January 17
Rosemary lifted the mug of coffee to her lips and took a small sip. Ugh, bitter, just like this weekend was turning out to be. She made a face and poured her mug out into the washbasin. She stole a peek at Lee, who sat motionless at the table. Things had been awkward this past weekend between the two of them. Ever since he'd admitted he took her box and she'd held onto her secret instead of confiding in him, she could feel him tiptoeing around her, as if he were walking on eggshell. She also knew, if she dared to look, his eyes— those same eyes that always held unconditional love for her— now held a decipherable measure of pain. And his touch, oh how she missed his touch. Usually very affectionate, he had given her a wide berth in that area, too. She was beginning to crave his tender embraces, his affectionate kisses on her neck. But there he sat, at the table, coffee mug in hand, looking absently out the window. She bit her nail. If only there was some way to bridge this gap between them. But there was no hurrying the process of baring her past, especially with the mounds of guilt and sorrow she had to wade through. She lifted the carafe off the stove and gingerly tiptoed behind him.
"More coffee?" Her voice sounded timid, unsure, even to her own ears.
Lee blinked out of his revere and glanced down at his cup, still filled "No, no, that's okay, Rosemary."
She winced. That's another thing he'd done inadvertently this week. Left her nickname behind for her full name. The name everyone called her.
She nodded glumly and retreated back to the stove. She reached for a washcloth and pushed it across the already gleaming countertops. What she needed was something to cheer him, but nothing would cheer him short of sharing her heart with him. And oh, how she wanted to. She was just scared spitless about how to do it. Was there a way to open that conversation piece by piece? Usually, she was an all or nothing kind of girl. But what Lee needed now, while he waited for her to share her past, was a bit of a life preserver thrown out. Something to keep their relationship afloat. There must be something she could do to show him she was trying. Oh it wouldn't be perfect, but it would be something, something that would hopefully lead her closer to giving the totality of her heart, including her past, to him.
She let the ice-cold water from the washbasin pour over her fingers. If only she knew what to share with him. What could be that one piece that would give him a little look into her past? Something she'd never revealed to him? She reached for a towel and wiped off her fingers. Loosening the apron from around her, she pulled it over her head and then hung it on its hook. She straightened her shirtwaist, the emerald green one that was a bit too snug on her midsection, and then reached up to check her perfectly coifed hair. As she did, her fingers brushed against the coolness of her precious pearl clasp. Her clasp. Why yes! That could be just the thing!
She pulled it out of her hair, a disarray of blonde curls tumbling to her shoulders. She quickly combed her fingers through her locks, and positioned the clasp in her palm. Underneath her breast, her heart seemed to cease to beat. She stood motionless—the ticking of the grandfather clock greeted her ears, challenging her that now was her time. She licked her lips and braved her first step. Then a second. She approached Lee at the table, his coffee mug still untouched. With a gentle 'clink', she placed her pearl clasp on the table. His eyes first roamed to it and then to her flow of free hair. Although weary, his eyes held the hint of a question. That was enough for her.
She sat down on the chair next to him. "Have I ever told you the story of this clasp?"