by Kim Cano
*****
Wednesday night, I had a headache, so Mom offered to take Tyler to his art class. I think she wanted to meet Josephine anyway, so I accepted.
While they were gone, I laid in bed, staring at the calendar. Justin’s birthday. He would’ve been thirty-three. We would’ve taken the day off work to do something special, maybe visit the Museum of Science and Industry or check out antique stores. He loved seeing how old furniture was constructed and frequently reminded me they didn’t make it like that anymore.
Justin used to say it was a sin to work on your birthday, so he never did. I didn’t either… until after he died. The last couple of years I just visited him at the cemetery.
This year, his birthday fell on a weekday. I’d have to call in sick. Use a personal day. As I lay there plotting, I heard the front door open.
A few minutes later, Tyler, mindful of my headache, whispered through the bedroom door. “Mom. Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I said.
He opened it and began walking toward me. He had some books under his arm.
“Look what Josephine lent us,” he said, showing me the stack. “She knows all about eating healthy. They’re vegetarian cookbooks.”
I sat up, took the pile from him and began looking at the covers. I could almost hear the verbal lashing I would take from Mom. She was a true red meat lover.
“That’s great, honey,” I replied, patting his shoulder. “We’ll give some of the recipes a try.”
Tyler left my room psyched. He couldn’t wait to get started. I forced myself up and out of the covers. I had to go and find my mom.
She sat curled in a wing chair reading her book from the club.
“Hey… thanks for taking Tyler,” I interrupted. I rubbed my scalp and groaned. “My head still hurts.”
She set her book down. “Sorry to hear that.”
“So how was your visit to Josephine’s? Did you like her?”
“I guess she’s nice, for a new-age hippie,” she said, an edge of sarcasm coloring her tone.
I was prepared for her to go on and on complaining, but she didn’t. Maybe she could see that Josephine was only trying to help. And, of course, she was just being herself.
During the week, we tried two of the recipes and were surprised to find they were pretty decent. We didn’t plan to alter everything about our lifestyle for Tyler, but we did just enough to make him feel good.
*****
A few days before Justin’s birthday, I started planting little hints at work. I began coughing and mentioning my throat felt sore. The night before I planned to call in, I checked the next day’s weather forecast. Cold, rainy, gray. I’d need an umbrella.
After everyone went to bed, I rummaged through the closet. While digging, I noticed an old pair of binoculars stashed on top of a box of shoes. I pulled them out and dusted them off, deciding it couldn’t hurt to bring them along. I’d add them to my bag, along with lunch.
That evening, I couldn’t sleep. I thought of Tyler drawing in his room, and the three of us laughing and jumping rope, trying to get in shape. I thought of my mom. I loved her so much, and it was getting difficult to keep these things from her. I prayed to God if I found out something, that it would be a mistake, a miscommunication of some kind. Then I could write the whole thing off to my own personal craziness, and she’d be immune to it all.
It would be awful for my mom to doubt Justin’s integrity.
I felt awful doubting him too.
*****
The next morning, I got ready for work and gathered my lunch, umbrella, and binoculars. After breakfast, I waved goodbye to Mom and dropped Tyler off at school.
Before starting on my journey, I called my boss and got voicemail. “Hey, Dave. It’s Amy,” I said in a scratchy voice. “I’m not going to be able to make it in today. I’ve got the flu.” I hung up afterward, and began driving the familiar route to the cemetery.
On the way there, my senses were heightened again. Only this time there was one I didn’t want to be on high alert. My abdomen began to twist, but I willed myself to ignore it and keep driving. I couldn’t deal with something like that—not today. I whistled to take my mind off the pressure, but I only made it a few more miles, then had to give in and pull into a McDonald’s parking lot. I raced to the restroom, where I lost my breakfast. Shaking with the chills, I gave myself a moment to take some deep breaths and relax before starting out again.
The closer I got to my destination, the more I managed to calm myself. I was focused when I pulled into the cemetery, parked the car, and looked around.
I didn’t see anyone.
I put on my hat and gloves, and stepped outside and landed right in a soggy mud puddle, remnants of yesterday’s rain. (This time I was smart enough to wear boots.)
