Wilmington, NC 05 - Murder On The ICW

never stayed around long enough for us to work things out? I asked myself. But I already knew the answer. We couldn't. The man was a wanderer, a born adventurer. This was hopeless.
    I didn't want a scene. I didn't want to become a nagging wife. I refused to plead with him to stay with me. It was clear he was leaving again and he hadn't even discussed it with me. Was he waiting for me to come home to tell me? Or did he plan to leave me a note? A note that would say something like, Sorry, Ashley, I'm off again on another mission to make the world safe for democracy.
    I called his name softly and headed up the stairs. I stopped abruptly outside the open door to the guest room. I hadn't intended to eavesdrop but something about the quality of his voice arrested me. He spoke softly and lovingly, a tone I had not heard in a long time.
    "I'll leave as soon as Ashley gets home. I have to tell her. But I'll drive like the wind to reach you before dark. We'll get some supper."
    He chuckled softly. "Staying in sounds better to me too."
    I stepped into the doorway just as he was saying goodbye. "I miss you, Carol."
    Nick closed the phone with a snap, looked up, saw me, and our eyes met across the room. "Ashley," he stammered, clearly embarrassed. "How long have you been standing there?"
    "Long enough to know you're leaving me for someone named Carol," I retorted angrily.
    "I'm sorry you heard that. I wanted to tell you . . .” He didn't finish but the expression that crossed his face could only be described as relief.
    I held my breath. If I didn't breathe, maybe I wouldn't feel. Feel the pain that I knew was about to punch the air out of my lungs. But it came anyway.
    I let out my breath with a long, ragged sigh. There was something so final about the sound. Final and accepting.
    "Tell me what?" I asked coldly.
    "Ashley. I didn't mean for you to find out this way. I planned to tell you. This isn't working for me. You either, if you will be truthful. You aren't any happier than I am. I need . . .”
    "Carol?" I asked in a whisper.
    "Yes," he said softly, and lowered his head as if defeated. Then he lifted his eyes to mine. "But more than Carol. I'm not the kind of husband you want . . . need. I'm not a guy who can hang around the house, plant a garden, do domestic stuff like that. You knew that about me, Ashley. Don't look surprised."
    "I'm not surprised," I said. "You're an adventurer. And what adventure are you chasing after now, Nick?"
    "I'm joining Blackwater Security," he replied.
    "And Carol? Is she a part of Blackwater ?" I had crossed my arms around my middle, trying to hold myself together. Physically. Mentally. I wanted to scream. To launch myself at him and beat him with my fists.
    The look he got on his face was dreamy as he spoke her name. "Carol is a K9 trainer there."
    Oh, dear Lord, this was worse than I thought. He was in love with her.
    "It's a fabulous place, Ashley. They've got six thousand acres in Moyok , North Carolina, and they're dedicated to supplying the best security forces the world has ever known."
    "Supply to whom?" I asked.
    "State and federal government. The DOD. Homeland Security. Friendly nations." He stretched out his arms. "Ashley, this is something I have to do. Forgive me."
    And he strode out of the room without a backward glance. He did not kiss me goodbye, or hug me, or promise that we could be friends. Nothing. Goodbye. I'm gone.
    I turned and fled, brushing past him in the upstairs hall. I heard sobs as if they came from another person. Back down the stairs, past his waiting suitcases. Let him leave! Let him drive like the wind to reach Carol and his new life. I wasn't staying to witness his abandoning me.
    "Ashley! Ashley, wait!" he called after me, bounding close behind me down the stairs, out onto the porch.
    But I was faster, driven by a hurt too large to face. Besides, he didn't really want to catch me. He wanted to be on his way.
    He stopped at the top of the porch steps as I opened the door to the van. "I'm sorry," he called feebly after me.
    I'll bet you are! I wanted to shout at him but didn't. Somehow through my tears I managed to fit the key into the ignition, turn it, put the van into reverse, back up, then pull out into Nun Street.
    I knew exactly where I was going. I was running to a safe place, a place I should have run to long ago. I grabbed some tissues and dabbed my eyes.
    Then I drove back out Oleander toward the waterway and to Jon, my safe harbor. I think at that