by Phyllis Souza
Ovaltine
After
coming home from Mid-night Mass, remembering fifty years earlier, Betty dressed
herself
in a long flannel nightgown.
Crimson
lingerie, sheer as a veil. A neckline that plunged. Her husband had given her a
Christmas present.
"Sweet
Pea, go try it on," Harold said. "Beautiful isn't it. He smiled, showing the
slight space between his front teeth.
"I'll
wait. You don't mind... do you?" Betty asked.
"Don't
you like it? The saleslady said I could take it back. Exchange it for something
else. A purse, maybe." Betty could see the sad expression in his pale blue eyes.
She knew that he knew how she felt. He deserved better.
Betty
didn't love Harold. Wanted to. She prayed to the Virgin Mary to make her love
him.
She
couldn't and wouldn't ever wear the crimson nightgown.
Later
that night, after putting on her flannel gown, Betty crawled onto her side of
the bed. And Harold knelt and prayed next to his. Then, he got under the duvet
and snuggled close to her.
Pretending
to be fast asleep, she sighed.
Rolling
over, facing the wall, Harold whispered, "Goodnight, Sweet Pea. It's okay that
you don't like it. I'll return it."
"Thank
you, Harold. I'm so sorry," Betty softly said.
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