A Promise for Spring

I keep all his letters folded together and hidden in the depths of my keepsake box. They would never think of looking in there for anything. It’s an old hatbox. A gift from my elderly aunt, who kept it as a souvenir and passed it on to me. Its octagon shape decorated with flamboyant peacocks holds my secrets in its baby blue satin interior. They tease me about it sometimes. Ma’s cry box they call it. Ever since the time my children burst into my bedroom and found me sitting on the floor, crying, with the box opened in front of me. They were younger back then, not the young adult women they are now. Perception and intuition not yet learned. Love for their mother the one constant in their lives. I gathered them up in my arms that day and turned my tears to laughter, for I knew how blessed I was. Do I still count myself as blessed? I should. My daughters are healthy and happy, sure of their place in the world, or the place they think they hold in my world.     

How do I keep this promise? He was insistent that I had to tell them, said it was important, that they needed to know. I wasn’t so sure but the more he talked, the more I realized he was right, that it is the right thing to do.

“I will tell them but…I think I should wait, a few months only. Until she finishes her exams. My husband is away again. He will be back by then.”

He agreed. His disappointment in me written in the depths of his eyes, in the hesitant nod, the tentative shrug and once again I felt my guilt eating me.

When her exams were over, I couldn’t do it. There was the wait for college placement, and I didn’t want to upset her, distract her from that very important time in her life. My husband’s work contract was extended so he was away from home again.

“They need to know,” he said.

“They do. But Joe will be back home towards the end of March. I think I should wait until then. Tell everyone together.”

“Joe already knows. Why wait for him?” he said, “I can’t put my life on hold indefinitely while you dither about. They need to know about me, and you need to tell them.”

“Is that an ultimatum?”

He hesitated, just a breath, “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“And if I don’t? What then? Will you walk away, forget about me, cut me out of your life?”

“If I have to…I will. I can’t go on like this. It’s not fair to treat me like some guilty secret.”

I swear I stopped breathing. For a second, in the space of a heartbeat, as if I’d been slapped, hard, winded.

“It’s not like that…honestly. I will make a promise to you now. A promise to myself…I will tell them by the first day of Spring. It will be our new start.”

I lost him before. I can’t bear to lose him again. Back then, I put his needs first, or that’s what I told myself at the time. When he came back into my life, I was thrilled, ecstatic and a little bit scared. That first letter from him broke my heart and mended it instantaneously. He wrote that he was happy, and I was so grateful for that small mercy for I had often wondered how he was. Sometimes in the dead of night, I woke, sure that I had heard his voice, inhaled his essence, and then cursed the empty void his absence left in my heart.

This past year has been the happiest for me in a long time. The most exhilarating. I crave his company, look forward to each meeting with rapt anticipation. My heart sings with the joy of seeing him. Every time we meet, I look at him in awe, I touch his hand and marvel at his strength, at his perfection. Over coffee, I sneak peeks at his square jaw, those hazel eyes, at first liquid joy now turned hard and demanding.

What was I thinking?

I guess I thought I could keep him separate, just for me, my guilty pleasure. Sometimes I still think that I can keep this part of my life independent from my other existence, a world apart, just for me. It would be stressful yes, exhilarating yes but it would be better than losing everyone, for surely that is what will happen when I tell them the truth.

He finally agreed that I should wait for Joe. It was only right that Joe and I should tell the children together. It was the right thing to do. But now the day is here, the day I promised I would finally do it; I am afraid. Once I utter those words, our lives will change forever. How they think of me, their perception of me will be changed completely, irrevocably. Their perception of their father will change. Our family unit will change. My stomach trembles as my heart beats a drum in my throat.  

We go out to dinner, a celebratory dinner, for Joe is finally home after a prolonged absence. I force myself to eat. The food turns to sawdust in my mouth as I contemplate my husband. The sudden knowledge that I no longer needed Joe in my life came as a surprise to me. It shouldn’t have for we have lived separate lives for several years. He is a cold man or maybe that coldness is reserved solely for me. The spark that brought us back together all those years ago didn’t last, or was it extinguished by guilt? Joe is driven, career orientated, the alpha-male, fulfilling his role as provider for his family. And financially he provided well for us, for me and the children. I have been a good wife, a good mother. But that doesn’t ease my sorrow. Somewhere in the depths of my brain, there is a little voice, that whispers in my ear, that blames him, blames Joe for abandoning me when I needed him, that blames Joe for my decision. That’s wrong, I know it is. The thought strikes me that maybe Joe never forgave me for making that decision. Maybe both of us have suffered.

Over the years I have lavished my love and affection on our children in a vain attempt to heal that void left in my heart. It worked to a certain extent, but I never forgot him, never stopped loving him. Joe is against telling our daughters. No surprise there. We argued about it. Our first time together in six months and we argue. That says it all, doesn’t it? My marriage is over. It has been for a very long time. But this is his secret too. His story to tell. Have I the right to tell his story if he doesn’t want it told? Have I the right to tell his secrets or does his right to keep them triumph over my rights, my needs?  

I look into the hazel eyes of the man I once loved. His hair is silver now, his form still sleek under his designer suit. His eyes beg me to say nothing but reflected there I see our son, our firstborn. Today is the first day of Spring. It is time to keep my promise.