Secrets

by Jennifer White

 

When Howard passed away, I didn't think I would ever get over it. It was terrible to have to play the role of the grieving widow, when you're a woman in her forties. We had been dating since college, and we had been so happy together. We never fought, he never once raised his voice up against me, let alone a hand to harm me. He had been the ideal partner: loving, tender, and caring.

He knew how to talk. He *listened* to me, and cared about my feelings. He did all the right things for me. When my girlfriends complained about their husbands, it didn't register with me, because Howard wasn't like that. He didn't dump me on Sunday to watch a football game with his buddies and drink beer. Instead, he'd work with me in the garden, then go shopping with me. Never once did he tell me that I had too many shoes, or that I didn't need another purse. He didn't seem to mind tagging along with me, where as my girlfriends made it sound like it took a minor miracle to get their husbands out to shop with them.

Things were going so well with us. Other than the fact that he was gone one or two nights a week on business, everything was absolutely perfect. Until one day, a man was driving home drunk, and there was an accident. I could only console myself in that he didn't suffer. But *I* was suffering now. I didn't know how to go on alone. I was lucky that I had many close friends and family. Otherwise, I don't know what I would have done. They helped me get through the worst of it.

And now it was time to go on with my life.

 

* * *

 

There were many adjustments to being alone, without my husband. It sounds silly, but for example, I had to start going to get the mail. We live on a rural route, and the mailbox is across the street. Howard would always insist on getting the mail himself. He would sort it, and put it into piles for me. One for personal letters, one for bills, one for catalogs, and one for junk mail. He was so loving and so kind to me.

He used to pay all the bills too. Now I had to get the mail, open it all, write the check to pay the phone company, mail the outgoing letter, and balance the checkbook. All little things, but they were little things I was used to having him do for me. How could I do these things and not think of him? I also had to mow the grass now, do the dishes by myself (with nobody to dry them for me), take out the trash, and a million other little tasks that I hadn't thought about.

 

But then one day, I got something odd in the mail. It was a bill for an apartment in Midville, which was a 20 minute drive away. Why on earth would we get a bill for an apartment in a city we don't live it? There must be some mistake. I called the number to complain.

"I'm sorry but you sent a bill to the wrong person" I said, explaining their error.

"No Ma'am, there is no mistake. That apartment is rented out to a Howard Yardly, residing at 45892 Blue Banks Highway" said the professional sounding woman on the phone.

"That's my address, and my husband" I said, suddenly gasping for air. Howard has kept this apartment, and never told me! I thought we shared *all* of our intimate secrets! Oh no, what had he done this for?

"See Ma'am? There is no mistake."

"I'm sorry, but my husband passed away" I said.

"Oh no!" said the woman. "That's terrible! He was such a good tenant, always paying his bill on time, never making noise or having neighbors complain."

I was aghast. When did he have time to go to some apartment in another city? It dawned on me: his business trips. That was the only time that he was gone. Instead of being an out of town customer like he told me, he must have been at his apartment! Was he having an affair, right under my nose? I started to cry, right then and there.

"Are you okay dear?" said the woman.

"I...I'm just still upset about losing him" I said, not wanting to tell some stranger that my inner image of my husband was crumbling, that he cheated on me, and we had been living a lie.

"I understand. It takes time to heal" she said. "Listen, I hate to be insensitive, but now that he no longer needs the apartment, will you be keeping it? Or should I put it out for rent?"

"I don't want it" I said in a hoarse voice.

"Very well. Listen, I won't make you pay the last month's rent. I can tell you're upset about losing your husband. I wish there was something more I could do, but at least take that as a gesture."

"Thank you" I croaked.

"One more thing. When will you be coming by to pick up his personal property? Or should I just pack it up and give it to the poor?"

My first impulse was to just have it all burned. Giving it to the poor would be a nice gesture. Perhaps I would do that. But I had to see this place, his 'love nest', with my own eyes. I had to find out what he did there. Perhaps I could find out about the woman that he thought was so important that he had to hide her from me.

