THE LOCKET

It was tarnished silver, with a rusty hinge and a broken clasp, and yet it must have been his most treasured position, clearly worn where his hands had lovingly caressed it.  It was hard to believe, Molly thought, that such a small object could hold so much love... and pain.

Of course, she hadn’t known about the locket when she’d received the package that morning. She'd assumed the bulky envelope postmarked Cornwall was the holiday brochure from the cottage she and Dan had been planning to go to this summer.  Hardly relevant now, she thought, and slipped it into her handbag, unopened.  Her mind was focused on the meeting ahead with her husband Dan. Almost ex-husband.  A few arrangements to make, a few details to sort, and their divorce would be final.

It was a cold, grey, drizzly day, in perfect keeping with her mood.  Molly drove through the unrelenting gloom, trying to keep her mind clear, her nerves calm.  It was important that Dan not get the better of her.

"Hello, Molly." 

They'd agreed to a breakfast meeting in the local coffee shop, neutral territory.  He looked the same, Molly thought with a pang.  They hadn't seen each other in two months, but he still had that same crooked smile, the same whimsical look in his grey eyes.  The shoulders of his coat were dark with rain, and his hair was wet.  He raked it off his forehead with a tired smile.

"Can I get you a coffee? I've already ordered one, but we can make it two."

"Yes, please."  She declined any food, as did Dan.  Tucking into eggs and bacon didn't seem appropriate, somehow.

"How are you?"  Dan asked as he sipped his coffee. 

"Fine." Molly kept her voice cool.  He didn't have to sound so good natured, so breezy!  They were about to agree to divorce, for heaven's sake. But then, Dan had never been one to show his emotions.  Even at the lowest point of their marriage, he'd been determinedly optimistic, gratingly so.

Molly sneaked another look at him as she drank her coffee.  Were the faint crows' feet by his eyes more marked?  And there, by his ears, his hair was starting to look positively grey.  Could two months age a person, Molly wondered, and then recalling her own experience of the last few weeks, decided it definitely could.

"What have you been doing lately?"

Molly raised her eyebrows.  "Oh, nothing much. Cleaning out the family home I'd hoped to raise my children in, wondering if I'm going to lose my job as well as my marriage, you know... this and that."

Dan winced.  "Haven't lost your sarcastic touch, I see."

"No, I haven't."  Molly set down her coffee cup.  "Any reason why I should?" Stop this, she berated herself.  She'd meant to conduct this meeting calmly, professionally, with a detached interest.  She should've realised that was impossible.

"I suppose not."  Dan was quiet. "I know I've hurt you, Molly, and I'm sorry for that.  But I wasn't the one who wanted to divorce."

Molly's eyes narrowed.  "Oh yes, you were, Dan.  When I walked in on you and Wendy Harris getting cozy at the Christmas party, you were telling me very clearly you wanted a divorce."

"We've been through this before, Molly. It was one kiss--"

"You think that's an excuse?"

"No, it's an apology."

They'd had this conversation so many times, it felt as if their lines were rehearsed. Molly shook her head.

"Why keep saying the same things? Neither of us will change our minds."

"I can't help but keep trying," Dan said in a low voice. He raked a hand through his damp hair. "I love you, Molly..."

"If you loved me," Molly hissed, "you wouldn't have been making out with your work colleague!" The pain, the betrayal of that moment, had left a permanent scar, still unhealed.

"I was not making out," Dan retorted, teeth clenched. "I was drunk, she kissed me--"

"I didn't see you pushing her away."

There was a taut silence as they glared at each other. "God help you, Molly, if you slip up once," Dan finally said, his voice weary. "Because the amount of slack you've cut me..."

"I'm not planning on kissing anyone in the cloak room," Molly snapped. "Now, can we please talk about the divorce?"

Half an hour later, Molly left the restaurant shaken but steady. She clung to her self-righteous anger because sometimes it felt like the only thing holding her together.

I can't forgive Dan, she thought, because if I do I'll completely fall apart.

And that thought scared her... scared her even more than life without Dan.

It wasn't until she returned home from work that afternoon, exhausted and wet, that she remembered the bulky envelope in her handbag. She took it out with a faint, morbid curiosity, wondering whether she should bin it or torture herself by looking through the brochure of holidays she and Dan would now never go on.

Except it wasn't a packet of holiday brochures.

The locket slipped out into Molly's hand, gleaming dully. There was a single slip of paper with it.

