Secrets of the Red Box (36 page)

A sharp knock sounded at the front door. Glen tensed and he felt the color drain from his face.
He stood motionless in the kitchen as a sudden flash of regret stabbed his heart. His eyes swept
across the room from his little daughter sitting at the gray Formica kitchen table, to his son in the
high chair, and then to his wife.

He felt the blood in his veins seize as though he was paralyzed, standing numb and frozen. The
knock came again, more loudly than before, more commanding.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Bonnie asked, turning from the stove with a large wooden
spoon in her hand.
Glen stared at her, unable to move. Faint strains from the radio filtered through the kitchen.
Charlie sat in his high chair and began to whimper, his hands pounding on the tray. His mother
turned and touched his head with a soothing caress. “I know, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Dinner’s
almost ready.”
The knocking became a pounding. “Glen?” Bonnie urged with an edge to her voice, turning
away from her child.
He made no attempt to move, his eyes darting to the pink electric kitchen clock. Funny how
he’d never noticed the white cord hanging down the wall, a gentle S-curve against the pink-andwhite plaid wallpaper.
Bonnie dropped her spoon on the counter and pursed her full lips. “Oh, for crying out loud,”
she muttered beneath her breath as she headed for the living room.
Glen forced himself to move his stiff limbs, willing himself to follow her. She walked past the
new sofa they’d just purchased, soft rose accented with yellow flowers, skimmed by the ottoman,
and glanced in the mirror that hung in the entryway.
Bonnie reached for the doorknob and turned it, swinging the door open wide.
“Bonnie Taggart?” a man in a dark suit asked perfunctorily.
Glen’s heart pounded like a jackhammer, ringing in his ears so loudly that he could scarcely hear
the voice on the other side of the open door.
Bonnie cocked her head to one side and peered at the two strangers before her. “Yes?”
The man reached into his inside pocket and flashed a shiny gold badge at her face. “You’re
under arrest for bigamy…”
Glen stood beside the ottoman, conscious only of his thrashing heart and his immovable limbs.
He heard nothing of what the detective said, as if his ears were deafened by the violent pul sing of
the blood in his head.
Bonnie spun toward Glen, her arms held out to him, her expression a mix of terror and
pleading. A glistening sweat lit her pale skin as her eyes stared at him in disbelief. Glen stood mute,
unable to offer her the salvation she sought from him. His gut twisted and wrenched until he
thought he might vomit. The look on her face tore at his heart, but was no more devastating than
the betrayal he felt inside.
“No!” Bonnie cried, yanking her arm from the detective. She pivoted to her husband, her eyes
imploring him for help. “Glen! Don’t let them do this!”
Jeannie ran toward her mother, her tiny hands reaching, grasping thin air. “Mommy,
Mommy…”
Glen reached down and lifted his daughter with a mechanical motion. He watched as Bonnie’s
shoulders fell with resignation, her face darkening. His senses drained away from him. He could no
longer hear his wife’s pleading as the detective took hold of her elbow. His voice lay stilted in his
tightened throat, strangling his cries into silence.
The detective escorted Bonnie from the front step as Jeannie began to cry. Bonnie craned her
head over her shoulder, her vivid blue eyes filled with watery tears, beseeching Glen for some sort of
understanding. “Don’t cry, baby,” she called to her daughter. “It’ll be all right. Mommy loves
you…”
Glen saw his future vanish as the bulky black sedan drove away with his wife. Guilt had no role
in his decision now. It had been banished with her betrayal, her lies, her deceit. But he still loved her.
God help him, he still loved her.
///////
Bonnie’s eyes stung and felt swollen from crying so long. She couldn’t forget the look on Glen’s
face as she’d been arrested. There was no trial—she’d pled guilty. At the sentencing, Glen was there,
stone-faced and immovable. She’d wanted to call to him, to beg for his forgiveness, but she could do
nothing. He hadn’t spoken to her since the night of her arrest. She couldn’t blame him. What could
she possibly say to erase her guilt?
Bonnie ached for him, his absence more profound than any previous loss she’d ever
experienced. How she wished she could feel his strong arms around her now, hear his voice and
draw on his strength. But she had ruined all that, had shattered their lives. She had destroyed his
trust, deceived him, betrayed his love, and pained him to the depths of his soul. Nothing she could
ever say or do could repair such irreversible damage. She knew that, and the knowledge of it rang
hollow in her aching heart.
