When I turned onto the quiet street on which we lived, I saw two or three police cars. Instead of just leaving, Rita had apparently called the police. I have no idea when she called or even why she called. I suspect she called before I left because she thought I would prevent her from leaving and then stayed for them to arrive. This was pretty much my first adversarial interaction with the police. I recall being a bit belligerent with one officer because I wanted to go upstairs to take care of my finger, which was dripping blood. He didn’t want me to. I now understand better how and why the officer acted the way he did. Domestic incidents can be extremely volatile, and I’m sure the thought went through his head that I might be going to get a weapon. The officer followed me upstairs and watched as I bandaged my finger. Rita was not in the house, and the garage was closed, so I had no idea if she’d left. I later learned that she took the kids to the neighbor’s house. I spoke to the officers, and they agreed it was a bad idea for her to leave in the middle of the night, and they apparently talked her into staying the night at the neighbor’s house and waiting until the morning to leave.
I suppose she was scared as this was probably the maddest I have ever been in the 25 years we had known each other and the only time I had ever broken something in anger. There were no weapons in the house besides kitchen knives, but it’s hard to tell what she thought I might do. I have never struck another person in anger or tried to injure someone, but I suppose she didn’t know what was going through my head.
The police called an ambulance; I’m not sure why they didn’t just let me take the car, which was apparently still in the garage. I got a few stitches and walked the ten miles home. It was dawn by the time I got there, and I was exhausted. I had no idea if Rita had left by that time as I didn’t bother to check if the car was in the garage, and she and the kids were not at the house. I went to bed, and the car was gone when I got up.
I had always taken care of our finances, but around 2010 Rita asked if I could show her what needed to be done because she wanted to understand our financial situation better. In hindsight, I wonder if she had ulterior motives for this. When she left, I needed to start paying bills again and found about five months of unopened mail in a desk drawer. Concerned, I checked our accounts and realized that Rita had essentially stopped paying bills for at least four months. She had neglected to pay the mortgage and the home equity loan we had from the shoe store. I checked my credit score, and it had plummeted to something around 500. I still don’t know why she quit paying the bills besides possibly being depressed, and I have no idea why she didn’t simply ask me to take over the task.