I trekked over to Justin’s grave, looking over my shoulder from time to time on the way there, making sure I was still alone. His space looked even lonelier today. No flowers, just dirty ground.
I stood in front of his headstone and sighed. “Happy Birthday,” I said out loud. It came out sounding forced, awkward.
As I continued standing there, I felt anger slowly brewing inside me. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. Now it was ruined. I almost launched into a whole list of complaints, detailing my aggravation and sleepless nights, but then I realized that was not what I came here for. Paranoid, I looked over my shoulder to make sure I was still alone. Then I headed back to my car.
I had parked it in such a way that I could easily see anyone coming or going. The first hour staring across the parking lot wasn’t bad. I had my iPod and at least managed to listen to some decent songs. Other than that, there was no movement.
The second hour, someone pulled in and a man and woman got out. I was crouched down in my seat, hidden from view. As they started to walk away, I slid back up to watch them. They were heading in the other direction, but I decided to watch them anyway. They stood close to each other and talked, and the man held the woman, who was visibly upset. Within a short time, they came back toward their car. I don’t know why, but I slid back down in my seat again so they wouldn’t see me.
After they left, I got out and stretched my legs, moved around a bit. Then it was back in the car for more surveillance. Another hour passed, and I realized the very definition of boredom. Worse still, I felt I might have to go to the bathroom soon. I tried to block it out of my mind, but it began to drizzle outside. I’d have to focus on forgetting about it.
Another hour passed. I was sick of listening to music, my butt hurt from sitting in one spot for too long, and I really had to pee. Since I’d lost my breakfast, I was also beginning to get really hungry.
Just as I was deciding between eating lunch and heading to the restroom, a car pulled in. I slid back down in my seat and looked out the bottom of the window. It was a limousine or luxury car of some kind. They parked, and an older, well-dressed man stepped out and opened the rear passenger door. A woman appeared, and before I could get a good look at her, an umbrella popped open, covering her face from view.
I fumbled for my binoculars and adjusted the focus. The woman was tall, with long, dark hair, and wore a black coat. Her gait was oddly graceful. As she got closer and closer to Justin’s grave, I felt my stomach clench. I saw her bend down and set a bunch of yellow flowers on the ground.
Holy Shit! I thought. This is it!
My car was turned off, and the windows had fogged up. I scrambled to wipe the inside of the window with the sleeve of my jacket. Trying to hold the binoculars steady while crouched in my seat, I continued to watch her.
She stood alone, facing his headstone. The old man had returned to the car. With her back to me, I noticed her shoulders moving up and down. She was crying.
Once she turned, I tried to get a good look at her, but I couldn’t because her umbrella again blocked her face. As she walked back to her car, it began to downpour.
Panicked, I wasn’t sure what to do; I hadn’t planne
d this far. I started my car and turned on the heat and defroster. I watched as the older man stepped out, opened the door for her, and the woman got back in.
Before I knew it, I was following them.
I tailed them from a respectable distance, but almost lost them as a light changed to red and I had to race through it. My heart pounded as I drove faster through the pouring rain, no longer caring if I was detectable. I made sharp lefts and rights and drove close enough so as not to lose them.
Eventually, we arrived in a wealthy North Shore neighborhood. As they turned onto a residential street, I slowed down so I could follow from further away. Within a few minutes, the car turned into a long driveway that led to a house that couldn’t be seen from the road.
I stopped and turned off the engine. I sat there—stunned—for a full ten minutes, and then I began to cry. I wanted to think the best of Justin, but instead I assumed the worst. I became furious with him. He’d disappointed me. He’d let me down. Dripping with sweat and nearly hysterical, I struggled with what to do next. Then I realized the best thing to do was to confront her.
I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. I looked like a monster. My face was puffy and red with black mascara drippings running down it. I took a few deep breaths, and cleaned up my face with McDonald’s napkins from the glove box. I brushed my hair, patted on some pressed powder, and re-applied my lip gloss. I looked a little better, but not much. I took a few more deep breaths while adjusting my clothing.
