December 25, 2005
I kissed Santa under the Christmas tree.
A burst of laughter escapes me after reading the first line. I remember this entry well.
I never in a million years thought I’d ever say that, let alone do it. I couldn’t help it though. Lincoln looked so irresistible in his Christmas hat, red boxers, and no shirt, while humming Jingle Bells as he put together the wooden rocking horse we got Gray for Christmas. I was sitting on the couch sipping my hot cocoa while he was down on his knees beside the Christmas tree working away. Home Alone was playing on the TV in the background, but my eyes were glued to his firm back, tight butt, and flexing arms as he tightened a couple of screws.
I tried to ignore him and let him concentrate, but I had the sudden urge to kiss him and feel his body underneath my hands. And that’s exactly what I did. He didn’t hear me approach until I was down on my knees behind him. I started at the back of his neck and worked my way down. I only got about halfway down his back before he was spinning around and pulling me onto his lap. With the smell of the fir tree beside us and the sound of Kevin torturing his wannabe home invaders, we made love right there on the floor. I guess technically I didn’t kiss him under the tree, but we were close enough.
A smile creeps across my face, remembering our night beside the tree. After we made love, I sat beside Lincoln and helped him finish the rocking horse. It was late, and Gray was an unusually early riser.
That’s my naughty for this entry. Let’s move onto the sweet.
This year is Gray’s first Christmas. He doesn’t understand the concept of Santa yet, but to see the excitement on his face when he saw all the toys under the tree made this Christmas more special than any we’ve ever celebrated. Later in the afternoon, we went to my parents’ house and celebrated with them. They doted on Gray so much. He’s going to be spoiled rotten when he gets older.
For Christmas Eve, we went to Lincoln’s parents’ house. We usually alternate years between spending Christmas Day with one set of parents and Christmas Eve with the other. I’m glad we decided to spend Christmas morning in our own home. I think I want to do that every year since we now have Gray.
I skip past several entries until I come across one that catches my eye. It’s a few months after Christmas and a short time in my life I’m not proud of. I hate that I actually wrote these thoughts down.
I think Lincoln might be seeing another woman. I’ve caught him several times sneakily talking on the phone. When I walk in the room, or he sees me approaching, he quickly gets off, then looks guilty. He’s also been going out more than usual. He says he’s going to Owen’s house to help with some project he’s doing, but I know he’s lying. Two nights ago, a couple hours after Lincoln supposedly left to visit Owen, Owen stopped by wanting to talk to Lincoln. I also called Owen when Lincoln wasn’t answering his phone one time, and I was informed that Lincoln wasn’t there.
I lie in bed at night and cry silently while he sleeps peacefully beside me. I wonder how he could do such a thing? Why he would hurt me in such a way? Lincoln is the last man I ever expected to have an affair. Our love is strong, everlasting, and pure. It’s unconventional and all-consuming. We’re soul mates. Being together was our destiny and our fate. Or at least I thought it was. I don’t know what to do. I want to ask him, but I’m terrified of his answer. I honestly have no clue what I’ll do if he confesses.
I also lie in bed and wonder if it’s something I did that pushed him away. I thought we were happy. I know I was. But is he? And what if he isn’t cheating? I know it will hurt him for me to accuse him of something so heinous when he’s done nothing wrong. But then, if he isn’t, what is he hiding?
Because of my suspicions, my mood has been down lately. He’s asked what was wrong a couple of times, but I always tell him I’m okay or I’m tired or I have a headache. I’m not ready for the truth yet. I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready for that kind of truth. But I know I can’t keep wondering. It’s a slow torture that’s destroying me.
I frown, remembering that horrible time. I’m not sure I’ve cried so much as I did then. The pain I felt thinking Lincoln was seeing another woman felt like my heart was slowly being carved from my chest with a dull knife. It was the worst time of my life and our marriage.
I skip the next entry, which is more of me wallowing in my grief, and start the one after. It’s the one where I find out the truth.
I’m an absolute fool. A complete and utter fool. I never confronted Lincoln and asked if he was cheating, but I sure did find out he wasn’t. I feel horrible for thinking he would do something like that, but I also can’t help the feeling of relief in my gut, nor the happiness in my heart.
For weeks, my mind plagued me of thoughts of Lincoln seeing another woman, all the while he was off doing something special for me. He was sneaking around because he wanted to keep it hidden from me. While my mind was wandering to the most hurtful of things, I forgot that the anniversary of the day we met in third grade approached. Of course, the wonderful person and husband that Lincoln is, didn’t.
He was meeting a woman, but not for the reasons I thought. He was meeting her because he was having a custom charm bracelet and a matching necklace made. Something he wanted handcrafted with charms that represented parts of our life so far. The charms were made out of carefully carved seashells and dipped in resin, so they don’t chip or break. There was a notebook, cockleshell, dahlia flower, a star, a firefly, and a swing. There was also room for more charms to be added later.
I cried more than I should when he gave it to me and told me about all of the meetings he had with the sixty-year-old woman who made it. Apparently, he was a stickler and had to approve each charm. That’s why he was talking secretly on the phone and meeting the woman in private.
I close the journal, tipping my head back against the headboard and closing my eyes. At first, I wasn’t going to tell Lincoln that I suspected he was cheating. I knew it would hurt him, but the guilt I felt tore me to pieces. Lincoln forgave me, and even felt bad for putting me through that, but I could see his own pain in his eyes.
Why I ever thought he would step out on our marriage, is something I never forgave myself for. I knew my husband. He doesn’t have a cheating bone in his body. He treats me like treasured gold and the most precious gift he’s ever been blessed with. The constant love he shows me, even to this day, is beyond measure and is more than anyone could imagine, let alone feel.
Opening my eyes, my gaze falls on Clara’s journal sitting beside mine. I wonder if Clara ever suspected Charles of cheating. As soon as the thought pops in my head, I dismiss it. Clara would have written it in her journals if she had, and I’m on the last one.
An overwhelming sense of sadness hits me when I think about Clara and Charles’ story ending. Their story has been my favorite. As beautiful as Betsy and William’s and Anna and Jack’s stories were, the tragic ends to their lives hurt me immensely. I love knowing Clara and Charles’ love lasted into old age. They’re in their mid-sixties right now, have many grandchildren, and even some great-grandchildren. Despite a few hiccoughs along the way, their lives have been full of love and happiness. I’m sadly envious of them, wishing Lincoln and I could have the same.