by B. L. Berry
But still … this gesture is one of the kindest things he’s done for me in months. Who am I to ignore an honest gift from my husband? He’s trying. And that’s the one thing I’ve been wanting him to do ever since we started marriage counseling.
Massages and vacations and jewelry aside, Simon has given me the best birthday gift of all. Hope for us, still.
It is turning out to be a very happy birthday, indeed.
Thirty-Three
Incomplete Answers
The manila envelope in my hands must weigh at least a hundred pounds. It’s much heavier than my heart. And far heavier than my lies.
It shouldn’t surprise me though. The truth weighs heavier than most things in life.
“Look, I have to be honest with you. There’s nothing concrete in there. And when you read it, you will probably be left with more questions than answers. But you’re my sister, and I couldn’t not give you the information I had. So when you’re ready, take a look.”
Logan pulls me in tight and kisses my forehead. My brother is the one person I can always count on to have my back. I like that he at least knows the contents of the envelope, even if I don’t just yet. After all, if it were that bad, he would have already kicked Simon’s ass by now, right? So maybe there isn’t anything to worry about?
“Thanks, Logan.” I toss the envelope onto the kitchen counter, feeling the burn of it still on my fingertips.
“You know, you amaze me, Sharna.” I raise my eyebrows at this unexpected display of affection. “I mean, I don’t get it. If I were you and had any suspicion that my spouse were cheating on me, I’d be in a million pieces.”
“Don’t be fooled. I am falling apart. But the broken ones are the only ones who know how to pick up the pieces and keep going day after day.”
I try to push myself up onto the marble countertop, but can’t get my pregnant ass up and over the ledge. So instead, I sit on the barstool at the island in the middle of the room.
“That’s the thing, you shouldn’t be feeling broken. I swear if that motherfucker is cheating on you, I will kill him. And I’ll make sure his body is never found.”
And there it is. The admission that Logan doesn’t actually know whether or not my husband is cheating on me. I subtly smile, appreciating his overprotectiveness, but knowing that he isn’t joking in the slightest.
“I know you will, Logan, and that is why you’re the best damn brother a girl could have. But I feel like things are finally starting to move in the right direction. Sure, we’ve had a few knockout fights. You haven’t seen him lately. Things are definitely getting better. He was really thoughtful on my birthday and you should see the surprise he’s hiding from me.”
I leave out the part where I thought it was for our anniversary ... and then my birthday.
“A surprise?” I don’t like the doubting, cautious tone in his voice.
“Yeah, I found it while putting laundry away. He’s making an honest effort, Logan. He’s my husband and I love him. And for that reason, I hope you don’t go beating him up anytime soon, ya big bully.” I toss a wink his way.
Logan finally leaves when Simon returns home from work, claiming he needed to get back and do some laundry. Any excuse to not be around Simon. Some things will never change, I suppose. Either way, I appreciate the alone time with my husband.
When Simon walked in the door, the envelope with details from Logan’s private investigator was still sitting on the counter. I stuffed it into the island drawer when he excused himself to the bathroom. I can practically hear it screaming at me as we eat our Chinese takeout. The damn thing has taken on a life of its own and torments me from afar.
Fucking guilty conscience.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about our time with Dr. Bob lately.”
Simon rests his chopsticks on his plate and wipes the corner of his mouth politely. “Me, too.”
“I think he’s been helping us a lot, don’t you?” Ever since I stormed out of our last session, I’ve noticed a huge difference in Simon. At first, I just thought he felt embarrassed about the shit show we had at Dr. Bob’s office, but I think he’s genuinely trying to make more of an effort with me. First, my birthday gift and then, of course, that beautiful necklace that calls my name from the depths of his drawers. The one on one time with Dr. Bob really must have helped.
Simon nods. “Yeah. I know it sounds strange, but I was able to get a lot out of my time with him last week. He said some things that really just hit home, ya know?” He picks up his chopsticks again and pops in a piece of General Tso chicken.
I smile warmly then breathe deeply. “I know exactly what you mean, babe. And I’m sorry for freaking out on you the last time we were there. It was uncalled for and you were absolutely right. I need to let the past stay where it belongs— in the past.”
I close my eyes and remember our joint outburst. I felt horrible leaving the office and the days that followed only got better — thanks in large part to Simon. When I open my eyes, he’s standing next to me. I never even heard him move. The man can be a damn ninja when he wants to be.
Simon kneels down next to me and brushes his knuckle slowly along my jawline. His touch is tender and his green eyes turn soft.
“I’m trying, Sharna. Really, I am. And I think you’ll see some really big changes in me over the next few months. At least I hope you will. I’ve been going through a lot lately and it isn’t fair for me to take my stress and anger out on you. And for that, I’m sorry.
“I love you. I’ve always loved you even when I haven’t necessarily acted like the most upstanding man. And I’m working on forgiveness. I just truly hope that one day you can find it in your heart to forgive me, too.”
