what YOU SAID. What do you want me to do about it?

We need to talk to her about this. It’s not a good sign.

First of all, how did you find out about it?

One of the nuns called, and—

Oh, one of the NUNS called. Not a priest, but a NUN. And did this nun have any evidence?

She said that the doll was found in Abby’s cubby.

Well, there you go! Nobody saw her take it, right?

Yes, Jim, but—

Don’t you ‘Yes, Jim’ me. She could have been framed, lack of chain of custody.

Oh my Lord, what had I started?

And what did you say? Did you stick up for Abby?

Jim, it’s not about sticking up for anyone. It’s about our daughter having a problem.

Having a problem! We all have problems. I think the problem is that you didn’t defend your daughter!

I couldn’t take it. I left the room, crying. Jim then chased after me, continuing the rant, but at this point, I could not hear a word he was saying.

NINE

I NEED FOUR DOZEN CREAM PUFFS FOR TOMORROW!

Jim, it’s late. And I’m not sure I can.

You have to do it, I need it for the company picnic tomorrow!

And that was that. Of course, we had known about the company picnic for weeks and no mention of the cream puffs until this evening. And it was after 10:00 PM. It had been a long week at work, dealing with a lot of petty backstabbing. And anyone who has made cream puffs, or has attempted to make cream puffs, knows it’s a long and tricky process. And they had to be perfect or else…

So I stayed up and made the cream puffs. Considering how tired I was, I was amazed at how well they turned out.

The next morning, we drove to the company picnic. Fortunately, my mom agreed to take the kids so I could have three less things to worry about. When we got to the picnic, Jim said, I’ll take them, and he did. Maybe he was being a gentleman.

Jim made a point of delivering and distributing the cream puffs. For once, I had some peace of mind, sitting and talking with some of the girls. I gently closed my eyes, resting. Awhile later, Bonnie, one of Jim’s coworkers, came up to me.

Trudy, those cream puffs are great. Everyone loves them!

Oh, thank you. I wanted to make sure that I did something special for the picnic.

Bonnie looked at me quizzically. You made them?

Well, of course I made them. You can’t buy them at the store at midnight!

(Pause.)

Jim said that he made them.

What? Jim didn’t make them. I stayed up all last night to make them!

Uh-oh.

Hey, Jim, come over here!

Jim was close by. Yes, Bonnie! Jim kinda liked Bonnie. Thought she had a nice body (wives can always tell), so this was going to be a double whammy. I knew I was in for a tongue-lashing.

Jim, YOUR WIFE says that she made those delicious cream puffs!

Jim was flabbergasted and utterly speechless. As his jaw dropped to the ground, he turned red. It was like he was at a strip club, was getting really excited, and then suddenly realized that the stripper was a guy. Soon dozens of people were coming by to thank me.

I knew it had to be you. No man can bake like that!

I don’t know why Jim wouldn’t give you credit!

Can you give me your recipe?

Jim grabbed my hand. C’mon, let’s go. Now!

Of course, it was his own damn fault. But now, it was going to be my problem for the rest of the night.

Why didn’t you just go with it?

What do you mean? Lie?

Look, your job is to make me look good and not to steal the limelight from me.

Jim, I was up all night fixing those cream puffs, and—

Don’t tell me what you did. Think about all that I do.

And the rant continued as we entered the car and drove home. And he probably wanted sex that night too.

TEN

TRUDY FALLS, YOU GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW.

I loved my mother, but mothers and daughters sometimes have friction, sometimes more than friction. This was one of those times.

Mom, I can’t wear this outside! Rebecca and Kathy will make fun of me!

I don’t care what Rebecca and Kathy think. You are my daughter, and you are not going outside looking like that!

