Secrets of the Red Box (29 page)

“Yes, or we’d be out of room in here.” She turned from the closet.
He looked at her. Even dressed in casual slacks and a pink sweater, she was beautiful. He liked
the way the small of her back curved, the way his hand fit there perfectly. He loved her full, kissable
lips, lips that drove him crazy every second of the day. It was beyond luck, he knew, that he should
be here, looking at the woman he called his wife. It was beyond good fortune that the gods had
smiled upon him, granting him such a woman to share his life.
Glen extended his arm to her, his fingers aching for her touch. “Come here,” he murmured.
Bonnie gave him a sly smirk. “Work now, play later,” she quipped with a teasing glance.
Glen pretended as if he’d been shot, clutching his chest and then sprawling half-on and half-off
the bed. “You’ve wounded me to the core,” he choked out with a dramatic rasp.
Baby Girl stuck her head out from underneath the bed and sniffed at Glen’s dangling fingers.
She slinked out and rubbed her back across his hand. “You feel sorry for me, don’t you, Baby Girl?”
he prodded.
Bonnie laughed, bent over and reached for the cat. Glen rolled, grabbed her around the waist
and pulled her onto the bed with him. “Good job, Baby Girl…just the way we practiced.”
Bonnie giggled and wrestled against his steely hold. “Work first,” she insisted, plucking at his
hands.
Glen released her and Bonnie sprang to her feet. He gave her a look resembling a pouting child
and got up from the bed. “All right. Nice try,” he said to the cat with a shrug.
He followed Bonnie to the crowded living room. His dresser sat against the wall opposite the
windows, too large for the tiny bedroom. An old chair with sagging cushions sat beside Bonnie’s, a
hand-me-down from his father’s house. Boxes of clothes and shoes still sat in the living room along
with odds and ends, his bowling ball, his books, a box of records, and an old phonograph. It would
definitely be crowded in the tiny apartment.
As a veteran, Glen knew that the GI Bill of Rights granted him a federally guaranteed home loan
with no down payment. As he glanced around, he decided he’d look into that possibility. Bonnie
deserved a home, a real home, one that no one could ever take away from her, where she could have
as many cats as she wanted. Well, he amended, as many cats as was reasonable. Most of all, he
wanted her to feel the stability that only a home could offer. He wanted her to feel what he’d felt
growing up, surrounded by familiar walls that seemed to wrap around him whenever he came home.
He wanted her to know what it was like to be settled, to spread her roots throughout every room,
every corner, to know that a house breathed and moved with its family as if it was a member by
right.
He set to work unpacking the last of the boxes and thought about coming home to Bonnie in a
house of their own. And then he thought about planning a real honeymoon for her, something
exciting or exotic. He wasn’t exactly sure where he would find either, but he would take her away
one day. She hadn’t insisted on anything expensive or extravagant. He liked that she was practical—
it made wanting to spoil her all the more attractive. But when he was making better money and
became more settled in his work, he vowed to give her the honeymoon she deserved.
As Glen continued to think, he realized how much he’d taken for granted in his life, how by
contrast he had been almost privileged when compared to Bonnie. He supposed that was why he
felt so motivated to make her life pleasant, to bring her as much happiness as he possibly could.
A sudden pang of guilt shot through him, as pointed as any bullet. He’d made promises to
himself about Charlie, too, hadn’t he? He’d vowed to see the boy home safely, alive, return him to
Amy, and he’d failed. Glen couldn’t let the same thing happen to his promises for Bonnie. He would
rather die than fail her.
///////
Bonnie lay on her side staring across the small bedroom. A faint light from the street filtered
through the curtains, touching hard lines with pale illumination. Beside her, Glen breathed deeply as
he slept, his body spooned against hers, his arm draped over her torso. She held on to his arm,
feeling his warmth and sureness. She clung to him as if he were an anchor, as though if she were to
let go, she’d drift away from him forever.
They’d been married only three short weeks, and still she could scarcely comprehend how she
came to be in this bed with a husband who loved her. It had all seemed an impossible dream not so
long ago. Her only aspiration then had been to survive, to find work, and become invisible. She
never expected to fall in love, had never even hoped to. And now that she was, Bonnie felt certain
she didn’t deserve it.
The thought of losing her newfound happiness terrified her. She never wanted to go back to the
dark days she’d lived before, the empty days of lies and secrets. She never wanted to live even one
day without Glen. There were no guarantees, she knew, but Bonnie vowed to make Glen happy, to
do everything in her power to keep his love for her alive. But most of all, she wanted to prove
herself worthy of his love.
///////
“What about this one?” Glen asked, pulling the short, spindly evergreen from the stack. “It’s not
so big it would push us out of the apartment.”
Bonnie considered the Christmas tree. She shook her head. “Not the right one,” she said. “Try
over there.” She pointed to another group of trees in the lot and started toward them.
Glen dropped the tree from his hand and followed. He reached into the new pile and took hold
of a tree in each hand, shook out their branches and held them out for Bonnie. “What do you
think?”
She tapped her chin with a gloved finger. “Not right,” she murmured. “Maybe you should pick it
out.”
Glen lowered the two trees and shook his head. “Nope. This is our first Christmas, and I want
you
to pick out the tree.”
“What do I know?” she said. “I’ve never picked out a tree before.”
“That’s why I want
you
to do it,” he said. “Come on, keep looking.”
Bonnie sighed and turned in the lot, searching the variety of sizes and types of Christmas trees.
Her eyes traveled to a small tree leaning against the attendant’s shack. It was pathetic looking and
scrawny, but seemed to be calling her. She shuffled through two inches of fresh snow and reached
for the tree. It was less than three feet tall and would easily sit on the end table. With the limited
room in their small apartment, at least they wouldn’t have to use the valuable floor space.
Taking hold of its narrow trunk, Bonnie held it out and smiled. “This one,” she said, glancing
over her shoulder at Glen.
He looked doubtful. “You’re sure?”
“It looks lonely.”
Glen smiled and kissed her cheek. He paid for the tree and put it in the trunk of the car. On the
way home, he tuned the radio until he found a station playing Christmas songs. Bonnie leaned
against his shoulder and burrowed in against his warmth. How she loved him. At times, her eyes
welled with tears for seemingly no other reason than her complete happiness. This was one of those
times.
Bonnie had been thinking a lot about Christine, Dave, and Paul, and how much she’d done to
hurt them. She’d discovered that Glen’s love had transformed her from the inside out, had healed
her of so much pain. Before Glen, she hadn’t known what it meant to treat others with such cavalier
disregard. Christine, Dave, and Paul had real feelings, feelings she’d dismissed. Friendship,
companionship, even love, meant nothing to her then. Now, she knew better.
She toyed with the idea of writing to each of them, apologizing for her actions, her behavior. She
wanted them to know that she was sorry for lying to them, for using them. Yet, somehow, she
couldn’t bring herself to pick up the pen and write the letters. Maybe it would do no good even if
she did. What would it accomplish anyway, except dredge up unpleasant feelings? They’d all moved
on, and so had she. If she could undo the last four years of her life, she would. But unless she
wanted to jeopardize everything good in her life, it was best if she kept her secrets buried—and that
meant all of them.
As the car rolled along, and the hum of a Christmas carol floated through the air, Bonnie
reached up and kissed Glen’s temple.
“What was that for?” he asked softly.
“Just because I love you.”

