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My Father-in-Law’s Revenge: Exposing Her Years-Long Affair with the Neighbor
NovelShort
Completed
At the dinner table, the mood was a little off. Old Man Hoffman from next door dropped a freshly peeled shrimp straight into Gloria's bowl, his chopsticks still flecked with his spit. "Gloria, this shrimp is fresh. Eat up. You've been looking thin lately." Old Man Hoffman's voice boomed as if he were the man of the house. At the head of the table, Frank Carter kept his head down, shoveling plain white rice from his bowl. In front of him sat a single plate of shredded pickled vegetables.
Chapters (4)
Chapter 1
The atmosphere at the dinner table was a little off.
Dale Hoffman from next door tossed a freshly peeled jumbo shrimp straight into Gloria Carter's bowl, flecks of his spit still clinging to his chopsticks.
"Gloria, this shrimp's fresh. Eat up. You've gotten so thin lately." Dale's voice boomed, as if he were the man of the house.
In the seat at the head of the table, Frank Carter kept his head down, shoveling plain white rice from his bowl. In front of him sat a single plate of shredded pickles.
"Old Man Carter, go get that bottle of bourbon we've been saving for ten years. Dale's in a good mood today, so let him have a few sips." Gloria didn't even lift her eyes. She chewed her shrimp and gave the order in the tone of someone bossing around a hired hand.
Frank set down his chopsticks. His calloused hands rubbed once along the edge of the table. "That's for Greggy's wedding."
Smack!
Gloria slammed her chopsticks down on the table. "When I tell you to get it, you get it! Don't you know who runs this house? If Dale weren't helping us out, who could you support on that pathetic paycheck of yours? Go get it!"
Dale chuckled, picking his teeth as he looked at Frank. "Come on, Old Man Carter, listen to your wife. Quit being so stingy all the time. It's not very manly."
Frank said nothing. He stood and walked silently toward the storeroom, his back hunched like an old bow.
"Old Man Carter, is the water boiling yet? Dale wants his tea first thing, and the water has to be exactly 194 degrees."
At five-thirty in the morning, with the sky just turning gray, Gloria's shrill voice cut straight through the wooden door with its peeling paint.
Frank was splitting firewood in the yard. The ax came down with a sharp crack, and the log split clean in two. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and called back, "Almost ready."
That was Frank's place in this house.
He was less a husband than a live-in servant who didn't need to be paid.
In this village of fewer than a hundred households, Frank was famous. Not because he was capable, but because he could "take it."
Twenty-five years ago, Frank had been an honest, plain carpenter in the village, so quiet you couldn't pry a word out of him with a crowbar. Gloria had been the prettiest girl in the whole county, and she had her sights set high. She married Frank purely because the Carters offered the most wedding money.
But less than two years into the marriage, Dale next door made a fortune as a contractor and built himself a three-story house. From then on, Gloria's eyes never left the yard next door.
One thing led to another, and Dale became a regular at the Carter house.
At first he came to borrow salt. Later he came to help fix the lights. After that, it was as if Dale had grown roots in the Carter house.
Just then, the door to the main room opened. Dale stepped out in a loose tank top, shuffling along in a pair of slippers. They were the new slippers Frank had bought just last month.
"Old Man Carter, this firewood's a bit damp today. Too much smoke. It's making your wife cough." Dale stretched and yawned as he spoke.
Frank stacked the split wood in neat rows without looking up. "It rained last night. I'll set it out to dry later."
"Mm. Make it quick." Dale strolled a lap around the yard like a man inspecting his own property, then pointed to the chicken coop in the corner. "I don't think that old hen lays anymore. Kill her for soup at lunch. Gloria says she wants some chicken soup to build herself up."
Frank had raised that hen for three years. He'd been saving it to feed his grandson at Christmas.
Inside the main room, Gloria was doing her hair and makeup. She shouted through the window, "You hear that? If Dale says kill it, you kill it. What are you dawdling for? And save the blood. Dale loves blood sausage."
Frank stood and brushed the wood shavings off his pant legs. His face, burned dark from years under the sun, showed no expression at all. Only in his cloudy eyes did a faint, cold glint flicker now and then, almost impossible to catch.