In the late ’60s, as Jim Dylan once sang, the times were a changing. Suddenly, outfits that looked good several years ago were hopelessly out of style. Nothing is more important for any child, particularly a girl, to fit in and to even look hip—regardless of the age. Rebecca and Kathy always looked hip. I knew that their parents made a lot more money than my dad, but still, why did my mom insist upon dressing me up like an old fuddy-duddy? Worried about too early puberty? Just a stick in the mud? I never figured that one out. All I knew was that it was Mom’s way and Mom’s way only.

I never went out that day. I stayed home. I knew that if Rebecca and Kathy saw me in that outfit, the gossiping would be endless, and I barely fit in anyways.

It’s not that Rebecca and Kathy were snooty; they were good friends. But there always would be a gap between their family and ours. Their dads worked for banks and important white-collar businesses. My dad worked at the steel mill. And this was when blue-collar workers were generally looked down upon. Why couldn’t they get better jobs? No ambition, no sense of direction? A generation later, when those jobs were gone, people would reminisce not about the good old days but more about the fact that the jobs paid well enough for one of the parents to stay at home. We didn’t have enough money for vacations, and Daddy worked a lot of hours, but we were able to live in the same Jefferson neighborhood as Rebecca and Kathy although their houses were bigger.

Then of course, there were complications involving my fraternal twin, Tim. Mom definitely liked Tim more. Not sure why, but probably because he did well in school. I failed first grade because I wouldn’t draw between the lines. Tim never had that type of issue and eventually became the first person in our family to graduate college. So he was held up as the example of ACHIEVEMENT, and I was supposedly destined to be unemployed. But God has ways of changing course even without us knowing or realizing the change when it happens.

*****

Mrs. Brown, I can’t find my clothes.

What a scene. A pool party of nine-year-old boys and one of them had stolen Dan’s clothes.

I-I-I’m sure we can find them. Mrs. Brown was staying calm while looking at the naked nine-year-old standing in front of her. Dan, go back into the house, and I will see what I can do.

The fact that Dan had somehow lost his clothes was bad enough; the other boys had played a very mean trick on him. The trick was compounded by him appearing buck naked in his birthday suit before a classmate’s mom. The laughter from the other boys was uproarious, and by noon the following Monday, the entire school was aware.

Hey, Dan, ever find your clothes?

Hey, Dan, you like Mrs. Brown?

Hey, Dan, can you do a replay?

All followed by giggling, laughing, and outright taunting. Fighting broke out between several boys and Dan until one of the teachers intervened.

Anderson, to the principal’s office!

The teachers realized that Dan was not responsible for the fighting, and the original incident did occur off campus; thus, the teachers held Dan in detention in study hall the rest of the day as a merciful way to shield him from the ridicule.

Eventually, word of what happened trickled down to Dan’s parents. Dan’s mom profusely apologized to Mrs. Brown while secretly wondering what kind of mom Mrs. Brown was to allow things to get so out of hand. For her own right, Mrs. Brown could not keep her lips tight, told her husband, who somehow punished his son while telling everyone in his exclusive country club what had happened. It seemed that half of Cleveland either knew the story or some variation of the same. Soon, Dan was simply blackballed from attending any party or social event as the rumor mill transformed the story into an incident of public urination. Years later, when streaking became popular, the legend morphed into Dan somehow engaging in prepubescent masturbation. Fittingly, Dan received the tongue-in-cheek award of being his school’s first streaker.

ELEVEN

It came as a complete shock to me. Although their father had smoked when they were growing up, I just wasn’t ready to deal with it. Nor did I expect it. No family does.

Jimmie was in the eleventh grade when I first noticed. Not smoking. I could not stop him from that due to his father’s example. It was much more insidious and was destined to bedevil my children for many years of their lives.

I cleaned the kids’ rooms regularly, as with the rest of the house. I never complained about it because I wanted a clean house. I felt great pride about it. And as they grew older, they became better at keeping their rooms tidy, which was why I was so surprised one day to smell a strange odor in Jimmie’s room. I hadn’t smelled it in years, but I knew what it was.

