The Last Lone Earring

This is the final straw. Yet another lone earing I’ve never seen before. One more bobby pin on the floor, attached to a few strands of long blond hair that does not grace my head. At least once a week another piece of evidence falls into my lap. I almost wish I’d never fired the house keeper. I was much happier living the last three years in ignorance. Well, that’s not entirely true, I’ve been neither happy nor ignorant. It was just easier to keep pretending he at least loved me when I couldn’t see the evidence of his adultery.

              Since taking a step back from my duties at the country club, I fired our housekeeper to give me something to occupy my day. Cleaning my home and cooking for Marcus helped me to keep up the illusion that we had the happy marriage everyone saw on the outside. Tucked away in an out the way corner of my heart, I hid hope that this would actually help our marriage. If anything, it’s proven that I made the right choice. There is no saving this sham of a union.

              Cleaning the house on my own for the last six months opened my eyes to how much I’d actually missed. I’ve almost called Carlotta a dozen times to ask her what she’d done with all the jewelry, bobby pins, and underthings she’d found that hadn’t belonged to me. She’d come highly recommended to us as she’d been cleaning homes in the area for many years. Once I thought about it, she probably was so highly thought of because of her experience with disposing of questionable items. A good housekeeper can tell the difference between cheap costume jewelry and real diamond studs that’s for sure.

              I never wanted a housekeeper in the first place. I’d never even thought of getting one until Marcus suggested it after we got married. He’d never known life without one, so to him it was a no brainer. I let him hire Carlotta after he’d spend months convincing me I’d be so much happier if I didn’t have to spend so much time cleaning up after him. I’d be happier if I had more time to spend with my ‘girlfriends.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell him at the time that I only had one friend and she was often so busy with work and school that I couldn’t spend that much time with her anyway. She’d never even seen our home.

              He introduced me to the ladies at the country club. He got me on the women’s committee. Any time I mentioned to him that I wanted to go back to school to finish my degree so I could work at the club as a physical therapist, he’d volunteer me for another thing to keep me busy. He’d remind me that it was my duty as his wife, partner, and member of this family to help keep him successful. Keeping him successful sure seemed to include a lot of charity banquets and dinner parties. After a year or so I stopped talking to him about going back to school and fell into my role as dutiful wife.

              To be honest I was pretty thankful to be so busy for a while. It kept me out of his way on days when his temper was hot and his hand was faster than his mouth. How does that old children’s rhyme go? Sticks and stone can break your bones, but words can never hurt you? After a while those words start to dig in, especially when sticks and stones have already cracked the surface.

              Tapping the dust pan out into the trashcan brings me back to reality. The reality that I can’t just sit idly by anymore. After retrieving the small makeup bag from its hiding spot in the bottom drawer of my vanity I head out. I probably should call her first, but Mandy has never been one to turn me away. If anyone can give me advice it’s her. After all, she’s been my best friend since kindergarten.

              “Tab, honey. What are you doing here?” Mandy sounds concerned as she guides me to the couch by my elbow “why don’t you sit down?” I don’t blame her. I must look like a hot mess. I didn’t change out of my cleaning clothes before leaving. I also took the bus instead of driving one of Marcus’s many vehicles. The main issue with that is the closest bus stop to her house is about a mile and a half away. To help me get my thoughts in order, I ran. Wiping hair and sweat off my forehead I sink into her couch.

              “Mandy. I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I just couldn’t ignore it anymore.” My voice is croaky, reminding me that I haven’t actually spoken all day. Now that I think about it, I spend most of my days in silence. Another reason I know I’m making the right choice. I just need some advice. My hands are gripping the makeup bag like it’s my last lifeline.

              “Tabitha, what are you talking about?”

              “Marcus is having an affair.” I shout. I didn’t mean to shout, it just burst out of me. Mandy’s only response is a few quick blinks. “Or well, maybe multiple flings? I don’t know, but he’s cheating on me. I’ve known for a long time.” I feel like a weight has been lifted off of my and I let myself relax all the way back into the couch. When I look over Mandy still hasn’t moved. She’s sitting on the edge of the couch with her back uncomfortably straight. After a few seconds I nudge her knee with mine.

              “How… how do you know?” Her eyes are fixed on a spot across the room. I don’t blame her; she must be in shock. It’s my own fault that she thought we were just as happy as everyone else. I couldn’t bear to tell her the truth about my life.

              “I’ve had a feeling from the beginning honestly. But over the last few months I’ve found a lot of evidence.” Holding the makeup bag out in front of her face seems to knock her out of her shock a bit.

              “What do you mean evidence? You of all people should know you shouldn’t go snooping for things you don’t want to find. You just hurt your own feelings.” Jerking the bag from my hands she paces the small living room without opening it. “I’m sure you’re over thinking again. Just like when you thought someone was stealing food from our dorm.”

              “This is nothing like that!” I do mean to shout at her this time. How could she not take me seriously? Forgetting that I ate a pop-tart isn’t the same as finding things that clearly aren’t mine in my home. If she’d just open the bag, she’d know that there is no way those things belong to me. I wouldn’t forget having bobby pins in my hair, since I never wear them. I wouldn’t forget the earrings and necklaces I found. I only had one necklace until I met Marcus. I didn’t even have my ears pierced until a few months before the wedding. She’s squeezing the bag to her chest now. Is she… sweating?