I sit there with my fork in the air, stunned at his admission, shocked by the sincerity in his tone and his looming promise. Simon picks up his plate and comes around to my side of the table before planting a quick, open-mouthed kiss upon my lips.
What he does next is the biggest surprise of all.
Simon sets down his plate then pulls me to my feet. I release a shaky breath as he kneels down in front of me then slowly lifts the hem of my shirt before pressing his lips to my belly.
“God, my wife is radiant.” The heat of his breath skims my belly and for the first time in months—no years—I actually feel cherished. Truly cherished. All the frustrations and hate and hurt of the past slips away and, for one fleeting moment, I’m convinced he’s going to take me right here on the kitchen table.
But he doesn’t.
After a moment, Simon stands and wraps me up in a hug so suffocating I am certain he’s going to crush my bones. It’s desperate. Full of apology and love and unspoken promises for whatever is to come. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t give to crawl into his mind and feel whatever it is he’s feeling in this moment. Think his thoughts. Experience his emotions.
I’m desperate to break the silence, and so I say the only thing that I think can bring him comfort in this moment. “It’s a boy,” I whisper hoarsely, finally sharing my secret with him.
“A boy? I’m having a son?” He pulls back and his eyes are glassing over with tears.
I cautiously bite my lower lip and nod slowly.
“Holy shit, a boy!” he says breathlessly with a supercharged smile that I haven’t witnessed in years.
Simon isn’t angry over me not telling him before now — he doesn’t even question it. He’s relieved and overjoyed. With those three words, a father has realized his place in this child’s world and visions of sports games, fishing trips on Lake Michigan, and camping trips to the Ozarks flash in his eyes.
And while I know all is not yet forgiven, I can already tell he is accepting his place in this world and our fate as a family. It makes me believe that things between us will finally be okay.
Maybe it’s a sense of false hope? But I’ll never know if I don’t give this a valiant shot.
If I want our marriage to work, I need to find a way to move beyond Carrie
and trust him again. Holding onto our painful past is only poisoning me day after day. I can forgive him for his hurtful words and the lies of his past, though I will never allow myself to forget how those words and actions made me feel.
Later that night, when Simon’s breathing levels out and his soft snores fill the room, I creep back into the kitchen and pull the envelope from my brother out from the island drawer.
I swallow hard, choking back the rising guilt and stare at it. If I tear it open and read what Logan uncovered about Simon, I will forever mark myself as the untrusting woman.I don’t want to be that woman. It’s one thing not to trust — it’s completely different when you take action on that distrust.
My brother would argue that this is a stupid move, but ultimately it’s my stupid move to make. I want to have faith in our relationship moving forward. There’s too much at stake to not give one hundred percent of myself.
Snatching the manilla envelope off the counter, I dart into the office and without so much as a second thought, feed the envelope into the shredder. Watching the truth turn into confetti is surprisingly more satisfying than I ever imagined.
Simon stirs as I slip back under the covers and his warm hand wraps around my waist and splays flat across my swollen stomach.
“Everything okay?” he murmurs sleepily.
“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”
Simon hums in my ear and nuzzles up against my back. The heat of his body soothes me and he nuzzles into my back. Then, just as I’m on the cusp of surrendering to sleep, he whispers, “I love you, Sharna.”
Just like he used to.
Thirty-Four
Dearest Simon
It’s been a couple of weeks, but I continue the charade of trying to be the good wife. Dinner is always ready at seven each night, regardless of whether or not he comes home. The house is spotless. Dirty clothes constantly laundered. I do the best I can, considering I am exhausted all of the time and my ever-growing belly constantly gets in the way.
Simon’s unhappiness seems to be wavering. Like all couples, we have good days and bad ones. And finally we seem to be back in the cadence where the bad ones are few and far between.
Through all the shit, here I stay. Faithful. Hopeful. Longing for the days where we found happiness and solace in one another.
And I think he’s ready for that, too. My mind wanders to the stunning necklace and the peace offering that it will be when he finally gives it to me. It’s not unlike him to hold onto gifts for the perfect moment. Or until he feels I’ve earned it.
And there couldn’t be a more perfect moment than when our son is born.
His birth will, no doubt, be my best work. My hardest work.
Carefully I brace myself against the bathroom vanity as I lean over to collect Simon’s dirty clothes scattered on the floor.
I run my hand over the pockets of his slacks, making sure there’s nothing of importance that would be ruined in the wash. I collect the loose change and leave it on a pile on the counter and move to the pockets of his light jacket.
As I pat the outside of his jacket, I can feel that he’s left his work ID badge in his front pocket. And when I reach my hand in to save it from the washing machine, I feel a piece of paper tucked next to it, and grab that, too.
I look at the note folded into a small square, and notice the indentations of pen marks through the paper. It’s a handwritten note.