At first, I didn’t want to confront Jimmie. He was such a good kid, never got in trouble, straight A student. Could a little experimentation be so harmful? So I let it go for a while. But I kept on smelling that odor, and I became more interested in shows on TV and articles in magazines about parents losing their kids that I just couldn’t hold it in. Finally, I blurted it out one day, Jimmie, are you smoking pot?

Jimmie looked a little stunned. Why would you say that?

Because I love you and your siblings more than my life itself, and I don’t want you to get hooked on drugs.

Mom, it’s just pot. Everybody does it.

Well, that didn’t make me feel any better. My first high school boyfriend was a very kind and sweet soul. We had great times together. Unfortunately, he OD’d on heroin. I didn’t even know he was using. He was found in a public park. A lot of questions were pointed in my direction.

Even worse, the pot that Jimmie and his friends were smoking was far different than the pot of my generation. Now the pot was being laced with other stuff to get the kids hooked—very sinister marketing. And now, my firstborn, with unlimited potential, was taking a bad turn.

Jimmie, you have to stop.

He didn’t say anything.

Where do you get the money?

Still no response.

This was not good. Jimmie and I always had the ability to talk freely about anything, from drinking to sex. Now I wasn’t able to see behind the door he refused to open.

Later, I complained to Jim. I should have expected his reaction.

How do you know that?

OMG, was he being Jim the Lawyer again?

Jim, I know the smell, and you do too!

Well, I will talk to him, but it didn’t harm us, did it?

Then I just cut loose. I told him about the TV, about the magazines, about what the dealers do to the pot until he growled at me, Trudy, it’s your fault, not mine.

What?

You know I travel a lot. It’s your job for the kids to grow up right. If they screw up, it’s your fault.

This was not Jim the Lawyer. This was Jim who only took credit for the good things. When it was clear that Jimmie would be a great student, Jim would always take the credit—his genes, his guidance, his leadership. All bad things were caused by me, and thus, my problem.

Please talk to him.

I will, but do a better job when I’m gone.

Speechless, I left the room.

TWELVE

So what were Jim’s good qualities? Better not think too hard.

Certainly, he must have loved God and country. After all, he took his family to church every Sunday, like all good Catholics, and had a security clearance, all of which must have meant that he was trustworthy, right? On the surface, and to the outside world, Jim seemed well-adjusted, even prosperous. Built a five-thousand-square-foot house in a suburb outside of Cleveland, had four cars, including a Corvette and a Porsche, and his children went to private schools. Threw lavish parties around the backyard pool. The vacations were long and expensive. He and the kids were impeccably dressed.

But peeling back the layers of the onion revealed a different story, somewhat alarming and a little sinister.

Going to church every Sunday was following the mandate from Rome that every Catholic had to go to church on Sunday, no ifs, ands, or buts. Unless you had a DAMN GOOD REASON, you had to be in that pew every Sunday. A good reason for not going to church was that you were in the hospital or bedridden, but you still felt GUILTY if you didn’t go. Now I believe in God and believe in most of the teachings of the church, but I am firmly convinced that what is in your heart is more important than whether your knees ache from Sunday service. Call me a cafeteria Catholic, but that’s the way I am.

Jim was more the checklist Catholic. He believed that if you participated in the rituals and did not overtly reject Jesus, then you would go to heaven. That is, if there was a heaven. He was very unsure if there was an afterlife but wanted to do the minimal participation and check off all the boxes so that, somehow, he could make his claim to be with his parents in heaven.

Problem was, Jim didn’t really believe. And he didn’t believe that the Ten Commandments applied to him. And even if he believed that the Ten Commandments applied to him, he could argue his way around them. He considered lying to be a high art form, not a transgression of a commandment. Stealing was okay, so long as you either didn’t get caught or had a good lawyer. As far as honoring your spouse, he refused to answer in our divorce proceeding whether he had ever committed adultery. All the commandments were relative or applicable to all, except him.

