Page 19 of Bad Husband

Madison: Yes, take him to school. I had to work early. Drop Noah off with Trisha.

I actually snort as I read the text. Work earlier? Likely excuse.

Me: Doing what?

Madison: I do have a job, Ridley. Can you please handle taking Callan to school and Noah to Trisha or is that too much to ask of you?

Can she be any more of a bitch?

Yes, she probably can and will.

I don’t reply either. Let’s see how she likes being ignored.

Peeling my sore self from the couch, I rush upstairs, take a world record speed shower, knock all Madison’s perfumes and lotions off the counter because I fucking feel like it, and then I’m loading Callan and Noah in the truck.

Callan flips down the DVD player immediately. “Do you still have theCarsmovie in here?”

“Probably. Nobody watches that but you.”

And right then I pray to God thatCarsDVD is in there because my statement was only partially true. Over the summer there was one instance where Brantley thought it’d be funny to watch a porno back there. I’m pretty sure I took it out since then. I’ve never been so happy to hear that Pixar music.

As I’m sitting in the driveway, I’m reminded I have no idea where Callan’s school is. All I know is it’s a private school, but I couldn’t tell you where it’s located. “Hey, buddy?”

“Yeah?”

I turn to look back at him after I start my truck. “Can you remind me where your school is?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t look at me. He’s fixated on the screen in front of his face, and I’m strangely glad he’s not reading for once. “El Dorado on 76thstreet.”

Jesus, that’s in Scottsdale.

Checking the time, it’s now nearing 7:30 and it’s going to take at least forty minutes to get there. “What time do you start?”

“8:50.”

Okay, I got this. I can do all of this and prove to Madison I can help.

Noah is so excited to see his babysitter, Trisha, he rushes in her house without so much as a good-bye. I don’t have time to talk to her, so I rush inside, sign him in, kiss his cheeks and then I’m out the door and back in the truck, thankful to be dropping off the little beast with someone else today. I know that’s bad to say, but forgive me, he did stab me this morning.

Ten minutes into our traffic-filled drive to school and that damn movie, I’m wishing Callan would go back to reading. I’m not used to listening to anything but my music on the way to work. I guess maybe I’ve been a little bit selfish in that manner.

My phone rings beside me in the cup holder I have it in, but I don’t answer it through the blue tooth. Mostly because it’s Brantley and he’s not one you can ever put on speaker phone.

“What’s up?”

“Where are you? The drywall is here.”

I gasp. Of all the days for West Ridge Drywall to be on time, it’s today when I’m running late. And I don’t do late, just so we’re clear. I once, in elementary school, gave a tardy slip to my teacher for not starting class the exact minute it was set to begin. You can probably sense my mood today based on that information right there, and the fact that my wife of the last eight years told me she didn’t love me last night.

“I’m dropping off Callan at school and then I’ll be there.”

Brantley’s quiet for a minute and then chuckles. “So I take it last night didn’t go well?”

“I’ll see you in an hour,” I tell him, hoping he can sense Callan’s in the truck with me, given I just told him that, but this is Brantley we’re talking about, and he’s sometimes not so bright on the hidden messages.

“Fine. Stop by the office though and pick up the electrical permits there.”

“Why? They should be at the jobsite already.”

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