Keeping Up Appearances

Chatting. Yes, he was chatting. Sitting, presumably on the throne and chatting.  I wonder if they knew.

He was evidently chatting up all manner of people.  No. Scratch that.  All manner of women.

I panicked for a moment.  I needed him to stop at once. Maybe if he knows I know?  I get my phone and message him.  "Howzitallgoinginthere?" Refraining of course from saying something more like "Finish your business and come out so I can lop off your dick with some kitchen shears, you sneaky little weasel."  Very mature of me, I think.

He didn't answer, but promptly flushed and came out.  Not looking any more guilty than when he'd gone in.

Obviously a sociopath.

Confront or don't confront?  That is the question. And it's a doozy.

I decide not to confront.  Yet.

Any lawyer will tell you to never ask a witness a question to which you don't already know the answer.  No one needs a surprise when there is so much skin in the game.  I needed to fill my arsenal with ammo.  Factual ammo.  So confronting will have to wait.

Later, after we've had breakfast and coffee and he's tweaked the lock on my porch door like he'd promised, we say goodbye.  We say and do all the usual, ritualistic "Until Next Weekend" things and everything seems normal.

And I make a valiant effort to carry on as normal for most of the day.  I look at a restaurant to take Scott to for his birthday.  The place is beautiful and the menu  is exquisite.  He'll even find something he likes (scallops) and I am jonesing to get dressed up to celebrate. I send him the link. "Your birthday dinner?" I text.

Hours go by.  I am cleaning and doing laundry and paying bills.

And no reply from Scott.

And I immediately think he must be chatting with one of the ladies he chats up on line.

So I decide there is no time like the present to load the cannons. I grab the iPad, take a deep breath and go onto Facebook. 

I can see that he's connected with the UPS girl he bumps into at work.  ????

I can see that he's reached out to a former girlfriend who was an NFL cheerleader (and who now looks like a linebacker instead) with some Readers Digest story about having read some old letters. How sweet.

I can see that some crazy girl from high school who he'd said he'd unfriended was still very much his friend and still very much an aggressive, intrusive pain in the ass.

So I decide on a Hail Mary pass and go long.