Her Heart, His Secrets

The sun came through the curtains like it had somewhere to be, and I stretched into it before I remembered why the bed felt bigger than it should. Ben's side was already cool, the blanket folded back with that neat corner he always left, and for a second my heart did the same little stumble it had been doing for two days straight. I lifted my hand and looked at the gold band there, plain and a little loose, and a flutter in my chest went warm and disbelieving all over as I looked at the ring again. Married. At City Hall, in a dress I'd bought off the clearance rack because neither of us wanted to wait one more day for anything fancier.

I sat up and shook my head, half expecting the whole thing to wobble apart like a dream does when you try to look at it straight on. It didn't. The band stayed on my finger, solid and real, and I shivered, the kind of shiver that goes down your spine when you've been handed something good and you still don't quite trust your hands to hold it.

Coffee first. Errands after. That's what I told myself, dragging my feet toward the bathroom. I showered quick, toweling my hair dry in front of the mirror after. It falls past my shoulders now, brown streaked through with white—real white, not the gray I used to have colored over every six weeks like it was something to be ashamed of. Ben says he loves it, says it looks like moonlight got tangled up in it, and if I'm honest, I've come around to loving it too.

I've noticed I take my time watching the steam rise from my coffee mug in a way I never used to. There's no clock ticking over my shoulder telling me to move it along, no husband checking his watch by the door. When Ben's home, the days go long and easy, and we fill them with nothing more urgent than a puzzle spread across the kitchen table or an old musical playing low in the background. Sometimes I'll watch him from across the room when he doesn't know I'm looking, and other times I think he does know, and it doesn't matter either way. I don't imagine I'll ever get tired of that particular sight.

I sipped my coffee and settled at the table with the newspaper, working my way toward the real estate section the way I always do, more out of habit than hope. And there it was, halfway down the page, small print that hit me like a shot: the James farm, finally listed.

"Oh my gosh," I said out loud to an empty kitchen, and my thumbs were already moving across my phone before my brain caught up with them. I sent Ben the news in a text that probably didn't make a lick of sense, all capital letters and no punctuation, and my phone rang before I'd even set it down.

"Slow down, honey," Ben said, that low, even voice of his doing nothing to hide the smile in it. "I can't understand a word you're saying."

I took a breath and tried again, calmer this time. "The James farm is on the market, Ben. I think we should jump on it."

There was a pause on his end, the kind of thoughtful hum he does that can stretch a full minute if you let it, and I listened, holding my breath.

"I think that would be a great idea," he finally said, and I could have cried right there at my kitchen table. "Why don't you go talk to Linda about it, see what she says. She can set us up to go take a look."

"I'm heading into town this morning anyway, for the post office," I told him. "Might ask Linda to lunch while I'm at it."

"Stop by the market after," he said. "I'd like to hear what you girls come up with."

I was dressed and out the door within the hour, the morning air crisp enough to make me glad for my cardigan as I searched for parking near Linda's office with a kind of stubborn hope humming under my ribs, the kind I hadn't let myself feel in longer than I wanted to admit.

Linda ran her own outfit, the best Realtor in Warwick and never shy about reminding anyone who'd listen, and when I stepped through her door she was practically glowing, clutching that ridiculous designer handbag like it was a good luck charm.

"Well, hello there, newlywed," she said, grinning over the top of her glasses. "I'm surprised you managed to leave the bedroom this early."

We both dissolved into laughter, the kind that comes easy after thirty years of friendship, and once we'd caught our breath she asked what had me out and about so early.

"Linda," I said, and I could hear the excitement climbing right up into my own voice, "Ben and I want to buy the James farm."

Her eyebrows shot up over the rims of her glasses. "Well, don't you have impeccable timing. Let me make a few calls, get the ball rolling."

Feeling lighter than I had in weeks, I walked the two blocks down to the market to find Ben and share the good news in person. Sarah was at the register when I came in, already mid-sentence about something, and I caught only the tail end of it, two words that snagged in my chest before the rest of the sentence caught up.

"Wait, what was that about the farm, Sarah?"

"Oh my gosh, isn't it exciting? Somebody's been asking around town about the old place. A stranger, nobody seems to know who."

I didn't answer her. I walked straight past the registers, past the bins of apples I usually stop to admire, right into the produce section and into Ben's arms, clutching that little photo of the farm I always kept folded in my purse, suddenly afraid that the one thing I wanted most might already be slipping out of reach.