Rick placed it in front of her with a grin I hadn’t seen in years.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart! I made the design myself!”
Rick placed it in front of her.
Hannah opened the box and gasped!
Inside sat two gold earrings shaped like piano keys, each with a little star at the end. They were one of a kind. Her father had sketched them a hundred times before sending the design to the jeweler.
“They’re beautiful,” our daughter whispered. She looked up at me, her eyes shining. “I’ll never take them off, Mom.”
I brushed her bangs back and kissed the top of her head.
“You don’t have to. They’re yours forever.”
They were one of a kind.
***
That spring felt untouchable.
Hannah practiced piano every afternoon, filling the house with clumsy scales that slowly turned into real songs. Rick sat beside her on the bench, tapping the rhythm on her knee.
***
At night, my husband helped her with math homework at the kitchen table. I’d braid her hair while she chewed on her pencil.
“Mom, do you think I’ll be good enough for the recital?” She asked one evening.
Rick sat beside her.
“Baby, you’re already good enough. You just have to trust your hands.”
Hannah smiled at that. She had a way of taking the things I said and tucking them away somewhere deep, like small treasures.
***
Rick was different back then, or at least I thought he was.
He worked late in the garage, which he called his workshop, but he didn’t like anyone opening the door without knocking. I told myself that every man needs a quiet corner.
Rick was different back then.
***
Sometimes my husband would take long drives on Sunday afternoons and return without saying where he’d been. Sometimes his phone would ring, and he’d walk out to the porch, his voice low and his shoulders tight.
“Who was that?” I’d ask when he came back in.
“Just work stuff, Marlene. Nothing to worry about.”
I didn’t worry. I trusted him.
That was the version of me I still miss the most.
“Who was that?”
