Forever Friends by Lynne Hinton Read Free Book Online Page B

married to a man who has this”—she searched for the right description—“this terrible burden of a secret that he won’t tell me.” She looked at Louise. “Me, his own wife.” She slid her hands down the front of her skirt. “What kind of marriage is it that you can’t trust your spouse to tell them this thing that makes you so unhappy, so bothered?” Her voice was stretched, yearning. “Or is it me?” She dropped her face in her hands. “Is it that I’m such a terrible person that nobody trusts me enough to tell me anything?”
    And with that it was as if her heart burst, as if years, decades, of sorrow poured across the dam, breaking through every confidence, every assurance, every defense she had ever used to make herself believe it hadn’t mattered. “Am I really that bad of a person?”
    Louise sat still as her friend fell into the pit of her own dirty little secret, her own cave of vulnerability that she had hidden so well and so long that no one could have guessed it lay buried beneath the veil of ease. Beatrice had never appeared to be upset by what she hadn’t known. She had only displayed concern when she couldn’t fix what she knew. Louise watched in astonishment as her friend emptied out her sorrow. She’d had no idea that this woman, this bothersome, socializing, busybody woman, could be so completely and terribly alone.
    Louise did not get up from her seat. She measured every word she wanted to say from this marked distance between them. She waited and then began.
    â€œBeatrice Newgarden Witherspoon, you are one of the finest women I know. You are kind and well intentioned. You are brave and caring and loyal.” She stopped.
    Beatrice kept her face in her hands, but she was no longer sobbing.
    â€œI don’t know why other people haven’t told you their secrets. I could not begin to explain the actions of somebody else. I can hardly explain my own actions.” She shrugged her shoulders and sighed, but Beatrice was not watching. “Older sisters and daughters I can sort of understand. You were the enemy to your children and a pest to your siblings.” She rocked back in her chair without losing the intensity of her concentration on her friend’s great concern. “And sometimes when girls are young, they just tell their secrets to whoever happens to be there at the right time. It isn’t a matter of trust or who you like more; it’s just about convenience, who was there when it happened. Who was at home when you thought to call and tell somebody.”
    Beatrice lifted her head. Her eyes were red and puffy.
    â€œAnd I don’t know what to say about Dick. Maybe he’s worried that this secret will change how you think about him.”
    Beatrice shook her head, but Louise resumed talking before she could say anything in response.
    â€œOr maybe it’s not his secret to tell. Maybe his brother or his sister-in-law begged for his confidence, demanded he not tell anybody. And even though that might feel awful to you, even like betrayal, it isn’t. This secret and not telling it isn’t about you or your marriage. It’s about them.” She stopped and then continued. “And you’ve got to let it be. You’ve got to be the one who trusts him. He’ll tell you when it’s the right time for him to tell you.”
    Beatrice turned away.
    â€œAnd sometimes, Bea, people don’t tell their secrets not because they don’t trust somebody or love somebody enough. Sometimes we don’t tell our secrets because we’re trying to forget them. It’s easier just not to say.”
    Louise finished her speech and watched as Beatrice sat quietly. She was motionless, calm, displaying not even the slightest physical reaction to what her friend had said. She just stayed lowered in her chair, dissolved in her seat like a child in the principal’s