"Fine. I'll kill it." Frank turned and walked toward the kitchen, holding the kitchen knife he had just sharpened to a razor's edge.
The big old oak at the edge of Millbrook was the village's intelligence center.
A few old men and women sat fanning themselves with paper fans, their eyes drifting now and then toward Frank as he passed by at the edge of the village.
"Look who's here. The cuckold." An old woman missing her front teeth lowered her voice, but only just enough that everyone around could still hear.
"Only Frank Carter could put up with it. It's been over twenty years. Old Man Hoffman might as well move his bedroll straight into his bed." Another old man cracked sunflower seeds between his teeth, his face full of contempt. "Last time I went to the Carters' to borrow a ladder, broad daylight, the door to the main room was shut tight, curtains drawn, and the noises coming from inside... tsk, tsk."
"Hey, you think Frank Carter can't get it up? Otherwise, what kind of man would put up with this?"
"Who knows. But look at his son, Greg. The more you look at him, the more he looks like Old Man Hoffman. Thick eyebrows, big eyes. Nothing like Frank's flat nose."
A burst of laughter went up.
Frank pushed a wheelbarrow piled high with cornstalks he'd brought in from the field. He kept his head down and his steps steady, as if his ears were stuffed with cotton and he couldn't hear a thing.
When he got home, a brand-new black sedan was parked in the yard.
It was the new car Dale had just picked up.
From the living room came the sound of a poker game, chips clattering without end.
"Full house! Read 'em and weep!" Dale's trademark booming voice was loud enough to shake dust from the rafters.
Frank unloaded the cornstalks against the wall and went inside for a glass of water.
The room was thick with cigarette smoke. Gloria sat right at Dale's elbow, her face powdered chalk-white and her lips painted bright red. She wore a floral blouse with a plunging neckline and was laughing so hard she shook all over, her hand resting on Dale's arm, half on purpose and half not.
"Oh my, Dale, you're so lucky tonight. Dinner's on you."
"On me! Absolutely on me! Order whatever you want, Gloria. We'll go to the big steakhouse in the county seat!" Dale said grandly. He pulled two hundred-dollar bills from the stack he'd won and tossed them onto the edge of the table. "Old Man Carter, go on, run to the corner store and buy two cartons of Marlboros. Keep the change for your trouble."
The two other neighbors at the card table exchanged a knowing look. Neither said a word. They were waiting for a show.
Frank stood in the doorway. Sweat ran down his cheeks and into his collar, itching.
He looked at the two bills, then at Gloria.
Gloria glared at him. "What are you standing there for? Dale's giving you a tip! Hurry up and take it! Normally you complain that a box of salt's too expensive, and now you're too good to take money?"
Frank walked over slowly and picked up the two hundred dollars.
The bills still carried the smell of Dale's sweaty palm and some kind of perfume that turned his stomach.
"Fine. I'll go buy them." Frank tucked the money into his pocket, turned, and walked out.
Gloria's voice followed him from behind. "Such a blockhead. You couldn't kick a word out of him. Just looking at him gets on my nerves."
Chapter 2
The day Frank's son, Greg Carter, came home, a small earthquake hit the house.
Greg worked in the city and only made it home a few times a year. This time he had come back for some money to fix up the house he and his fiancée would live in once they married.
At dinner, Gloria slapped her chopsticks down and said, stone-faced, "There's no money."
"Mom, I send home two thousand dollars of my pay every month. That's got to be at least fifty or sixty thousand over the last few years, right? I'm only asking for thirty thousand for the renovation. How can there be no money?" Greg asked, keeping his temper in check.
"It's spent!" Gloria shot back, without a shred of shame. "You think feeding and keeping this whole family is free? Your dad with that body of his, his back or his legs aching every other day. You think his medicine is free? And this house doesn't need repairs?"
Frank sat in the corner. He had barely opened his mouth when Gloria shot him a glare, and he closed it again.
The truth was, Frank had never taken any medicine. His back ached from hard work, and a couple of pain patches got him through it. As for the house, apart from Gloria's bedroom, which had air conditioning and new flooring, every other room looked exactly as it had twenty years ago.
"Mom, don't think I don't know." Greg shot to his feet, his face flushed red. "Last month, for Old Man Hoffman's birthday, you gave him a big gold ring. That was my hard-earned money!"
