Excerpt: Bridging the Gaps

Crash.
Breaking glass punctuated angrily muttered statements as Ellen Pritchard pulled pictures from the walls and threw them in a black plastic garbage bag. “Bastard.” A family vacation photo was pulled from its perch. “Twenty five years of my life.” Down came a picture taken at a church fundraiser. “Four children.”
Ellen moved to the great room. The family portrait from the last Christmas was evicted from its place above the mantel, followed by the Grand Knight photo from the Knights of Columbus.
She eyed the wedding picture on the other side of the room. Grabbing the fire poker she took a running start and smashed it. It fell, glass side up on the carpet. She beat it mercilessly. “Love! Honor! Cherish!” She took a breath to steady herself for one last blow and muttered, “keep thee only unto, my ass!” Stepping on the shards for good measure she headed for the master bedroom, ignoring the doorbell’s insistent chiming.
Doug’s cologne still sat on the bureau. She chucked it into the bag. Then she set the burden on the bed while she pulled suit after suit from the closet, throwing them unceremoniously out the open window.
Ties were flying everywhere when three women stepped into the room. “Ellen? Honey, are you ok?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she called back calmly, “Just doing a bit of spring cleaning.”
Carefully navigating the various items that had fallen to the floor, Georgia Elliot approached the closet slowly, as if sudden movements might escalate the situation. Just then the door flew open, hitting Georgia in the face.
“Oh, Oh Georgie! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were back there.”
Holding her nose and blinking back tears, she squeaked out, “It’s ok, honey.”
“Maybe some ice?” Mary Jo suggested.
“Ice! Yes. Let’s just all step into the kitchen.”
While Ellen was consumed with remorse and Mary Jo helped Georgia, the fourth woman had time to examine the house a bit more closely. She noted the destroyed wedding picture, Ellen’s red nose; the kitchen counter held an empty pint carton of ice cream. Fudge mint was always a good choice.
There was no need to ask what was going on—the whole town knew Doug had left his wife for another woman.
“Really, Georgie I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Ellen produced an ice pack.
“Oh, shut up! We all know you’re sorry. And she’s not upset, are you Georgia?” Without giving her a chance to so much as nod, Jessie continued. “You know why we’re here.”
“You know about Doug?” Ellen’s mask of composure slipped.
“Ellie…everybody knows.” Mary Jo hated her role in the visit, but somebody had to tell her. “He’s not exactly hiding it.”
Ellen wavered between despair and fury. Fury won out. “He’s taking that tramp out around town, is he?”
Georgia spoke up. “Not to any of the places you go. You shouldn’t have to run into them. But he sure is making a spectacle of himself.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“We’re not here to make you feel better. You’ve gotta get up and get out and show people what you’re made of. You can’t let that son-of-a-bitch win.” For all the years they’d been friends, Jessie’s language still shocked the others. In their experience a preacher’s wife just didn’t talk like that.