The elevator doors closed behind me before I had decided whether getting inside had been courage or stupidity.
The nurse pressed seven.
I watched the numbers illuminate.
Three.
Four.
Five.
My reflection in the steel doors looked like a stranger who had forgotten to sleep.
“Did Lacey tell you who I am?” I asked.
The nurse glanced at me.
“She told me your name.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
That somehow made it worse.
When the doors opened, she pointed toward the last room.
“714.”
I stepped into a corridor softened by low voices and rubber-soled shoes.
Halfway down, I nearly turned around.
I had spent twenty-two years imagining Lacey as frozen at twenty-one: pretty, wounded, furious, disappearing toward Nashville while Jeremy and I built the life she had expected to have.
The woman behind Room 714 was dying.
That should have made everything simple.
It did not.
Her door stood partly open.
I heard a weak voice.
“Is that Jill?”
The nurse looked at me.
I nodded.
She pushed the door wider.
Lacey turned her head.
Time did something cruel then.
I recognized her eyes immediately.
Everything else had changed.
Her face was narrow. A scarf covered her head. Clear tubing ran from her arm to an infusion pump. The hands resting on the blanket looked almost translucent.
But the eyes were still blue and observant.
She studied me.
Then she smiled.
“You came.”
“You asked for me.”
“I did.”
The nurse left us.
I remained beside the door.
Lacey nodded toward a chair.
“You can sit. I’m not contagious.”
The old sharpness in her voice surprised me.
I sat.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally she looked at my left hand.
“You still wear your ring.”
I looked at hers.
A plain gold band.
“So do you.”
Her mouth tightened.
“He bought mine at Walmart.”
I almost laughed.
“Sounds like Jeremy.”
“He spent twenty minutes comparing rings that all looked identical.”
“That also sounds like Jeremy.”
The almost-laughter died between us.
“Did you love him?” I asked.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
My chest tightened.
“Do you still?”
“Yes.”
I looked away.
Lacey watched me.
“You wanted me to lie?”
“I don’t know what I wanted.”
“I stopped wanting lies a while ago.”
“That makes one of us.”
She accepted the blow.
“Fair.”
I looked at the equipment beside her bed.
“Why did you marry my husband?”
“Because I asked him.”
“I know that.”
“Then what are you asking?”
“Why him?”
A sad expression crossed her face.
“Because when you’re dying, you stop pretending the people who mattered didn’t matter.”
I folded my arms.
“That sounds romantic.”
“It wasn’t.”
“You married him.”
“Yes.”
“He lied to me for three years.”
“Yes.”
“You took his name.”
“Yes.”
“Stop agreeing with me.”
“What would you rather I do?”
“Defend yourself.”
“I can’t.”
That answer unsettled me.
Lacey shifted against the pillows.
Pain flashed across her face before she hid it.
“I got sick more than three years ago,” she said. “At first they thought treatment might buy me a long time. Then things became complicated.”
“Insurance.”
“Partly.”
“David told me.”
Her eyes closed briefly.
“David talks too much.”
“He talked because everyone else lied.”
“Yes.”
Again, no defense.
“I ran into Jeremy here,” she continued. “By accident.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No. I expect you to decide what you believe after you hear everything.”
“When had you last seen him?”
“Years.”
“Twenty?”
“Almost.”
I studied her.
“He recognized you?”
“He walked past me first.”
A faint smile appeared.
“I looked terrible. I called his name.”
“And then?”
“He bought me coffee.”
“Then kept coming back.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
“I did.”
“What did he say?”
“That it was complicated.”
Lacey gave a tired laugh.
“That is Jeremy’s favorite phrase when the truth makes him uncomfortable.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
It vanished quickly.
“When did you learn he was still married to me?”
“The second time he visited.”
“And you let him keep visiting.”
“Yes.”
“You knew what happened between us.”
“Yes.”
“You hated me.”
“Yes.”
The honesty cut cleaner than denial.
“Then why tell him to keep coming?”
“I didn’t.”
I frowned.
“I told him to go home.”
“What?”
“Repeatedly.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Because I was alone.”
Her voice changed.
“My parents were dead. My brother lives across the country. My closest friends have children and jobs and their own problems. Chemo appointments are very long when nobody is waiting beside you.”
I looked at the chair near her bed.
The upholstery was worn at the front edge.
“Jeremy sat there?”
“Many nights.”
The Tuesdays rearranged themselves in my memory.
The exhaustion.
The hospital smell.
The nights he came home unusually quiet.
“Did you sleep together?”
Lacey looked straight at me.
“No.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“Did he kiss you?”
She hesitated.
My stomach tightened.
“Once.”
“When?”
“Before the marriage.”
I stood.
“Of course.”
“Jill.”
“Don't.”
“It happened once.”
“That sentence is supposed to help?”
“No.”
She looked down.
“I told him afterward it could never happen again.”
“And he agreed?”
“Yes.”
“Very noble.”
“You have every right to be angry.”
“Stop giving me permission.”
Lacey’s eyes filled.
“I don’t know what else to give you.”
The words stopped me.
I sat again.
After a moment I asked, “Why marriage?”
She looked toward the window.
“My coverage became uncertain. Jeremy tried to help. There were forms, appeals, options that went nowhere.”
“And then?”
“I asked for more than insurance.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I was afraid.”
“Of dying?”
“Of dying as if nobody had ever chosen me.”