The security clearance was required of his job and only required that he disclose a lot of stuff. Once he disclosed at the beginning of his adult life, that was it. No continuing background checks or investigations and definitely not including any ongoing financial analysis of his assets and liabilities. For if there had ever been the most rudimentary investigation of his financial situation, some troubling facts would have surfaced. The first and second mortgage on the house literally had the house upside down and underwater. His alleged success in the stock market was no more than a cover-up for the massive amount of loans he received from his sister, loans of which I knew nothing until the divorce proceeding.

In hindsight, I should have asked more questions, but finances were never my strong suit or my interest. I never paused to think how a combined income of never more than $150,000 per year could pay for all these goodies. Whenever I would ask questions, he would blow me off. You don’t understand was his favorite comeback. And Jim was smart, always did well in school, and I could not keep up with him mentally. Jim also perpetuated the myth that he was smart and I was stupid, both to me and to the children. But I should have realized that things were not adding up. I had to give my entire paycheck to Jim, and he would give me back $200; everything else had to go to pay the bills. However, the bills were always for his stuff, like cars and clothes. I had to even take a second job at Dress Barn for minimum wage. And we were always short of money, especially when we returned from vacation.

How much he loved country was debatable. He absolutely enjoyed the liberties and benefits of America but also applauded the male dominance of other cultures and countries and complained about affirmative action for women and minorities. His view of the perfect society were American freedoms for white males only; if you weren’t a white male, you really should have no rights. He kinda lost the point that it is our diversity which makes us the strongest and most desirable country on earth. His view that America should only be for the minority, which is white and male, made it seem that what he really wanted was an apartheid regime, such as South Africa once had.

THIRTEEN

I always had my deepest reservoir of sympathy for my middle child, John. While his siblings did well academically, John was more of the odd man out. Jim and I had numerous school conferences as to why John wasn’t learning; he even received an IEP, but things just did not improve for John. He was always someone who was better working with his hands than sitting at a desk. Jim gave up on John and, instead of trying to encourage John, just shouted and screamed at him.

Once, Jim said to John that he was never going to amount to anything, that the best he could hope for was to work as a garbage man. Although a garbage man can make good money and would normally be part of a union, Jim considered it to be the most demeaning occupation imaginable. Jim even accused me of having an affair and that John could not be his son because John could not have Jim’s superior genes. Whatever, that was an impossible argument to win until the good Lord told me to ask Jim to submit to a paternity test; Jim wouldn’t do it, and I won perhaps the only argument I had with Jim during our marriage.

Unfortunately, the expensive private school to which we sent John was also getting tired of him. John just did not fit in with the other students and needed to leave. Not that the school thought that it could not help John but that he did not fit in. Couldn’t hack it academically and had picked up Jimmie’ s drug pot habit. A little too snooty for me. So I agreed to work with John every night to bring up his grades, and I had a plan.

It was true that I was not an academic genius; Jim had it all over me in the brains department. But I had the will, the desire, the desperation, to help John succeed, and often, the will to succeed is the most valuable asset of all. So we studied every night no matter how tired I was from work, preparing dinner and cleaning up, and those Es turned into Ds. Not much improvement, but even small victories were major victories, and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, if we could just push a little harder, a little longer, a little smarter.

Then came the big test. John had an exam in his toughest subject, social studies. Not sure why it was his most difficult subject, but it was. He was barely passing, but I figured if we just outstudied the other kids, maybe we could pull out a miracle, like a C. So we went for it. The teacher told the class two weeks in advance what chapter the test would be on. We read that chapter every night for two weeks. I asked him questions, and he started to get them right, and all of a sudden, I thought to myself, Hey, my John can do this.

The day of the test came. I could see that John was more eager to go to school than usual. He had confidence. We started talking over the fine points on the way to school. Even Jimmie, who was also riding in the car, was impressed. How did his brother get so smart all of a sudden?

That day at work was especially difficult. I was physically tired from helping out John so much over the last two weeks. My supervisor threw a tantrum at me about something, and frankly, it was in one ear and out