"Hiya, Ronald," Trisha Kettel said, kissing him on the cheek as she entered the house, shopping bags hanging from each hand. She smiled at the sight of the boxer shorts, but said nothing. "Where's Dee? She home?"

"I'm in the kitchen, Trish! Come on in. Is Ron out there?"

In the kitchen, Trish set her packages down on the table and then rushed over to give her best friend a quick peck on the cheek.

"Yeah, he's out by the front door." She lowered her voice, casting a quick glance over her shoulder. "He's wearing those same boxer shorts he was wearing last time. He must really like them!"

"They are his favorite," Dee sighed, putting away the last of the dishes.
"He's got dozens of pairs of undershorts but he really does like that particular pair. But you know my Ron-the more colorful and wild, the better. It's just so … so him. And I hope he doesn't lose that any time soon."

"Yeah," Trish said, digging into the bags she'd placed on the table. "It really is cute. I know my Howard is such a bore when it comes to that kind of-"

A loud stomping sound from the doorway startled them and Trish looked up sharply, drawing in a breath. Ron stood in the doorway. With his arms spread and a hand on each jamb, he occupied much of that space, though he wasn't particularly tall, nor was he more than just a few pounds overweight. He was very red, however-obviously upset.

Stomping again, once with each foot, he glared at Trisha, his face continuing to darken as if his heart pumped blood up through arteries in his neck but he lacked the veins necessary to cycle it back. If that were the case he would have fallen dead on the spot, of course, but Dee worried that he could possibly have a heart-related problem if he didn't calm down. It had been several weeks since she'd last seen him this worked up and now she really had to wonder about the so-called progress his doctor had reported only yesterday.

"Ron," Dee started, setting the dishtowel down on the counter. "You need to calm down, honey. What's-"

"When I introduce myself to a guest in my home," Ron said loudly, and with authority, "I expect the same courtesy in return."

He relaxed somewhat and turned toward his wife, pointing toward Trish with his left hand. "I won't have a strange woman barging in and disrespecting me, disrespecting you and disrespecting our house."

"Oh, Ron," Dee said, walking across the room to grab his hand. "This isn't a stranger. This is my best friend, Trish. Trisha Kettel. Howard's wife. You remember Howard, right? You are fishing buddies. He has that little Dodge truck and you're always reminding him that yours is bigger."

She tried to guide him to the table, but Ron stood firm. The dark hue of his face had been replaced by a look of confusion, and both women could almost see the gears turning in his head.

"Howard?" he asked finally, paying no further attention to Trish. "Howard is here?"

"No, dear. Trish is here. Howard is working. Now let's go over to the table and have a seat. Trish went to some factory outlet stores and wants to show us some of what she found there. I'll put some coffee on."

Once again, he resisted, but it was clear that his mind had already moved from the perceived insult and on to something else. To what was anyone's best guess but Dee suspected she wouldn't have to wait long to find out.

That's just how it seemed to go lately. His normally stable mood she had enjoyed throughout the past twenty-eight years of marriage had been steadily replaced by an unstable, unpredictable temper that could only be described as such even in periods of relative calm. It was there, always, often hidden beneath a calm, congenial personality that could be swept aside in an instant and with no apparent provocation. Like a malignant tumor, it grew steadily-often unnoticed, but always growing, always feeding on its host. This incident between him and Trish had been rather benign compared to some outbursts in recent memory.

When it became apparent that Ron had no interest in the shopping bags on the table, both women fell into their comfortable roles as friends. Trish lived to shop and shopped to live, as the saying went, and Dee always enjoyed combing through the bags with her friend, knowing that the last item would always be a very thoughtful gift from Trish. Nothing she bought was ever expensive; she took pride in her frugality and spent countless hours shopping in many different places in order to find only the very best products at shockingly low prices. While Trish enjoyed showing the bounty to Dee, her main satisfaction came in seeing the disbelief on her friend's face when she revealed the cost of each item. It had become a game between the two and Trish ended up going to sometimes dubious extremes in her quest to show maximum value for minimal expense. The fact that it oftentimes cost her more in fuel or in time to find the item than it did to actually buy the item was usually never mentioned, especially to Howard.

To Dee, it just gave her a break from the realities of her new life with Ron. Five years ago, things had been perfect, as things always had been since the day they met. A "storybook couple" from the start, they never had struggled with many of the problems that typically affected married couples. Sex had always been fulfilling, financial disagreements had been easily resolved and compromise in every other area, when required, had always been offered by one or the other. Love truly was unconditional and the two were truly happy together, so much so that they often were the topic of conversation in their circle of peers, though that went on largely behind closed doors in locations throughout the city. "Why can't you treat me like Ron treats Dee?" and "Why do the Kearney's always seem so happy together?" and "If you could make me half as happy as Ron seems to make Dee…" were all common questions and musings in the homes of their friends and acquaintances. True, they never had taken vacations to Hawaii, they shared a sensible four-door sedan, their home was a modest fifteen-year-old ranch style home with a failing roof and their holidays spending fell well short of what might be expected from their specific demographic, but they shared something far more valuable-a deep and lasting love. Everything else was incidental.

But all that started to change when Dee had found the pitcher of orange juice in the cupboard. Ron always had been meticulous about putting things back in their designated spots, so much so that if something did not have a designated spot, Ron always assigned one. His behavior could never have been described as obsessive-compulsive; Dee found him to be considerate, respectful and orderly but without any underlying psychosis. True, he could be a "neat freak" at times but Dee was all too aware that she had landed what some of her friends had called a real "keeper," and she'd always been conscientious to thank her husband, to reaffirm her love for him and to make sure he always knew how much she respected and appreciated him for his many outstanding virtues.

The pitcher had obviously been there a while. Large beads of water had formed over the smooth glass sides and one occasionally broke, tracing a winding path down to the shelf paper below. There, a large ring of water had collected around the pitcher's base, soaking through the paper and into the oak cabinetry. Ron, the proverbial "Mr. Coaster" man himself would never have stood for it and would have either: 1) placed the orange juice in the refrigerator or, 2) put a plate or some other sort of collection device beneath the pitcher. But unless a prowler had forced his way into the house and taken interest in nothing other than the orange juice pitcher, only one conclusion could be drawn: Ron had, uncharacteristically, put the orange juice in the cupboard.

And that, the first crack in the dam, marked the moment that things flowed downhill from there.