Secrets of the Red Box (35 page)

Glen couldn’t look at any more of the damming evidence from Bonnie’s past. He couldn’t
rationalize her behavior—couldn’t accept it. He wondered now if she’d ever told him one truthful
thing.

And then it hit him square between the eyes—what about his children? How would he ever be
able to explain this to them when he couldn’t even explain it to himself? How would he ever make
them understand? And what would they think of their mother as they grew older, and really
did
understand what she’d done?

Glen massaged his throbbing temples with annoyance. He had to think of his children now, had
to protect them. But he didn’t know how or from what. Bonnie was so sweet and gentle with them,
so loving. He never could have asked for a more wonderful mother for his children. And he’d seen
the gratitude in her eyes when they’d been born—that was real, wasn’t it? Sadly, now he had to
question even that.

There was one last paper in the box. It was worn and yellowed and didn’t look like any of the
others. He took it out with a heavy sigh. There was no stopping now—he had to look at it, had to
see this last painful thing. His fingers were vibrating again as he unfolded the page and began to
read.

When I Grow Up
by Bonnie Murphy, September 23, 1934
When I grow up I will never work in the hot sun. I will have lots of money so I don’t have to work at all. I will

be nice to people and never hit them or make them cry. I will eat ice cream whenever I want and go to the movies all the
time. When I grow up I will take mama and we will go far away and we won’t be afraid anymore. We will have
pancakes for breakfast on Sundays and play in the park until after dark if we want. When I grow up I wil l put a
light on in the hall so I won’t be scared of the dark and I will leave it on all the time so I can see when someone is
coming and hide. But the best thing is someday I will have children and they will love me because I will be very good to
them. I will play with them and love them back and never make them sad. And then I will be happy forever and ever.

Glen lowered the letter scribbled in pencil and found fresh tears stinging his eyes. He sighed out
Bonnie’s name and returned everything to the box. Glen had to think, had to decide what to do. He
was too raw to make a decision now, too wounded to think straight.

With the box in his hands, he got out of the car and opened the trunk. He shoved aside a pair of
gray overalls he kept there for emergencies and covered the box with them. It would be safe in there
until he knew what to do. Glen closed the trunk and palmed his hands against it, the cold metal
piercing his skin. He’d left the house without a coat and felt the winter air fire a shiver through him.
Glen got back into the car, the afternoon sun skimming the horizon of the Nebraska plains. As he
started the engine, it began to snow.

Glen drove for another hour, trying to muster up the courage to go home. He didn’t know how
he could face Bonnie, how he could ever look at her the same way again. That pained him as much
as anything. Her betrayal had crushed him, had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart as
surely as if she’d used her own hand. He’d loved her so much and now everything was different. It
seemed incomprehensible that his entire life had changed in the blink of an eye.

Maybe he could pretend he’d never seen the red box. Maybe he could push the truth aside and
pretend he would be all right. The last five years had been the best of his life. How could he give
that up? How could he lose her? But there was no denying the sourness of her deception, the utter
disregard for his trust. He had given her everything, and she had given him lies.

When Glen pulled into the driveway, he turned off the engine and sat there looking through the
living room window. The curtains were open, the room brightly lit, and against the darkened night it
looked like a movie screen, waiting for some actor to begin the scene. He scanned the wallpaper, the
pattern Bonnie had agonized over for days, wanting to get just the right one. His dark eyes skimmed
the contours of the furniture, coordinated with the flecks of color in the wallpaper. He could see the
photographs of Jeannie and Charlie each at nine months old, their near-toothless grins reminders
that they were growing so fast.

Bonnie came into the living room from the kitchen, her dress garnished with an apron, her
brows slightly drawn with worry. Perhaps she’d heard the car pull into the drive and wondered why
he hadn’t come inside. Maybe she could feel his pain coursing through the very walls of the house.
The sight of her made Glen’s stomach twist again, wringing out more anguish than before. He
whispered her name again, feeling the tang of it on his tongue, tasting the bitterness of betrayal.

He forced himself to open the car door, and as he did, glanced at his watch by the light of the
living room window. The children would be in bed, he thought. That would make it easier for him.
He walked to the back door, the snowflakes fat and thick, clinging to his hair, his shoulders. When
he went inside, he stomped the snow from his feet and brush his hair with a bare hand.