"I'll be there tomorrow, to pack it up myself."

"All right dear. Call me if you have any more questions."

"Thank you. Good-bye" I said, hanging up.

 

I put the phone down, ran into my bedroom, threw myself on the bed, and cried myself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, after I showered, dressed, sipped my cup of herbal tea, and ate my half a grapefruit and strawberry yogurt, I sent to Howard's desk. I started digging through the drawers, looking for clues. I couldn't find anything. Nothing. Whatever was going on with his apartment, he didn't have any evidence of it at home.

But I did find one thing: a key on a chain with a wooden handle. The number on the handle matched the number on the bill I had received: number 2B. So this was his key. I put it into my purse, and got into my car.

I went down Blue Banks Highway, which was little two-lane country road. Past the last farm the woods started. I took route 24 from there, East to Midville. I looked at the address on the bill from the apartment. Oak Street. Every little town had to have an Oak Street for some reason. I drove around until I found it.

There, at the end of the block, was an old Victorian house with fancy trim. It must have been a mansion at some point, but the large group of mailboxes out front showed that it was now subdivided up into apartments. I parked on the street, and walked up on the porch.

I walked in the front door, up the stairs to the 2nd floor, and easily found the door marked 2B. I put the key in, and turned it. The door opened with a click, and slid open. I walked inside, and help my breath, as I wondered what kind of apartment he had been keeping.

 

As soon as turned on the light and looked, I knew that I had been right about my feeling. He *was* having an affair. This was no man's apartment. It had a woman's touch. The decor was mostly antiques. Lace doilies were spread on the table tops. Flowers sat in vases, although they were all wilted now, and needed to be thrown out. There were several plants, and a couple of hanging baskets of silk flowers. The aroma of plants lingered in the air.

The pillows on the couch had pretty shams. There was a teddy bear on the couch too, and a china doll on a stand in the corner. There were framed art posters on the wall, mostly French impressionist paintings of flowers or women in pretty white dresses.

The rooms were well kept, with very little dust, and no need for vacuuming. The kitchenette was orderly and neat, with healthy food in the cupboards. The milk and the eggs were past their expiration dates now, so they would have to be thrown out.

I went on to the bedroom. There was a four poster bed to die for. It was so lovely! It was covered with thick puffy comforters, with a hand sewn quilt on the top. The matching pillows also had pretty shams.

Twin antique tables covered with lacy doilies and matching lamps framed the bed on either side. There were more dolls around, and stuff animals. There was an antique vanity with a large oval mirror by the wall. On it was a collection of makeup, combs, brushes, and shiny jewelry in a box. I had to look inside the closet. There, I found dresses. Skirts. Blouses. Hats. Jackets. Purses. Accessories. Boxes of shoes.

There was no doubt about it in the least: a woman lived here. I had to sit down because my knees felt weak. Until I saw this with my own eyes, I didn't really believe it could be real. But it was. Howard really *was* seeing another woman. It took all my strength not to break down in tears yet again.

 

I went to the bathroom to wash my face. There were more feminine signs there too, like perfume on the shelves, a pink razor on the edge of the tub, and a copy of the latest Cosmo in the magazine rack.

I went back into the main room, and looked on the counter. There was an envelope there, with one word on it: Didi. That must be *her*. Didi. I opened it up, to see what was in it. It was a recipe for pecan swirl cake. There was a note at the bottom:

 

Didi,

Here's the recipe. Enjoy.

 

K.

 

Who was 'K'? It looked like a woman's handwriting. Was this 'K' the woman he was seeing? I had to know. I looked around some more, until I found a bill for the florist laying by the garbage. She had tried to throw it out, but it has missed the can. On the bill was the name Didi. So she *was* the one.

I had to find out about her. I left the apartment, locking the door behind me. I got in the car, and drove down the street to the address on the bill. There, I found "Kate's Olde Florist Shoppe". I went inside, with the bill.

