Page 33 of The Magic of Ordinary Days

In the mailbox down at the county road turnoff Ray and I picked up our contact with the outside world.

The next day when I was making the retrieval, I found a card from the library in La Junta, notifying Ray that he had an overdue book and asking him to return it.

I puzzled over that card. I had been the one checking out library books, not Ray.

To my knowledge, he hadn’t even gone inside any library doors since my arrival.

I turned the card over again and verified that it was indeed addressed to him and not to me.

Turning books in on time had always been a priority to me.

What could Ray have possibly checked out?

Only rarely did he read the newspaper. And then he spread the pages all over the house and left them for days at a time.

He caught up with current events by radio, but he usually spent the rest of his time at home working on farm paperwork and not reading at all.

I drove back to the house with the card and the rest of the mail sliding around on the seat beside me.

When I arrived, Ray was nowhere to be seen.

It always amazed me the distances he could get away from the house on foot or by tractor.

I might not see him until dark, so I decided to check his room.

I found nothing beside his bed. I lifted the pillow and checked the crack between bed and wall.

Then I ducked into the bunk and sat, thinking.

Next, I looked under the bed and from there, I pulled it out.

The cover was unmarked; no title on the spine, either.

I opened the book and saw diagrams of pregnant women and stages of fetal development.

Now I slammed it shut. I could feel heat creeping up into my neck.

Why was he reading this? I didn’t expect anything of him. I stood and faced his chest of drawers. Not since the first morning after my arrival had I considered looking in it. Every few days I brought in Ray’s fresh laundry, but I always left the folded clothes on the chest top for him to put away.

Now I strode right up to the chest of drawers and opened the top one.

Underwear and socks. In the next drawer, undershirts and handkerchiefs.

Continuing to search downward, I found nothing but personal articles of clothing, and in the bottom drawer, letters from his brother Daniel, but I wouldn’t stoop so low as to read them.

On top of the letters lay a man’s gold pocket watch, one I guessed had probably belonged to his father.

So this was what I had heard ticking on my first morning in this house.

Now the watch lay silent. I picked it up and wound it until the ticking resumed.

But why had I heard it ticking on that first morning?

I’d never even seen Ray wear this watch, not even for church.

After I put it back and closed the drawer, I picked up the pregnancy book, marched back into the kitchen, all the while chastising my own behavior.

What had I expected to find in Ray’s drawers?

Evidence of secrets? I had been foolish.

Mother had once told me that every person had a secret compartment within himself or herself, a locked door.

But Ray was exactly the way he appeared to be, nothing more and nothing less.

I let the book drop on the table with a thump.

When Ray finally came in that night, he glanced at it, went to the bunkroom to change clothes, then came back to the kitchen without acknowledging that the thing existed.

I found his eyes. In them, I saw those same held-back tears he would never cry, and I found I’d lost hold of my anger.

As he stood at the sink, shoving up his sleeves and washing his hands, I had the strangest of thoughts.

I wondered how large was the circle of his arms, if ever I found myself in it.

“I have to tell you something, Ray,” I said. “I looked in your drawers today. I can’t even explain to you why I did it. I invaded your privacy, and I’m sorry”

He turned away from the sink and dried his hands. That familiar line sank down into the center of his forehead. “You could’ve looked in there anytime you wanted. I got nothing to hide from you.”

I swallowed hard. “It’s a beautiful watch. Did it belong to your father?”

He nodded.

“I heard it ticking once. On my first morning here.”

Ray sat down and rubbed the red thorns in his eyes. “Sometimes I wind it up. When I want to remember him.”

I peered into his face. “And on that morning?”

He cleared his throat. “I remembered how good he was to my mother. The kind of husband I want to be.” He sat back and smiled through suffering eyes.

He looked off then, as if remembering. “He took care of himself. When he spilled his coffee, he never waited for her to clean it up. And he’d pick her whole bunches of wildflowers, and she’d keep them in water until they got to dropping their dead petals on the table.

” He turned to me. “That first morning you were here, I wound up that watch.” He shrugged. “For no good reason. Just for luck.”

Ray got up again, put his coat back on, and headed toward the door.

“You haven’t eaten,” I called out to him before he could leave.

He stopped and turned in my direction. Then he moved one step closer and took my arm.

He was so close I could see the threads in his shirt collar and every line in his lips.

He took my face in one hand and moved closer still.

Then he pressed soft, closed lips into mine in a way so awkward, but so sweet, it glued my shoes to the floor.

“Is there anything you like about me, Livvy?”

Now my lungs caved in. I could smell my attempt at Italian lasagna burning in the oven, and Ray had just kissed me. The book about pregnancy was sitting on the table, and Ray was standing over me demanding an answer.

I had enjoyed the day of fishing. I had taken some pleasure in watching him work.

I remembered the gentle way he held that fish in the water, the way he lost himself in prayer.

His faith in God’s will made him more of a true believer than even those deacons in my father’s church.

I even appreciated that he had checked out a book, any book.

But I couldn’t give him false hopes that I’d grow to love him as a husband.

I thought we had entered this arrangement for the convenience of us both, not expecting love.

“I never meant to hurt you,” I began.

But he turned and walked out the door before I could finish what I had to say.