Copyright © 2024 by GroveltoHEA
Concentrating at work had been difficult, and I was counting down the time until I could go home. I'd run out to a florist at lunch and gotten Susan a bouquet of red roses. Since I'd arrived home on Saturday night, things had been uncomfortable, but my wife had been acting oddly all day on Sunday. She didn't believe anything I'd told her and that had frustrated me, making me react angrily that she was making more of the situation than she should be. I'd admitted that lying was wrong, but I couldn't do more than that.
Those thoughts hadn't improved any when Nancy, my secretary, had further destroyed my mood when she'd come into my office and seen the roses in the vase.
"Oh, those are lovely!" she'd said. "Who are those for?"
I'd frowned at her.
"They're for my wife."
"Oh, good."
"What does that mean?" I asked, responding to her tone.
She'd been my secretary for years and often spoke her mind to me privately, possibly feeling as if being old enough to be somewhere between my mother's and grandmother's ages gave her that right to advise me a bit. To others, she was the perfect secretary, crisp, efficient and no-nonsense.
"Nothing."
I knew better.
"Tell me what you mean because I'm in no mood for guessing games," I bit out at her.
She hesitated, then looked at a spot over my shoulder. "Since I take your messages, Mr. Davenport, we're both aware of the frequent messages from Mrs. Linda Foley."
I tossed my pen angrily onto my desk.
"I'm not in the habit of buying other women flowers, Mrs. Howell."
"Nor your wife, Mr. Davenport, if it comes down to it. If that will be all, sir?"
I nodded at her, afraid to say anything in my anger. It seemed every woman I knew was intent on causing me trouble. I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. I wasn't a man given to grand gestures, so Susan would see the flowers, know that I was sorry and then she could stop avoiding me and being so distant.
Twenty minutes later, the intercom buzzed. "A call from Mrs. Foley, sir. Shall I put her through?"
Dammit. She did call a lot. "Yes, please."
"Yes, sir," she said, and I could hear the disapproval in her tone.
"Hello, Linda," I said when I picked up the line.
"Hi, Mike. Is everything OK?"
"It's fine."
"I wasn't sure since you didn't come over yesterday," she said. "You didn't call me either."
I'd thought about heading toward Linda's after I'd stormed out of my house following my fight with Susan, but instead I'd just taken a drive, allowing my anger to dissipate as I drove aimlessly. I'd come home late, and Susan had locked herself in the spare room, refusing to answer my knocks, finally telling me to just go away. I'd wanted to kick that door in and have it out with her, let her know I didn't appreciate her attitude and straighten everything out once and for all, but instead I'd stormed off to our bedroom where, for only the second night in our marriage, I'd slept alone in that bed.
"Linda, I'm not going to be able to come over anymore."
"But why?" her voice was sad.
"Susan wasn't happy that I've been helping you and keeping it a secret from her."
YOU ARE READING
Michael and Susan
RomanceFlash back to 1954. For seven months, Michael had been working many extra hours during the week, coming home late and even having to go into the office on weekends. Susan stayed at home, patiently waiting for his return each day. One evening, she ca...
