Page 13

“Will you put this on me?” Harriet had asked. “This is supposed to be romantic.” She’d held out the bracelet she made for herself.

Deb had taken it from her before she’d leaned in and captured Harriet’s lips. The kiss had been soft at first, but Deb had deepened it and lowered Harriet to the ground. When Debhad moved on top of her, it had only been then that Harriet had noticed the bracelet on her wrist.

“Can we just say that we’re already married?” Deb had asked. “Like, you proposed, I said yes, and we just got married. I love you.” She’d pressed her lips to Harriet’s neck.

“Yes,” Harriet had replied as she’d wrapped her arms around Deb’s neck and pulled her in for another kiss.

Now, Harriet stood there, watching John David stand awkwardly next to the woman she’d married first. She watched further as he nervously played with his tie and tried to pull it down a bit. Then, his mother had walked up and straightened it again.

“You’re his wife now, Deborah. This will be your job from now on,” the woman said to Deb.

Harriet remembered helping Deb fix her hair, tighten that bracelet, adjust the straps on the shoes Deb had been forced to wear by her mother, and wipe flour off Deb’s cheek with her thumb when they’d been baking pies for the party.

“Now, let’s get the whole wedding group together,” the photographer said.

Harriet moved over to Deb’s side. Things were tense now. They no longer merely fit together naturally how they always had before. Now, she had to leave a few inches between them, and Harriet’s shoulders were at her ears. She didn’t smile. She stood there with a somber look on her face and didn’t care who would see it because she’d explain it away later.

“I love you,” Deb whispered.

Harriet said nothing.

“Uh… I love you, too?” John David asked more than said.

Harriet seethed beneath the surface. Deb’s hand moved a few inches over and tried to connect with Harriet’s own, but Harriet pulled hers away. She couldn’t do this anymore.

“Harriet?” Deb spoke to her once the photographer was finished.

“Deborah, let’s go join the party,” Deb’s father said.

“Papa, I need a moment,” Deb insisted.

“Ask your husband, Deborah,” Deb’s mother told her.

Harriet just swallowed hard, her dry throat scratchy. She knew she’d be crying every night for the rest of her life.

CHAPTER 7

1935

She hadn’t stopped crying all night, and John David hadn’t asked why. He had appeared concerned, worried even, but as he’d readied himself for bed, he’d remained silent. She’d remained in her dressing gown, having changed into it without her new husband in the room.

“Are you decent?” he’d called from the hallway.

“Yes,” she’d replied through sniffles.

He’d opened the door and closed it behind him almost as quickly as she’d seen Harriet close Deb’s bedroom door earlier that day. Fresh tears had coated her cheeks at that thought. John David had cleared his throat and walked over to the wash basin on its stand by the window. She’d watched in silence as he’d pulled down his suspenders, having changed out of his suit jacket and tie at the party celebrating their union. She’d done her best to prepare herself for what was to come. Expecting him to continue to disrobe and ask her to do the same, she’d moved to sit on the end of the bed, preparing to do her duty as his wife, even though it was the last thing on earth that she wanted to do. She’d tried to talk herself into it, silently suggesting that she picture Harriet on top of her instead, but that felt wrong somehow, too.

“Here,” he’d said. “It’s clean.”

He’d walked over to her at some point, but Deb hadn’t even noticed that her eyes had closed. In his outstretched hand, he’d held out his handkerchief, so she’d taken it and gave him a soft smile before she’d wiped her cheeks. Then, John David had moved back to the wash basin. He was still standing there, splashing water over his face, and it felt like he’d splashed all of the water in the basin before he finally reached for the towel and wiped his face clean.

“I feel it, too, you know,” he said.

Deb looked up from where she’d been staring down at the handkerchief in her trembling hands. His voice sounded foreign and unwelcome in the space, even though this was his bedroom, andshewas the intruder.

“I don’t…” she began but didn’t know what else to say after that, so she let it fade out.

“You don’t love me, Deborah. We might as well get that out of the way.” He turned to face her but didn’t move away from the basin by the window.