Just in Case by Richard Schreck

In the dark New Orleans night, Marta Novak left the university library and trudged across campus toward their apartment. One year to go, and living on noodles. She didn’t expect her husband to be home, and he wasn’t. When she rose the next morning, he still hadn’t come in. He stayed away often enough that she entertained no great expectations, but she left him a note just in case. It said she had a late class and if he came home, he should pick up their toddler from Grace and Colin across the hall.  

He didn’t show up the next day nor the one following.

After two weeks, she phoned Darcy out of weariness and disgust. “I think he’s gone for good this time.”

If Darcy itched to toss out the I-told-you-so that must have been insisting on expression, she held it back—a reason she had survived as one of Marta’s remaining friends. Instead, she offered, “File for divorce and cite abandonment. He might show up in a few more days and you’ll lose the chance.”

“I’ll look into it.” Marta already had. She had started the paperwork and kept it under a stack of bills she knew he’d never look through. Just in case.

“You’re better off. His rich parents threw him out and instead of patching it up, he chose to get all who-needs-them bohemian or whatever. Never had to worry about money—and didn’t, even when you needed it. He brought nothing into your marriage, and I just hope he took nothing of yours out when he left.” Darcy voiced an often-heard assessment. “A born taker.”

Marta had no energy to disagree. Plus, the loyalty that—at one time—would have motivated his defense had fled. “No argument here. He owes me a ton of money. I was afraid he would to try to sell my gram’s necklace. No monetary value, but it means a lot to me so I hid it anyway …”

Darcy interrupted, laughed. “I know, I know. ‘Just in case.’” She paused. “Listen. Remember the opening I told you about at the laundromat? It’s filled. They hired some kid, looks like high school. In case you were still considering a second job.”

One more door closing. “Yeah, I was. And you’re right, it’s a good time to get officially single. Just need to find a way to pay the lawyer.”

“Wish I could front the money for you. Or help you get back the money he owes you. But, hey, let’s get out tonight. Dinner’s on me.” 

Marta contemplated an evening of celebration. “Tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going through the apartment and tossing out all the crap he left.”

“Excellent! Start fresh.”

The task energized her. Unwashed shirts, gym bag, underwear, seldom-worn dress shoes, his favorite mug—all stuffed in trash bags and dumped. Returning to the apartment, she yanked an errant throw rug into alignment then grabbed a cloth and swiped the dust from tables and shelves. In growing fury, she pulled out the vacuum and attacked the carpets. A clean sweep! Almost finished, she lifted every chair cushion and cleared the crumbs underneath. Finally, the sofa. Flipping up the second cushion, she saw it.  

His Rolex. Probably forgotten he’d ever owned it. Wedged deep into the back crevice. It was hers, now. Not nearly enough to make up for what he’d put her through. But worth more than enough to hire a lawyer, repay the money he owed her, and settle the bills he’d ignored.

She had forgotten about hiding it long ago to keep him from selling it for booze. To save it for him.

Just in case.