The first week without Trenton had passed slowly, with Marsha anxiously trying to adjust to the knowledge that any decisions made would be solely her own. Images of what she imagined might be going on with Trenton were constantly replaying in her imagination. Was he suffering from lack of alcohol? How was he dealing with having others make decisions for him? Did he miss his family? If he had been seeing someone, had he somehow let her know? He was not supposed to have access to a phone. How was he handling that? All these thoughts had left her tossing and turning at night, unable to get a good night’s rest.

Latisha had been extremely helpful. Marsha didn’t know how she could have handled things without her. When she had informed her maid what was going on, Latisha reacted as though she was relieved.

“Miss Marsha, I think Mr. Trenton is exactly where he needs to be. It’s a blessing that he is going to be getting himself some help. He hasn’t been acting right lately. He’s been coming in here in the kitchen and grabbing a cup of coffee, looking like he hasn’t slept and not even wanting to eat. He used to have a good appetite. I’ve been concerned about him. Don’t you go worrying about nothing. We can handle it here until he gets back. If you need me to do anything more than my usual, you let me know.”

So far, Marsha had continued her turn at carpooling, and gone through the motions of her daily routine, trying to act as though nothing had changed. Although the children may have been talking among themselves since she had told them the news, they hadn’t asked any more questions and had avoided mentioning their dad around her. Linsey seemed more irritable than her normal teenage angst, and Marsha wondered if she blamed her for her father’s absence.

It was time to take care of some bills, so when the courier arrived with Trenton’s check, she was relieved. Since their marriage, taking care of the bills had been her job. Trenton had always cashed his own check and kept out thirty or forty in cash for his needs. He gave her the remainder to put in the bank so she could pay the bills and write checks for necessities.

She tore open the envelope intending to sign his name and then hers as his wife, and write out the deposit, but something was wrong. This wasn’t the amount of his usual check. The bookkeeper had made a mistake. Maybe the firm was adding money for the treatment center expecting her to pay them. She would need to call.

She got the bookkeeper on the phone to clear up why the amount was nearly twice as much as she had been dealing with each pay period. “I’m wondering about the amount of this check. Am I supposed to be paying the treatment center? If so, I’ll need to know how much I’m supposed send to  them.”

“Oh, no Ma’am. We’re taking care of that. That’s just his usual check. He’s being paid what he always gets while he is away at the center.”

“Are you sure you didn’t make  an error?” Marsha asked, repeating the amount.

“No, no mistake. It’s the same as always."

Marsha hung up the phone and sat staring at the check in disbelief. The thought that Trenton had been lying to her became clear. If he has been keeping out all that money, what has he been doing with it? The receipts I found in his coat for jewelry and lingerie were for money he spent on someone. It certainly wasn’t for me. Has he been planning to leave me for some bimbo?

Feelings of hurt and anger surged through her veins and erupted in salty tears. She felt the need to talk to someone. Handling this alone was too much for her. Perhaps talking to her pastor would be wise. She was in need of spiritual advice. Marsha tried to remember how long it had been since they had attended church. He had been a new pastor back then. He might not even remember her. Maybe she would call her mother instead. Again, she had second thoughts. Her mother believed the sun rose and set with Trenton. If she thought the marriage was falling apart, her mother would likely blame her. While she was debating over what to do the phone rang.

“Mrs. Carlson, this is Miss Morgan from the principal’s office at Bridgeport High. We need you to come over and talk to the principal. It is about your daughter, Tracie. Would you be able to come over right away? It is important that you be here as soon as you possibly can.”

“What’s wrong? Is Tracie sick?"

“No, she’s not sick or hurt, but you’ll need to talk to Mr. Hardy. He has your daughter in his office. You may have to take her home. He asked me to confirm that you will be coming shortly.”

“Okay. Tell him I’m on my way.”  

Marsha glanced in the mirror and ran the comb through her long blond hair. She wouldn’t bother to change clothes or refresh her makeup. The call had sounded urgent.

It seemed as if her world was crashing in. With everything else going wrong, now there was a problem concerning her daughter. Tracie was her baby. That little girl had never given anyone any trouble. Tracie was the last one of her children Marsha would have expected to have some kind of a problem. Hopefully it was nothing serious.

Grabbing her purse and car keys, Marsha took time to inform Latisha she hoped to be back shortly. With that, she was out the door and off to see what new emergency might be awaiting her arrival.