by Scott MacLeod

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Alan got up for a pee. His third of the night. Sat down. Emasculating? Maybe. To Alan it was just common sense. And courtesy. Less splashing. Plus, at his age a little sit down was never a bad thing. His eye drifted to the nearby shower. Specifically, to the narrow shelving that stood by the shower door. Something flashed in the night light, intruding on his drowsiness as he tried to concentrate on the trickle. What the hell was that? A watch? Well, it was the perfect place to drop one off before a rinse. He had to admit he’d done that himself. But this watch wasn’t his. The hell? What other man’s watch would be in his bathroom? A plumber? Peg hadn’t mentioned any service. Service indeed. No, Peg would need to explain this. Then it hit him, a little slow on the uptake in his micturatory daze. He wasn’t at home. He was at Jan’s. Ha, of all the chutzpah to accuse Peg. Alan was the one on the roam. The watch must belong to Jan’s husband. Poor Todd, that dim twat. It looked to be a cheapie.

Alan crawled back into bed. He hadn’t flushed to try to keep down the noise, but Jan was wide awake.

“Where did you say Todd was?”

“Akron. Convention.”

“Without his watch?”

“Huh?”

“Isn’t that his in the bathroom?”

“Maybe. Oh, the beat-up old Timex? That old thing? That’s his weekend watch. For yard work, you know. A little man like him wouldn’t be caught dead in that one with the other salesmen around.  Why?”

“No reason.”

They drifted back to sleep.

Alan snuck back home before dawn. Another all nighter at the firm, he’d claim. Would Peg buy it? Did it matter?

The next weekend  Alan really did need to spend a Saturday at the office. Typically, that would draw a complaint from Peg who would have her eyes on an art festival or farmers market to drag him to. But she didn’t say a word. After he wrapped up work, he texted Jan. Turned out Todd was gone again. Visiting his mom, ‘til late. Maybe the day could be salvaged.

Afterwards he was surprised to find Peg still awake. Near midnight. On the back patio with what looked like a Negroni.

“Crisis handled?” she called out.

Was that sarcasm? She seemed pretty chipper. Had he missed a rare good mood?

“What did you do today?” he asked.

“Oh this and that.” Was she smiling?

“Sounds good.  I am beat.”

He went back inside.  Decided to duck into the shower really quick. Might as well try to destroy any obvious aromatic evidence. In case she did care.

 As he reached to slam shut the soap-streaked door his arm brushed the nearby shelf. His eyes followed the sharp clatter on the tiles below.

Well, well, he said aloud.  Another watch. He almost had to smile. This one wasn’t his either. Good for old Peg. Strange, he thought, doesn’t bother me at all.

Then he looked more closely and to his great surprise what he saw did bother him. Deeply. It was the same watch he’d seen at Jan’s.

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Scott MacLeod is a father of two who writes in Central Florida. His work has appeared recently in various publications, with more forthcoming. His Son of Ugly weekly flash fiction newsletter can be found on Substack at https://scottmacleod1.substack.com

on Instagram @scottmacleod478, on X @ScottMacLe59594 and at http://www.facebook.com/scott.Macleod.334

Photo by Agê Barros on Unsplash