THE LOCKET
It was tarnished silver, with a rusty hinge and a broken clasp, and yet it must have been his most treasured position, clearly worn where his hands had lovingly caressed it. It was hard to believe, Molly thought, that such a small object could hold so much love... and pain.
Of course, she hadn’t known about the locket when she’d received the package that morning. She'd assumed the bulky envelope postmarked Cornwall was the holiday brochure from the cottage she and Dan had been planning to go to this summer. Hardly relevant now, she thought, and slipped it into her handbag, unopened. Her mind was focused on the meeting ahead with her husband Dan. Almost ex-husband. A few arrangements to make, a few details to sort, and their divorce would be final.
It was a cold, grey, drizzly day, in perfect keeping with her mood. Molly drove through the unrelenting gloom, trying to keep her mind clear, her nerves calm. It was important that Dan not get the better of her.
"Hello, Molly."
They'd agreed to a breakfast meeting in the local coffee shop, neutral territory. He looked the same, Molly thought with a pang. They hadn't seen each other in two months, but he still had that same crooked smile, the same whimsical look in his grey eyes. The shoulders of his coat were dark with rain, and his hair was wet. He raked it off his forehead with a tired smile.
"Can I get you a coffee? I've already ordered one, but we can make it two."
"Yes, please." She declined any food, as did Dan. Tucking into eggs and bacon didn't seem appropriate, somehow.
"How are you?" Dan asked as he sipped his coffee.
"Fine." Molly kept her voice cool. He didn't have to sound so good natured, so breezy. They were about to agree to divorce, for heaven's sake. But then, Dan had never been one to share his sorrows. Even at the lowest point of their marriage, he'd been determinedly optimistic, gratingly so.
Molly sneaked another look at him as she drank her coffee. Were the faint crows' feet by his eyes more marked? And there, above his ears, his hair was starting to look positively gray. Could two months age a person, Molly wondered, and then recalling her own experience of the last few weeks, decided it definitely could.
"What have you been doing lately?"
Molly raised her eyebrows. "Oh, nothing much. Cleaning out the family home I'd hoped to raise my children in, wondering if I'm going to lose my job as well as my marriage, you know... this and that."
Dan winced. "Haven't lost your sarcastic touch, I see."
"No, I haven't." Molly set down her coffee cup. "Any reason why I should?" Stop this, she berated herself. She'd meant to conduct this meeting calmly, professionally, with a detached interest. She should've realized that was impossible.
"I suppose not." Dan was quiet. "I know I've hurt you, Molly, and I'm sorry for that. But I wasn't the one who wanted to divorce."
Molly's eyes narrowed. "Oh yes, you were, Dan. When I walked in on you and Wendy Harris getting cozy at the Christmas party, you were telling me very clearly you wanted a divorce."
"We've been through this before, Molly. It was one kiss--"
"You think that's an excuse?"
"No, it's an apology."
They'd had this conversation so many times, it felt as if their lines were rehearsed. Molly shook her head.
"Why keep saying the same things? Neither of us will change our minds."
"I can't help but keep trying," Dan said in a low voice. He raked a hand through his damp hair. "I love you, Molly..."
"If you loved me," Molly hissed, "you wouldn't have been making out with your work colleague!" The pain, the betrayal of that moment, had left a permanent scar, still unhealed.
"I was not making out," Dan retorted, teeth clenched. "I was drunk, she kissed me--"
"I didn't see you pushing her away."
There was a taut silence as they glared at each other. "God help you, Molly, if you slip up once," Dan finally said, his voice weary. "Because the amount of slack you've cut
It was tarnished silver, with a rusty hinge and a broken clasp, and yet it must have been his most treasured position, clearly worn where his hands had lovingly caressed it. It was hard to believe, Molly thought, that such a small object could hold so much love... and pain.
Of course, she hadn’t known about the locket when she’d received the package that morning. She'd assumed the bulky envelope postmarked Cornwall was the holiday brochure from the cottage she and Dan had been planning to go to this summer. Hardly relevant now, she thought, and slipped it into her handbag, unopened. Her mind was focused on the meeting ahead with her husband Dan. Almost ex-husband. A few arrangements to make, a few details to sort, and their divorce would be final.
It was a cold, grey, drizzly day, in perfect keeping with her mood. Molly drove through the unrelenting gloom, trying to keep her mind clear, her nerves calm. It was important that Dan not get the better of her.
"Hello, Molly."
They'd agreed to a breakfast meeting in the local coffee shop, neutral territory. He looked the same, Molly thought with a pang. They hadn't seen each other in two months, but he still had that same crooked smile, the same whimsical look in his grey eyes. The shoulders of his coat were dark with rain, and his hair was wet. He raked it off his forehead with a tired smile.
"Can I get you a coffee? I've already ordered one, but we can make it two."
"Yes, please." She declined any food, as did Dan. Tucking into eggs and bacon didn't seem appropriate, somehow.
"How are you?" Dan asked as he sipped his coffee.
"Fine." Molly kept her voice cool. He didn't have to sound so good natured, so breezy. They were about to agree to divorce, for heaven's sake. But then, Dan had never been one to share his sorrows. Even at the lowest point of their marriage, he'd been determinedly optimistic, gratingly so.
Molly sneaked another look at him as she drank her coffee. Were the faint crows' feet by his eyes more marked? And there, above his ears, his hair was starting to look positively gray. Could two months age a person, Molly wondered, and then recalling her own experience of the last few weeks, decided it definitely could.
"What have you been doing lately?"
Molly raised her eyebrows. "Oh, nothing much. Cleaning out the family home I'd hoped to raise my children in, wondering if I'm going to lose my job as well as my marriage, you know... this and that."
Dan winced. "Haven't lost your sarcastic touch, I see."
"No, I haven't." Molly set down her coffee cup. "Any reason why I should?" Stop this, she berated herself. She'd meant to conduct this meeting calmly, professionally, with a detached interest. She should've realized that was impossible.
"I suppose not." Dan was quiet. "I know I've hurt you, Molly, and I'm sorry for that. But I wasn't the one who wanted to divorce."
Molly's eyes narrowed. "Oh yes, you were, Dan. When I walked in on you and Wendy Harris getting cozy at the Christmas party, you were telling me very clearly you wanted a divorce."
"We've been through this before, Molly. It was one kiss--"
"You think that's an excuse?"
"No, it's an apology."
They'd had this conversation so many times, it felt as if their lines were rehearsed. Molly shook her head.
"Why keep saying the same things? Neither of us will change our minds."
"I can't help but keep trying," Dan said in a low voice. He raked a hand through his damp hair. "I love you, Molly..."
"If you loved me," Molly hissed, "you wouldn't have been making out with your work colleague!" The pain, the betrayal of that moment, had left a permanent scar, still unhealed.
"I was not making out," Dan retorted, teeth clenched. "I was drunk, she kissed me--"
"I didn't see you pushing her away."
There was a taut silence as they glared at each other. "God help you, Molly, if you slip up once," Dan finally said, his voice weary. "Because the amount of slack you've cut
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