I stared at her.
Lacey rubbed her wedding band with her thumb.
“For years, I told myself Jeremy leaving me didn’t matter. Then I got sick and all the old stupid wounds became loud again.”
“So you wanted to prove you could still have him.”
“At first?”
She looked at me.
“Maybe.”
That answer hurt because I understood it.
“When I asked him to marry me, I knew it was wrong. I knew you existed. I knew what it could do to you.”
“But you asked.”
“Yes.”
“And he agreed.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her ring.
“Did you think that made you his real wife?”
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
“Then what did it make you?”
“A frightened woman wearing a ring.”
My anger had nowhere clean to land.
“You said you hated me.”
“I did.”
“For stealing him.”
“Yes.”
“I did steal him.”
“No.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She looked tired suddenly.
“Jeremy told me something after I got sick.”
“What?”
“That I had spent years blaming the wrong person.”
My skin prickled.
“Meaning?”
“You behaved badly at twenty.”
“Thank you.”
“So did he.”
I said nothing.
“He was not an object you could steal, Jill.”
“That isn’t how it felt.”
“Not to me either. Not then.”
She swallowed.
“But he chose you.”
The words struck somewhere I had kept sealed for two decades.
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Why?”
“Because I accused him of ruining my life.”
My mouth went dry.
“And?”
“He told me I had left before I knew the whole truth.”
“What truth?”
Lacey closed her eyes.
“I was pregnant when I left.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Jeremy’s?”
Her eyes opened sharply.
“Of course Jeremy’s.”
“Did he know?”
“He knew I was pregnant before I left.”
I gripped the chair.
“Then why did he let you go?”
“Because I told him I didn’t want him anymore.”
“Why?”
“Because I was angry. Because he had kissed you. Because I wanted him to hurt.”
Her voice weakened.
“I moved to Nashville. Then I miscarried.”
I covered my mouth.
“Did Jeremy know?”
“Not then.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
I looked at the woman in the bed and suddenly saw the twenty-one-year-old she had been.
Pregnant.
Humiliated.
Angry.
Then grieving alone.
“I’m sorry.”
Lacey nodded.
“So am I.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
“I wanted him to believe I was fine.”
“That’s cruel.”
“Yes.”
She did not flinch.
“We were all cruel in small ways back then.”
I looked toward the window.
“Why tell me now?”
“Because I’m running out of later.”
She reached beneath her pillow.
An envelope appeared in her hand.
My name was written on it.
Jill.
“What is that?”
“Something my lawyer prepared.”
I did not take it.
“What kind of something?”
“Jeremy doesn’t know I’m giving it to you today.”
That got my attention.
“What did you do?”
“Take it.”
“No.”
“Jill.”
“I have had enough surprises from people named Tolley.”
Her mouth curved faintly.
“Technically, that includes you.”
I stared at her.
Then, against my will, laughed.
It lasted one second.
Lacey held out the envelope again.
I took it.
It was heavier than a letter.
“What’s inside?”
“Read it somewhere private.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to be angry.”
“I’m already angry.”
“More.”
I stood.
“What else could there possibly be?”
Lacey looked toward the door.
Footsteps approached.
She whispered, “Jeremy doesn’t know everything I put in there.”
The door opened.
My husband stopped on the threshold.
He looked first at me.
Then at Lacey.
Then at the envelope in my hand.
All the color drained from his face.
“Lacey.”
She did not look away.
“I’m sorry.”
Jeremy stepped inside.
“What did you give her?”
I held the envelope against my chest.
“Something you apparently didn’t want me to see.”
“Jill, please.”
“No more please.”
He looked twenty years older than he had three days earlier.
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
He had no answer.
I pointed toward Lacey.
“You married her.”
“Yes.”
“You kissed her.”
His eyes snapped toward Lacey.
She closed hers.
“Once,” he said.
“You lied every Tuesday.”
“Yes.”
“You let me think you were working.”
“Yes.”
“Did you love her?”
Jeremy looked at the floor.
Lacey turned away.
I waited.
Finally he said, “I cared about her.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I love you.”
“Not what I asked.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
The room became very quiet.
I had wanted truth.
I had not understood how much truth could hurt.
“Do you love her now?”
“Yes.”
Lacey began crying.
Jeremy continued before I could speak.
“But not instead of you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You don’t get points for finding enough love for two wives.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I stepped closer.
“Because for three years you apparently thought you could have two marriages as long as one happened on Tuesdays.”
He lowered his head.
“You’re right.”
I had prepared for excuses.
His surrender made me angrier.
Lacey spoke from the bed.
“Please stop.”
I turned.
“This is between my husband and me.”
“He’s my husband too.”
The words escaped her softly.
All three of us froze.
Lacey closed her eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her ring.
Then mine.
Jeremy stood between us without moving.
Two women.
One man.
Two legal records.
Twenty-two years of history pressing into one hospital room.
I raised the envelope.
“What is in this?”
Jeremy stared at it.
“Don’t open it here.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s something you still don’t know.”
I looked at Lacey.
She nodded.
“Open it.”
Jeremy stepped toward me.
“Jill.”
I tore the envelope.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: The Envelope Lacey Gave Me Contained a Final Decision That Forced Jeremy to Admit Why He Had Risked Everything
A Routine Question About My Marriage Sent Me Looking for One Paper I Never Thought I Would Need
Part 3 of 43
