Page 49 of The Man I Hate

She inched along the curb, stopping when she reached her driveway. “Did he tell you about that awful woman he was married to?” she asked. “It’s no wonder he hasn’t remarried.”

I didn’t know about Braxton’s ex-wife, but I sure wanted to. I glanced over my shoulder, toward his front door. After seeing no movement inside the home, I looked at Marge.

“No,” I said. “Well, not anything specific. Why?”

“While he was away in the war, she got pregnant.” She glanced at his home and then at me. “It wasn’t his,” she whispered. “She was having an affair.”

“Oh. My Gosh,” I gasped. “His wife got pregnant and it wasn’t his?”

“She was quite the trollop. They argued about it each time he came home. He was over there for years and years, you know? When Raymond was away, in Korea, we wrote letters back and forth. That was enough, but I loved Raymond with all my heart. I don’t think a woman can do those things if she truly loves a man, do you?”

Braxton’s lack of willingness to commit made a little more sense. “No,” I replied. “I don’t.”

She checked her watch and then looked up. “Did he tell you about his brother?”

He hadn’t mentioned any siblings. I shook my head. “I guess not.”

“When Mister Rourke was in his military training, his brother died. An overdose. I suppose no one will ever know for sure if it was an accident or intentional, but it sounds like it might have been intentional. I can’t imagine how he continued after losing his only sibling and then his wife. He was committed to protecting this nation, that’s for sure.” She brushed the dirt from her gloves and then looked up. “He’s got more war medals than my Raymond. They compared them one day after dinner.”

“Medals?”

“From the war,” she said. “Mister Rourke’s quite the decorated veteran. That’s what brought him and Raymond so close. Them both being veterans, and all. Raymond in Korea, and Braxton in the Middle East. That’s what they call it, isn’t it? The war in the Middle East?”

My opinion of Braxton hadn’t changed, but I couldn’t help but feel compassionate toward him for the losses he endured.

“I think so,” I replied.

“Do you have any siblings?” she asked.

“No, I don’t. Do you?”

“Two. Mary’s three years younger than me, and Mark is two years younger than Mary—according to him. It’s actually a little more than a year, but he says it’s two. Mary’s in Santa Monica, and Mark is down south, in Escondido. Raymond and I weren’t ever graced with children, though.” Her face grew long. “It wasn’t in our cards, I guess.”

It was sad to hear that she didn’t have children. To mask my sorrow for her not having children, I expressed tremendous joy in her siblings. “So, your brother and sister are in California? Or no?”

She laughed a little. “I forgot that you’re not from here. Escondido’s two hours south if there’s no traffic, and Santa Monica’s twenty minutes away, on the coast.”

“Oh. That’s nice that they’re close.”

“It is.” She checked her watch. “We don’t see each other as much as we should, but we talk often. When you get older, you’ll realize the value in having someone to talk to.”

“I realize it now,” I said. “Right now.”

“This is nice,” she said with a smile.

“Is it dinnertime?” I asked.

She brushed off the thighs of her pants. “It is.”

“See you tomorrow?”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Okay. Me, too.”

“You should write Braxton a note and fold it into a paper airplane.” She made a motion with her hand as if throwing something. “Throw it on his porch. You don’t want to get too close to him, he’s still coming and going like he’s on a mission.”

“I might do that,” I said.