The Truth in Their Rumors

Chapter 8

            I walked onto the front porch of my home just as the clouds came rolling in above me, the sky threatening for an afternoon summer shower. I opened the front door slowly and as I did so it creaked loudly.

            “Clara?” I shouted into the house loudly.

            When I heard no answer I began to search the house for her. I made my way through every room and found that everything was in its place. The only place that I did not check was the room she slept in. It had originally been designed as a room for guests but now it was hers. I knocked twice lightly on her closed door, and I suddenly had an odd feeling that I should not enter the room.

            Before I could back away, Clara opened the starch white door to her bedroom. She looked incredibly tired with dark circles under her eyes, her cheeks were flushed with color, and her hair was tangled but somehow still decent looking at the same time. Her eyes reduced to slits when she saw me.

            “Where have you been?” she asked in a cool voice. “I sent you over for tea, not to spend the night.”

            “May I come in?” I asked to momentarily avoid the question.

            I pushed forward on the door, but Clara resisted not allowing me to come in. “No, you cannot come in,” she said.

            “I am your husband, so certainly I should be able to come into your room.”

            Clara laughed at me and said mockingly, “Alright, my dear loving husband,” and opened the door. 

            I stepped inside the room, which was painted in a deep pink color with golden flowers trickling down from the top of the wall. Her bed was covered in elegant white mosquito netting and there were books piled on her vanity that I assumed she had taken from the downstairs library. The last thing I noticed was that in the farthest corner of the room stood a man, dressed in a black vest, a brown overcoat, and a dark red-purple bowtie. He looked a bit worried as he bit his thumbnail, his eyes darting back and forth.

            “Who is he?” I asked furiously. “Is this the man who came to see you yesterday?”

            “No need for questions,” stated Clara.

            “Tell me who he is. Explain what he is doing in your room,” I demanded.

            “Oh, so you can see your friends but I cannot see mine? I see how it is,” Clara said acidly.

            I was only worried for Clara and that was what had caused my anger. I did not want her to get hurt. “Clara,” I said softly. “I am dreadfully sorry. I am just trying to look after you, like a proper husband would.”

            “But you are not a proper husband are you?” she said back to me. “You have left me several times and none of those times have you told me where you were or what you were doing. I know we had an agreement but that does not mean you can leave me here at this lonely house all the god damn time.” Her words stung me like pricks from a needle.