“Honey?” Bonnie called, her voice growing louder as she neared. “Is that you? I thought I heard
the car.”
Glen wasn’t prepared for the reaction her voice elicited in him. He felt himself cringe and then
suddenly well with pain. He kept his eyes lowered, pretending to clean off his shoes as she came into
the kitchen.
“I was surprised to see you’d gone in to work,” she said, her voice cheerful and airy. “That’s a
first, isn’t it? Going in on a Saturday, I mean? And where’s your coat? It’s freezing outside.”
Glen nodded and brushed past her, not knowing how he was going to survive the next few
moments. He felt broken, as if the slightest jar would send him into pieces. He tried to call up his
anger, tried to steel himself against the assault of emotions that threatened to bring him down. He
said nothing and headed for the bathroom.
He knew she followed him, could hear her feet padding behind him. “I’m going to take a
shower,” he said, trying to sound casual. He couldn’t face her yet. “Get warmed up.”
Bonnie surged past him and headed to the bedroom. “I’ll get out your nice warm robe. You can
wrap up in it when you’re finished.”
Glen went into the bathroom and closed the door. He stripped off his clothes and went through
with the pretense of the shower. When the hot water hit his skin, he realized how cold he was, cold
to the core. Her treachery had seen to that. He shoved his head beneath the water and tried to
drown out the thoughts echoing through his mind. He wished the water could dissolve him, could
wash him down the drain to a forgetful nothingness.
He heard Bonnie come into the bathroom, heard her picking up his clothes. “I got the cutest
little shoes for Jeannie today,” she said. “I can’t believe how fast she grew out of the last pair. And
Charlie, too—he’s just sprouting like a weed.”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.
“Honey? Is everything okay? You seem kind of quiet.”
Glen mumbled something under the water and hoped that would suffice for an answer.
“The kids are asleep,” she said with a lazy drawl. “Need some company in there? I’ll scrub your
back.”
“No,” he blurted out more forcefully than he intended. He leveled his voice. “I’m really tired. I
think I’ll turn in early.”
“Oh.”
He could hear some disappointment in her voice. He’d never turned down an opportunity to
share an intimate moment with Bonnie. He hated himself for feeling this way, and he hated her for
hurting him so much.
“I hope you’re not coming down with something,” she said with a note of concern. “Maybe I
should take your temperature.”
“I’m all right,” he said. “Just got chilled, that’s all.”
“I’ll make you some tea.” She left the bathroom.
Glen turned off the water, grateful she was gone. He toweled off and wiped the steam from the
bathroom mirror, a habit he’d picked up years ago. The face that stared back at him was a stranger’s.
His eyes seemed recessed in hollows that hadn’t been there before. He felt older, as if he’d aged a
hundred years.
He hung the towel on the rack, switched off the light, and went to the bedroom across the hall.
The plush robe lay on the bed where Bonnie had placed it. Tears pooled in his eyes. It was such a
loving gesture, but now it seemed so empty to him. Glen climbed into bed and pulled the covers up
to his chin. He faced the wall away from Bonnie’s side of the bed.
The hot shower had done nothing to warm him, and he thought he’d never feel warm again. He
closed his eyes as he heard Bonnie coming down the hall. He heard her pause at the door, the tea
cup rattling slightly in its saucer. “Honey?” she called softly.
Bonnie walked quietly across the carpeted floor and placed the teacup on the night stand beside
Glen. She bent over him and ran her fingers over his damp hair. “Poor baby,” she whispered. When
she leaned over to kiss his forehead, it was all Glen could do to keep from crying out. Bonnie
crossed the room, turned out the light, and closed the door.
The following day was Sunday, a family day they spent together laughing and playing, then going
to Irene’s for dinner. Glen wanted to do none of that. He wanted to curl into a ball, hide in a corner,
and wish the pain away. He stayed in bed longer than usual, didn’t want to look at Bonnie. All night
he’d felt her beside him, listened to her soft, even breathing and prayed he could die. There was no
life for him without her and no life for him with her.
When he finally dragged himself from the bed, it was because his children kept peeking in at
him. He heard Bonnie hush them and usher them away, but after repeated attempts to see “What’s
wrong with Daddy?” Glen couldn’t take it anymore. He dressed, avoided looking in the mirror as he
brushed his teeth, and went into the kitchen.
///////
“Daddy’s up!” exclaimed Jeannie, hopping up and down in her footed pajamas. She ran to him
and wrapped her arms around his thigh. “Hi, Daddy, we wondered when you were going to get up.
Mommy said we were supposed to be quiet so you could sleep. We tried real hard.”
Glen touched the top of Jeannie’s head. “Thank you, sweetie.”
Bonnie turned from the stove with the coffee pot in her hand. “Coffee?” she asked him. She was
unprepared for the look on his face. He appeared drawn and pained, with dark circles beneath his
eyes. She returned the coffee pot to the stove. “Glen? You don’t look well. What’s wrong?”
She came toward him, raising a hand to his forehead. He ducked and moved aside. “I’m all
right,” he said brusquely.
Bonnie could see he was not all right. There was something wrong. “I’m calling Dr. Manning,”