Curiosity gets the best of me and I unfold it slowly, smoothing the creases out against the marble countertop. I glance over the page and notice the foreign feminine script, then nervously begin to read.
My Dearest Simon…
“Oh my God.” My insides drop and I bring my hand up to my mouth. Those three words alone are enough to confirm my looming suspicions. Those three words are enough to crush the last bit of hope I had for the two of us. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and brace myself for what I hold in my hand.
Sometimes you go looking for the answers. And other times, the answers come looking for you.
My dearest Simon…
I’ve never been good with the spoken word, and sometimes I think you understand me the most when we’re silent. The look in your eyes tells me everything I need to know. That this is it. This is the kind of love we’ve both been waiting for. The passion our lives have been missing.
The instant that we met, my world both stopped and started all at once. And when it comes to this … comes to us … we deserve far more than three little words and eight simple letters.
I know you feel the exact same way, too.
As cliché as it sounds, I think I fell in love with you the moment you took my hand when we first met. I’ve tried too hard to deny that that was what I was feeling. Those three little words and eight simple letters, feel so trite compared to what it is I feel when I’m around you. These past few months have been some of the most incredible months of my entire life. Being with you has brought me back to life. And I thank you for that.
I want you to understand the language of my hands. Each touch, speaks volumes of emotions I’ve never allowed myself to feel before you. And when your fingertips trace down my body, I know that you are writing our love story on my skin, branding me as yours. And that’s the thing about love stories … the best ones go on to live forever. And with the way you love me, it’s as if you are claiming me for all eternity.
But, Simon, there is no one else I’d rather be with for eternity.
When I’m with you, I can see everything in the dark because my love for you lights up the sky. And I want nothing more than the moon and the stars to hear me cry your name each night until we take our last breath on this earth.
So no, those three little words and eight simple letters just won’t do.
Always,
Your Elyse
“Oh, Simon …” I whisper, fighting the desperate urge to vomit. “What have you done? And who the hell is Elyse?”
Thirty-Five
Crushed
I crush the letter tightly in my fist and stand up with as much dignity as I can muster. It’s challenging when the fault lines of your soul are ripping apart, so I take staying vertical as a tiny victory.
My blood boils as I clench onto the bannister, walking downstairs toward the man who has destroyed me. The man who I will make pay. The glass French doors leading into his office are wide open and Simon is listening to some haunting piece by Johannes Brahms as he handles some paperwork.
Tears obscure my view of him, but I grit my teeth and fight back as much emotion as I can. I watch him through blurred eyes.
We are so far beyond repair that there’s nothing left to say. The only thing left to do is pack up my life and leave.
He stops working. Places his pen down and stands behind his desk.
My body quivers, and just as I’m about to raise my shaky fist into the air, showing him the letter that has crushed any and all hopes of repairing our damaged marriage, my eyes catch a framed photograph on the shelf behind him. It’s small, indiscernible, and black and white. He framed one of the sonogram photographs and I am instantly reminded of everything at stake.
And I know I can’t leave him.
Not yet.
I used to think it was all his fault. The he was the root of our problems. But the truth is, each of us has equal weight in the destruction of our marriage. He may be the knife but I am the blade and together we managed to murder everything we had.
When I open my mouth to yell at him, words fail me.
“Is everything okay, Sharna?” His eyebrows pull together and his forehead wrinkles. It makes him look old.
“Uh … yeah,” I stutter. “I’m … I’m just not feeling well. I’m going to go lie down.”
I stuff the letter into the back pocket of my jeans. I have no idea if he’s even seen it, but I don’t want him to suspect that I know anything when this could all work out in my favor.
“Okay, then. I’ll be up in a little while. Let me know if you
need anything.”
“Mm-hmm.”
He has already returned to his work. If that’s really what he was doing in the first place. After this recent discovery, I can never be too sure.
The moment I turn to walk away, I choke back on the rising bile. I’m halfway through the threshold of the door when he says, “Feel better.”
I glance at him over my shoulder and he stops what he’s doing and looks at me again with a subtle, tight-lipped smile. The offer is small, but kind. And it’s the precise moment I realize my husband has become more of a memory than an actual person.
I focus on the pen on his desk so I don’t have to focus on him.
And I will the tears away.
Part Three
Elyse
September
Present Day
Thirty-Six
The Visitor
Ever since Simon told me he felt for both Connie and Cliff, I’ve felt compelled to re-read Lady Chatterley’s Lover and try to make sense of his comment of relating to both main characters. I guess I make sense of what he is saying even though I don’t agree with it. How Connie fell in love with another man while still married to Cliff, her poor, disabled husband, is beyond me. And after Connie went sleeping around at her husband’s encouragement, I can’t justify her finding happiness and love ever again. Not everyone deserves that second chance.
Some people simply deserve all the misery they bring upon themselves.
