Anniversary Surprise

Ruth leaned as far as she could until her head was pressed against the driver’s side window. She hated pulling onto the small gravel road from the winding highway. The faded asphalt veered sharply to the right, visibility obstructed by a tangle of thin trees and vines; it cut back to the left and disappeared behind a similarly chaotic mess of foliage. In the midst of spring, the vines and leaves grew thick and green and it really was a mad dash to get across the single lane just praying that no one would zip around the corner. If the county cared at all, they’d put a traffic light up here--and that’s exactly what she’d told her magistrate. But no one had time for a little old lady and her backwoods concerns.

The Cadillac eased its nose into the opposite lane and then the tires squealed as Ruth’s muscles tensed at the sudden fear that something would tear around the blind corner. She eased onto the gravel road safely, though, and settled down.

It had already been a stressful enough day. It was her fiftieth wedding anniversary and she was on her way back from picking up Fred’s gift. She’d had it specially ordered at the jewelry store in town. It was a gold bracelet with a fine inscription inside: “Fred & Ruth - 50 years.”

That wasn’t the stressful part. The bracelet had turned out even more wonderful than she could have hoped. The woman behind the counter had handed her a tissue after she’d presented it to Ruth. Ruth took it and dabbed gently under her eyes. She was so excited she could barely contain herself. She smiled until her cheeks hurt.

No, that wasn’t the stressful part. The stressful part was still ahead.

Ruth eased the Cadillac into the driveway between plush hydrangea bushes at the base of two flowering dogwood trees. She pulled to a stop just next to the red Marine flag waving high in the spring breeze. Small bursts of similarly colored zinnias erupted around the base of the flagpole. The man sure did have a green thumb, she thought. Always in his gardens, bringing life and color into the world. Her world.

At least, he used to.

She looked at the box sitting in the passenger’s seat. She found herself hesitant to open the door. She’d played scenario after scenario in her head on the drive home. All of them bore out the same heart-rendering response to her gift. In some, she found the words to express how his lack of attention had affected her so. She missed him. She missed them. In others, no words were needed. A simple realization between two people who’d shared more than most could ever hope to was enough to change the entire course of their relationship. In all of the scenarios, things got instantly better.

But now, sitting in the driveway, the Cadillac’s engine ticking as it cooled, reality was setting in. This was a mistake. A bracelet? She pictured him on his hands and knees, the knees of his dark slacks creating indentations in the cool soil, the sleeves of his button-down shirt rolled up to reveal forearms that--even at his age--rippled like the coils of a steel cable as he worked. And on his wrist she could see...a bracelet? A gold piece of jewelry that a woman would wear?

She could hear his voice now. What had she been thinking? In days long past, he’d have acted graciously to spare her feelings. These days, he’d grant no such grace. The scenarios in her head were much different now. She was only going to widen the chasm between them with this foolish idea. She reached for the glove box and pulled a small package of tissues out. Once again, she dabbed her eyes.

Now, then. There was no sense in getting worked up, was there? She picked up the box and placed it gently into her oversized bag. It easily fit out of sight. Maybe she should just forget the whole thing? She could give him a kiss on the forehead at dinner, look into his eyes and say “Happy Anniversary.” It would take him a second, sure; but, he’d smile back and say something like “Oh, yeah. Happy Anniversary, babe.” And continue shoveling spoonfuls of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

Maybe that would be good enough. Maybe she was just expecting too much.

Her emotions steeled once more, she hoisted her bag over her shoulder and climbed out of the car. She thumbed through the gaggle of keys on her ring and found the one for the front door. She kept her elbow pulled in tightly against her body, pinning the bag closed in case he was inside.

“Fred?” She asked as she turned to close the door. “Fred, you in here?” She walked through the small dining area toward the kitchen to ensure he wasn’t there. When she didn’t see him, she went to set the keys on the table and take her bag to her sewing room where she’d hide the bracelet in the closet until she could decide what she was going to do. But, as she turned towards the table, she stopped and the keys fell from her hand.

Sitting on the center of the table was a small box, wrapped in plain brown paper.

