Secrets from a Happy Marriage

by Maisey Yates

  But the loss of her sister’s husband had her thinking about marriage. And even more, about Jacob himself.

  Jacob was way too young to be gone. She wondered if he’d ever felt like a soul trapped in a body that didn’t do the things he wanted, didn’t do the things he craved.

  Because she did.

  She did, and she wasn’t even sick. And it felt like an insult to his memory.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said to two of the guests who were getting ready to leave.

  “Thank you,” she said to someone else, who looked at her tearfully.

  “Are you all right, Anna?”

  “We will be,” Anna said.

  “I’ll pray for you.”

  It kept on like that for the next hour. Greetings and goodbyes, platitudes. She could think about entirely different things, stand there and smile, and say everything she was supposed to.

  And her soul was bursting to escape.

  She looked over at her mother, who looked like she’d aged years overnight. Which was something that Wendy McDonald would definitely not appreciate if anyone breathed a word of such a thing in her direction. Wendy looked over at Anna, and there was something far too perceptive in her mother’s gaze, even through the haze of grief.

  Anna always felt like her mother could see it. That no matter how hard she tried to behave, her mother could see that there was something struggling against all of this inside her, and it made her feel transparent.

  She had often thought, if she had to choose an era of the lighthouse that had the most relatable history to her, it would be the time it had played host to seventy American soldiers. Because she often felt like up here on the hill, she was keeping her head down and keeping up a brave front, while in reality, she always felt like she was about to be buffeted on all sides.

  Dramatic, perhaps.

  But, particularly as a teenager, the drama had suited her.

  “Thank you so much,” she said.

  “Can I do something for you, Anna?”

  Anna jolted. She realized that she knew the woman that she was talking to more than just in passing. They went to several Bible studies together at church. Laura. Who was always friendly, and always seemed like she might want to spend more time with Anna, but Anna had been spending less time at church things and more time at the Lighthouse Inn.

  “No,” Anna said. “I don’t need anything. Rachel... I’m just concerned about her.”

  The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. But she lied a lot now. By omission. Without words. With a smile.

  She couldn’t remember the exact moment she’d stopped feeling guilty.

  “Of course,” Laura said.

  “Thank you for asking.”

  “If you ever want to go to coffee...”

  “Sure,” Anna said, not meaning it. “I’d love that. I’ll... We’ll talk. When everything settles down.”

  “Okay,” Laura said.

  She had an overwhelming revelation—Anna realized that things would settle down again. That everything would go back to the way it was, just with a hole where Jacob used to be.

  This event, no matter how shocking, difficult and intense, had not changed her life.

  She was still the same woman in the same marriage. The same woman, trapped because whatever she felt in her heart, she had restricted herself so tightly she couldn’t quite find a way to make the moves that needed to be made.

  It was only at the Lighthouse Inn, where she had been a girl, where she had run wild and barefoot through the lawn, that she was able to find that spark in herself still.

  She looked toward the Captain’s House, and something new sparked inside her. Not habit. Not familiarity.

  Determination.

  She was not ill. She didn’t have an excuse. The only person who was keeping her trapped was herself.

  And she thought it might be time to make a move.

  3

  It is stunning to think that what was home only months ago is on the verge of becoming the front lines today.

  —FROM A LETTER DATED JANUARY 5, 1943, WRITTEN BY STAFF SERGEANT RICHARD JOHNSON, WHO, ALONG WITH SEVENTY OTHER MEN, HAD BEEN STATIONED AT CAPE HOPE LIGHTHOUSE AFTER THE ATTACK ON FORT STEVENS

  EMMA

  “Emma.” The older woman reached out and squeezed Emma’s shoulder, tears glistening in her blue eyes.

  Emma couldn’t even remember her name—which was a common enough occurrence. Everyone knew her because she was Pastor Thomas’s niece. But today it felt overwhelming. The amount of people she didn’t know, offering sympathy and looking at her like they expected something from her...

  She’d done her best to stand between her mom and all of this.

  She was exhausted.

  It had been a week since her father’s funeral, and her grandmother was adamant that they all get up and go to church together. She’d been to school, so it wasn’t like she hadn’t been out of the house.

  But kids at school were way less likely to ask about her dad and how she was feeling.

  People at church...

  They all meant well. They asked because they cared, and Emma knew it.

  But sometimes the sense of community was smothering.

  It was part of why Emma felt so ready for change.

  Her mom wanted her to work at the Lighthouse Inn again this summer, and Emma had been hoping to get a job somewhere else.

  There were a lot of things that she wanted to do.

  But she didn’t see the path to any of them right now.

  She sat in the front row with her mother and her grandmother. The stage looked like it always did, with a large wooden cross at the back, lit from behind. She saw a lot of people she knew, some kids from school. But she didn’t see her aunt Anna anywhere.

