didn’t have the extra money to be spending on something like that.
After a few more minutes of small talk, she’d shaken his hand and parted ways with the shop owner.
A week later she’d gone back and placed an order.
Things with John had heated up quickly. Before Meredith knew it, she’d been at his shop almost every day with a new question about her kitchen set. He’d always done his best to answer her, offering suggestions about the wood and the stains, explaining the process as he built it.
After discussing her order, they would go on to talk about a host of other things: news about town, Meredith’s farm, or books and movies they’d enjoyed. Like her, John was an avid reader, and they soon discovered that they liked many of the same novels.
John also told her about life in Detroit. He’d said that he’d lived there his whole life, but he’d always hated the city. When he was twenty-two, he’d taken a bicycle across the country by himself, taking in the sights and sounds of all the states he’d never seen. And though he’d appreciated the coasts, he’d always had a soft spot for the Midwest.
Meredith had told him all about her childhood on the farm—how she’d inherited it from her parents when they passed away, how she’d been working there ever since. She’d always wanted to travel, she’d said, but she hadn’t had the chance.
“Maybe we could travel together someday,” John had said.
The two had laughed at the thought. A few moments later they’d kissed.
They’d been inseparable after that. When she wasn’t running the farm, Meredith would visit John at the furniture shop, and when he wasn’t building furniture, John was helping Meredith in the fields.
Despite their budding relationship, there’d been no talk of anything further. Each remained in their respective homes, living in tandem, enjoying the time they were spending together.
The people in town had been happy for them. Meredith’s friends had only kind words to say about John, and she’d found herself happier than she’d been in a while.
Until six months ago when everything changed.
Meredith had been visiting John at the furniture shop when it happened. Per her usual routine, she’d brought him a late breakfast of fresh-cooked eggs and toast. She’d always enjoyed seeing him in the late morning—Meredith was an early riser. After taking care of her harvesting before sunrise, by eleven o’clock she was ready for a break. And though the meals she brought John were often cold, he’d never complained.
On that day, John had been working on a custom rocking chair for Mrs. Ashby, one of the elder residents of the town. Upon seeing Meredith, he’d stopped what he was doing and joined her in the shop, happily devouring his breakfast.
They’d been talking about a movie when someone walked in behind them. Meredith had been facing the back wall; John had been facing the entrance. Although Meredith hadn’t seen the woman at first, she’d seen the expression change on John’s face.
His mouth had hung open and he’d dropped his plate on the floor.
“Hello, Eve,” he’d said.
Meredith had swiveled in her chair, suddenly facing a woman with straight, dark hair and pursed lips. The woman was wearing a stylish black blouse, a gray skirt, and carried a designer purse. She didn’t look like anyone Meredith recognized.
“Who’s this?” Meredith had asked.
Both John and the woman had stared at her. After a few seconds, John had answered, his face beet red.
“This is my wife.”
11
A fter storming out of the furniture shop, Meredith had jumped into her pickup and peeled out of the parking lot. Tears had been streaming down her face; a pit had taken root in her stomach.
John had lied to her. In the months she’d known him, he’d never mentioned having a wife. Even when he talked about Detroit, he’d never alluded to the fact that he was married, or even that he’d been dating.
It was as if he’d carefully
After a few more minutes of small talk, she’d shaken his hand and parted ways with the shop owner.
A week later she’d gone back and placed an order.
Things with John had heated up quickly. Before Meredith knew it, she’d been at his shop almost every day with a new question about her kitchen set. He’d always done his best to answer her, offering suggestions about the wood and the stains, explaining the process as he built it.
After discussing her order, they would go on to talk about a host of other things: news about town, Meredith’s farm, or books and movies they’d enjoyed. Like her, John was an avid reader, and they soon discovered that they liked many of the same novels.
John also told her about life in Detroit. He’d said that he’d lived there his whole life, but he’d always hated the city. When he was twenty-two, he’d taken a bicycle across the country by himself, taking in the sights and sounds of all the states he’d never seen. And though he’d appreciated the coasts, he’d always had a soft spot for the Midwest.
Meredith had told him all about her childhood on the farm—how she’d inherited it from her parents when they passed away, how she’d been working there ever since. She’d always wanted to travel, she’d said, but she hadn’t had the chance.
“Maybe we could travel together someday,” John had said.
The two had laughed at the thought. A few moments later they’d kissed.
They’d been inseparable after that. When she wasn’t running the farm, Meredith would visit John at the furniture shop, and when he wasn’t building furniture, John was helping Meredith in the fields.
Despite their budding relationship, there’d been no talk of anything further. Each remained in their respective homes, living in tandem, enjoying the time they were spending together.
The people in town had been happy for them. Meredith’s friends had only kind words to say about John, and she’d found herself happier than she’d been in a while.
Until six months ago when everything changed.
Meredith had been visiting John at the furniture shop when it happened. Per her usual routine, she’d brought him a late breakfast of fresh-cooked eggs and toast. She’d always enjoyed seeing him in the late morning—Meredith was an early riser. After taking care of her harvesting before sunrise, by eleven o’clock she was ready for a break. And though the meals she brought John were often cold, he’d never complained.
On that day, John had been working on a custom rocking chair for Mrs. Ashby, one of the elder residents of the town. Upon seeing Meredith, he’d stopped what he was doing and joined her in the shop, happily devouring his breakfast.
They’d been talking about a movie when someone walked in behind them. Meredith had been facing the back wall; John had been facing the entrance. Although Meredith hadn’t seen the woman at first, she’d seen the expression change on John’s face.
His mouth had hung open and he’d dropped his plate on the floor.
“Hello, Eve,” he’d said.
Meredith had swiveled in her chair, suddenly facing a woman with straight, dark hair and pursed lips. The woman was wearing a stylish black blouse, a gray skirt, and carried a designer purse. She didn’t look like anyone Meredith recognized.
“Who’s this?” Meredith had asked.
Both John and the woman had stared at her. After a few seconds, John had answered, his face beet red.
“This is my wife.”
11
A fter storming out of the furniture shop, Meredith had jumped into her pickup and peeled out of the parking lot. Tears had been streaming down her face; a pit had taken root in her stomach.
John had lied to her. In the months she’d known him, he’d never mentioned having a wife. Even when he talked about Detroit, he’d never alluded to the fact that he was married, or even that he’d been dating.
It was as if he’d carefully
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