While I was waiting and watching them, I tried looking for Sam’s car. It was nowhere in sight, I did however spot Jessica’s convertible. She loved that car; it was a present for her 40th birthday from her husband Steve last year. Jessica had a blessed life. Steve was a vice-president of a large bank and money was never an issue. Steve was a nice guy, not the best looking, but then have you ever seen a rich guy with an unattractive wife? I haven’t.They left the coffee house and headed west. I followed them trying not to get too close and spook them. They drove for about fifteen minutes stopping at a bar we had never been to. I watched them walk into the bar, arm in arm. How could this be happening? How could Sam do this to me? How could Jessica do this to me? I started sobbing on the way home, but the closer I got to home the madder I got. I was determined to take control of this dilemma.Sam got home about 10:30; as he walked in he gave me a peck on the cheek, said he was tired, and. And the ground floor was an insanely inexpensive old-man bar that opened at the crack of dawn and closed, well, just a few hours before the next crack of dawn.There was a staccato of knocking on the glass. I glanced up. Sandra and Alonso stood out there grinning and beckoning me out. Those two, always playing games. I waved them off, not having time for fun. I was too busy proofing the edit of a print-out.Within the minute, there was a pounding flurry on the door; then Sandra swept in flapping a log sheet and row card. She looked like a land- based bird struggling with the primordial memory of flight.In just a matter of weeks, Sandra had settled in completely. Settled in and settled up. I thought it was great. She was the one who went off and hunted out the errors, leaving Alonso at the ticket counter to do the grunt work.I let my expression remain blank. "¿Problemo?"That was the beauty: though the two tongues sprang from different branches, there was an uncanny amount of.
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