"Do you know Didi who picked up this order?" I asked the lady at the counter.

"Yes, I do. Are you a friend of hers?" she said. She was a little older, and seemed very nice.

"Yes, I'm her friend" I lied.

"Well, she comes here ever week, and buys several bouquets. She is so nice! Friendly, and talkative. We often swap recipes."

Wait! Kate could be K!

"Did you give her the one for the pecan swirl cake?"

"Yes I did. How did that turn out?"

"Very good" I said.

I felt bad that I was lying to this nice lady, pretending to be someone I wasn't. It wasn't her fault that this Didi was having an affair with *my* Howard. She had no way to know that. But I didn't want to tell her that Didi was a lying wh*$& either, because she seemed to be on such friendly terms with her. Out of guilt, I bought two dozen pink carnations.

I went back to the apartment, threw out the old flowers, and split the carnations into four groups to fill the vases. I trimmed the ends, put them in water, and set them back on the window sills. That really livened the place up.

 

I guessed that I'd try to ask a neighbor about Howard now. Maybe they would know something. I went next door and knocked.

"Hello" said the young woman who answered. She had lovely long brown hair, and a pretty smile. She seemed to be the friendly type.

"Hi" I said. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I need to know something. What can you tell me about the man and woman next door?"

"Well..." she said, "I don't see them very often. The man is here a couple of nights a week, and the woman too. Now I have a question for you: do you know what they are up to?"

"What do you mean?" I said.

"Well, I always think its strange how I see the, but never together. Like he's sneaking in, or she's sneaking out. They never walk out together, but I see them both. I always thought that was funny."

"I'm afraid that they were having an affair" I said.

"Oh, that's terrible! They both seemed so nice" she replied.

"Appearances can be deceiving. I'm sorry to have bothered you. Have a nice day" I said. That sealed it in my mind. There *were* having an affair. I felt crushed. I went down to the car to get the cardboard boxes and the garbage bags, so I could start packing things up, or throw away the junk.

I was seething with anger now. How dare he have done this to me? How dare Howard have an affair! I just could not believe that a man who seemed so wonderful in every other way could even conceive of cheating on me! It was so outraged that I wanted to scream!

I went in, and decided to start in the bedroom. That was where they had their tryst. So that was where I would start to dispose of Didi's things. I'd give them to the poor. That would serve her right.

 

There was an old fashioned wardrobe cabinet on the wall. I would start there first. I threw open the door, opened my garbage bag, and prepared to start. But what I saw shocked me so much, that I felt short of breath, fell down to my knees, and hit the floor as blackness spread over me....

 

* * *

 

I woke up in a pile on the floor. I couldn't believe that I had fainted. I thought that women only did that in the movies. But this was real life. And what I had just seen was shocking beyond all comprehension.

I looked up into the wardrobe again. I still couldn't believe it. It was getting darker out now, so I must have been out for some time. I turned the lights on, and looked again. It was still there. All of it.

 

At the back of the wardrobe, hung a wig of long blonde hair. On either side of it, on two ledges, were two fake boobs. They looked large, with a realistic looking nipple jutting out at the end. Below on the next shelf was a girdle like I had seen in a catalog, with padding sewn into the hips and butt. It would make the wearer look like she had more curves than she really did, as well as keep the tummy from bulging out.

Taped to the wood on the sides were pictures. At first, they looked like pictures of a lovely woman. But as I glanced at them closer, I could tell. They weren't some woman. They were Howard.

Howard was Didi!

 

Oh no! This was what he came here to do. He wasn't having an affair, he was transforming himself into a woman! I looked at the pictures again, and he seemed so happy. He seemed so content. I had never thought that this could possibly be part of him. How could my husband become a woman when he was away from me?

