This is the fifth chapter of a story that will run all week.

Whomever had parked the Corvette in the driveway had the temerity to park it right smack dab in the middle.  Chad had to park the Gladiator on the street, out in front of the house.  The license plate on the back end of the Corvette was particularly odd.  It read JAY-ME.  More like a verb than a noun.  Then it dawned on him that the car must belong to Jamie, Prudence’s friend from college that was in town visiting.  ‘She needs to learn how to park,’ he thought.  ‘Or maybe she isn’t planning on staying long.’

Both those thoughts vanished the minute he opened the front door.  There, standing in the middle of the living room was Prudence with her arms around a guy Chad had never seen before.  He didn’t know what stunned him most, seeing his wife in the arms of a handsome stranger, or the fact that all the toys had been picked up off the floor of the living room for the first time since they’d moved in.

“Oh, Chad!” Prudence yelled, obviously startled at the interruption.  

Chad stepped back on the front porch, closing the door behind him.  It’s like Lucinda had hit him upside the head with the Louisville Slugger she keeps by the Bunn-O-Matic.  He couldn’t see straight.  His head was pounding.  Morningwood was spinning in circles around him as he stumbled back towards the Gladiator.  He opened the driver’s door and crawled up into the cab.  He saw Prudence come out the door and yell something towards him as he turned the key in the ignition.

As he put it in gear, she was shouting and waving her arms.  All he could hear was the pounding in his ears.

He rounded the corner out of the subdivision at a faster rate of speed than he should have.  He slowed down as he saw the blinking lights of the squad car up ahead.  It was Officer Phil and Sonny “Deer Sausage” James.  They were hooking up the wretched Dodge Aries wagon to Sonny’s wrecker to haul it off to the impound yard.  “They can haul it to Hell, for all I care,” he said as he passed by.

Chad drove aimlessly through Fort Stockton like a man with no future.  He wound up at the Eggs & Ammo.  Not by plan, but by default.  He vaguely recognized the kid behind the counter.  “What’s your name, kid?”

“Peterson, sir.  Colt Peterson.”

“You’re Pastor Peterson’s kid, aren’t you?” Chad asked him.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Your dad’s a good man,” Chad told him.

“Yes, Sir.  Kind of a square, but yeah, he is.”

“You married?” Chad asked him as the kid rang up the 12-pack of Pearl.

“No Sir.  Going to school.  Working on my degree.”

“Keep it that way,” Chad told him.  “If it’s got tits or tires, it’s going to give you trouble.”  The Peterson kid chuckled, not used to people who knew his dad saying such a thing.

“Sorry Sir, your credit card has been declined.”

“Probably the damn massage,” Chad said under his breath.  “Put me over the credit limit.”  He thought about Raul working out Mrs. Drury’s kinks while he fished a twenty out of the back of his wallet that he kept hidden for emergencies.  “Here you go, kid.”

The Peterson kid started to put the twelve-pack in a plastic bag.  “Save it,” Chad told him.  “Think about the environment.”  The picture of the fire department hosing Dr. Pepper and parking lot striping paint down the storm sewer was not lost on him.  The ironies kept piling up.  “Thanks, kid.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Back in the Gladiator with the 12-pack Pearl riding shotgun, Chad headed out to Lake Leon.  He figured that was the place he could drink the most with the least chance of hurting himself, or anyone else.  He reached down and turned on the radio only to hear Linda Ronstadt wailing out You’re No Good on KFSX.  He had two beers down before she finished the song.  In between a couple scraggly mesquite trees twenty feet from the lake, the other ten Pearls disappeared before Chad passed out in the Gladiator.

Friday morning he woke up and looked around, not sure where he was. He got out of the turquoise truck, threw up before he could pee and felt his body ache from having slept sitting up in a truck all night. He wished the gear shifter had slipped into gear and the Gladiator would have rolled into the lake while he slept. Put him out of his misery.

He glanced at his watch.  The one Prudence had given him for their first anniversary.  He turned it over and saw the engraving of a pig and a zucchini on the back.  He chuckled at her sense of humor and knew he would miss it.  He figured he may as well go into work again, sure this would be the day the Manager would be back and put him out of his misery.  He hadn’t eaten and was hungry.  His credit card was over the limit; the last stash of hidden cash wasted on a 12-pack that was spewed all over the ground at his feet.  He headed towards the ATM at Prairie View State Bank.

A twenty dollar bill popped out of the machine along with the receipt showing the balance in the account was less than five hundred dollars. The house payment would be auto-debited next week and there wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it. He headed over to the Dairy Twin and got a couple breakfast tacos. He missed his boys. Truth be told, he missed Prudence as well. He was dancing down a razor thin line of love and hate for the woman that had bore his children and then broken her vows in the very house he worked so hard to provide. The outfit she’d been wearing when Chad walked in on her and Jayme Corvette was as sexy as he’d seen her wearing in forever.

There were a lot of cars in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly for a Friday when he pulled in. He parked over near the Grounds for Divorce. When Chad walked into the front door, Mrs. Drury was at Register 4, chipper as usual. She finished checking out Mrs. Blumpkin and turned to greet him.

