“I love you, Cadence.” And then he added “darling,” and she buried her face in her hands, giggling.
That sound. He heard it long after he left the shop, echoing among the fragrant flowers, tricking him into believing that they were laughing with her. It was a sweet sound—a sound he knew he’d miss in the coming days. She wouldn’t forgive him so easily for keeping his secret, and he feared the absence of her laughter. That song set to perfect rhythm. His song. Her. How could he hold on to it? To her? He already made the decision. There was no changing his mind. He had to tell her, and he prayed she’d accept the secret, forgive him, and keep singing.
“I’m a good little wife,” Cadence joked to herself as she carried the laundry basket into the bedroom. For the first time, she took it upon herself to put Mark’s clothes away. “Except I’m not a wife,” she added. “And I’m not really all that good either.”
She opened Mark’s drawer and started tossing in clean socks. She stopped and peered inside, noticing several socks with missing mates. Actually, the drawer was a disaster. Very unlike Mark not to have his stuff orderly.
“Maybe I oughta let it stay that way,” she said. “Let him live on the edge a little.”
She burst out laughing. And then she pulled the drawer completely and dumped the contents on the bed. She felt like she still owed Mark for leaving half-empty glasses lying around, though she’d become much better about picking up after herself.
She scanned the bed, then got to work pairing and organizing his socks. She sang to herself while she worked, oblivious to the little gray box that lay half hidden under a pair of blue and green argyle socks. She froze when she saw it. Her immediate reaction? He’s going to propose! But then she held it up and realized it wasn’t a ring box at all. It was too big.
She pushed aside his socks and sat down on the bed, still holding the mysterious box. She knew what she ought to do: tuck the box in his socks and forget the whole thing. She knew what she wanted to do: open the damn thing immediately. She was torn, feeling guilty for even considering snooping in his stuff, but desperate to know what he was hiding.
“Unfair,” she said aloud, placing the box back in his drawer. She continued pairing and folding socks, every now and then glancing at the box. She told herself she was only checking to make sure it was still there, but secretly she was willing it to open itself. It remained closed, hiding its secrets from her.
“I don’t care,” she said, placing socks in the drawer according to color.
But she did care. She cared very much, and when all her sock work was done, she stood hovering over the drawer, contemplating her next move. She had two choices: put the drawer back in the bureau and forget what she saw, or open the box and never mention what she learned.
Choices.
She bit her nails.
Choices.
She picked up the drawer.
Choices.
She plopped the drawer back on the bed.
Choices.
She opened the box.
***
Cadence extended her hand, the rings cupped in her palm. She thought absurdly that she was offering him something, or giving him a gift. He didn’t reach out to take them. He stayed frozen.
“You were married,” she whispered.
He stared at her, bouquet of sunshiny roses in his hand. She didn’t even notice. But then why would she?
“You . . . you had a wife. See?” She pulled the lone picture from the box with her other hand and held it up. She felt stupid, showing him his wife, like he didn’t remember he had a wife. But she held the picture out anyway because it really wasn’t about him. It was about her trying to make sense of her discovery. “You had a wife,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
This was not the way it was supposed to go. He had a plan. He was going to give her the bouquet, tell her how much he loved her, then reveal his past to her slowly, carefully. On his terms.
“Why?”
Instant defensiveness. “Why what? Why did I have a wife? Why did I never tell you? Why what? Be specific,” he barked.
Cadence dropped the rings and the picture on the coffee table.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” she warned. “You don’t get to be angry because I’m asking you about these rings and this picture. Now, why did you never tell me?”
“Because I don’t talk about her. I can’t.”
“But I’m in a relationship with you.”
“And?”
Cadence flinched. He didn’t mean for the question to sound so cold. He was angry, but not with her. He was angry at himself for going so long carrying the secret, tricking himself into believing she would never discover it. He felt foolish, and that foolishness grew his anger.
He rubbed his face. He braced himself for a screaming match. He knew Cadence all too well. She was calm now, but that calm wouldn’t last long.
“It’s like a huge deal, Mark. You had a wife—”
“Stop saying ‘had’! Stop talking about her in past tense!” He placed the bouquet on the dining room table.
“Are you still married?” Cadence asked, horrified. She heard her heart pound in her ears.
“No.”