The Husband Hour(94)

Or were the boxes themselves enemy territory?

She would not, could not, think about Rory. But when she let down her guard, the thoughts slipped through, like water seeping through cracks in plaster walls. All she could do to battle them back was tell herself this: It was not possible that he had known about Ethan. Yes, it was possible that he had betrayed her during that summer apart. But it was unthinkable that he would have fathered a child with her sister, known about it, and still asked her to marry him.

And yet, she was stuck in this hell of wondering and never being able to confront him about it, because she would never hear from Rory again.

It had been one of the hardest things to wrap her mind around in the beginning, the permanence of it. The notion of never hearing his voice, never being able to seek his counsel, never making another plan or sharing another hope with him, was as vast and incomprehensible as thinking about Earth as just one planet orbiting one star out of millions of stars in the galaxy. Once, Rory had played her a video that showed Earth’s size in relation to the other planets’ in the solar system, then the solar system in relation to the Milky Way galaxy, and then the galaxy in relation to all the other known galaxies in the universe. It mapped out the travel distances between the stars in light-years, and the vastness of it all felt like something her mind was not built to contemplate. But this was exactly what Rory loved about astronomy. Maybe, if she had been the one to die first, to die young, he would have known how to reckon with infinity. With permanence. More than four years out, she couldn’t. That was why she had left the letter unopened. It was her safeguard against good-bye forever.

She stared at the boxes taking up most of the space inside her closet.

The boxes were all still open from the night she’d looked through them, poking around for things to share with Matt, hoping to make Rory more balanced, more human in the film. How arrogant, how naive she’d been to think she was the custodian of the truth.

How could you do this?

She couldn’t remember what box she’d stuffed the letter in, and by the time she found it, the floor around her was littered with yearbooks, photos, and clothes. Sitting among the relics of her former life, she pressed her back against the closet door, staring at her name rendered in Rory’s tightly looped handwriting.

If she wanted answers, if there was hope for any kind of response to the question that would haunt her for the rest of her life, she had to open it. It was time to face forever.

She peeled open the envelope carefully, thinking that it had been his hands that had sealed it. He had planned for this moment, just her and his words.

The letter was handwritten on yellow legal paper. He’d taken a page from one of the pads she left on the kitchen counter for her grocery and to-do lists. The routine had not carried over to her life in Longport, and the memory of such a mundane, day-to-day habit took her breath away.

January 15, 2012

Dear Lauren:

If you are reading this, it’s because I’m gone. I’m so sorry, because I promised you it would be okay and I was wrong. Please forgive me for this mistake.

I wish I could say it was my only one.

I tried and failed with so much, but my biggest failures were in this relationship—the one thing I cared about the most. I know it didn’t seem like it at times, but I wrote this because I want you to know that it’s true. I love you and loved you even in my worst moments.

It’s hard for me to imagine you reading this, being the cause of your hurt and at the same time not being there to help you through it. But I know you are a strong person. Don’t let whatever you are feeling today ruin your tomorrow. You deserve to be happy.

To me, you will always be the girl I saw running around the track on Arnold Field. I have no right to ask anything of you, but I will: Be that happy girl who loved running, writing, and her big sister. Please know that the worst mistakes were mine alone. And Lauren, if you’re out at night and you look up at the stars, remember that once upon a time, there was a boy who loved you and always will.

Rory



Lauren reread it and reread it. The date told her he’d written it before his first deployment but long after he’d betrayed her with her sister. The sentence that jumped out at her, that defined the entire letter, was the entreaty that she go back to being the girl who loved her big sister. The worst mistakes were mine alone. Well, technically that was not true. And maybe that event wasn’t even what he was referring to. But she felt that it was, that he wanted to take the blame.

The one thing she couldn’t find, even with the most creative interpretation of the letter, was any sense of whether or not he knew about Ethan.

She had to know. Unfortunately, the only living person who might have had the answer was the one person she’d sworn never to speak to again.

The house was quiet and empty. How many times had she wanted solitude but was instead surrounded by her family? And now she needed to talk to Stephanie and everyone was gone. Figured.

Late afternoon, close to four, was optimal beach time. The sun had peaked and ebbed; it was the perfect hour to doze off under an umbrella, read, or just comfortably watch the waves until dinner. She remembered when she was a kid, her grandmother had always been the last one off the beach, reluctantly dragging her chair back to the house only after her husband had showered, dressed for dinner, made a cocktail, and sent Lauren out to fetch her.

Out on the deck, Lauren cupped her hand over her eyes against the sunlight and looked toward the ocean. Sure enough, four beach chairs were lined up at the water’s edge. She didn’t bother walking around to use the gate; she just pulled off her sneakers and climbed over the wall separating her property from the beach.