She lay in the hospital bed, gray walls surrounding her gray face.
Panic struck her, and her already wrinkled brow took on even deeper grooves as she worried silently. Beside her bed, an elderly man sat huddled over her moribund body, eyes closed; his ancient hands held a string of black beads clasped in prayer over her.
“I’m dying,” she thought through her pain. “Now. I am going. Soon—now. This is the last chance.” She battled in her mind as her body was losing its war with cancer. Tell him or not? She knew she had to choose and choose immediately. Death would keep her secret if she waited any longer.
With great effort, Martha opened her eyelids. William stared into her foggy eyes, pleading for her to stay. “Martha, sweetheart, you know I love you,” his gravelly voice choked. “I haven’t been perfect, but I tried to be a good husband. I love you so much, Martha.” His voice faded.
The old woman nodded gently, almost imperceptibly. With concentrated effort, she reached for her husband’s wrist. The rosary in his hand fell to the floor. He bent to retrieve it, then looked into her eyes. He gaped, incredulous. It was impossible to believe she was going, yet he knew she was.
He leaned in close as she opened her mouth, a mouth he had known for decades, the lips he kissed each morning and night. “Will, I … I … love you,” her quiet voice sputtered. “But … but … I need to tell …” Her words dropped off.
Perhaps speaking was too much. Perhaps her energy was too little. Perhaps even trying to tell him would steal away her last breaths. She looked at the black beads he held.
With every bit of strength she could muster in her sick, frail body, she continued through raspy, shallow gasps. “Will, I … I … I wasn’t … ,” her white head bent, “faithful. I wasn’t always faithful to you.” Tears fell from her gray eyes. “Once. A boss, years ago. Ken. In charge of purchasing. It was only once. It was a terrible choice. After the second miscarriage. I knew it was wrong. It was my secret, but I … I still loved you and love you now.” Tears spilled onto creased cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
William shook his head, first in confusion, then in disbelief. Ken? He didn’t recall any boss she had had, and certainly not one named Ken. Unfaithful? Slowly, the image of a man with a red beard and a hearty laugh—a laugh too loud, too bold—came to mind. No, that wasn’t a Ken. That was Mark. Or Mike. Not Ken. She had been unfaithful? Martha?
He had no time to think.
Setting the rosary on her blanket, he reached for her hand in desperation. Tears pricked at his old eyes; determination livened his weak voice. “I knew, Martha. I knew then, and I still loved you. Still love you now. It’s OK. Just stay a little longer. You are forgiven. You were forgiven even back then. It didn’t matter. We had each other.”
Her final breath. Silence.
Tears flowed freely down the old man’s face as he held his head in his hands. After a moment, he looked at his wife’s still face, saw peace rest on her pale cheeks. On the hospital blanket, dark beads glistened in the fluorescent lighting; the crucifix lay face up.
“I told you a lie,” he whispered to his wife’s body. “My last words to you were not the truth. I didn’t know; I hadn’t known. I never even suspected.” In silence, he pressed a button to bring the nurse into the room to pronounce his Martha dead, to make it all official.
Then he sat surrounded by gray walls and waited beside his wife. She had died the way she’d hoped—with no secrets, nothing between them but the truth.
Will, gray faced, lifted the rosary in his rough hand. With a shudder, he realized he would not be so lucky. He would, when the time comes, take his secret—his lie—to the grave.
Katie Hughbanks, Louisville
*I originally published this flash fiction piece online in 2018 on the Irish website Dodging the Rain. I have made some small revisions since that original publication. (https://dodgingtherain.com/2018/02/01/katie-hughbanks-secrets/)