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19
Maybe when it comes to Patty’s affairs in the master bedroom with her new husband, it’s none of my damn business, even if my life is on the line. But fuck it, I follow her anyway. What in Christ’s name bad can happen to me that already hasn’t happened today? The day I died and was resurrected by some miracle of fate or Providence. Or just plain bad luck. Maybe sometimes it’s just better to stay dead, baby, dead. You get my drift?
We stand outside the bedroom door. We can hear Jake’s voice. He sounds upset. No, that’s not totally correct. He sounds panicked.
“Come on, come on,” he says. “Pick…the fuck…up.”
My ex-wife throws open the door, sees what her husband is up to with his cell phone (the phone that must have slipped out of his nervous hand to the wood floor), goes to him, and yanks it from his grip. She presses the End Call icon, then tosses the phone against the wall where it explodes. Holy crap, I didn’t know the beautiful mother to my only son and child had it in her. But I’m damn happy she does.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Jake?” she says.
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