Emotion swirled through her, constricting her chest and throat. The familiar sting returned to her eyes as her shaky fingers moved to her gaping mouth.

He’d remembered.

“Oh,” she breathed as she moved toward the box. She reached out a hand and then withdrew it, turning to look for him once more. When he wasn’t there, she turned to face the box again. Had he intended for her to find it? Was he intending to hide it before she got home and forgot or ran out of time? Oh, maybe he was out picking flowers in the garden, piecing together a beautiful bouquet to present with this gift.

Ruth’s imagined scenarios from the drive were beginning to blend with reality. She’d given herself over to them completely. He knew. He knew they were out of sorts, just as she did. And here on their fiftieth wedding anniversary they’d both done something out of the ordinary to make things right.

Ruth was elated.

She wanted to lift it. Shake it. Squeeze it. But, no. No, he had a plan; he must. And she wouldn’t spoil it. She was certainly going to present him with the bracelet now.

This was going to be a special night.

Ruth emerged from the bedroom an hour and a half later. She was feeling serendipitous, so she donned a dress she hadn’t worn in quite a while: A breezy, ankle-length chiffon number, with palm-sized explosions of reds and pinks and blues in a field of off-white. She’d put on a thin layer of matching makeup--just a dab of rouge and a wisp of shade over the eye--and hoop earrings that glinted in the low, warm light. In her left hand, she carried a small box, wrapped in white paper with a yellow ribbon.

The scent of roasted chicken and rosemary wafted down the hall. Fred’s old record player crackled in the corner playing Patsy Cline. The chiffon dress swayed to the beat of Walkin’ After Midnight as Ruth’s steps fell into rhythm. She almost expected to see a Fred from thirty years ago standing in her kitchen. Sleek, jet-black hair parted neatly. The scent of Brut aftershave on his neck.

She felt like a kid again.

She turned the corner with a smirk, her eyes glowing. Beckoning. Expectant.

Fred glanced up from the counter where he’d just finished carving the whole chicken.

“There y’are.” He turned back. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Oh,” she said, sauntering into the kitchen, hiding the box behind her back. “It smells delicious.” She hovered just over his shoulder. No Brut, but the smell of him was always enough to drive her crazy anyway.

“Eh,” he responded. “Overcooked it.” He lifted the platter and turned, practically elbowing Ruth out of the way. Ruth maintained her smile, but her confidence faltered. She clutched the box behind her back a bit tighter.

She moved to the table as he rearranged the dishes he’d already set and placed the platter down. He’s playing it off, she thought. Heightening the anticipation. She wasn’t sure whether it was a lack of patience or confidence that led her to speed things up.

“Well, goodness sakes,” she said with a facade of surprise. “What on earth could this be?” She placed the fingers of one hand on the brown box, still postured on the table. The other hand rested on the box in her lap.

“Huh...oh, that,” Fred said, wiping his hands with the towel over his shoulder. “That’s for you.”

Concern jettisoned from her mind. She had been right. The taut muscles that betrayed concern on a forced smile softened and genuine excitement illuminated her face. Illuminated the whole room, it seemed. Illuminated Ruth’s world.

“For me?”

“Yeah,” he said, heading back for the kitchen. “Need you to run it down to the Tucker’s tomorrow. Postman must have dropped it off at the wrong house.”

Ruth’s excitement faded into confusion.

Fred came back with the mashed potatoes.

“The...Tuckers?”

“Yeah.” He motioned toward the package. “Addressed to that boy, Amos. Believe his birthday is comin’ up.” He returned to the kitchen.

Ruth looked at the package. Her fingers tightened around it. She lifted it and turned it over. There on the underside in thick black marker was Amos Tucker’s name and address.

The postman had dropped it off at the wrong address.

Fred returned with the beans.

“There, now,” he wiped his hands one more time and tossed the towel onto the kitchen counter. He spread his arms, admiring the spread. “Don’t you look nice,” he said.

He bent over and placed his hands on her cheeks. He kissed her forehead.

“Happy Anniversary, Babe.”

He pulled his thumbs away from her cheeks before the teardrops reached them.