I do not know who told Emy about me and Greg. But someone surely did; she threw a tantrum and threatened to turn my life into a nightmare. I shrugged my shoulders at her “You and your son will end up moving, you will never be welcome here any longer”. I quietly left their house that day. Their house, redolent with Greg’s ideal cleanliness and the weirdness of surreal photos in the hall was actually his house, I never felt her presence here, she was suppressed like everyone else who ever dealt with his psychopathy. He was genius, she was jealous, he did not care, she suffered, he had no problems, she was unable to put up with his mistresses.
– Get out, – she was screaming, I could not care less. I loved him, I had his kid, her pain was her problem.
– Bye Emy
What does it mean to be unwelcome in a small town, where everyone knows him and his wife? The first couple of months were kinda uncomfortable. That Sunday I felt weird in church under the sternness of unsmiling faces. People kept turning their heads as I was leaving, my son started crying as I was picking him up from the church child care. The sitter gave me a cold look to my usual “thank you”. I was way too pagan to attend a Christian church, but Greg went there with his sons, watching him during the Sunday service made me happy for the rest of the day. I kept going ignoring people’s quiet hostility, and absence of their fake “how are you this Sunday?” bullshit. Gradually, everything went back to normal, people started smiling and hugging me again.
I kept complaining about the found poop on my doorstep until the landlord took care of it. I filed a bunch of reports over the knifed tires, the corps had to patrol our area more often, and Greg helped me pay for the tire replacement. The neighbors got bored and ended up leaving me alone. I resumed playing the piano during the season, the hotel management had to rehire me to entertain the guests, since hiring a professional piano player was too expensive. Our administrative assistant stopped calling me a witch as soon as I complained about harassment.
After 6 months of silence, Emy invited me for lunch. My lies about her weight loss put a big smile on her face. Greg and I stopped hiding in cheap hotels, and I was happy to inhale the dark surrealism of his house again.
– My poor little Vixen, – I felt empathy and concern in Heather’s voice as I was telling her about my non-grata experience.
– I had no choice, I could not leave the town. He lives here, and I am his mistress.