She curled herself into a ball on the thin prison cell mattress. It reeked of urine and time, adding
to her misery. But she deserved it—she deserved every vile thing that came to her now. The lenient
thirty-month sentence would never be enough punishment. In those ensuing months, her children
would forget her. Bonnie clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs.
Oh, God…my
children…my babies…I miss them so much…how will I live without them? I won’t…I don’t want to live…
More tears erupted to scald her cheeks as she buried her face against the stained pillow. The
bitter ache in Bonnie’s throat staunched her voice, silencing her pain-filled cries. She’d lost
everything—everything that had ever mattered to her. It was a sacrifice she’d never expected to
make. But that wasn’t really true, was it? She’d lied to herself and believed she could live in two
worlds, keeping them estranged from one another. But now, exposed for who she really was, who
she had pretended to be, she was helpless to make things right.
In her foolishness, she’d believed she’d only withheld some details about her past from Glen.
She’d told him the truth about her parents, her early years in the fields, her life in Long Beach. She’d
been truthful about her feelings for him, her love. That was real. It had always been real, not like
with the others. Before everything came crashing down on her, she’d believed the only actual lie
she’d ever told him was that day in the hospital—the day she’d miscarried. She couldn’t admit to
him that there had been men she’d married for easy money, couldn’t reveal that the abortion was so
she could keep doing what she’d been doing. It had pained her to lie to him then. She’d nearly
choked on the words. How could she have believed she’d only
omitted
a four-year span of her life
from him, and not considered it lying?
It was so blatant, so ugly now—it all lay bare and exposed. Her secrets, her precious secrets had
cost her everything. And what of the men she’d married? It wasn’t as if they were untouched. How
many had tried to look for her when they came home? How many hearts had she broken, some
soldier or sailor believing his wife had simply vanished? Except for Arthur Jackson—he’d died in the
Pacific just four weeks after they’d married. He would never know her secrets now. The payout on
his ten-thousand-dollar life insurance policy had been a financial bonus. But it was Luther Shold, the
boy from Iowa, who’d had her scared. He’d been severely wounded, had spent months in a hospital
overseas, having lost both legs in a
Kamikaze
attack to his ship. He was coming home—coming
home to Bonnie. Through all his letters, he’d told her over and over that she was the only reason
he’d survived at all.
But the most compelling reason to leave San Diego was the arrest of a woman who had married
four soldiers, just as Bonnie had. She’d obviously not been as careful as Bonnie in hiding her secrets.
She’d given each man copies of the same picture of her. Two of the men were stationed in England,
and one evening they happened to frequent the same pub. They fell into conversation, started
talking about home. When each of the men went to show the other a picture of his wife, they
discovered it was the same woman. They’d notified the authorities and the woman was arrested.
For the first time, she’d truly considered the consequences of her actions. For the first time,
she’d realized the gravity of what she’d done. With the payout from Arthur’s death, she had enough
money to leave and start over. She had to go before it was too late—before she got caught.
She thought about all the times she’d tried to drown her guilt with liquor, had tried to rid herself
of the memories. Yet each time, they came back with full force. Only after she’d met Glen had she
been able to push them aside—
willed
them aside to allow his love for her to fill the emptiness in her
soul. When she’d finally been able to throw away the red box, convinced her past was buried for
good, she’d believed she was free. How could she have known that Glen would rescue the thing—
see it in the trash the day they’d moved into their new home—and had hastily thrown it into a
moving box destined for the attic? How could she have known that five years later, Glen would
discover the red box when he went looking for his high school yearbook—that the hinge had
somehow broken, spilling out all her horrible secrets?
Bonnie felt her stomach churn and she thought she might be sick. What kind of person was she?
How callous and calculating had she been to so discount the lives of others—to deceive Glen, the
only man she’d ever loved? And then a revolting thought occurred to her—she was no better than
her father. No, she’d never physically assaulted anyone, hadn’t blackened an eye or beat someone
unconscious using knotted fists as a weapon. She’d wielded a far more painful and powerful
weapon—she used love. Perhaps if she’d known what love was, had ever once felt it in her life, the
events in San Diego would never have happened. But she hadn’t learned about love, about
real
love,
until she met Glen Taggart.
