PART 3
I looked at the woman.
Then at Jim.
Then at the little boy.
“Well,” I said quietly. “This is an interesting surprise.”
Jim swallowed.
“What are you doing here?”
I almost laughed.
It was such a foolish question that I couldn’t believe he had actually asked it.
I looked down at my blue pharmacy smock, at my name tag, and then back at him.
“I work here, Jim. You know that.”
He glanced toward the other customers.
“Can we talk?”
“Of course,” I replied. “What would you like to talk about?”
The young woman shifted uncomfortably.
“Jim, do you know her?”
I turned my eyes toward her.
“Yes, sweetheart. I know him very well.”
Jim closed his eyes for a moment.
“Muriel, please.”
The little boy leaned forward and touched Jim’s forehead.
“Daddy, who’s that lady?”
Jim didn’t answer.
The woman reached up and lifted the boy from his shoulders.
“Come on, Tully. Let’s go look at the toys.”
But Tully didn’t want to go.
He reached for Jim again.
“I want Daddy!”
The words echoed through the pharmacy.
I had spent forty-one years being called somebody’s wife.
I had been Jim’s wife through his father’s funeral, through the years when the farm barely made enough money to keep us going, through three pregnancies, countless bills, and nights when we sat at the kitchen table wondering how we would pay for everything.
I had been his wife when he had nothing.
I had been his wife when he finally had something.
And apparently, for at least eleven years, I had been his wife while another woman was raising his children.
“What’s your name, honey?” I asked the little boy.
He looked at me.
“Tully.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“My daddy gave it to me.”
I felt something inside my chest crack.
The young woman quickly picked up the prescription bag.
“Come on, sweetheart. We need to get going.”
Jim reached for her arm.
“Wait.”
She looked at him.
“Jim, not here.”
I nodded.
“She’s right. Not here.”
I took off my glasses and placed them beside the register.
Then I looked directly at my husband.
“Go home, Jim.”
He stared at me.
“Muriel—”
“Go home. We’ll talk tonight.”
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but something in my face stopped him.
The woman walked toward the door with Tully in her arms.
Jim followed.
Before he stepped outside, he turned around.
His mouth opened.
But whatever words he had prepared never came out.
The door chimed behind him.
I stood there until the sound faded.
My manager, Donna, came out from the consultation room.
“Muriel?”
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t believe me.
“Do you want me to cover the register?”
I nodded.
“Just for a little while.”
I went into the back room, closed the door, and sat down on the little wooden chair beside the medication shelves.
For several minutes, I couldn’t breathe properly.
I didn’t cry immediately.
That surprised me.
I had expected tears.
I had expected anger.
Instead, I felt something much colder.
I felt embarrassed.
Not because my husband had another family.
Because I had spent forty-one years defending a man who apparently had been living two lives.
I remembered all the times my sister had asked why Jim never wanted to travel with me anymore.
All the times our children had complained that their father was always busy.
All the times I had made excuses.
“He’s tired.”
“Work has been difficult.”
“Your father needs his time with the boys.”
I had protected his reputation without knowing what I was protecting.
My phone buzzed.
It was a message from Jim.
Please don’t do anything until we talk. I can explain everything.
I read it twice.
Then I typed one sentence.
I hope you have a better explanation than the one I saw with my own eyes.
I put the phone away.
That evening, I didn’t cook.
I didn’t iron his clothes.
I didn’t set two plates on the table.
I went home, made myself a cup of tea, and sat in the living room.
At 6:42, Jim came through the front door.
He had changed out of his flannel shirt.
He looked tired.
“Muriel.”
I didn’t answer.
He placed his keys on the table.
“Can we sit down?”
“We’ve been sitting down together for forty-one years, Jim. I think you can stand there and tell me the truth.”
He pulled out the chair opposite me.
For a while, he said nothing.
Then he rubbed his face.
“Her name is Ashley.”
“I know.”
“She works at the nursing home.”
“I know that, too.”
He looked surprised.
I continued.
“Her son is Tully. And there is an eleven-year-old girl on your insurance. I saw her profile.”
His expression changed.
I leaned forward.
“Is she yours, too?”
He looked down at his hands.
That was all the answer I needed.
I closed my eyes.
“How old is she?”
“Eleven.”
“And Tully?”
“Six.”
I nodded slowly.
Six.
Eleven.
Two children.
Two children who had grown up knowing Jim as their father while our three children had grown up believing they were his only children.
“How long?” I asked.
He stared at the floor.
“Muriel, it’s complicated.”
“No. It’s a simple question. How long have you been having another family?”
