I told him I was scared she was right.
When I was done, he didn’t say anything for a long time.
Then he sat up. He turned on the bedside lamp.
He looked at me. His face was red. I’d never seen him so angry.
“She said that?” he said. “To you? In our kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me? For three weeks?”
“I was ashamed,” I said. “I don’t know. I was scared. I thought maybe…”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe you’d agree with her,” I whispered.
He stared at me.
Then he got out of bed. He didn’t say anything. He just walked out of the bedroom. I heard him go down the stairs. I heard the door to the garage open.
I lay there in the dark, terrified.
He came back two minutes later. He was carrying a shoebox.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. He put the shoebox in my lap.
