Her husband Jack’s sleeptalk intrigues her. After his sleepy comments, she examines the basement. She’s surprised when an old luggage ends her marriage.
When tired, my husband Jack talks in his sleep. After 20 years of marriage and two kids, I was used to his sleepy mumblings. They were typically innocent about work, fishing, or his car.
He mentioned something that made my arm hair stand on edge last night.
“Don’t go into the basement,” he whispered, tired.
Heart thumping, I sat up in bed. He mumbled again minutes later.
“Liz, don’t open this.”
His final grumble was followed by a deep breath.
“They’ll find out about the suitcase.”
Which case? He talked about what?
I had a strange feeling the next morning. I remarked that while frying breakfast eggs.
“Hey, honey,” I said casually. You slept talking last night. A box underground. Strange, huh?”
My husband laughed despite his pale face and tight eyes.
“What? Really? What a strange dream!” he said, avoiding me.
I know my spouse. After 20 years, I could tell if he was lying or nervous.
His reply ordered me to investigate the basement.
“Come on, Liz,” I urged, taking a flashlight to the basement.
I believe the basement light had been burned out for a long time, and we rarely went down there except to get Christmas decorations or winter clothes.
I checked and found the door padlocked.
To be cool, I remarked, “Hey, honey,” to my spouse. Why were basement locks needed? What was so secret?
“Basement key where? Door locked “I said.
I waited for Jack’s response amid deafening silence. He finally entered the hallway with heavy footsteps and a blank countenance.
“I lost the keys years ago,” he said. If you need access, I’ll break the door and clean up this weekend. We can use the basement and replace the door. Yeah?”
I suspected his response.
Jack hauled all our Christmas decorations from the basement three months early. Why were the keys lost for years?
After hubby departed for work, I went upstairs to our son’s room. Michael came home from college after delaying a semester, and I needed his help entering the basement.
“I need your help now,” I said.
“Mom, what’s going on?” Pulling his covers, Michael requested. “Is everything okay?”
“I need you to help me get into the basement,” I add. “Your dad’s been acting really strange, and I need to know why.”
He grimaced, “And you think there’s something in there?”
“Yes!” I responded. “You get us inside, and I’ll make you anything you want for breakfast.”
My child nodded and grinned.
He stole Jack’s angle grinder from the garden shed, and we walked to the basement door with curiosity and fear.
My heart raced when the grinder loudly cut the padlock. I knew our discovery would affect everything.
Jack’s reaction suggests this is bad.
A heavy clink dropped the lock shortly later.
We entered and descended the stairs, adjusting to the dim light. As usual, the cellar was dusty and filled with junk.
“Mom, really?” Michael softly kicked a crate of childhood toys. You still have them? This is optional.”
“It’s worth holding onto,” I said, searching for something different.
“So, what are we looking for?” Looking around, Michael asked. “It just looks like a regular basement, if anything.”
“I know,” I answered. We must find something. Some suitcase. Maybe it won’t be categorized like others.”
Michael said, “Okay, understood,” separating boxes. “And just remember, I like my bacon extra crispy when you’re doing my breakfast.”
With him, I laughed.
We combed the mess. Finally, Michael called.
He said, “I think I found something!”
Behind paint cans, he took an old luggage. Strong and sturdy, the suitcase was combination-locked.
“Bet it’s my birthday,” Michael said.
It wasn’t. My son hammered and crowbared the suitcase open.
He questioned “What’s this?”
“Let’s see,” I said. “Bring it here.”
Antique documents, keys, and a map were within. One antique property deed and legal document stuck out.
The label said “Inheritance.”
“Inheritance?” Over my shoulder, Michael read. “We’re rich?”
“Shush,” I said. “Let me read this and figure it all out.”
The papers say Jack got a mansion and lots of money from his estranged uncle.
The document’s dates show Jack hid this from me for years.
“So, what does it all mean?” Michael asks.
“I’m not completely sure yet,” I said, pondering the facts. “But we need to find out more.”
Michael pulled out another item as I took it all in. Old photo album.
The paperwork showed Jack with a woman my age and two children at the estate.
Their relationship was clear.
“Who are these people?” Quite surprised, Michael asked.
I told my son, “I have no idea,” my thoughts racing. “But we need to talk to your father.”
Michael nodded slowly.
“Come,” I said. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”
We went upstairs and I made Michael breakfast.
My child comprehended what we saw since he’s not stupid. Disbelief and treachery may have clouded our vision.
Jack concealed another family.
Jack returned that night and saw our emotions and open luggage. Michael and I brainstormed all day.
“Liz, I can explain,” Jack murmured.
“Explain what, Jack?” I snapped. The mansion? The cash? The other family? How long would you conceal this?”
He sighed with bowed shoulders.
“I never wanted you to find out like this.”
“Then how?” I demanded. “How would we know? Inform us? Would you die with this secret?”
I didn’t mean to hurt. Only an error. He said, “I thought I could handle it.”
“Handle what?” Just asking destroyed my voice. “How long has this been going on?”
Then reality emerged. Jack admits to a parallel life during our first five years married.
Imogen and I fell in love on a business trip. It was instant. I didn’t tell her I was married. So we met anytime I was in her area. She declared her pregnancy soon after.”
“I can’t handle this,” Michael said. This must not be heard. I’ll stroll.”
My uncle’s estate houses my kids, but their birth certificates don’t identify me. Supporting them was necessary. A few years ago, Imogen died. Her parents house the kids on the estate, but no more. I controlled but buried half of my life in this bag.”
Nothing to say. No words could simplify it.
“The anniversary of Imogen’s death is coming up, and I think that I was just thinking about it before I fell asleep,” he said.
That explains his sleeptalking.
I then chose Michael and myself. I divorced Jack. I backed Michael’s refusal to see his father. He didn’t lie.
Jack didn’t fight.
What would you’ve done?
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As I entered, my luggage wheels clanked against the hallway walls, shocking me.
We thought a tornado hit our living room.
There were toys on the floor and dishes in the sink, and what? A couch-black banana?
Heart fell. This was my final need after a week of state-wide meetings.
I only wanted my husband, kids, and bed. Clean home upon return.
Before leaving, I gave Brandon specific instructions.
I planned weekly lunches and dinners. I wanted to simplify for him.
Brandon simply had to get the kids dressed and sort their cereal in the morning as I had divided their clothes by day. My laundry was done before leaving.
Everything was ready for my husband to take over.