Her head began to reel. She leaned over the side of the bed and retched, her empty stomach
producing nothing but a mix of bile and saliva. Her body contorted with dry heaves, twisting her gut
relentlessly. When the vomiting subsided, Bonnie rolled back on the mattress and wiped her clammy
face with the sleeve of her prison dress.
I don’t deserve to live…I’m a monster…how could I have done this…hurt so many people…destroyed my
precious family.
Bonnie squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lower lip as visions of her children and
Glen clouded her mind—every memory a torturous image of all she had ransomed.
///////
Irene came into the kitchen where Glen was washing the dinner dishes. She touched his
shoulder. “The kids are down,” she said wearily. “Ithink they’ll sleep through the night.”
Glen nodded and rinsed another glass. “Thank you, Aunt Irene. I don’t know what I’d do
without you.” She picked up the dish towel and began to dry. He stretched out his arm. “I’ll get this.
You’ve done enough today.” His tone indicated he would take no argument from her. “Why don’t
you go on home? I’ll be all right.”
Irene gave him a doubtful look. She sighed and nodded. “Are you sure?”
Glen wiped off his hands and faced his aunt. He took hold of her arms and kissed her on the
cheek. “These last few weeks have been hell…for all of us. And you’ve been there for me and the
kids…stepping in…”
She touched his cheek and smiled. “It’s been a privilege to help. You’re more like my son than a
nephew, Glen. I couldn’t let you go through this alone.”
Alone. He’d never felt more alone in his entire life. He tried to smile, but somehow he couldn’t.
He walked her to the door. She paused and gave him a sympathetic look. “I’ll be by in the morning
to make breakfast before you leave for work.”
“They can eat cereal,” he said in a half-hearted attempt to argue with her.
“They’re not going to eat cereal,” she said firmly. “They get that on Saturdays when you’re
home.”
“Do you miss Kirkendall’s?” he asked with a flash of guilt.
“Not really,” she said. “I thought I would, but it’s been nice to have a change of pace.”
Glen attempted a laugh. “A two-year-old and a four-year-old are more than a change of pace.”
“I love taking care of them.” Irene raised her hand and cupped his chin. “You look tired. It’s
been a long day. Why don’t you turn in?”
“I will,” he said, walking her to the car. “I’ll just finish the dishes and tidy up.”
Irene turned from the car and looked thoughtful. She hesitated before speaking, but peered at
him. “Glen, I know I have no right to tell you what to do, but if you’d just talk to her, just give her a
chance—”
His jaw tightened. He pressed a hand against the car and stared at the curb. When he turned his
gaze to her again, she appeared almost tearful. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he said, opening the
car door.
Irene got inside, then placed her hand on his through the open window. “Write to her, Glen. Go
see her. Do
some
thing.”
Glen felt himself close off from her, desperate to keep the pain at bay. “Drive safe. See you
tomorrow.”
“Think about it, Glen.” Irene started the engine and pulled away.
He waved as she drove down the street. When he went inside, he let out a long, painful sigh.
How could he think about it? How could he ever allow himself to feel anything again? Bonnie’s
betrayal had torn every precious thing from his soul, had ravaged the depths of his being and ripped
him into pieces. He tried to work through the pain, tried to push it to the back of his mind. He had
to. He had to earn a living, put food on the table for his children, take care of them, be there for
them when he would rather run to some far corner of the earth to die.
Yet for all the pain and anguish Bonnie had caused, he couldn’t bring himself to do the one
thing he had every right to do—hate her. No matter how often he told himself he should, no matter
how he argued the reasons, he couldn’t hate her. In fact, he could scarcely comprehend how the
Bonnie
he
knew could have done the things she’d admitted to doing in California. He couldn’t see
any trace of behavior that would have led her to such conduct. Perhaps that was more confounding
than anything. And that was the crux of what caused him so much doubt—that if she could so
completely deceive those other men, she could deceive him as well.
Glen sank into the sofa and held his head in his hands. The constant conflict he battled every
day wore him thin of patience and restraint. He felt as if he might explode at times, as if he might
attack something or someone and unleash the rage that brewed inside him. Maybe then he could
stop feeling. Maybe then he could hate her.