It Happened on Maple Street

The summer of 2006 was mild in Ohio. Warm, but not too hot. Humid, but not wet. The last day in June Tim drove home from the auto parts engineering job he’d had for twenty-five years, looking forward to the July 4th holiday ahead.

Four days of no work, no paperwork, no shop to worry about, no technicians and line workers to oversee. Four whole days of campfires, beer, and Denise.

Her little red sports car was parked in the drive when he rounded the corner and the house they’d been sharing for the past twenty years—one he’d purchased and almost had paid off—came into view.

The RV was not there. She was supposed to have picked it up from the storage lot after work. They’d been planning to leave for southeastern Ohio within minutes of his arrival.

She was sitting at the dining room table when he walked in, her blonde hair hanging down, rather than up in the pony tail she always wore camping. She still had on the black slacks and white blouse she’d worn to work that morning. “Hey, Dee Dee, what’s wrong?”

Was she sick? Had someone died? Her hands were clenched on the top of the table.

“We need to talk.”

His heart sank. Not those words again. It had been almost thirty years, but he still remembered them with dread. Tara’s words.

Right before she’d asked for her ring back.

“What?” Pulling out the chair opposite her, he sank down, noticing a black grease stain on his jeans. Denise would get it out. She always did. She’d probably bitch a bit about the way he, an engineering manager, had to crawl around on the factory floor fixing machines that the technicians who’d been hired to fix them couldn’t fix.

He’d been in such a hurry to get out of work, he’d forgotten to change out his steel-toed shoes.

Glancing back up, he caught Denise staring at him, a look in her eyes he’d never seen before. Like she was in pain, only not the physical kind.

“What’s wrong?” Had she had a miscarriage or something equally tragic? She hadn’t said she was pregnant, but stranger things had happened.

That brief thought—of a child, a real family—gave him a twinge. And he moved on. He liked their life together. It was pretty much perfect.

“I’m not going camping.”

He was disappointed, of course, but . . .

“Okay.” If that’s all this was about, no problem. If he hadn’t been so worried, he might have gotten angry. But hey, beers and fireworks could happen anywhere, right?

“Aren’t you going to ask why?”

“I figured you were going to tell me.” Mentally shifting, he thought about the steak they’d bought the night before during their grocery shopping expedition. He could grill that tonight. Sit out by the pool. Listen to tunes. And have Denise close . . .

“I’m leaving you, Tim.”

Sit out by the pool. Grill steak. Yeah, that was it. Listen to tunes. And . . .

“Did you hear me?”

“What?” He glanced at her. Sort of. He glanced her way. “Yeah.”

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

What? Hell no, he wasn’t going to say anything. If she walked out that door she better not ever think about coming back and . . .

“Tim?” She had tears in her eyes. He’d seen them before. Many, many times. Every time she got it in her head that he didn’t love her because they weren’t getting married.

“What?” Steak. Grill. Pool. Tunes.

“I said I’m leaving you.”

The words stabbed him. “I heard you.” He needed a beer. There was no reason to fear what she was saying. He owned the home. And everything in it. He could more than afford to pay the bills.

He had the RV. He could go camping anytime he wanted. Anywhere he wanted.