A.N. This story is co-written between MadeInThe90s and myself. Chapters 1 and 3 are written by me and Chapter 2 is written by her. Enjoy! (We try to break molds.)
Dorothy Lachance stared blankly at her husband over a plate of watery, grey mashed potatoes and dry chicken. He didn't excite her anymore; he didn't interest her anymore. Eugene Lachance had never been the nicest man, at least not to her and Gordon. He was an imposing figure at five feet nine inches and had cruel, cold, pale blue eyes that cut through a caring individual. He worked hard down at the mine and always provided for his family. Any spark he had once had in himself, however, was crushed when his beloved son Dennis Lachance had died in a horrific Jeep accident. He didn't care for anyone anymore, and certainly not for Dorothy.
She had tortured herself with wondering what she could do to make him feel better. She had remained the dutiful housewife. But she was blank too, and had probably neglected him without noticing. Even her cooking skills had gone down the drain. Her beauty had disappeared too. She used to have the deepest red hair and the most sparkling blue eyes ever seen in the state of Oregon. She had been reduced to gray, dishwater curls atop her head and gray eyes that had seen the light of day too many times, with skin that had wrinkled and faded with age.
"Dorothy, you need to take the old fridge down to the junkyard. We've had that thing for months sitting in the garage and I've told you time and time again it needs to go," Eugene stated cruelly. It was the first time he had spoken the entire meal- the entire day- and it wasn't any pleasantry.
"Why can't you take it? It's too much work for me," she said quietly; delicately. Dorothy chose her words carefully whenever talking to her husband.
He sighed like he was talking to a child. "Dorothy, I don't have time to deal with this," he pushed himself up from the table, leaving his untouched plate behind.
Dorothy Lachance put her white lace gloves and flowered hat on and drove to the junkyard on the edge of town in her white Chevrolet Belair that had rusted over on the hood. She had never been to the junkyard before; it was a man's job to take care of these things. It would be dealing with men and doing men's business; something women weren't keen on involving themselves in.
She pulled to the wilting, yellow grass in front of it. The fence was a rusted chain link too high for anyone to climb and the whole plot was just dirt. It was filled to the brim with old Chevrolet and Cadillac parts that had rusted with time so much so that the original colors were no longer visible as well as stoves, refrigerators, and the occasional toilet seat. Sheets of crinkled metal were stacked atop one another and the whole piece of land emitted a robust odor that made her wonder what was in there besides metal.
A dog jumped up onto the fence, barking madly and teeth snarling; drool flying out of its mouth. She let out a piercing scream that provoked a voice inside.
"Chopper! What the hell are ye doin? I'm tryin to take a nap here!"
The most evil man in all of Castle Rock emerged from afar. Sweat coated his brow on his beet red face that was so large it gave the appearance of a festering tomato. His matted curly brown hair was pressed down to his head under a grease stained hat that would have been better fit on a child. He wore a sweat stained shirt with matching grease stains and overalls covering it all. His hands were big enough to palm a basketball and were stained brown from working in the sun; even though it looked like he was lazy and didn't work at all.
He spat on the ground and stuck a toothpick in his brown, smoker's teeth. "What can I do for ye, ma'am?"
"I just... I have a fridge to drop off for my husband. May I..."
"Well a course. Lemme just get that right out for ye little lady. And if ye ever need anythin else, just lemme know," he winked.
Mrs. Lachance was hit with an idea looking at him. He was so strong, so... nice. So... sexy. He cared about her; unlike her husband. "What is your name?"
"Me name's Milo Pressman, The Junkman. And yerself?"
"Dorothy. Dorothy Lachance."
"How would ye like to come inside me shack for a drink? And sorry about the swearin earlier. That dog is a right bit o trouble but he keeps the kids out."
"That's fine. And that would be lovely," Dorothy Lachance smiled brightly.
Dorothy couldn't believe she was doing this. She was a married woman, with two- well, one now- kids and a working husband. She had a reputation in this town to uphold; after all, she was part of the Woman's Auxiliary and the quilting and sewing circles. She was still in contact with Denny's friends parents and their husbands knew hers.
But then she thought about how Denny was dead. How her husband didn't care about her anymore. He didn't respond to her advances, he didn't eat her food; he barely even looked at her or spoke to her anymore. No matter how hard she tried to appreciate her son Gordon, she couldn't. He was a failure to the both of them. He hung around with that messed up Chambers kid and that crazy Duchamp. And Tessio... that kid was dumber than a bag of rocks. No matter how hard she tried to act interested, she knew writing wasn't a career. He'd never make it and would end up working in the mines with Eugene. But now, now was her chance to get out of this life. She could forget all of these things that had ruined her and start anew. This was the way to do it.
She was going to have an affair with Milo Pressman, The Junkman.