Bonnie pulled on her heavy winter coat and went outside to wait for Irene. Her breath came in
frosted puffs as the air assaulted her lungs. A brutal March snowstorm had arrived the night before,
bringing with it six inches of snow. She pulled up the collar of her coat, then stepped tenuously
across the slippery sidewalk toward the curb. She wriggled her fingers into a pair of gloves and
watched up the street for Irene’s car.

Her initial love of snow was beginning to wane now and she was starting to wonder if she’d ever
see a green thing again, or feel the warm sun on her bare skin. And worse, she hated it when the
pristine snow became marred with a dingy coating of grit, turning a speckled gray like the winter sky
overhead.

Cars slid and skidded along the street, their tires an unwilling participant in the winter’s journey.
Someone in a truck began braking too late at the corner and careened through the intersection
sideways. The truck missed the bumper of a parked car as the driver over-corrected the steering, but
in doing so headed straight into oncoming traffic.

Bonnie held her breath as she helplessly watched the truck collide with a large sedan. The
sickening sound of crunching metal was quickly muffled by the dense blanket of snow. A plume of
steam from the truck’s radiator erupted into the sky like a geyser, amplified into billowing clouds as
it assailed the cold air. Another crash resounded behind the curtain of steam and Bonnie’s stomach
dropped. The truck and sedan both lurched from their positions as the third car rear-ended the
sedan. Bonnie leaned over the curb and strained to see what had happened.

The driver from the truck threw open his door and stood in front of the sedan for a moment,
his face as ashen as the snow. He moved around to the passenger side of the car and peered through
the window. Bonnie could see the man inside the sedan wave him on.

As the steam began to dissipate Bonnie could make out the color of the car that had just hit the
vehicle. It was the same color as Irene’s. She plowed her way through the bank of snow at the curb
and hurried into the street. Her heart hammered against her chest as she neared the accident, certain
now that it was Irene’s car that had struck the sedan. The cold air stung her lungs, her footsteps
faltered against the snow in her rush.

