Whispered Beginnings

  Part II

  Another day tore sleep from Mr. Lostrun. He tucked his secret back into the corners of his mind. It was new, it was fresh. Indeed he feared returning to the study lest the secret feel old again. But it belonged there. It could be hidden there.

  Mr. Lostrun looked over at his wife. He used to roll over and wake her up every morning with a kiss. No longer could he do that. The gap between his bed and hers prohibited any such action. He stood in that gap. He was lost between his secret and his wife. A deep feeling of loneliness sunk into the very marrow of Mr. Lostrun’s bones.

  He turned, tucked the sheets of his bed back into place, and headed downstairs. Halfway down he stopped, his hand slipped from the white railing, and he removed his red nightcap. He wondered if the secret was taking over and dismissing some of his daily habits, replacing them with obsessions of its own being.

  Mr. Lostrun hurried down the stairs and into his study. He knelt on the red carpet in the mahogany room and wept. He mustn’t let the secret take the place of Mary. Jason knew he must run from it. But it gripped him. He had let it in. He had lost himself in it. And now he could not run from it. The permanence of it was a familiar terror.

  As he wept, images of Mary flickered in his mind. In the midst of his struggle it seemed as if she was there, holding his hand. He hated the secret. All his hatred for it rushed out unto that study carpet. All the pain it caused him, he would leave it there. That was his plan. A plan that was doomed to fail.

  Jason heard his wife’s soft, careful descent. It had only been two days since she was permitted by that weasel faced doctor to descend those stairs.

  “But only once a day,” the doctor had said. Jason had to carry her up when they went to the beds for the night, she to hers and he to his. He knew that Irma would be helping Mary descend. He counted their progress as he had done many mornings, savoring the moments he had alone with the secret. This morning he did not savor the moments in the study. It reminded him too much of his atrocious act of betrayal. He had loved the secret more than her. That awful truth clutched at his heart. The secret still fought for dominance through the pain of guilt.

  Jason knew what he must do. And, fighting the pain and guilt, he rose from the red floor. Straightening his blue pajama shirt, Jason opened the study door, taking the first step toward leaving the secret behind.

  “Good morning, Jason!” Mary said. She curled her toes against the wooden hallway floor. Her shoulders shuddered a bit.

  Jason guided her into the living room. No fire danced in the brick fireplace. But the room, with its thick, green carpet, was warmer than the hallway. The thick curtains over the windows and the comely furniture seemed to make it a warmer room as well. He sat his wife down on the couch and sat beside her. She knew he had something to say. But, like she had always done, she waited and let him tell her in his own time.

  A tear dripped from Jason’s cheek. Mary caught it and ran a hand through his ragged hair. Her pale white hand worked its way through his dark hair. He turned toward her. Their faces were centimeters apart. The pain, guilt, and sorrow in Jason’s eyes were unmistakable. “Mary, I have betrayed you. I cared more for my secret than I did for you. I will tell you the secret. I do not want it anymore.”

  After he had told her the secret, Jason turned away from his wife and wept. His guilt and pain and sorrow began to trickle away with those tears. But they were washed away completely when Mary spoke. “Hold me, Jason, I forgive you.”