The Bad Side of a Good Man (conclusion)

Margaret’s plan was simple and it worked well. A little past noon, George came in for a light lunch and afterwards settled into the overstuffed recliner. By the time Margaret had finished straightening up in the kitchen, George was deep into his midday nap. Taking her cane, Margaret gently opened the back door and quietly moved outside. Ever so carefully, she slowly made her way over the lawn to the shed. Reaching the door, she hesitated. She had not stepped over the thresh hold of this place since the day that George and their sons had built it. She knew that men coveted places like this as a refuge to think and as George put it, to “just putter around”. But, something was different with her husband and Margaret knew that it was her duty as a wife to find out what that difference was. The door swung open with a slight creak.

Stepping inside of the shed felt like she was eavesdropping on her husband’s private thoughts. He had long ago put away his tools and now the place looked like it was rarely used. George kept the place immaculate. The workbench where he used to fix his yard tools looked empty and lonely. Margaret was adjusting her eyes to the low lighting when the unmistakable scent of tobacco smoke drifted to her. How could this be? She had made it clear to George when they had first married that drinking, smoking, and swearing were not acceptable behavior for a good husband. Those were traits that would not be tolerated in her household and she would heed no ground on those issues. Proper wives would not allow those degradations to soil the sanctity of their homes. She felt the fluttering of anger starting to build within her.

Margaret spotted a small wooden cabinet sitting next to the bench against the back wall. Moving to the cabinet, Margaret’s cane thumped across the surface of the floor with each step. Reaching for the top drawer of the cabinet, Margaret knew that she was crossing a boundary that she may later regret. She thought about stopping, but she had to continue. If her husband was going against her wishes and smoking, then what other abominations could he be up to? What she found inside was a secret husband that she never knew existed.

Old letters were neatly filed in descending sequential order, dating back to the early days of her and George’s marriage. The letters bore the stamps from different countries around the world. All of the letters were written to George from his friend Roy. Margaret began reading letters at random. They were descriptions of Roy’s adventures as he bounced all over the globe, living a life that was as opposite to George’s life as fire is to rain. Tales of exploring strange cities and meeting colorful people filled the pages of Roy’s handwriting. The latest letter, delivered a few days ago, revealed a dramatic change in Roy’s penmanship. The letters that shaped the words were now inconsistent and sporadic in composition. Margaret could tell that Roy had had trouble writing the note. The words were simple, but their effect was powerful.

“George, you have been my closest friend throughout my life. The memories of our times together are more cherished to me than any others. You said that you envied the life that I have, but that you would never have traded mine for yours. I understand what you mean now. You once told me that your adventure began every morning when you looked upon your wife’s face. What I would give if I could say the same thing. Maybe we will see each other again before the sun sets on our friendship. I am sending you a fine cigar that I won in a card game over in Morocco many years ago. This is the last one of the box and I wanted you to have it.”

When Margaret walked back to the house, she was escorted by her own set of memories. The time that she and George spent honeymooning in New York City, the birth of each of their children, the quiet times that they sat on the patio, holding hands and counting the stars. As each memory whispered into her mind, Margaret thought of her mate and their lives together.

Closing the back door, Margaret made her way into the living room and looked at her sleeping husband. She watched his shirt rise and fall gently as he breathed in soft slumber. Leaning over him she smoothed his white hair and lightly kissed his cheek. Soon, she would have George call Roy and invite him over for dinner. And if they wanted to, they could smoke a cigar together, as long as it was outside. If it took a bit of bad behavior to make her husband happier, then so be it. She could tolerate it…at least a little. She smiled at her good husband, then went to cook his meal.

George awoke to the sound of his wife’s beautiful voice, singing in the kitchen and he grinned. Every time that he heard her voice, every time that he saw her face, he knew that he was living the greatest adventure of his life.

Take care.