He took a breath.
“Almost twelve years.”
I felt the room move around me.
Twelve years.
That meant he had been seeing Ashley before our fortieth anniversary.
Before he gave me that card.
Still my girl.
I almost smiled at the cruelty of it.
“Did you write that card yourself?”
He looked up.
“What?”
“The anniversary card. The one with the roses. You wrote that I was still your girl. Did you write it yourself?”
“Of course I did.”
“Then I suppose you were very busy being somebody else’s daddy when you wrote it.”
He stood up.
“Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Make me sound like some monster. I never meant to hurt you.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“Jim, you didn’t accidentally hurt me. You made choices. You made them for twelve years. You made them every time you left this house and told me you were going to the lodge. You made them every time you kissed me goodnight and then called her. You made them when you put those children on your insurance.”
He sat down again.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
He didn’t answer.
“After Tully graduated high school? After the little girl got married? Or after I died and you could finally bring them to the farm without explaining anything?”
He covered his face.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Then tell me something you haven’t lied about.”
He was quiet for nearly a minute.
Finally, he said, “I love you, Muriel.”
I looked at him.
“Do you love Ashley?”
He didn’t answer.
“Do you love those children?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Then you have been living a very comfortable life, Jim. You got to love everybody. You got to have a wife who cooked your supper, children who called you Dad, and another woman who gave you two more children. You got everything you wanted.”
I stood up.
“But what did I get?”
He reached for my hand.
I stepped away.
“Don’t.”
He dropped his arm.
“Muriel, please. We can work through this.”
I stared at him.
“Did you ever think about what would happen if I found out?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever think about me?”
He lowered his head.
And for the first time in forty-one years, I realized I was looking at a man I didn’t know.
The next morning, I called my lawyer.
Her name was Caroline Hayes.
I had met her on Wednesday, but at that point I had only given her the basic information.
This time, I told her everything.
The insurance records.
The two children.
The rental house on Cedar Street.
The twelve years.
The money.
When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.
“Muriel, I want you to listen carefully. You are not going to make any financial decisions while you’re upset. We need to establish exactly what assets exist, when they were acquired, and whether any marital money was used to support this other household.”
“What if he has been giving her money?”
“Then we need records.”
“What if he’s been hiding money?”
“Then we need to find it.”
I looked toward the kitchen window.
Jim’s coffee cup was still sitting beside the sink.
“Caroline, we paid off this farm together. I worked when he worked. I raised our children. I helped him build everything we have.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t want to take anything away from those children. They didn’t ask to be born into this mess.”
“That’s important,” she said. “But protecting innocent children does not mean you have to surrender your legal rights.”
I took a deep breath.
“All right.”
“One more thing. Don’t confront his mother yet. Let us gather the documents first.”
I thought about the little blue porch on Cedar Street.
“She knows.”
“Who?”
“His mother. She knows everything.”
Caroline paused.
“Are you certain?”
“No,” I said. “But I’m going to find out.”
Jim was unusually quiet for the next three days.
He slept in the guest room.
He left for work early.
He came home late.
And every evening, he asked whether I was ready to talk.
I wasn’t.
On Saturday morning, I found him sitting at the kitchen table with a yellow envelope.
“What’s that?” I asked.
He pushed it toward me.
“Something I should have given you a long time ago.”
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
Ashley was standing in front of the Cedar Street rental house, holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket.
Jim stood beside her.
He was younger in the photograph.
Maybe forty-eight.
The baby was the little girl.
Eleven years ago.
On the back, someone had written:
Our little family. Finally complete.
I put the photograph down.
“Who wrote this?”
“Ashley.”
I looked at him.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because I want you to understand that it wasn’t just some mistake.”
I stared at him.
He continued.
“I know that sounds terrible. But I don’t want to keep lying.”
I almost admired the honesty.
Almost.
“Did you bring me this photograph because you think it will make me forgive you?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He looked toward the window.
“Because Ashley wants to know what’s going to happen.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What does that mean?”
“She knows you found out.”
“How?”
“She saw you at the pharmacy.”
“And?”
“She wants to know whether I’m going to leave.”
I slowly placed the photograph back inside the envelope.
There it was.
Not an apology.
Not concern for me.
A decision he had apparently promised another woman he would make.
“Well,” I said, “what did you tell her?”
He rubbed his hands together.
“I told her I needed time.”
I nodded.
“Then take all the time you need.”
“Muriel—”
“But don’t expect me to wait around while you decide which family you want.”
He looked at me with an expression I had never seen before.
