Untold Sorrow

The Unexpected

Jennifer P.O.V

After the weekend with Matthew's family, I began to notice a subtle change in our relationship. It was nothing I could put my finger on, just a vague tension, a feeling of strain between us, as though we were watching each other, moving and speaking more cautiously.

I found myself stopping by the open door of his bedroom more and more often during the day when I was home alone. I never went inside, but my eyes always traveled first to the bedside table, to the silver-framed photograph of Beth. Every time I saw it there, my heart sank, and I realized that secretly I hoped someday to find it gone.

This bothered me, I had enjoyed our old easy relationship. What had happened? Had Matthew changed? Had I? I kept thinking about that conversation with Sara, what she had said about Beth, her hilarious assumption that Matthew was in love with me and had put Beth out of his mind. What would she think if she knew the truth?

Our arrangement began to seem more and more like a deception to me, and this made me uncomfortable. One morning when Margaret had dropped in unexpectedly she saw the unmade bed in my room, the room I had claimed I used only as a studio. For once, Margaret hadn't asked any questions, but ever since I had been aware of some strange suspicious looks darted my way.

Matthew seemed to be spending more and more time away from home, and when he was there, at meals or in the evenings when he didn't have a meeting, his manner towards me was courteous but distant. Yet, every once in awhile, when I was reading beside him or watching TV or listening to music, I could sense him watching me and could almost feel the intensity behind that brooding gaze.

One night in early June, about a month after our visit to the farm, Margaret once again produced two tickets to a concert. By coincidence, the soloist was another cellist, a famous Russian expatriate, considered by some critics to be the greatest cellist since Pablo Casals.

Matthew and I sat at the back of the box again, and glancing through the program before the concert began, I noticed that they were playing the same Jazz concerto as on that night last winter when Matthew and I had gone together. I darted a brief look at Matthew, sitting beside me, to see if he'd noticed. Our eyes met, and we smiled at each other.

Suddenly, the past several weeks of tension seemed to melt away, and we were back on our old comradely footing. The house lights dimmed and the concert began.

I closed my eyes so wrapped up in the music that when I realized that Matthew's arm had come around my shoulders, it seemed perfectly natural to me, as though his touch on my bare shoulders was all that was needed to perfect the mood the music evoked.

I leaned my head back against his sheltering arm and felt his fingers tighten on my shoulder. our bodies were touching now and warmth stole through me at the intimate contact. It was a perfect moment I thought, even the tears were pleasant. At the end of the concert, Matthew reached into his pocket, took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the tears away. He handed it to me then, and I quietly blew my nose. I looked at him, and in the darkened hall I could still make out the smile on his face, the gleaming of the silvery eyes.

When the lights came up at the intermission, the intimate mood passed. we went out into the lobby for a drink, met a colleague of Matthew's there with his wife, and stood there chatting with them until the five-minute gong rang.

For the rest of the concert and on the way home, Matthew seemed to withdraw into himself again, and after that evening, that one brief moment when we had been so close, the familiar pattern of the polite distance between us was resumed.

I found myself becoming more and more confused, about Matthew's feelings and my own. I began to feel jumpy around him. He seemed to be avoiding me, yet I would still catch one of those brooding looks fastened on me from time to time.

It happened mostly when we were alone, but occasionally when we were at a party or a dinner some force would draw my glance across the room to find him staring at me. He would smile briefly, casually, and look away, but I was always left feeling vaguely unsettled.

Finally, I began to wonder if he was having an affair, He had said he would never embarrass my publicly, and I knew he would keep his word, but he could be quietly involved with a woman and no one would know.

I tried not to let myself dwell on these speculations. After all, we didn't have a real marriage, and just a few glimpses I had had of the warmth and passion simmering beneath Matthew's cool, remote exterior told me that he had a normal man's desires.

As the weeks passed, we seemed to be drifting farther and farther apart, had less and less to say to each other. My work was beginning to suffer under the constant tension, and finally, by the middle of summer, I made up my mind to confront him, to find out once and for all what was on his mind.

It was an especially warm evening in mid-July when I decided it was time to speak to him. He had been particularly silent over dinner and had excused himself shortly afterward to go shower and change his clothes. He had a meeting that night, and as I cleared the table, I wondered if I should initiate a conversation before he left, or wait up for him and have it out with him when he came home. Better wait, I thought, no matter how late he was.

After he left for his meeting, I sat in the living room and began to rehearse in my mind what I would say to him. I wanted above all to be calm, to give him a chance to back out of the marriage gracefully if that's what he wanted, with no regrets on either side, no recriminations. If there was another woman, perhaps he'd really fallen in love again, and I wanted him to have that chance at happiness. I'd miss him, miss his company, but anything would be better than this strained silence.

I was still sitting there, idly turning the pages of a magazine, when I heard his key in the lockless than an hour after he'd left. When he came inside, I looked up at him, surprised to see him back so soon.

'I decided not to go to the meeting,' He said, 'they can manage without me.'

I stared at him. He was leaning back against the door, a haggard look on his face. He seemed strangely unkempt to me, his tie slightly askew, his jacket hanging in the crook of his arm. Matthew was always so neat and well-groomed I thought and began to wonder if he was unwell. Maybe that's what was wrong.

He started walking slowly towards me. 'I've had something on my mind lately, Jennifer,' he said in a low, halting voice. 'I've put off talking to you about it, hoping it would go away, but I can see that keeping quiet is only making things worse.'

I blanched. There was a sudden sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. All my carefully rehearsed speeches flew out of my mind. I was suddenly certain he was going to ask for his freedom and was stunned at how bereft this made me feel.

'What is it, Matthew?' I said, at last, Unable to keep the tremor out of my voice. I cleared my throat nervously. 'I know that something has been bothering you.'

He threw his jacket over the back of the sofa, loosened his tie, and sat down heavily beside me. Then, slowly, he turned to face me with a grim, determined look

'I've thought of a hundred ways of leading up to this,' he ground out, 'but now I'm just going to have to spell it out baldly.' He drew in a deep breath. 'I want a family, Jennifer. I want a child.'