Dear Mrs. Franklin,

We regret to inform you of the death of Edward Longton.  He passed away on January 3, and it was in his will that this locket be sent to you.  I apologise for the delay, as it took some time to locate you.  If you have any questions, please contact me at the above number.  Sincerely, William Dreyfuss, Solicitor.

"Edward Longton?" Molly muttered in confusion. She'd never heard of the man, and she didn't know anyone in Cornwall. Why would a stranger send her a locket?

She prised it open, and her breath caught in her throat. The photograph in the locket was a simple, black and white of a woman who was laughing at something in the distance, her arms clasped around her knees.

The woman was her mother.

Molly stared at the photograph for a long moment while her coat dripped water onto the floor. Then she grabbed the piece of paper with the solicitor's number and hurried to the phone.

"Is this William Dreyfuss?" she asked when a man's voice came on the line.

"Yes, may I help you?"

"My name is Molly Franklin. I just received a locket from a client of yours, Edward Longton..."

"Ah, yes. He was most particular that the locket be sent to you. Unfortunately, there was no current address in his papers, so it took some doing."

"Yes. The thing is..." Molly hesitated. "I don't know him. I've never heard of him before. Except..." her hand clenched involuntarily around the locket, the edge cutting into her palm. "There's a photo of my mother inside."

There was a pause on the other end, as if William Dreyfuss was deciding what to say. After a moment, he replied, "I'm afraid I don't know the particulars of Mr. Longton's desire to give you the locket, Mrs. Franklin."

"You knew him, though?" Molly pressed. "You must remember something he said about it."

Another pause, and when he spoke William Dreyfuss sounded uncomfortable. "I know he was interested in your whereabouts, and he very much wanted the locket to pass into your posession."

"But why would he have a photograph of my mother?" Molly demanded, a desperate thread in her voice. "And why would he care about me?"

"Perhaps you could ask your mother--"

"I can't. She died three years ago."

"Your father?"

Molly sighed heavily. "Do you really think, Mr. Dreyfuss, that this is something I want to concern my father with?"

"That would be entirely up to you. I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

Molly hung up the phone, a heavy feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. The only reason a strange man would have kept a photograph of her mother was if he cared about her.

And the only reason that man would send the locket to her was...

"No," Molly said aloud. "No." She was jumping to conclusions. Maybe this man knew her mother was dead, and so decided to send the locket to her. Maybe he'd never even known her mother, perhaps he was some random psycho...

The thought hardly made her feel better. That weekend she decided to visit her father.

He lived in a retired community an hour from her house, so after ringing him Molly set out.

"This is an unexpected surprise," her father said when she pulled outside his building.

"I was thinking I don't visit you often enough," Molly said, and her father smiled.

"We all do what we can. But I thought there was another reason."

"What do you mean?" Molly heard the sharpness in her voice as she followed her father into his flat.

"Just that you might be feeling a little raw," her father said gently. "I know the divorce goes through around now."

Molly's shoulders sagged. In her worry and confusion about the locket and its meaning, she'd almost forgotten about Dan. Almost, but not quite. He was always there, or the loss of him was, like an ache.

"Dan and I talked it out a few days ago," she admitted. "We can file the papers anytime now."

"But you haven't yet?" her father guessed shrewdly and Molly shrugged.

"There's hardly been time..."

"I was thinking perhaps you didn't want to."

"Not you too, Dad," Molly protested. "Everyone is hoping we'll reconcile, but it's not going to happen."

"I've said I'll support you no matter what," her father replied steadily, "but of course I'd rather see you happily married--"

"That's it, though, isn't it?" Molly interjected. "Happily."

"Were you two happy before this incident at the Christmas party?"

Molly bit her lip. "Yes, we were. A bit stressed, perhaps..."

"About what?"

Molly looked away, trying to keep her voice casual. "Well, you know we were trying for a baby." She didn't mention, didn't want to remember, the two miscarriages that had preceded the ill-fated party, or how low she'd been feeling because of them... even though the doctors said it was just bad luck.

"That can be stressful," her father agreed. "Your mother and I tried for you for quite some time, as you know."

Molly's heart ached. How could she ask her father about Edward Longton? How could she even give voice to the suspicions clamoring inside her?

"Tea?" her father asked and Molly nodded, her heart suddenly thudding.

"Dad," she said, her voice souding too loud in the little lounge, "have you ever heard of Edward Longton?"

Her father's hand stilled on the kettle for a moment, even though his face remained blank. When he looked up at Molly, he smiled easily.

"It's been awhile, but yes. He was a friend from the old days."