she said. “We’ll let him decide.” She started toward the phone, but Glen grabbed her by the wrist.
“No! Don’t call,” he insisted. He looked down at his hand and let go of her, recoiling his fingers
into a fist.
Bonnie studied her husband. Everything about him seemed different—his posture, his eyes, the
tone in his voice, the way he’d forgotten to kiss her good morning. She’d never seen him act this
way and it frightened her. “Glen, what’s the matter?” She asked it softly, with no implication of
worry for the sake of the children.
Jeannie tugged on her father’s hand. “Daddy, come play with us,” she urged.
“Maybe later, Jeannie-beanie,” he said with a fleeting smile. “Daddy’s going to read the
newspaper.”
Bonnie extended her hand toward her daughter. “Come on, Jeannie, finish your breakfast. We’ll
eat and then play, okay?”
She watched as Glen poured a cup of coffee and disappeared into the living room. She felt lost,
as if her ship was suddenly rudderless and could no longer stay on course. Glen had always been
there beside her, giving direction to her life. Now it was as if a gulf had separated them and she
couldn’t comprehend why. He hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t touched her, not even when she
snuggled up next to him in bed last night. A sick feeling crept into her stomach.
Bonnie pulled a chair away from the kitchen table and helped Jeannie take her seat. Charlie was
already in his high chair, happily drooling onto his bib. She scooped scrambled eggs onto a plate and
placed it before Charlie, then kissed him on top of the head. The stack of pancakes she’d already
made sat warming inside the oven. Bonnie turned off the burner beneath the bacon and drained it
before plating it up for the family.
“Glen, honey, breakfast is ready,” she called to him.
Bonnie fixed a plate for Jeannie and cut her pancakes into bite-size pieces. After she’d poured
warmed syrup over the golden cakes she smiled at her daughter. “There you go, sweetheart.”
“Mmmm, I love pancakes,” Jeannie said, stabbing her fork into the pile.
Bonnie glanced over her shoulder to see if Glen was coming. There was no sign of him. Maybe
he hadn’t heard her. She walked around the table and went to the living room. He sat in his chair,
the newspaper open in front of him shielding his face from her. “Glen? Didn’t you hear me call?
Breakfast is ready.”
He didn’t lower the paper when he spoke. “Just coffee today,” he said.
His voice sounded tight, as if he could barely get the words out. Bonnie’s concern grew into fear.
She moved toward him and sat on the sofa across from him. “Honey? Why won’t you tell me what’s
wrong? Is it work? The kids? What?”
Glen rustled the paper between his fingers, but didn’t look at her. “Go eat your breakfast before
it gets cold,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”
“But—”
He started to lower the paper. “Would you just go?” he barked. “Leave me alone.”
A sinking feeling engulfed her. She’d never seen him this way and knew it was something more
serious than he would admit. She pursed her lips and pushed up from the sofa. Clasping her hands
together to keep them from shaking, she returned to the kitchen with a dull ache in her throat.
///////
Glen couldn’t pretend everything was normal. Nothing would ever be normal again. He couldn’t
eat, or play with his children, or look at Bonnie. He sat behind the newspaper, using it as protection
against his life before the red box and the life he lived now. It took every ounce of strength he had
to remain seated in his chair, to keep from screaming at Bonnie in his wounded rage, to keep from
running out the door.
He felt relieved when Bonnie finally went back to the kitchen. The thought of facing the Ortons
this afternoon, as if nothing had changed, turned his stomach sour again. He couldn’t go and
pretend to be what he wasn’t any longer. He couldn’t pretend that Bonnie hadn’t lied to him, hadn’t
planned a deception so devious that he would never have known about her past had it not been for
the evidence he’d found. How cold must she be, he wondered, to live with herself and all her lies?
How could she have ever looked at him and not remembered what she’d done? How he wished he’d
never rescued the red box, had left it in the trash where it belonged. He could have lived out the rest
of his life in complete ignorance of her past and been happy.
He couldn’t listen to the joyful sounds of his children as they ate their breakfast, or hear
Bonnie’s gentle encouragement for them to drink their milk. Normally these simple testaments of
life brought him a sense of comfort, of a good life. Now they were reminders of what he’d lost
because of Bonnie.
Glen threw the newspaper aside and stood up. He went to the big picture window and looked
out at the overcast sky. The walks needed shoveling after the fresh snowfall from the night before.
He could do that, could put his thoughts on something else for a while as he performed a mindless
task.
Shrugging into his coat, he went out the front door, walked around to the back of the house
where the snow shovel rested against the bricks, then returned to the front. Glen pulled the gloves
from his pockets, slipped them on, then started to shovel.
The cold air stung his face. He could see his breath with every exhalation. The blade of the
shovel bit into the snow and spit it out over his shoulder. Glen liked the feel of cold, the movement
of his limbs, the exertion on his heart. It seemed to drive away some of the pain, if only for a
moment. He had to think, he had to decide what to do, and he had to do so quickly.