Read Online You Don't Love This Man by Dan Deweese - Free Book Online Page A

delusion far more often than a fact,capitalism is not the only way, death comes for everyone, recreational drug use is almost always harmless, and so on. I had felt no further revelations awaited me in life, but upon hearing Catherine say good-bye to Sandra, yet another seemingly solid boundary had disappeared: in addition to pro wrestling being rigged and innocent people being convicted, I now had to add that Catherine could use her cell phone to call my ex-wife. Sandra had most likely been speaking on her cell phone, too. They had each other’s numbers. They carried them around in their little phones.
    â€œI didn’t know you and Sandra were friends,” I said. “Much less that the two of you would be chatting today.”
    â€œDo you think I’ve spent the last ten years with my eyes and ears closed? That I’ve never written a number down and kept it in case of a situation exactly like this?” she said.
    â€œIs it normal for you to call Sandra and discuss our family’s personal crises with her? Do the two of you talk regularly?”
    Absorbed in some occult activity involving rapid typing on her keyboard, Catherine shook her head impatiently, as if hurrying me through an argument whose opening moves were obvious. “Of course not,” she said. “But I’ve answered occasional calls from Sandra for ten years, so I’d like to help her. And I can’t help unless I ask what kind of help is needed.”
    â€œBut you already asked me that. Was my answer not sufficient?”
    â€œIt’s best to have as much information as possible.”
    â€œBest for whom?” I said.
    In the instant in which I turned to walk away, Catherine actually glared at me. I turned back after a few steps, but her eyes were on her computer monitor by then, and she didn’t bother to raise them. She leaned toward the screen as if increased intensityof focus might make the machine work faster, but I could see the color had risen in her cheeks. It was yet another benefit to seeing her without her makeup that day: her pulse was revealed immediately. My question had gotten its intended effect. “Please do not call Sandra any more today,” I said.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” she said.
    â€œIt undermines my authority. It means you don’t respect my decision making.”
    She laughed, but that was fine, since it at least got her to lift her eyes from the computer. “It doesn’t mean anything like that at all,” she said.
    â€œWhen you’re printing out branch sales reports,” I said, “do I call Tony Sacco and ask him what order he thinks we should do them in?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œLet’s say you were getting ready to do the reports, and I called Tony and chatted with him about how they do them over at his branch, and then I walked over to you and told you that I had just called your old boss and he said they do the reports in such and such an order. How would you feel?”
    â€œWhat would it matter what Tony thinks? I haven’t worked in his branch for years. He knows less about branch reports than I do, anyway.”
    â€œRight. So when I hear you calling my ex-wife, it’s weird. Because what does it matter what she thinks?”
    â€œNo, that doesn’t work,” she said. “Because I know more about branch reports than Tony, but Sandra knows just as much about Miranda as you do. She probably knows more about Miranda than you do.”
    I tried to gauge the degree to which the anger Catherine wasraising in me was intentional. She maintained an eyebrows-raised expression of innocence.
    â€œDo you have kids, Catherine?” I asked. I knew perfectly well she didn’t.
    â€œNo, Paul,” she said. “I do not.”
    â€œThen listen. Never tell one parent that it’s the other parent who truly knows their child.”
    â€œI didn’t mean it the way you’re making it