I was terrified. Terrified, then angry.
I opened the car door and stepped outside. It had stopped raining, and I exhaled loudly and smoothed my clothing one more time before I began walking up the driveway.
As I made it up the little hill, the house came into sight. It was a sprawling, beautiful mansion, and the closer I got to it, the more enraged I became. Shaking, I stood in front of the large front door and stared at it. Then I reached out and knocked.
I heard footsteps coming and then the door opened.
“Hello,” the older gentleman from the cemetery said. “How may I assist you?”
“I’m looking for the woman you just came here with,” I said.
“Ms. Bergman?”
“If that’s her name, that’s the person I need to see.”
Visibly irritated, he asked, “May I have your name?”
“Tell her I’m Justin’s wife.”
“One moment,” he said, then politely excused himself, closed the door halfway, and began calling the name Sabrina.
All of a sudden, I heard lighter, quicker footsteps approaching, and I went from being angry back to being terrified. I considered leaving, but it was too late. The door flung open and there she stood.
“Hello, Amy,” she said with a warm smile, as if I were one of her oldest friends.
Sabrina was beautiful in a way that I wasn’t, with long, wavy dark hair that reminded me of a 1940’s movie star. Her skin was porcelain; her figure tall and slim. I wasn’t prepared to be dealt a blow of this magnitude; it made me lose my balance a bit. After regaining it, I cleared my throat.
“You know my name?” I asked.
“You’re Justin’s wife.”
“But I never said my—”
“My name is Sabrina,” she said, extending a hand.
Instinctively, my hand shook hers. She continued smiling like we knew each other. It all seemed surreal and wasn’t going according to plan, not that I’d had a plan.
“Why don’t you come inside?” she suggested. “We could chat over a cup of tea.”
“No,” I responded, a little louder than I should have. “No thank you.” Lowering my voice, I asked, “How exactly did you know my husband, Justin?”
She smiled again. “I hired him to renovate this house.”
That made sense. And it threw me off. For some reason, I had never considered that.
“And you were at the cemetery leaving him flowers because?”
“Because I knew it was his birthday,” she responded defensively. Her expression grew more serious; she could see we weren’t going to “chat” over tea.
Standing in the doorway, staring at each other, I decided to come right out and ask the question.
“Did you have an affair with my husband?”
Sabrina looked shocked, and said, “Absolutely not!”
This answer would’ve been satisfactory, and could’ve ended the conversation, but I wasn’t a fool.
“Well, let me ask you this: Do you think it makes sense to go to a cemetery and give flowers to a contractor on Valentine’s Day too?”
This took her by surprise. She fumbled her words. “It’s not what you think, Amy. Nothing like that ever happened. You’ve got it all wrong.”
I maintained eye contact without speaking as my frustration grew.
“I was here a lot while he worked,” Sabrina added. “I’m afraid I asked him a lot of questions and he was kind enough to answer them,” she went on in a syrupy tone.
Her explanation was making me nauseous. Although it sounded believable, and I could picture Justin doing something like that as he often got stuck with chatty clients, I couldn’t accept it. Something didn’t seem right. For starters, she wasn’t one of his little old ladies who wanted to re-live their life story, talking about how their son went off and fought in the war. This woman looked like a goddess.
My confidence began slipping away, and suddenly I felt a strong desire to flee.
I wasn’t prepared for all this.
“I think I’d better be going now,” I mumbled while looking down.
Sabrina seemed to understand. No doubt she must’ve felt uncomfortable too. Then, as I began walking away, she said, “See you next time.” Confused, I turned and looked back at her. I said nothing in response to her odd comment, and continued on my path down the drive.
On the way home, I mentally reviewed everything and decided I was satisfied with how the whole thing went down. I had set out to find the person and I’d managed to do it. I’d hoped to confront her, and I did. In the end, I was wrong about my suspicions. She was just a high maintenance client who’d had a crush on my husband.
At least that’s what I told myself.
The phrase brought me some comfort and the feeling of closure… for a little while.
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Table of Contents
Books by Kim Cano
About the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Excerpt of A Widow Redefined
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