“Oh dear,” she said.  “You have egg on your face.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No, really,” she replied.  “There’s scrambled eggs all over your face, Honey.  Did you sleep in those clothes?  Honey, you look like a hammered goat turd.  Go back to the break room and clean your bad self up.  I don’t know how to tell you this Honey, but you smell pretty bad.”

More irony, Chad thought to himself.  “Have you seen the Manager?”

“Still no sign of him. But we’ve been busier than a one legged man in a butt-kickin’ contest this morning. Had to have the butcher come help out on Register 3,” Mrs. Drury reported. “And a call came in that the suits from the Corporate Office were coming in tomorrow.”

They never had to open Register 3. And he couldn’t remember the suits ever coming to Fort Stockton before. “Figures,” Chad thought to himself, “we finally get busy and they make a special trip to can me.”

“Oh, and Prudence has been by several times this morning.  Said she needed to talk to you real bad.  Seemed frazzled,” Mrs. Drury told Chad.  “When did you guys get a Corvette convertible?  Good lookin’ car, but kind of impractical with two young-in’s, don’t you think?  That feller she was with was a looker.  Friend of yours?”

The day dragged on like a log being pulled through a molasses river by a three legged mule. Only the steady stream of customers made it bearable. Chad spent as much time in the break room as he could. Mrs. Drury brought him a tooth brush and some wipes right after lunch, so he could clean himself up a little. Whenever there wasn’t a rush at the registers, Chad spent time out back at the dumpster breaking down cardboard boxes and tossing in expired produce. As soon as six o’clock hit, he said goodbye to Mrs. Drury and headed towards the Gladiator.

The last thing Chad wanted or needed was a repeat performance at Lake Leon, drowning his sorrows in Pearl. He vowed not to tope two nights in a row. He wanted to see his boys, but wasn’t ready to look Prudence in the eye. He wanted to confront Jamie, but was afraid of where that might lead. He considered going to the Lucky Lady, but the thought of a beer made his stomach turn. He thought about calling Pastor Peterson. Just to talk. Maybe get some guidance. But wasn’t up to the embarrassment of explaining the nosedive his life had taken. He considered going into the Grounds for Divorce and just getting a cup of coffee, but looked in the window and saw New Guy sitting there by himself. That was the last thing he needed.

Chad steered the Gladiator back to the ATM and got enough cash for dinner at the Dairy Twin and a room at the Naughty Pine Motel.

“Where’s Prudence and the boys?” Nellie asked.  Nellie was a fixture at the Dairy Twin and pretty much knew everybody’s business.  She’d been a looker in her prime, but that was years ago.  The last thing Chad wanted to do was share any information with Nellie.  Doing so would be the equivalent of putting it on the front page of the Stockton Telegram-Dispatch.

“Just grabbing some ‘me-time’.”  Chad was never good at making things up on the fly.

“Probably exhausted.  Things have been crazy down at The Pig, I hear.”

“Make that ‘To-Go’ if you would. I’d appreciate it.” Chad wandered over and stood next to the jukebox and waited for the brown greasy bag to be presented to him.

Ten minutes later Nellie called his name and handed him dinner.  “Tell Prudy I said ‘Hey’.”

By the time Chad pulled into the parking lot of the Naughty Pine there were fries on the seat, Coke spilled on his jeans, and grease running down both arms.  ‘I’m going to have to have this thing detailed before I give it back to Lucinda,’ he thought.

“Hey, Leon,” Chad said to the guy behind the Check-In desk.  “I need one for the night.  Leon looked surprised, but not shocked.  It wasn’t uncommon for folks from Fort Stockton to find themselves in need of a place to crash for the night, either by themselves or not.

“Alone?”

“In every sense of the word,” Chad replied.

“Number 7.  Down on the end.  You should remember.  Seems like you and Prudence used it a few times back in the day.”

Chad ignored the reference to a time period that had passed its expiration date. He put a fifty dollar bill on the counter, turned around and headed to the front door. Then he stopped and turned around. “Is there a guy staying here that drives a red Corvette?”

“Damn straight. About your age, maybe a little younger. Better shape. Looks to take care of himself. Checked in two or three days ago,” Leon reported.

“You know anything else about him?”

“Just said he came to Fort Stockton to claim what was his. That he’d waited way too long. Wanted to make up for lost time. That Corvette appeared to be a real nice car. Anyway, didn’t come back to his room last night. Know him?” Leon asked.

“Just know of him.”

Chad just wanted a hot shower and good sleep.  The more he learned, the more his heart ached and his stomach hurt.  He wanted to cry, but damn sure wasn’t going to do it in front of Leon, or anyone else.   Maybe once he was in the shower.

The broken Assistant Manager of the Piggly Wiggly crawled into the front seat of an old Jeep Gladiator, drove around to the back side of the Naughty Pine Motel, and parked it right in front of Room 7.

And right next to the most outrageous Cadillac he’d ever seen in his life.

Do you enjoy waking up with the Captain? Let’s rephrase that . . . You like a story to go with your morning Folgers? A cuppa coffee makes all the difference.