I looked again, and noticed a black book on a shelf. I picked up, and opened to the first page. It said: "Didi's diary". I leafed through it. It looked like he was trying to write in a handwriting very similar to mine. The first few pages had weak shaky writing, like he was going slowly, and trying to force the letters out. But as I leafed forward, it became steadier and more sure. He was learning to write like a woman too.

I went back to the main room, sat down in a chair under a lamp, and began to read. At first, the entries in Didi's diary were short and terse, not saying too much. As if he was afraid that someone would read it, and know what he was up to. They didn't sound like a woman's thoughts to me, being so clipped and abbreviated. Like on the second page, it said: "Got boobs today in mail. Love them."

But as the handwriting gained confidence, the entries in the diary got longer and fuller. They had started a full ten years ago. He had been up to this for quite some time. The later entries were fuller, with the thoughts better spelled out. I picked a random date, and began to read:

 

Tuesday 2/8:

I arrived here this evening, running late. It took me longer than usual to change, because I am so excited that I will be here for two consecutive days this time. I went down to K's, and bought some really pretty roses. I love how they smell, but I know how they will only last a short time. They are a perfect symbol of this trip for me; temporary beauty that must wither and go back after a few days.

Sometimes I wish I could stay here forever, and have this become my real life. But I feel so guilty not telling Stephanie, but how could I ever do that? What we have is perfect, and she would never understand my feminine needs. So I must resign myself to know that I will only be Didi for a few days, here and there, when I can find the time.

It breaks my heart to think of how I'm excluding her from this part of my life, but if I were to tell her, she would leave me. And then I would just die. As much as I want to be a woman, I love my wife more. This is the only solution that lets me do both. I wish she was here to help me.

 

"I am" I said out loud. "I am."

I went to the kitchen, and prepared a meal from the food in the freezer, along with a cup of hot tea. I ate, then sat down with the tea to read more of Didi's diary.

I read until two in the morning. Exhausted, I made my way to the bed. It was so comfortable, I felt myself slipping away into sleep, almost as soon as my head hit the pillow...

 

* * *

 

I woke up in the morning feeling empty and sad. I had solved the mystery. There had been no affair. Howard had been coming here to allow himself to fully express his feminine side. I had read in his diary how he had felt the need to dress up like a woman, ever since he was a young boy. He had thought it was a phase he would get through, but he never did.

The diary told me that he really did love me, with all his heart, more than anything in the world. Even when he was Didi, he still loved only me. Tears filled my eyes. Why hadn't he told me about this? He felt so happy and fulfilled when he was dressed like a woman. He went through great pains to put on the illusion of *being* a woman. Even Kate at the florist and the girl next door thought he was a woman.

It was only because I was married to him for so long, that I was able to tell from looking at the pictures. He would have fooled almost anyone else. If he went though all these elaborate pains, his inner need would must been overwhelmingly strong.

Why hadn't he opened up to me about this? I would have loved him and supported him, no matter what he did. I would have helped him. If he felt so strongly that he *needed* this, I would have helped him become Didi at home. I would have let 'her' become a part of our relationship.

From reading his diary, I could tell that he wanted to open up to me. But something kept him from doing so: his fear that I would reject him. How could he have thought that I would be capable of rejecting him? I loved him. If this was a part of him, I would have just figured out a way to accept it.

I was more angry of him hiding this from me, than I was of anything else. I decided though, that I needed to get to work, and get the place cleaned up. I started by sorting things into three categories: things to give to the poor; things to throw out; things to keep.

I ended up keeping the wig, the photos, his jewelry, a couple of cute outfits, and Didi's diary. The junk went in the trash, and the rest I brought down to the Salvation Army, so they could sell it to raise money for the poor.

The flowers I took with me as well. I put them in a box along with the diary, the wig and one of the photos of Didi. I buried them deep in a hole in the back yard, and put two sticks in place to mark the spot.

"Good-bye Didi. I'm sorry I never knew you" I said, as I walked away with a tear in my eyes....

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2004 by Jennifer White. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.