Chapter 5: Damned Lies

"There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics."

Disraeli as attributed by Mark Twain

In this case it turned out to be damned lies. It was way bigger than a lie and I just couldn't find the energy or desire to get the numbers on my wife's infidelity. I mean, does it really mean anything that my wife had been shagging good old Bob 3.7 times a week for the last six weeks? Or that she paid for the hotel room 45% of the time? No, once the gist of the content of the damned lies came out, I just didn't give a shit. As far as I was concerned, once was enough to send my loving wife to eternal perdition.

Some people want to know all the facts and nitty-gritty details about anything. I've never really been that way. Give me the facts and I'll make a decision or derive an opinion. I don't care if Frankie did truly love Johnny ... the fact is she shot him dead when she caught him cheating. Frankie was sure regretful but Johnny was still stone cold dead.

So I didn't ask Jenny for details. I didn't want to know when and how it started. I didn't care if was my fault or not. Jenny cheated, a fact, ergo Jenny was history.

It could have been messy. I didn't want that. Give me a nice, clean, quick separation and I'm happy. Pissed as all get out, but happy. I talked to David and enlisted his aid. He was as teed off as I was and glad to help out. I set up a meeting for Jenny, David and I to talk. Jenny didn't look happy ... do I give a shit if she feels like she was ganged up on? David kicked it off.

"Mom, I am terribly disappointed with you." Here, Jenny had the grace to look embarrassed and looked carefully at the floor—she was so intent I thought maybe we had cockroaches or something. "Dad is going to make a proposal to you that I think is fair. None of us wants a long drawn out battle that accomplishes nothing other than making a bunch of lawyers rich. You are still my mom and I want you in my life. Can you please listen to him?"

With that David left. Jenny looked up and asked, "I guess it's clear that you are set on divorce? There is no hope for reconciliation?"

Quietly, I told her, "No, Jenny. No hope. As you should realize, I'm just not wired that way."

She leaned on the table and quietly sobbed for what turned out to be about ten minutes. I got myself a glass of wine and a wet washcloth from the hallway bathroom. I handed her the damp cloth and gave her time to pull herself together. Finally she looked up, sadness clear in her pale gray eyes.

"Okay, I'll listen. What do you want to do?"

"First, an immediate separation. I'll be moving down to Alamosa. David is living on campus—I'll try to find myself something down there. I'm resigning my position with the paper. I've talked to them about being a stringer for news from the Alamosa area, but that's chancy. What I really want to do is write full time. Sometimes the money is good, sometimes it's not.

"So I won't really be able to pay any money in alimony. You can fight that if you want but it might take me five years to finish my next book if you do. I'll take care of David's school stuff and your job pays enough for you to get by.

"I know the house has gone down in value over the last couple of years but it still has around twenty grand in equity. I'll sign the house over to you and you can try to keep it or sell it. I just don't give a damn which.

"If you want a divorce go ahead and do it. Just don't ask for anything other than what we talk about or you will get nothing. Last, but the least, please stay the hell away from me. I don't want to ever see you again."

"I really hurt you, didn't I, Jack?"

"Yes, you damn well did."

David had taken my Focus on down to Alamosa and I had rented a trailer. I'd packed it already and hooked it to the truck so with no fanfare I turned around and left.

Except for one brief meeting at the Brown Palace in Denver, the next time I saw Jenny was at David's graduation four years later.