Page 5 of Bad Husband

“What do you mean he didn’t show up?”

Kennedy barely looks up at me, her stare strangely focused on her phone. Nothing new there. I swear it’s glued to her hands. “That’s what I’m saying, Ridley. The inspector didn’t show up. B and Trey stayed there all afternoon.”

It’s noon. How that adds up as all afternoon isn’t right, but we don’t pay Kennedy for her math skills. We pay her because she can file paperwork, answer the phone politely and actually schedule appointments without fucking it up. You’d be surprised with today’s workforce. Or maybe it’s just me who’s completely blown away by the lack of accountability in today’s youth.

I once hired a kid to do tile work, and he showed up to the jobsite and wanted to know about health insurance his first day. That wasn’t so weird. Me catching him making a family of snowman out of grout, that’s weird. Wanna know the worst part?

He laid the tile all right. Guess what his design resembled?

A dick. A big fat dick made of mosaic tiles. Luckily we were able to fix it but I swore off hiring anyone for like a year. I’ll admit though, the dude had talent to be able to do that.

“Hey.” Kennedy finally glances up from her phone, popping bubbles with her gum. “Can I have Friday off?”

Never mind the fact she’s popping her gum, and she knows I hate that, but how can she possibly think I can function enough to contemplate three days from now? Doesn’t she know what I’m dealing with?

Right. No. She doesn’t. Unless Brantley told her, which he wouldn’t. Brantley’s secretive and for no reason whatsoever. If there’s ever anyone you can trust not to tell your secrets, it’s him.

I glance at Kennedy. “Did Madison call the office today?” Since I left the salon, I’ve been dealing with the city of Scottsdale on some building permits I filed three weeks ago, and they’re giving me the runaround about them. But I know for a fact Madison hasn’t called my cell phone.

Kennedy shrugs, pushing her glasses up her tiny nose. “No, I don’t think so.”

Kennedy’s attractive. Not in the way you’d think. She’s kind of awkward in a sense. Nerdy even. A petite girl who wears these thick black-framed glasses, jet-black hair she usually has up in a bun, I’ve frequently had to kick Trey out of the office because he fantasises about her playing naughty teacher to him.

Before you go thinking I have a thing for my secretary, knock that shit off. She’s nineteen. I’m not a creep. I’m twenty-eight. I have rules. And also—this is kinda up in the air right now—married and have morals.

Speaking of being married, guess who still hasn’t answered their phone?

Yep. Madison.

I’ve called fifty-two times.

How can she still be with that client? It’s been like what… I’m not the greatest at keeping track of time here but I’m pretty sure it’s been three hours. Who pays for a massage that’s three hours long?

I bet Derek Jeter does.

I’ll shove his bat up his ass if he’s trying to round home plate with my wife. Listen, I have nothing against Derek Jeter. And he’s probably never even seen my wife, but I’m just using him as an example. I’d use David Beckham, because I bet he’s the type of guy Madison would go for, but wrong sport. We don’t see many soccer players in the desert.

I take a step toward my office behind Kennedy’s desk only to have her groan and smack me on the shoulder with a set of building plans. “Hey, dude, day off? Remember?”

“Oh, right.” I wave my hand around. “Yeah, sure. Take it off. I don’t really care.” Believe me when I say my voice is completely dejected. It’s almost pathetic.

Kennedy stands up, her hand on my forehead. “Are you sick?”

I stare blankly down at her. She’s like five one. Being six one myself, I won’t ever be eye level with her unless I’m sitting down. “No, why?”

“You just told me I can take the day off. Last time I asked for a day off, you asked my mother to fill in for me.”

I expect people to be at work. I don’t understand the need for a day off during the week when you have weekends off. You don’t see me taking a day off during the week, do you?

Before you answer that, I didn’t take today off. I simply took a couple hours to find out why my wife suddenly filed for divorce.

“I’m fine.” I step into my office. “Let me know if Madison calls and call the electrical inspector and see where he’s at.”

Sitting down in my chair, I scan my desk for my cell phone I tossed down somewhere on this mountain of paperwork a minute ago. I find it next to my wedding photo.

A stabbing sensation hits my heart. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my desk and stare at the photograph. We’re standing facing each other, nearly kissing with her arms wrapped around my shoulders. She looks happy in that picture. I remember the day like it was yesterday and the way nothing else mattered but us and the adventure we found ourselves on.

We were still in college when Madison got pregnant with Callan. Not long after we found out, I proposed. Marriage seemed like the thing to do. I wanted to marry her. I did, I still want to be married to her. Would I have asked had she not gotten pregnant our junior year of college? Probably not for a while, but I did, and I don’t regret it.

---