Smack!
Gloria jumped up and slapped her son across the face. "You ungrateful brat! How dare you talk like that? Do you know how much your Uncle Dale has helped this family? Without him, this house would've fallen down long ago! What good is that useless father of yours? If I don't rely on your Uncle Dale, who am I supposed to rely on?"
"You..." Greg was shaking with rage. He turned to Frank. "Dad! You're just going to sit there and watch? The whole town talks about our family behind our backs. Can't you hear them? Old Man Hoffman is practically taking a dump on your head!"
Frank set down his bowl. It was the only thing he had done the whole meal.
He rose slowly, walked over to his son, and pressed a hand on Greg's shoulder. The hand was rough and strong, like an iron clamp.
"Greggy, sit down." Frank's voice was low, but unusually steady.
"Dad! I can't take it anymore!" Greg shouted.
"Even if you can't take it, you have to." Frank looked his son in the eye. There was a depth in that gaze Greg had never seen before, like an old well with no bottom. "The renovation money, I'll scrape it together for you in a couple of days. Eat."
Gloria gave a cold snort. "You'll scrape it together? What, are you going to sell your blood? Quit pretending you're some big shot."
With that, she swayed her hips back to the inner room. Less than five minutes later, Old Man Hoffman from next door came strolling into the yard, humming a tune, and slipped straight into Gloria's room.
Greg hurled his bowl to the floor. Shards flew everywhere.
Frank silently crouched down and picked up the broken china, one piece at a time. A shard sliced his finger, and a bead of blood welled up. He looked at the blood on his fingertip, and the corner of his mouth suddenly twitched into a smile that didn't fit him at all, a cold and sinister smile.
Chapter 3
Days passed like a dull knife, carving at the flesh one day at a time.
Gloria's sixtieth birthday was coming up.
To Gloria, this was a very big deal. She wanted it done in grand style. She wanted the whole town of Millbrook to see that even though she was getting old, she was still the most respectable woman around.
"I want an open-house banquet. Thirty tables." Gloria sat cross-legged on the bed, giving Frank his orders. "Go into town and book the best caterer there is. Lobster and steak, no skimping. The cigarettes have to be Marlboros, and the liquor has to be top-shelf whiskey."
Frank was writing it all down in a little notebook. His pen paused. "That's going to cost a lot. We don't have that kind of money."
"Money, money, money, all you ever do is cry poor!" Gloria snapped. "Dale already said he'll cover all the drinks for the party! Look how generous Dale is. Nothing like you. Oh, and what gift have you got for me? I'm warning you, don't try to pass off one of those junky little things you whittle out of scrap wood. It's embarrassing."
Frank closed the notebook and said slowly, "Don't worry. This time it's a big gift. I've been getting it ready for the better part of a year."
"Oh? Well, will wonders never cease?" Gloria laughed scornfully. "What could you possibly come up with that's any good? Don't tell me you dug it out of a dumpster."
Dale from next door happened to walk in just then and burst out laughing when he heard that. "Gloria, don't turn your nose up at Frank's little gesture. If he can't come up with something decent, I'll get you something big. A gold bracelet. Solid gold, nearly two ounces!"
Gloria's eyes lit up instantly. She laughed so hard the powder flaked off her face. "Oh my, how could I ever accept that? You're the one who really takes care of me, Dale."
The two of them flirted right in front of Frank. He might as well have been invisible, quietly clearing the sunflower seed shells off the table.
Over the next few days, Frank got very busy.
Every day he left before dawn with a big woven sack on his back, and no one knew where he went. Someone saw him go into a copy shop in the county seat. Someone else saw him at the stone yard in the next village over. And someone else saw him wandering around the family burial plot on the hill out back.
Gloria didn't care in the slightest what he was up to. All she cared about was trying on the red sequined cocktail dress she would wear to the party, with Dale.
The night before the party.
Frank stayed in the woodshed a long time. There was no light in the woodshed, only moonlight spilling in through the cracks.
In front of him sat a red wooden box. He had made it with his own hands from red pine, carved it with fine patterns, and given it eight coats of lacquer.
He reached out and gently stroked the box, feeling the grain of the wood under his fingertips.
"Twenty-five years," Frank murmured to himself. "With all the interest piled up, it's time this debt got settled."