Let her be all right, please, please…don’t let her die…
People began to emerge from their homes, curious about the accident. They clutched at their
bathrobes, eased out onto the sidewalks, stared with fearful eyes. Bonnie heard the driver of the
truck shouting to one of the gawking citizens. “Call an ambulance!”
Bonnie’s throat choked off her air as she saw Irene slumped against the steering wheel. She
pushed the truck’s driver aside. “Irene! Irene!”
“Don’t move her,” the man said, grabbing hold of Bonnie’s arm. “She might be—”
Bonnie glowered at him and jerked her arm free. She dropped to her knees in the snow-covered
street in front of the open car door. Bonnie felt an inch of relief pry its way into her heart. It was
someone else behind the wheel. The woman began to moan. “Try not to move,” she said. “Help is
on the way.”
The ambulance siren shrieked through the neighborhood, startling a few birds from their
branched perches overhead. Bonnie got up, her nerves still jarred, but thankful it hadn’t been Irene.
She backed away from the accident feeling somewhat ashamed that she was grateful for someone
else’s misfortune. The ambulance pulled to a ragged stop and the siren wound down to a growling
whir.
Bonnie saw a car coming up the street and recognized it as Irene’s. She held up her arm and
waved until she got Irene’s attention. The car slowed and came to a stop several feet from the
accident. Bonnie slogged through the snow until she reached the car and got inside.
“What happened? Are you all right?” Irene asked as Bonnie shut the door.
Bonnie nodded and leaned her head back against the seat. “It was awful,” she said, her emotions
welling to the surface. “I thought it was you in that car…”
Irene’s face registered some of Bonnie’s fear. “Oh, no…”
Tears burned her iced cheeks. She grabbed Irene’s hand and held it fast. “I thought it was you,
and I didn’t know what I was going to do…I thought you might be dead…I—”
“Hush now,” Irene said, patting Bonnie’s hand. “Everything’s okay now.”
“Oh, Irene…if it had been you, I would have died…”
Irene gave her a final pat of confidence. “Well, it wasn’t me, so you can put it behind you now.”
She shifted the car into gear and made a slow U-turn to circumvent the accident.
Bonnie tried to swallow down the acid taste in the back of her throat. Her hands were still
shaking from the upset. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Irene. It would be like losing her
mother all over again.
When they arrived at Kirkendall’s, it had begun to snow again, tiny white flakes settling on the
car like powdered sugar. Bonnie glanced up at the sky and wished for spring. They entered the
building, and Bonnie felt a deepening ache in her lower back. She must have wrenched it while
navigating the snowy streets of the accident.
Bonnie and Irene bid good morning to the usual spate of employees and went to their little
room. The gray sky had the room looking gloomy despite the open blinds. Bonnie stabbed her coat
over the coat rack and took her seat at the switchboard. Her backache was worsening, and she
rummaged through her purse for a bottle of aspirin.
Irene’s prattle seemed to test Bonnie’s nerves. She didn’t know if it was the accident that had her
feeling out of sorts or the backache. Either way, her patience was becoming strained. She swallowed
down a couple of aspirin and fitted her headset into place.
“Bonnie?”
Irene’s voice had lowered in timbre, catching Bonnie’s attention now. She swiveled on her chair.
“Hmm?”
Irene’s expression became serious. “Are you all right? You look a little pale.”
Bonnie felt a twinge of guilt at allowing herself to become annoyed with Irene. She pushed away
her irritation, knowing Irene had done nothing to deserve it, and offered her a smile. “I’m fine, just a
little backache. I guess I must have twisted funny or something while I was rushing through the
snow.”
“Can I get you something? Maybe if I rub it…”
Bonnie waved her hand and swiveled back into place. “No, no, I’m all right, really. But thank
you. I just took some aspirin.”
Bonnie heard the squeak of Irene’s chair as she sat down. “Well, if it gets any worse, you get to
the doctor.”
The switchboard lamps began to light up and Bonnie took her first call of the day. As she
disconnected the cord and took another call, the pain increased, spreading to the front and twisting
her insides. She shook her head to dismiss the pain, but it increased with each passing moment until
she could no longer ignore it.
The pain suddenly intensified, causing her to double over. She yanked the headpiece away and
muffled a cry between her fingers. Then she felt it—warm, sticky blood oozing from her, soaking
through her dress. She looked down at her lap, at the spreading stain as another sharp pain doubled
her over. “Irene—”
Bonnie heard a gasp and felt Irene’s hands grip her shoulders.
“Bonnie! Oh, my—” Irene raced to the door and threw it open. “Beatrice! Help me. Someone
call an ambulance!”
Bonnie felt herself growing faint, the sound of voices fading away as the pain pulled her down
into darkness. She tried to cry out, to speak, but she could form no words. Her head began to spin,
her thoughts running like watercolors on a damp page. And then there was nothing.