Page 96 of The Husband Hour
Two in the morning, and she was still wearing her black dress. She went to Rory’s bureau and opened the middle drawer. It was filled with carefully folded T-shirts. She opened the top drawer, where his socks were all paired together. He’d always had a better organizational sense than she did. And he was neater than she was—the opposite of how it usually was between husbands and wives. She teased him about this.
In all of their months of separation, she’d never thought to move his belongings. Even in her darkest moments, she had not imagined that he would never return to the house.
She gathered a bunch of socks in her hands. They had to go—everything had to go. She couldn’t live amid his clothes, his photographs, his furniture. But she couldn’t part with them either. She would box it all up like she had the first half of their lives together, packed in the basement.
Next, his closet. She pressed her face to one of his sweatshirts, which somehow still smelled like him. She sat on the floor, trying to breathe.
So many sneakers, a pair of hiking boots. And then, a sliver of white caught her eye, peeking out from underneath a pair of Adidas pushed way in the back. On her knees, she reached for the envelope, saw her name written in Rory’s familiar, precise lettering.
Lauren sank back on her heels. She knew what it was. She’d heard about them from other military wives. He’d left her a just-in-case letter.
She dropped it like it was on fire. It wafted to her feet.
When had he written it? Before his first tour? It had to have been then. There was no way he’d written it before the second. Either way, it didn’t matter. The letter must not be read—not ever.
Once she read the letter, he would be gone forever.
Lauren took the envelope, ran back down to the basement, and shoved it into one of the many cardboard boxes they’d never unpacked. Then she taped it and taped it and taped it closed, as if the box were never to be opened again.
And now she’d opened it.
Lauren’s phone rang. Matt.
“Hello?” she said, trying to sound normal.
“Hey, it’s Matt. Sorry I missed your call but I was working. What’s up?”
“Nothing. It was nothing.”
“Are you crying?”
“No.”
“Are you okay?”
She hesitated, trying to normalize her voice.
“Yes. I was just going through some old things.”
“Where are you? Are you by yourself?”
“Yeah, I’m at home,” she said, sobbing.
“I’ll be right over.”
Chapter Forty
Lauren climbed into the front seat of Matt’s car. The night had cooled and she zipped her hoodie.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked.
“Just drive. Anywhere.”
Atlantic Avenue was busy. At another time in her life, she would have appreciated the promise in the air, a beautiful night just waiting to unfold.
Stopped at a light, Matt said, “I’m sorry you got upset.”
“It’s not your fault. I wanted to find some things you could use for the film to counter all the negative stuff we talked about. I don’t want him to be remembered as a tragic figure. I want people to understand why I loved him, to see what a happy life we had together, if just for a moment.” She started to cry again. He pulled the car to the side of the street and found her a tissue from his glove compartment.