He took a key from inside his coat and carefully locked the box.
That night, Frank slept soundly. He even snored. It was Gloria, in the next room, who was too excited to sleep for half the night, sending voice messages back and forth with Dale, planning how she would steal the show tomorrow.
Chapter 4
The sixteenth of September. The old almanac called it a lucky day for weddings, for breaking ground, and for bringing in money.
The Carter yard was strung with lights and streamers, and thirty tables filled every inch of it. Red canopies ran edge to edge overhead, and the big loudspeaker blared "Celebration."
Every man, woman, and child in Millbrook had come. Hardly any of them were there to wish Gloria a happy birthday. Most had come for the free food and the chance to watch the show.
Gloria stood at the gate greeting guests in her tight red sequined cocktail dress, a string of pearls around her neck and her face flushed and beaming. Dale stood beside her in a crisp, sharp suit, a red "VIP" rosette pinned to his chest. Anyone who didn't know better would have thought it was their wedding day.
"Come on in, Uncle Dale! Best seat in the house!"
"Well, look at Old Man Hoffman! You'd think the mayor just showed up!"
The townsfolk said all the right things out loud, and their eyes traded the mockery everyone understood without a word.
And Frank?
He was in the back kitchen in his faded gray Sunday suit, an apron tied over it, sweating as he carried plates and washed vegetables.
Several rounds of drinks and dishes later, the emcee grabbed the microphone. "It's time, folks! Let's welcome our birthday girl, Mrs. Gloria Carter, to the stage! Next up, family and friends will present their gifts!"
Gloria swept onto the stage like a proud peacock, her face split by a wide smile.
Dale was the first on his feet. Holding a red velvet box, he strode up with long, confident steps.
"Gloria, today's your big day. We've been neighbors for decades, so please accept this little token!" He opened the box. Inside, a solid gold bracelet gleamed in the sunlight.
Gasps rose from the crowd.
"Whoa! That's gotta be worth five grand, easy!"
"Old Man Hoffman sure doesn't do anything small!"
Gloria was so excited her hands shook. She let Dale fasten the bracelet on her wrist himself, and the two of them traded flirty glances right there on stage, paying no mind at all to the whispers below.
Just then, the emcee called out, "And now, let's welcome Mrs. Gloria Carter's husband, Mr. Frank Carter, to present his gift!"
The whole yard went quiet.
Some people snickered. Others craned their necks, waiting to see what pathetic little thing the loser would come up with.
Frank untied his grease-stained apron, wiped his hands, and stepped out from backstage.
He walked slowly, yet his back was straighter than it had ever been. In his hands he held the red pine box. He was smiling, and the smile carried a lightness and a finality no one could read.
He reached the center of the stage and stood between Gloria and Dale.
Gloria shot him a disgusted look and hissed, "Hurry up, hand it over, and get lost. Don't hold up my toast with Dale."
Frank ignored her. He picked up the microphone and looked out at the hundreds of townsfolk below, his voice booming in a way that didn't sound like him at all.
"Friends and neighbors, thank you all for coming out today."
"Gloria and I have been married thirty years. In all that time, I never gave her much of a good life. I had to rely on our neighbor here, Old Man Hoffman, to help out." Frank put heavy weight on the word help.
Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Dale gave a smug little wave.
"For her sixtieth birthday, I couldn't afford a gold bracelet. But I've prepared a big gift for her. One I've been saving up for twenty-five years."
Frank turned and held the red wooden box out to Gloria with both hands, his gaze so tender it was unsettling. "Gloria, open it. You're going to love it."
Gloria took the box suspiciously, wondering what kind of trick the old fool was up to.
In front of the entire town, she flipped open the fine brass clasp with a click and lifted the lid.
In that instant, time seemed to stop.
The smile froze on Gloria's face. Even her thick layer of makeup couldn't hide how white she'd gone.
Her pupils shrank to pinpoints. Her hand jerked, and the box hit the floor with a loud thud.
What was inside tumbled out and spread across the center of the stage.
"This... this can't be!"
Gloria let out a shrill, piercing scream, like a chicken with someone's hand around its neck. She crumpled to the floor, pointing at Frank, her whole body shaking as if she'd been electrocuted. "You... how did you get this..."