  Her aunt had been quiet and distant over the past week, but Emma hadn’t thought anything about it because she’d felt quiet and distant. They all had.

  They sometimes missed church, but Anna never did. She’d said more than once that going to church was essentially her job. And Emma had never known Anna to...just not go.

  The background music faded, and the conversation around them died down. People took their seats as her uncle Thomas came out onto the stage to make announcements.

  He was the kind of man who always seemed at ease. He smiled, no matter what, and not in a way that felt fake. In a way that felt reassuring. Like he was listening, and like it wasn’t a burden.

  He was tall, with dark hair and a lean build that made it seem like he was always in motion. He usually was in motion. Greeting everyone they passed on the street, helping put dinner on the table, helping with projects that needed to be done at Emma’s house.

  But today he seemed off. And she couldn’t recall her uncle ever seeming off before.

  She wondered if he was going to say something about her dad, and her stomach tightened up.

  But there was something in the way he took that first labored breath before he began to speak that made her certain it wasn’t about her dad.

  There was something wrong now. His pallor was chalky, his whole body tense.

  He looked like he didn’t quite know where to begin.

  And Thomas Martin always knew where to begin.

  “I know there has been talk,” he said slowly. “You’ve always been there for me, as a family. You’ve been there as my family suffered a loss this past week, and I am thankful for that, too. But that isn’t the only change to take place.”

  His throat sounded dry, which was a strange thing to notice, except when he swallowed it seemed forced. “I don’t take any great joy in announcing this here, but I truly believe, after much thought and much prayer, that this is the best thing to do. The truth is always the answer. And I would ask you to please not take anything that I say and spin bigger stories out of it. I
will talk about this once, and only once. I caught my wife in the act of adultery.”

  The ripple of shock that went through the crowd was audible.

  Emma’s grandmother grabbed at her chest, as if something had stuck in her heart.

  Emma’s mother’s hands curled into fists, scraping along the textured tan fabric of the pew.

  Emma didn’t move.

  No.

  The word, the denial, was explosive inside her brain.

  She’d just seen her aunt. She’d been there for them all through this time. She hadn’t been... There was no way.

  “I’ve had my faults. No man is perfect. But I have been a faithful husband. And...” He swallowed again, with visible difficulty. “I don’t say this to condemn her or exonerate myself. But just to explain what is happening, and why the shape of our church family is changing. I don’t have any further details, except to say that we will be getting divorced. I apologize for the role that I played in this failure. There will be a guest speaker today. I will be back with you next week.”

  He turned and walked backstage then, and voices rose up around them, the sound of the congregation talking, not even bothering to whisper. Why whisper? It wasn’t a secret.

  Her family didn’t talk or whisper. They sat frozen.

  It wiped everything out of Emma’s mind.

  The woman who had done that didn’t sound like her aunt, and right now the man speaking from the pulpit didn’t seem like her uncle. Because how could he say that? How could he do this to them now? She turned to look at her mother, whose expression was bland, and completely unreadable. Her grandma was waxen.

  They exited the sanctuary quickly, rushing out to the parking lot. Emma felt like they were running from an enemy. Even more terrifying, they were outrunning a wall of questions that none of them would know the answer to. But she knew that she would never be able to look at her uncle the same way again.

  Because their family had been fractured before and he had just smashed it to pieces.

  That was when she noticed that her grandmother’s hands were shaking.

  “You don’t actually believe that?” Rachel asked.

  “I don’t know,” Wendy said, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know. Why would he say it if it weren’t true?” She twisted the church program in her hands.

  “Why would he say anything?” her mom asked, sounding furious. “How could he do that?”

  Her grandmother was silent.

  But she suddenly quickened her pace, walking to her car and leaving Emma and her mother behind.

  “I don’t believe it,” Rachel said.

  She couldn’t make her uncle’s words match up with what she knew of her aunt, and even if she could...

  She knew Anna had a reason.

  Her beautiful aunt, whose hair matched her own, and who had always seemed to have a bigger spirit than could be contained in one person.

  It didn’t...matter to her.

  “We need to find Aunt Anna,” Emma said.

  Her mom rubbed her hand over her forehead. “Do you think she knew he was going to do that?”

  Anna wasn’t here for a reason; Emma knew that much. And suddenly the ache she felt for her dad was so overwhelming she thought she might break. Her dad, who had always stood tall and firm, even when his body was weak.

  She remembered the way that felt. Him holding her.

  Remembered being a little girl, sitting up on his shoulders, where she could get a view of the whole world.

  She could use a better view now.

  “Come on, let’s... You should eat. You look pale.”

  Her mom looked pale, too, but Emma knew better than to point that out.

  “I wish Dad were here,” Emma whispered.

  Her mom nodded, swallowing hard. “Me, too.”

