After a few hours of hikingthrough the bush and throwing a ball on the beach for Stinky, Ihead back to the cottage. I’ve got just enough time to throw ourmeal in the oven, have a quick shower, and decorate the placebefore Annie gets home.
I shower while the food cooks inthe oven. As I’m getting dressed, Stinky noses the door open. He’sstill amped from his walk, and he’s got his dirty orange ball inhis mouth, which he drops at my feet. “No, Stinky. I’m busy,” Isay, swiping the ball away with my foot. The ball rolls across thefloor and under Annie’s dresser. Stinky crouches down and triesunsuccessfully to jam his head far enough to reach it.
Heaving a sigh, I get down on myhands and knees and look under the dresser for him. At the back ofthe dresser, against the wall, I see the ball nestled up against areddish book. After I get Stinky’s toy and roll it across the floorfor him, I pull the book out.
Stamped on the front is the wordjournal in gold italics. It’s the book Annie always writes in. Butwhy would it be under the dresser? There’s no way it could havegotten there by accident. Unless she put it there on purpose.Unless she was hiding it.
Why would she feel the need tokeep secrets? I don’t keep anything from her. I feel hurt—hurt andcurious.
After a moment of thought, I putthe book on the floor and slide it back under the dresser. I’dpromised her that I’ve turned over a new leaf. I have to trust hernow, no matter what.
After I arrange the candles, Idecorate the bedroom with the flower petals and then put the CD on.The odor coming from the baking dish in the oven fills the cottage.I look up at the clock on the wall; only a half hour before shewalks through the door. After making sure my hair is neat and myclothes are free of dog hair, I lie on top of the bed and wait forthe oven timer to go off.
As I look at the ceiling, mymind is drawn back to the book. I can’t help but wonder what iswritten on the pages that she feels the need to hide from me. Ifwhat she wrote is innocent, she wouldn’t be stuffing the journalunder the dresser.
Then again, maybe she just wantsher privacy. Maybe all she wrote about was to do with her feelingsover the rape or something like that. Maybe it’s poetry; stuff shedoesn’t want me to read due to pure embarrassment. There’s nothingbad in there. Why would there be? If she was up to no good, shewouldn’t have married me, would she?
After a few more minutes ofgoing back and forth in my mind, I come to the conclusion that Iwon’t be at ease unless I take a quick look. If I don’t, it’ll beon my mind all night and Annie will be able to tell that somethingis bothering me. I don’t want our night to be ruined.
Crouching down, I retrieve thebook and bring it back to the bed. Stinky lies in the corner. Iswear that he’s looking at me with disappointed eyes, but thatcould just be my conscience talking.
As soon as I open the thickcover, I know that I’ve broken my promise to Annie. I feelterrible, but the urge to read a few lines outweighs my guilt.
I’ll only read a few lines ofthe last thing she wrote. Then, after I see that there’s nothingdamning here, I’ll close the book and put it back, feeling strongerin our relationship. It’s the best thing I can do, really.
I thumb through the pages untilI find her last entry. Scanning quickly, I run my finger over eachline as I speed read. She mentions the wedding and then writes how“Jade’s drunk friend, Tim, was at the house with Hank.” She goes onto write how she can’t stand him. How he almost got her bustedbecause of—
I hear Annie come through thefront door. With one panicked move, I toss the book at the bottomof the dresser. Miraculously, it slides underneath. I turn aroundto see Annie standing in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?”she asks.
A lump forms in my throat when Ilook at her. The guilt is choking me so much, I can’t evenspeak.
She looks around the room andsees the flower petals I scattered. “Did you do all this for me?”she says, tilting her head and smiling.
“Well, I didn’t do it forStinky.”
Annie disrobes in front of mefor a shower, which would usually pique my attention, but not rightnow. Right now, all I can think about is what I read in herjournal.
What did she mean when she wroteabout Tim almost blowing her cover? Was he telling the truth abouther being with a man at the restaurant that day? Or was shereferring to something else? I feel like my brain is being tuggedfrom both ears. If I confront her, she’ll know that I read herprivate writing and the fight will be on.
More importantly, if I do saysomething to her, she’ll hide her journal in a different spot.
Annie exits the bathroom withher hair dripping and her body glistening. She slowly andseductively walks over to where I am sitting on the bed. Staringinto my eyes, she reaches down and grabs my hands then guides themover her curves. I guess I’m not responding because she drops myhand and steps back. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want me?”
Hell no. Not until I know what’sin your journal.
“Of course, I do,” I say,forcing a grin. “It’s just that I have a bit of a stomach ache. I’msorry.”
“Well, that’s not good. Maybeyou should lie down for a while.”
“I’ll be fine in a while.”
She mentions how good dinnersmells. I tell her that I’ll eat later and that she should serveherself.
On the bed, I look over at thedresser and wonder when I’ll have an opportunity to read more.
I managed to fake my stomachproblems until it is too late to do anything but sleep. I’m usuallythe one to spoon Annie while we sleep,
