A Different Kind of Forever - By Dee Ernst Page 0,97

other accountants, so he doesn’t actually do much debiting or crediting himself, but he still modestly calls himself an accountant, despite the CPA, MBA, six-figure salary and big corner office. He has a modest, self-effacing way about him that I’ve always liked. He doesn’t look like an accountant anymore. He still wears a suit and tie to work, but they are very expensive, well-cut suits with sexy ties and splashy -colored shirts. He’s a handsome guy for 53. Tall, still slender, and not much gray because he’s got that sandy blond colored hair, you know the color, that hides the gray really well until one day you look and say, oh my God, you’re old. He hadn’t gotten there yet. Something to look forward to, now.

So I was sitting in my big, old-fashioned kitchen, glowing in the mixed warmth of sunshine and hot caffeine, talking to the cat. One of my pet peeves is that I will not allow my cat on my kitchen counter. Ever. I’m sure when I’m not around, she makes it a point to rumba her way from the sink to the fridge, but when I’m home, she sits on the bar stool next to me at the breakfast counter. She’s very good that way.

I love my cat. She is pale orange and white and very fluffy, with big blue eyes and a tiny pink tongue. Her name is Lana. She is my favorite living being in the house, because although she pees and poops an incredible amount for such a small animal, she does it very neatly in a contained space, and sometimes spends as much as twelve minutes at a time sitting in my lap, purring in complete adoration. Well, maybe not adoration. Or, at least, not adoration of me. But she listens carefully to every word I say and never talks back. That alone elevates her to sainthood in my book.

But – back to Brian. He came through the door. I was a little surprised. It was not an unheard-of occurrence, but mid-morning returns home were few and far between.“Hey, hot stuff, back so soon?” I was smiling. I really loved my husband.

He shrugged. “Well, I left this morning just as the girls were screaming about a geyser in the bathroom, so I thought I might check it out. Still gushing?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Besides, I called Ben.”

Brian had taken off his jacket and was leaning back against the counter. “Good. I like Ben. Nice guy. He coming by today?”

“After lunch.”

Brian made a face. “He’ll probably charge extra for the rush job. But he’s still a nice guy. He’s got kids, right?”

“Boys. His oldest starts Yale next fall.”

Brian threw back his head and laughed. “I bet when he got off the phone with you, he called his kid right away and told him to go ahead and sign up for the next semester.”

I laughed with him. “Probably.”

Brian was shaking his head. “Remember when Jess tried to see if her Barbie could swim and tried to flush the damn thing? Ben was laughing so hard he couldn’t get the damn wrench working.”

“God, I’d forgotten that.”

“A defense mechanism on your part, I’m sure. Usually you remember everything.”

“Unlike you, who needs notes left on your shoes so you can remember which one goes on which foot,” I joked.

Brian was grinning broadly. “God, you’re right about that. I have a hard time keeping track of so many things. In fact, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about for weeks, and I just keep forgetting about it.”

I sat up straighter, smiled, and tried the dutiful schoolgirl look. “Well, here we are, and you’ve obviously remembered, so shoot.”

“Yeah. Well it’s actually the main reason I came back. I wanted to tell you when the girls weren’t here.”

“Weren’t here?”

“Yes. I didn’t want them to see me pack.”

I was still smiling. “Pack what?”

“My clothes. And my books. And everything. I’m leaving you, Mona. I’m very sorry. This is not about you, really. You’ve been a wonderful wife, but I’ve met someone else and I want to be with her. So, I’ll just pack up my things and go.”

He said this all very calmly. He might have been explaining why the little referee man threw up one of those flag-thingies during a football game. I stared at him, trying to latch on to something that actually made sense.

“You’re packing?” I repeated. I was looking at him. Then I looked at Lana, still sitting patiently beside me. She offered