their lives to show them the way. They thanked God for His comfort and assured Him that they understood it was all part of His plan.
“I trust His plans for my life.”
“I know my husband is with Him in Heaven.”
“I’m grateful for all of the other ways He blesses my life daily.”
“I feel my husband’s presence like a guardian angel sent from God.”
“It’s His will, not mine.”
They felt guilty for their anger and prayed for peace and acceptance. They apologized for their anger and asked for grace and forgiveness. They spent hours and hours sharing stories about their husbands.
Their amazing husbands.
Great fathers.
Spiritual leaders.
Missionaries in their own communities.
They all lost perfect men. Or so it seemed.
“Oh, Elsie, please … go ahead.” Rhonda couldn’t hide her enthusiasm, and I didn’t miss the perked ears, wide eyes, and straight spines of the other women in the group, salivating at the thought of me finally speaking.
After ten months, I emerged from my grief coma. Praise the Lord!
Secrets … I had this huge secret. Some days, keeping it felt vital to my existence. Other days, well, I wanted the truth to come out, even if it meant leaving Epperly to escape the gossip.
Four living people knew.
Only four.
After the news of Craig’s accident, Finn suggested I—we—not tell Chase and Linc about the fight, about me wanting a divorce. He didn’t see what the point would be when it no longer mattered. I thought it was a terrible idea. After all, I felt guilty and needed to confess my part in his death. Then Bella spoke up, also thinking I shouldn’t tell Chase and Linc or anyone else for that matter.
Maybe they didn’t want the truth on top of the already horrific reality. Maybe they knew how painful and unbearable the real truth was, and they wanted to save their brothers and everyone else from that pain. So I agreed not to tell anyone. The truth stayed among us—me, Bella, Finn, and Amie.
The roads were bad that night. Craig hit an icy patch on a bridge, and he lost control. Praise the Lord he didn’t kill anyone else.
Still, it didn’t settle right with me. I killed him.
My not-so-perfect husband.
“Craig left dishes sitting around everywhere. I had to presoak everything before it could go into the dishwasher. He never understood why it bothered me. He dismissed my irritation with, ‘You could have it worse. At least I’m not a drunk and I don’t cheat on you.’ And he was right. I could have had it worse. I just hated that I couldn’t take issue with anything he did and not be labeled a complainer.”
After a few blinks, I scanned the room. The faces studying me held odd expressions.
Shock?
Pity?
“I know.” I chuckled shaking my head. “I don’t speak for months, and the first thing that comes out of my mouth is something negative about my dead husband. I’m going to Hell, aren’t I?”
Rhonda cleared her throat and slid the pendant on her necklace back and forth. A forced smile bent her matte red lips. “Maybe we could pray for you.”
“That I don’t go to Hell?” I quirked an eyebrow at her.
“No. Just asking our Lord to—”
“Grant used to trim his beard and leave the whiskers in the sink. If I dropped my contact lens, I’d have to throw it away.”
Everyone shifted their attention to Jennifer. Her husband, Grant, died of a heart attack five months earlier.
“And…” she continued “…he’d trim other parts of his body and sweep the hair under the bathroom scale. The first time I found it, I swear I thought someone had shaved their entire head in my house. I blamed the kids.”
“Jennifer, dear … I’m not sure this is productive—” Rhonda made an attempt to intervene, but Kathy cut her off.
“Rick used to dribble urine down the front of the toilet, but he always said it wasn’t him. I knew it was because he also had pee spots on the front of his pants. Like … would it have killed him to stand there a few extra seconds to give it a little shake?”
A few women snickered, but not Rhonda. I stayed silent, not anticipating my ill manners instigating such confessions.
“Eddie used to order fries from McDonalds, tear off the corner of the ketchup packet, and alternate between squeezing the ketchup into his mouth and shoving fries into it like he mastered the perfect ratio of fries to ketchup. When I asked him why he couldn’t just dip them like a normal person, he said