Grime and Punishment

complex of shops, restaurants, and movie theaters. Adjacent property had been purchased for possible expansion, but had never been put to use. The shopping center parking lot, far larger than needed, still backed up to what had once been a Christmas tree farm.
    It was here that Jane and Steve had come years ago on a frigid, windy Sunday with Mike and Katie, both of them dressed in quilted snowsuits that made them look like brightly colored Pillsbury Doughboys. They had carefully dug up a small fir tree that sat in the living room in a bucket for the holidays and then went outdoors. It now shaded the patio from the afternoon sun. It, like the children, had grown beyond recognition.
    The trees on the farm had been neglected. Those nearest the parking lot had grown brown and dingy from traffic fumes. Many had died, others were stunted and twisted. A stand near the north end had been wiped out by a fire started by lightning the previous spring. Scattered stumps showed where a few had been cut. But those remaining were towering now, and made dark, secret places. Today, the abandoned Christmas tree farm looked as desolate as Jane felt.
    She stopped the car at the very end of the shopping center lot. There was nothing near her but cracked asphalt, crumbling curbing, and a rusted lamp standard that someone had backed into and bent. They didn’t even paint parking lines this far from the shops. She turned off the engine and stared at the trees, trying to recapture the simple and happy life of that December day, when the children were little and she didn’t suspect that Steve would ever stop loving her.
    Damn him to hell!
    She let herself topple over sideways, her face resting on the upholstery fabric. Tears boiled over, and she wrapped her arms around her head, sobbing. For a long time she had no thoughts, no words, just a heart-constricting agony fighting to get out. She cried until she was exhausted.
    It had all happened so long ago. She was well along the road of getting over it. Or had been, until a few minutes ago. Why should this information have been so devastating?
    Because she’d always assumed it was someone from work: some cute sales rep from one of the drug firms—they were using a lot more women these days—or a customer, or a beautiful young pharmaceutical graduate. Somebody safe and anonymous. She’d never even dreamed the woman he’d left her for was someone she knew. A friend! Well, not much of a friend, as it appeared now.
    All this time it had been Joyce Greenway. A woman like herself. Like herself. That was the painful part, not even the fact that they knew each other.
    That frosting job of Joyce’s certainly concealed the same occasional gray hairs Jane had. The tummy tucks couldn’t erase stretch marks. Dam-mit! Joyce’s hormones were running down at a rate equal to everybody else’s. Joyce drove the same teenage children in car pools, she had the same cleaning lady, the same civic committees and concerns, the same orthodontist for the kids. The times they’d sat around that waiting room together while braces were being tightened!
    It hadn’t hurt as much before—not that Jane had known there were degrees of pain in such a rejection—thinking she’d lost him to someone young and free-spirited. Male menopause, Shelley called it. The mad, male urge to prove fading virility with a young woman when his wife was showing her years, and so was he. That wasn’t fair, but it was vaguely understandable. Jane had pictured the woman as different from her in every possible way. Young, firm-bodied, with no repressions whatsoever. No responsibilities beyond pleasure. She’d told herself, No wonder I lost him to someone like that. I couldn’t compete with youth.
    But Joyce—!
    Why Joyce? What in the world did she have to offer that Jane didn’t? Aside from a better figure, prettier hair, a softer voice, a more expensive wardrobe?
    And why hadn’t she suspected? Of course, Joyce was a fine actress. She’d been trained to convincingly present another persona on the stage, and could apparently use that skill off the stage as well. Naturally she’d been able to conceal her feelings. Acting the neutral, nonsexual, nonthreatening neighbor at block parties and PTA functions. Had she and Steve sneaked off for a quick grope behind the cotton candy machine at the junior high carnival? Had their hands touched while turning hamburgers on the grill? Had they exchanged sultry looks across the small desks on