  4

  Perhaps if the walls weren’t such a dull color I would feel more at peace. It’s white and gray everywhere. The clouds, the walls, the sea. I’m turning gray along with it.

  —FROM THE DIARY OF JENNY HANSEN, FEBRUARY 1, 1900

  ANNA

  Anna closed her eyes. Then opened them again. Tried to catch her breath.

  She was lying in bed in the Lightkeeper’s Room, a room that was currently unoccupied at the Lighthouse Inn, under the sheets. Staring through the white fabric, the sunlight penetrating the thin veil.

  She’d done this when she was a kid.

  Tearing through the house, breaking one of her mother’s vases.

  Hide under the covers.

  Collect the ladybugs that ran rampant in the house rather than exterminating them as ordered...and spill the jar in a guest’s luggage.

  Hide under the covers.

  She wished that she was hiding from rampant ladybugs now.

  She was hiding from her mother.

  From her husband.

  From the world.

  Service would be over by now. And everyone would know. He’d warned her he was going to do it. That he’d have to announce that their marriage was over and why and Anna had been too sick and ashamed to argue, all the guilt she’d pushed away during that bright, glaring moment of freedom tumbling in on her like a stack of bricks.

  She closed her eyes again, and she went back a week. To the night of Jacob’s funeral.

  She’d been lying under the covers. In this room.

  She just hadn’t been alone...

  Anna waited to feel guilty. Lying there in the dark, with the curtains drawn closed and Michael breathing beside her. Slow and steady, dozing the way men did after they were satisfied.

  She couldn’t sleep.

  But not because of guilt or regret or any of the emotions she had expected to feel, in that small space of time when she’d still been thinking clearly enough to make a decision.

  The breath between him leaning in, and their lips touching.

  You’ll regret it.

  I don’t care.

  But her conscience—or whatever had whispered to her just before the kiss—had been wrong.

  When her lips touched his it was like all the pieces of herself had finally come together. That woman, that shell, who had talked to everyone at the funeral with a smile pasted on her face, had shattered into a million pieces.

  Her path had been leading up to this for a couple of months now, no matter how she’d pretended it hadn’t.

  She’d told herself she was only being friendly with a guest. That it was okay her heart leaped whenever she saw his name on the registry for the week.

  That when he said she was pretty it was only talking.

  But then he’d called her sexy.

  Had said rough things to her that shocked her, things that her husband certainly wouldn’t have ever said.

  He’d pursued her.

  Like she mattered. Like she was the center of his life.

  The intensity of it was...

  It made her heart ache even now.

  And there had been some point when she had realized she’d crossed some invisible line and there was no going back, but by that point she’d been so far gone she hadn’t even cared.

  And standing at Jacob’s funeral, so disconnected from herself, then spending the whole drive home with Thomas in silence, she’d known.

  Michael was staying at the inn. And she was ready.

  She couldn’t be sorry.

  She felt free. Like she was breaking shackles. Her face burned with heat, her body filled with adrenaline.

  She’d never been with another man. She married her husband at eighteen, and they’d both been virgins on their wedding night.

  Sex was sacred. And sharing it with someone else was...

  It was the biggest betrayal she could have committed.

  But no one had ever told her that you could live with s
omeone and feel alone. That you could share a bed with them and feel cold.

  That you could go into marriage shiny and young and full of hope, and fourteen years later feel worn down to nothing.

  Until Michael had checked into the Lighthouse Inn.

  A traveling medical tech, he made rounds in Sunset Bay often, and he had begun to use her family’s property regularly.

  He didn’t know her. Everyone in town knew her and, more importantly, knew Thomas.

  There had been no one to confide in.

  And that was how it had started. Because Michael had asked why she was sad, and he had been the only person to notice that she was. That no matter how wide she was smiling it didn’t reach her eyes.

  But he had seen it. He knew.

  No, she didn’t feel guilty.

  And if he knew... Oh, if Thomas knew, he wouldn’t be able to ignore it. Not like when she had quietly told him she was lonely.

  Not when she had asked him if he still thought she was beautiful and he’d said yes without even looking at her, asking why she had doubted it.

  Not like when she’d said she missed him, and he looked at her like she was insane, because they lived together, and half the time they even worked together at the church, so how could she miss him?

  On the nightstand, she saw her phone light up.

  Michael stirred in the bed, his eyes opening, but he didn’t make a sound.

  She didn’t answer the phone because she couldn’t bear to speak to anyone. But it was late, and if she was starting to get calls...

  She touched his shoulder. “I have to go.”

  He stirred, and he took her in his arms, pulling her against the length of his body, kissing her. She melted. She hadn’t been touched like this in so long.

  His hands skimmed over her curves. Reverently. Lustfully.

  Had she ever been touched like this? Had Thomas ever looked at her with this kind of intensity?

  “Do you really have to?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I... My...”