              “Mandy, just open the bag and you’ll see! You have to believe me.” When I reach out for the bag she jerks back, almost falling over the coffee table. Why is she acting this way? “Please, just look in the bag.”

              Finally, with a big sigh her shoulders relax and she loosens her death grip on my bag. The zipper is the loudest sound in the room. She pokes a slender finger into the bag, swirling it around carefully to examine the contents. Each second is marked by the pounding of my heart echoing in my ears. Suddenly I’m nervous for her reaction. What if I am over reacting? If there is a reasonable explanation for these items then she is the one to find it. Mandy has always been the more level headed of the two of us. That’s why she’s the one who finished college last year without me. All of our big plans went out the window when I ran off to get married. While I planned my new life with Marcus, she studied for midterms. While I sat on committee after committee full of middle-aged house wives, she had her nose to the grind so she could graduate with her bachelors in sport medicine. A pang of jealousy shoots through me every time I remembered what all I gave up to be Mrs. Marcus Stayton.

              “Oh Tabitha.” Mandy whispered my name like my mother used to when she was disappointed in me. Without another word she turns away from me and walks out of the room. From my seat on the couch, I stared after her. After the longest minute of my life, she walks back into the room. “Don’t worry honey, I called Marcus. He’s on his way to pick you up.”

              The words slap me across the face. This is not going how I imagined it would at all. The sudden ringing in my ear almost makes me miss her next words.

              “I didn’t tell him anything you told me. Just that you weren’t well and he needs to come get you.” Her hand is heavy on my shoulder but I find myself unable to move away from her. “I left out the part about you showing up at my house babbling like an idiot with an empty makeup bag in your hands. Honestly, who does that?”

              Empty? That bag wasn’t empty. Another word digging into the cracks all over my heart.

              “Why would you do that?” The words croak out of my suddenly dry mouth. “You don’t believe me.”

              “I didn’t say that I didn’t believe you. I think that you believe what you are saying.” Cupping her hand under my chin she forces me to make eye contact with her. Her blue eyes bore into me as she whispers, “But that doesn’t make it true.”

              Jerking out of her grip I stand “Then how do you explain the jewelry, the bobby pins, the hair? If it’s not true, tell me how those things got into my home?” Now on the opposite side of the living room I wrap my shaking arms around myself.

              “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There is no explanation because the bag you showed me was empty.” To make her point the turns the small makeup bag inside out. It’s a navy blue, wallet sized, single lined bag. There is no place for the contents to hide. Not even a single strand of hair is stuck to the inside. With a smug little grin, she set the empty bag on the coffee table. “You should sit back down, you’re not well, Tab.”

              No. There is no way that bag was empty. I know for a fact I am not crazy. Sure, I probably sound crazy. I might even look a little crazy right now, I don’t have a mirror. But I know for a fact that I am not crazy. I’m not unwell. Why, of all people, would my best friend not believe me. The walls feel like they are closing in. I have to get out of here, but I’m not leaving without my evidence. Without a second thought I bolt for her bedroom. She must have dumped the bag when she disappeared earlier.

              I hear her footsteps pounding behind me just as I slam the door closed. Not trusting the simple door lock I quickly slide her dresser in front of it. It’s not heavy, but it might give me a couple of extra seconds before anyone makes it into the room. Her room is decorated in almost all white with pops of gold here and there. Plush throw pillows adorn her bed and the small couch against the far wall. My eyes scan over the entire room, quickly searching for any sign of the contents of my bag.

              There! On her dressing table is a small unorganized pile of bits and bobs. She’d never leave anything like that if she could help it. In my rush over to the table I stumble over the corner of a plush white rug. Catching myself on the edge of the table I sink down into the small seat in front of it. How could she? Just as I thought, the small pile is for sure the contents of my bag. As I reach begin shoving earrings and bobby pins into my pockets, I notice a small bowl on the corner of the dressing table. Rather, I notice a rather unique looking earring in the bowl.

              “Tabitha, baby. I need you to open the door.” Marcus’s voice is deceptively soft. “Amanda say’s you’re not feeling well. Baby, let me take you home.”

              Just before my finger reach the bowl I freeze. The only people who call her Amanda are her parents. I didn’t even know he knew that was her real name. For almost twenty years I’ve only ever called her Mandy. Why would he call her by her real name? Why would the same onyx chandelier earring I found on my bathroom floor be in a bowl on her dressing table? The room spins around me as the voices in the hall quiet.

              After a few minutes Mandy’s voice breaks through the silence. “Here, I found the key.” The ringing in my ears is replaced with the sounds of Marcus trying to push the door open behind the dresser. It doesn’t take long, just long enough for me to put the puzzle pieces together. Literally.

              When they finally make it over to me, I’m sitting on the middle of the bed, with a half dozen matched earring pairs sitting in front of me. To me they seem to shine a little brighter now, as if glad to be reunited with their mate after so long apart. The necklaces are lined up to my right and the bobby pins lay in a row to my left. There is no denying the truth now.

              “You know,” I whisper so they really have to listen, “You could have made things so much easier on yourself by letting me invite her over to the house. By letting me invite anyone over to the house really. At least then there would be an explanation for me finding her things hiding everywhere.”