Free Heteroflexibility by Mary Beth Daniels

myself and looked in the box.
    A locket.
    The gold heart gleamed against the red backing. I lifted it with a fingernail and flicked it open.
    On one side, a photo of me, turned to the side, laughing. On the other, Cade, with a closed-mouth smile. I hadn’t taken these pictures. They might have been at a picnic, last spring, hosted by one of his coworkers. I studied the bit of visible background, trying to remember the moment. Yes, I had worn that white v-neck.
    I turned the locket over. An engraving etched the back side. I angled it toward the window.
    For Zest, my love. 5 years.
    It had been meant for our wedding anniversary—almost two months ago.
    And he hadn’t given it to me.
    Tears threatened. Cade never put love on a card much less engraved in gold. Something had happened to inspire out-of-character behavior.
    I leaned against the bed, the gold now warm in my hand. So the affair had begun between the time he’d bought this locket and our actual anniversary. By the time the date arrived, he hadn’t wanted to give me something sentimental. What had been his gift instead?
    Oh, right. A copy of The Photoshop Bible . He’d been nothing but supportive of my photography work, perfectly unperturbed when I worked late or missed weekends for a wedding.
    Of course. This was when he saw her.
    I wanted more. I wanted to know when it began. And I wanted her name. She’d wrecked my marriage. He’d been happy a few months ago, happy enough to have a locket engraved. Maybe he’d even broken up with her, ready to present the gift, when she’d found out she was pregnant.
    Shit. Of course. So when had I been working? And where had he been? I ran down to my home office and flung open a box I hadn’t been able to move yet, full of order receipts. I rifled through the folders and tugged out August. Just before our anniversary, I’d spent two days shooting a high school reunion. Exhausting days for very few orders.
    But I’d come home, and Cade hadn’t even been here. Back then I didn’t think anything of it, simply going to bed, but now…I walked across the hall to Cade’s office. In his desk, he kept all the credit card statements. Did he buy anything that weekend? Go anywhere?
    I found the folders 2006, 2007.
    Almost all of 2008 was missing.
    Oh, I would not be thwarted.
    I sat in his chair and flipped on his computer. It blinked on and presented me with a request for a password.
    That dog. He never had a password on the machine before.
    I paced the room a moment. He had the memory of a dandelion in the wind. He wrote everything down. I jerked open the desk drawers. Pens, scissors, paper clips.
    And a folded index card.
    I tugged it out, wanting to laugh. He could have at least hidden it. Sure enough, in his scrawled handwriting, “PW: radiohead.” His favorite band.
    I typed it in, and the computer logged me on.
    The Quicken accounts were up to date. I scrolled to August. He meticulously listed each expenditure—our anniversary dinner at Chez Zee, groceries, gas, a wedding gift for a friend. Even the locket, $152 from James Avery. Then, oddly enough, several charges that were simply marked, “Stuff.” On the weekend I had been away, he had created five line items in that category.
    I right-clicked on “stuff” and printed a quick report of all the entries labeled that way.
    Two solid pages.
    I held them up to the light, hands shaking now. Hundreds of dollars in charges, thousands maybe, all unmarked.
    They dated back eleven months.
    That bastard had been banging her for a year.

 
    Chapter 12: Emergency Paps
    Rock bottom sounded like bliss. How much lower could I really go?
    The Volvo sputtered at the light, as if to remind me—hey, I could quit working too. I glanced down at the gas tank. Close to empty.
    I had only change in my wallet. But I did have Harry Histrionic’s check. I would have to cash it to keep driving. Thankfully a branch was close and a gas station waited across the street.
    The notion of rock