Emily pulled into the gas station and it was completely deserted, the pumps looking as if they had last been used during the war. She unhooked her seatbelt while looking around at this seedy place. She sat, waiting, her heart slamming against her chest, fighting with her to calm down.
‘Take it easy, Emily. Breathe!’ it said to her, and she breathed. Very, very deeply. ‘Thank you,’ her heart responded, and eased to a steadier beat.
A blue Chevy pulled in behind her and the man got out. He didn’t look anything like she expected. In fact, she expected less nerdy, and more Steven-Seagal-Tough-Guy. And why meet at a gas station of all places? It didn’t make any sense to her, but she couldn’t go another day filled with suspicion.
The man walked up, came to a stop next to her car door and knocked on the still-closed window. She swallowed and wound the window down halfway.
“Mrs Smith?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Vernon Sprogg.” She nodded, opened the door and climbed out.
“Thank you for arranging to meet me, Mr Sprogg. But why here?”
“I am a man who doesn’t like surprises, Mrs Smith. This gas station hasn’t been used or occupied for a very long time, so I don’t believe we will be interrupted.”
“Okay, fair enough.”
“Now, you mentioned a problem you were having with your husband?”
“Yes. Well, it’s not a problem exactly. Just a suspicion is all.”
“Suspicion usually equals a problem, Mrs Smith. In my line of work, I very seldom find suspicion that has no juice behind it, and that usually causes a problem. Not for me, of course, but I’m sure you understand my meaning.” Emily gulped. She found she didn’t like this man. He was too straight forward and his looks were definitely deceiving.
“I guess I do, Mr Sprogg.” He smiled and Emily disliked him even more.
“Now what exactly can I help you with, Mrs Smith?”
“I think my husband is cheating on me, and I want you to investigate the matter.” He nodded.
“Understood. Do you have a recent photograph of your husband?”
“Yes, of course.” Emily climbed back into her car to retrieve her handbag and, rifling through it, took out an identity-book-size photograph. Climbing out again, she handed it to Vernon, who studied it carefully. He looked up into her face and grinned.
“This is your husband?”
“Yes.”
“And why do you suspect him of cheating on you, Mrs Smith?”
“Well, he worked late a few times last week, including Sunday, which he has never done before. And then there was the glass in his office.”
“A glass?” Vernon seemed more amused than interested. It annoyed Emily to the point of irritation.
“Yes, a glass! Why do you find that so amusing?” He ignored her question.
“What was it about the glass that was so strange, Mrs Smith?”
“My husband is a neat freak, Mr Sprogg! He doesn’t leave anything lying around in his office and a glass is not something he would tolerate being left on his desk! Ever!” Emily felt her irritation mounting.
“I take it, then, that you were in his office alone at some point?”
“Yes!”
“When?”
“On Sunday night! I was there when he left and went up to his office!”
“Why, Mrs Smith?”
“He…! Wait a minute, what is this? Why am I getting the third degree, Mr Sprogg, when you are supposed to be working for ME!”
“Please, humour me, Mrs Smith.” Emily sighed, heavily annoyed.
“Well, if you must know, I was there to…to…! I was checking up on him, okay! I was already suspecting him because of the late hours, so I went to his office to…to…to…”
“And he was at the office when he said he would be?”
“Yes, but…!” Vernon handed the photograph back to her.
“Mrs Smith, may I suggest that you have a talk with your husband and that the two of your sort your problems out between you.”
“What? You’re not even going to bother investigating this?”
“No, Mrs Smith. There is nothing to investigate.” Emily was stunned into silence for a few moments.
“What do you mean ‘nothing to investigate’?”
Vernon shook his head and looked directly into her eyes.
“Your husband isn’t cheating on you, Mrs Smith. In fact, he thinks you are cheating on him!”
“What?”
“I’m not supposed to share this kind of information, what with client confidentiality and all that, but the glass you saw in your husband’s office? I was there, Mrs Smith. I visited your husband on Sunday afternoon for the same reason I’m meeting you now. He thinks you are cheating on him, just as you think he is cheating on you. I do think there is a problem here, but it’s not about one cheating on the other. The problem here is the two of you don’t seem to communicate very well, or spend enough time with one another.” Emily blinked.
“But, I don’t understand?”
“Speak to your husband, Mrs Smith.” He smiled a genuine smile. “A nice romantic dinner might just do the trick.” He retreated back to his car, opened the door and climbed in. Emily watched as he wound down his window, started the engine and put the car into reverse, but, before backing out, he put his head out the window and said,
“I must say, this is quite a novelty for me, solving two problems at once, but I think I like it. Good day to you, Mrs Smith.”
Her eyes followed him as he reversed and drove off, leaving her feeling stunned and ashamed all at once. She had come here with the intent to have her husband investigated for cheating on her, when, meanwhile, he was doing the same. The question was, where had they gone wrong with each other?
She was still stunned as she climbed back into her own car, turned the engine and backed out of the deserted gas station. At that moment she felt just as empty, but she was hopeful, knowing that her marriage had a better chance of revival. A romantic dinner didn’t sound like a rotten idea at all. Thanks, Mr Sprogg! I guess you’re not so bad after all. She smiled as she drove off, ideas of romance filling her mind.
THE END
© Fran Scholan, May 2013
