There was a rapping of the door and through the twisting of the wooden knob the man came through in his security garb. He was a tall and dark man and he was handsome in the way that 70s cops were handsome. He wore his jet black hair parted at the center and he sported a black moustache that was thick and that few men could grow.

His wife was waiting for him in the hallway when he came. He looked at her and she at him and she smiled. The man moved into the bedroom and took off his belt and the holster that adorned it and the black gun with its square barrel. He hung it in the rack on the closet.

She followed him into the bedroom. The bed was neatly tucked-in and near a tierwood bedstand and there was a doorway inside the bedroom which led to a white closet heaped in a whirlwind of dirty clothes. Next to the bedstand was a French window draped with maroon curtains. Everything else was immaculate and the Samsung TV screen was showing an episode of Andy Griffith.

"How was your day?" she asked.

"The same as always."

"Did anything happen there tonight?"

"This woman. This crazy woman. She came in naked. We tried to give her scrubs but she wouldn't take them. Said she wouldn't put clothes on at all."

"My god. What did you do?"

"I had to drag her out and call the police. It took two hours dealing with her."

"My god."

The man sat on the bed and unbuttoned the blue security shirt and took it off and then undid his shoes and took off his socks. He looked at his wife.

"Why did you stay up so late anyway?" he asked.

"I wanted to see you. I feel like I don't get to see you anymore. You get back so late."

"Well, it's work."

"I know," she said.

"I feel like I get home and then I have to defend myself."

"You don't," she said.

The man nodded and glanced at the screen and then back at his clothes. He lay on the bed in his undershirt and felt at the bedstand for his cigarettes and lighter and he sparked the lighter to light the cigarette and then he took his ashtray in his left hand and held it steady.

His wife slid into the bed next to him and put an arm around him. He stayed where he was and watched the television screen. Barney was going on about how Otis had gotten out of jail again.

"The principal called and said John isn't doing his work," she said.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah. I don't know what to do."

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

"No, I can deal with it."

"I was thinking about a psychologist for him," she said.

"What the hell does he need a shrink for?"

"I don't know. You know we've had problems lately. I was just thinking it might be affecting his school."

"Where is he?"

"In his room."

"John doesn't need a shrink," he said.

"I called your work tonight," she said. "I called Mark and tried to get ahold of you and he said you were out."

"What'd you call my work for?" he said.

"I just wanted to talk with you."

"I told you I was busy tonight."

There was a pause. Andy Griffith was solving the missing Otis problem now and the rest of the room was dark except for the cherry glow of the cigarette.

"Were you with Sean Con?" she asked.

"I fucking told you I wasn't. I fucking told you that."

"You have Lortab eyes," she said. "I can tell you have them."

"You're delusional, Lynn. You're fucking delusional."

"Get the fuck out of here."

His eyes took over with hellfire fury and he reeled back to hit her and then stopped. His lips curled into a dog sneer to show the crooked teeth below his moustache.

"I'm not bothering anymore. I'm done. I'm done with your bitch ass and I'm not coming back here again."

"Good, you fucking cheater. I talked to Joy today. She told me everything."

"Joy is a fucking liar. You think she didn't want to fuck me too?"

"All my friends are liars right? Nobody's telling me the truth? I recorded you. I wanted to see how long you would lie to my face, Sheldon."

Her voice broke like brakes and into a hollow shell of what it was and fell into sinewy panic.

"You're a liar. Just like your family. Just like your mother," she said.

He stood up. His face was red and he stormed for the rack and when he turned around there was a flash of gunmetal reflected in the TV screen and she screamed a scream that echoed off the ivory walls.

John came running into the doorway. They both looked at him and tears fell off his face like rainforest leaves and in his hands there were torn papertowels and fingernail markings on the backs of his hands that bled deep and gushed as if from an old well.

The man turned to look at John and his face contorted into something deep and he turned and left the room in a fleeting storm. The door slammed and echoed again from the narrow hallway and they heard the truck pull off and the the wheels scream as they fled the house in a hurricane hurry.

John looked at his mother. She was crying too and looking off in the distance and she went to the window to watch him leave.

"This is never going to stop," John said. He draped a stubborn hand across his cheek to bumrush the fleeting tears that fell like shooting stars onto the maroon carpet that matched the draped curtains.

"I love him," she said.

"I wish you would get a divorce," John said.

"You don't have to go to school today," she said.