The old man’s first call from his wife was about which exact brand of peanut butter she should be getting since they no longer carried his brand. Her second call was about 10 minutes later. His ‘Hello’ got no response. Her voice was unclear. Another butt-dial. Damn! Her new phone had been doing this.
The old man shouted her name and whistled loudly, but she heard none of it. She was speaking with a man whose voice he did not recognize in what sounded like intimate whispering. Her, then him, and so on. Muffled, murmuring words that flashed a shudder of stark jealousy down his spine. His heart pounded.
He kept listening but could make out nothing. He believed his fear must surely be wrong. He and his wife were both old and had been together four decades. He knew she had deceived him for a time in the weeks before their settled decision to marry. But that, for them, was in the deepest sedimentary layer of their relationship. And they had also weathered an affair he had in the first decade of their marriage. A shock had hit him again now. But it made no sense. None at all.
He could not believe that some affair or even flirtation was taking place. He kept listening for words and stayed on until the talking stopped, even though he could not make out any of it. The hang-up came, and he figured she would still be out for an hour or so more. She had said she would also go to the Post Office and the bank.
He tried to call her. It rang 4 times and went to messages. But she often missed his calls — and he missed her calls as often. He waited, distracted, and his heart was still pounding.
When she arrived an hour and a half later, he went as usual to help bring in and put away the groceries. Her face was usually pale, and it looked a little flushed. She complained as usual about the line at the Post Office. She got the peanut butter he chose, but also a new one to compare. She said a man who was stocking shelves had assured her that this new one was the best, and the reason they had dropped his brand.
He said as he often did, “I missed you. Can I have a hug?” They hugged, and he smelled no unexpected scent coming off her.
He did not share with her the rich foolishness of his spasm of jealousy over a butt-dial. Sometimes he went with her on her shopping trips. Sometimes she said she did not want him tagging along. Like it or not, next time he would come.
Lynn Kozlowski’s writing has appeared in such places as 50-Word Stories, Every Day Fiction, Friday Flash Fiction, The Quarterly, The Malahat Review, Poetry Breakfast, and failbetter. He has a volume of short pieces, Historical Markers (Ravenna Press). He divides his time between New York State, USA, and Ontario, Canada.
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