Twenty-Five Years a Stand-In Wife

"Why did you suddenly accept the rehire offer?"

"All these years, have you... ever regretted it?"

Just thinking the words made my heart stumble into a panic.

Each step toward the station, I rehearsed them again in my head.

But the moment I came out.

There they were, at the roadside stand outside the company—Walter and Hilda.

Both in formal clothes, both with some white threaded into their hair.

And still as dazzling as in high school, standing side by side on the awards stage.

A matched pair. Impossible not to look at.

People streamed past around them, the noise unbearable.

Hilda was smiling, tapping her beer against the one in Walter's hand.

Even from that far away, I heard what she said.

"Walter, I'm back."

The man's hand jerked at the touch.

You only use a word like back when someone's been waiting for you.

After we married.

The invitations had always been printed with both our names, mine and Walter's.

So it turned out there was no occasion he disliked.

He just disliked the person standing beside him.

Two young women passed by.

"Wow, those two old folks—the love in their eyes is practically spilling over. When I'm old, I want to eat at a roadside stand with my sweetheart too."

They pulled out their phones to take pictures and bumped into me by accident.

"Sorry, ma'am."

In the middle of their apologies, I picked up the fallen food container off the ground and fled.

I was going to tell my son the truth.

He had a right to know our past.

More than that, I wanted one word of support, something to keep me standing.

My son came down with Davina to meet me.

"You took the subway? Dad didn't drop you off?"

He opened the chicken soup from the container and handed it to Davina.

I didn't know whether she knew about us, so I lied.

"He's still tied up."

Davina drank it like it was hers by right.

"My mom didn't come home either. Seems she ran into the man she loved when she was young."

"She always goes to bed on schedule. I guess when you really love someone, even that becomes the exception."

"What do you think—will the old flame come back to life?"

As she spoke, she nudged my son with her elbow, then asked again.

"If it were you, would you give up everything to be with the person you couldn't let go of when you were young?"

My heart rose with the question.

My son was raised entirely by Walter—the way he handled things, the way he thought, alike in every way.

The two of them talking something over was the happiest sight I'd ever seen.

My son didn't even pause.

"I would."

When I got home.

Walter was already there, and he'd cleaned up the kitchen.

He'd never refused to decorate this home with me.

He just rarely did anything on his own.

Today, was it a reward for me, for going to Ms. Gilbert's dinner alone?

Or was it early compensation for a man who meant to leave me?

Walter met me at the entryway, took my keys, and pulled me down onto the couch with him.

"Did you go by the company earlier?"

I went rigid.

He'd seen me?

And now he couldn't wait another moment, rushing to lay it all out.

My son's call came in.

Asking whether I'd gotten home.

Walter froze for a second, then gave a small laugh to himself and changed the subject.

"So you went to bring our son his soup."

"I'm a little tired today. I'm going to take a shower."

Only then did it strike me as absurd.

He hadn't recognized me at all—not even from a background.

Near the end of high school, the class played a game once.

They turned off the lights, everyone put on a mask and stood with their back to the room on the stage, and the rest had to guess who it was.

I'd been left forgotten in my corner on purpose, watching round after round.

Almost no one got guessed right.

Until Hilda went up, and Walter shot to his feet, slamming the table.

"Hilda Gilbert!"