"How did you know him?"

"He was a friend of mine from university. When I travelled for business, he checked up on Mum for me. You know I was gone for weeks at a time... it made me rest easy to know she was being looked after."

Looked after all too well, Molly thought. Her father glanced at her.

"How have you come to hear of him?"

Molly took a breath. She couldn't evade her father's question, as much as she wanted to. She wished she'd never brought the issue up, even though she knew it would have had to be dealt with at some point.

"He died, and his solicitor sent me a locket. Apparently he wanted me to have it."

"Ah." Her father looked bemused as he carefully unwrapped two tea bags.

Something about that 'ah' made Molly say slowly, "you know, don't you? Whatever it is, you know."

"Molly," her father replied, "there is very little concerning your mother that I don't know."

Molly swallowed. "And me?"

Her father's look was sharp. "What about you?"

"Why would Edward Longton send me a locket? With a picture of Mum inside?" Her voice broke, and she blinked back tears.

Her dad crossed over to her and grasped her hand in his. "Are you thinking that Ed--Edward Longton--is your father?"

Molly stared with wide eyes. "Is he?"

"Molly." Her father closed his eyes briefly. "Look at your face, my girl. Look at your nose. No one can doubt you're my daughter."

Sweet relief rushed through her, making her almost dizzy. "Then why did..."

"He send you the locket?" her father finished. He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Maybe as one last link to your mother. " He paused, his expression thoughtful. "He loved her, you know. Very much."

"How can you say that?" Molly spun away, filled with a sudden, nameless rag. "She cheated on you. Cheated."

"I was partly to blame."

"How?" The word came out like a bark. "I thought I knew her."

"You did." Her father grabbed her hand again, gave it a warning squeeze. "This should never, ever diminish your mother's memory, Molly. I mean it. She was a wonderful woman. Nothing--nothing--can change that."

"Then why...?" Molly shook her head helplessly.

"I told you I was away most of the time. I was caught up in business, drunk on my own ambition." Her father shook his head wearily. "I know you don't remember me that way. In fact, your mother's relationship with Ed Longton was a wakeup call. I realised I was driving her away. She found comfort with him because I wasn't giving her any."

"That still doesn't excuse..." Molly began.

"No, it doesn't. But there are two people in a marriage, Molly, and it often takes two people to make it work... or fall apart."

"So you just forgave her?"

"She came to me, admitted what happened, told me she was terribly sorry. It was her choice to break ties with Ed. We never saw him again, and that alone probably broke that man's heart. I felt sorry for him, after awhile."

"You make it sound so simple."

"No. Never simple." Her father smiled briefly, tiredly. "It was hard, and painful, agonising at times. But I loved your mother and I looked at the alternative... life without her. I wasn't ready to face that."

"Weren't you scared?" Molly whispered. "That it wouldn't work out?"

"For awhile, every day. But you know what? We were both committed to it working. And that made all the difference."

Molly rubbed her hands over her face. She was relieved that the stranger was not her father, and yet he had a relation to her, a tie to her mother. She felt mixed up inside, as if someone had taken all her certainties and scattered them like chess pieces across a nameless board. "I don't know anything anymore," she said after a moment, her expression rueful.

Her father smiled. "That's a start," he said. "That's a start."

Later, as Molly drove home, her father's words echoed relentlessly in her mind. We were both committed to it working.

She was just about to turn onto her street, to the house she and Dan bought together, their heads stuffed with silly dreams, when she braked suddenly and then kept going, all the way across town--and seemingly into a new country--where she knew Dan's bedsit was.

Rubbish blew against her boots as she navigated the sidewalk and slush to his door. She rang the bell, heard his voice, tinny and strange on the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Dan, it's me." Her voice came out shaky, and she forced it to sound stronger. "It's Molly. I want... I want to talk." She let out a breath, touched the intercom as if Dan could see her, as if she were touching his face. "Please. I want us to talk."

There was a moment of silence, and Molly could hear her heart thudding against her ribcage. Rain slashed across her face and wet her hair.

Then the door signalled its unlocking with a harsh buzzing, and feeling hopeful for the first time in months, Molly pushed it open and walked inside.

She saw Dan at the top of the stairs, smiling uncertainly, and she knew then that her father was right.

It could take two to make a marriage fall apart. It would take the two of them to put it back together.

A tremulous smile on her lips, she started up the stairs. "Hi, Dan," she began, and he held open his arms.

...END

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Copyright © 2008 by Katharine Swartz