There are times in a marriage when the earth doesn’t quake, but something subtle moves. The atmosphere is peaceful and unique, without being overly dramatic. It happened on Tuesday.
A totally unremarkable day. Milan had soccer, Madison rejected her lunch until I carved it into a heart shape, and I was up against two deadlines by 3:30 PM. Running on cold coffee and hearing background noise from the washer, I texted Adam to come pick me up from my mother’s house.
Our Wi-Fi had gone down, so I was working from her apartment while she entertained Madison with finger paints. The automobile was new—at least to us. We bought it approximately six months ago.
A reasonable little sedan with that new plastic scent and all of the hope that goes with it. I utilized it for the typical reasons: school runs, errands, and pediatric appointments. Sometimes I’d go to the cliffs just to breathe for a minute.
Adam used it primarily for work—accounting required variable hours and occasional late meetings. When he parked into my mother’s driveway, I waved and came out, holding a large box. It was stuffed with her most recent homemade treats—pickles, jams, and loaves of bread.
My childhood in a box. “Cement? “From your accounting position?” He shrugged and showed the same smile that had won me over in a bookstore a decade earlier.
“A long story. I will clarify later. Let’s head home; I’m starving.
“Thinking about lasagna tonight.” He never elaborated. I didn’t rush; there were kids to chase and deadlines to meet. But by Saturday, I needed my automobile.
Groceries, dry cleaning, the pharmacy, and perhaps a stop for croissants. I requested Adam to watch the children for one hour. “I’ll take the car,” I responded, putting on my shoes.
“Let them have ice cream and a movie.” “Actually,” he hesitated. “I had plans, too.” “Really?” I frowned. “You’re not even dressed.” “I just need to pick something up.” “From a friend.”
That’s when something inside me clicked.
A odd sensation. Not necessarily dread, but a flash of discomfort. “What’s happening with the trunk, Adam?
“What exactly is in there?” “What do you mean?” “You mentioned it was dirty. I promised to clean it, and you appeared to be hiding something unlawful.” He laughed too loudly and forcibly. “That’s nothing, Celia.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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