Amber & Taylor

Amber Marks hesitates on the doorstep, weighing her options.

Tell the truth—that she had unknowingly slept with a married man who now lay dead in the county hospital morgue from a suspected brain aneurysm. Or lie and betray every moral code she'd worked to uphold. Either way, there would be talk. Judgement. Scandal. Outrage. 

No... No. 

It had to be done. And it had to be her who told the truth. Taylor Hawkins shouldn't hear this from someone else.

With her mind made up, Amber raps on the door.

No answer. Relief floods through her. No answer means no one is home—a delay in the inevitable. Time to build courage, maybe bring a friend for support next time.

She turns to leave.

"Yes?" 

Taylor Hawkins is tall, wearing a black floral summer dress and white sun hat, a bag slung over her shoulder. She looks ready for a trip to the shops.

"Oh... er, hello. Mrs Hawkins? Taylor Hawkins?" 

"Yes."

"My name is Amber Marks and ..."

"Let me save us both some time. I'm voting Green in the general election. I'm a practising Bacchante, so I'm not looking to join any other religious sects, and our TV license is up to date. So unless this is about the bins still being out—which I was just about to handle—I hope you have a wonderful day and..." 

"Mrs. Hawkins. It's about your husband."

She stops and rolls her eyes. 

"Let me guess. You and he have been involved in a romantic relationship. He ended things, and now you're trying to hurt him to get back at me? I've heard it all before."

"You ... You have?"

"Countless times, Miss... Marks, was it? Would you like to take this inside? You don't seem comfortable discussing such matters on the doorstep."

"Yes. Perhaps inside is better."

"Be my guest. Oh, don't worry about removing your shoes." 

Amber follows Taylor inside.

The Hawkins house feels lived-in—family photos line the walls, a wedding portrait hangs over the fireplace, and fine china sits on a display shelf. An Xbox hums quietly beneath the large television, paused mid-game on Call of Duty zombies.   

"Don't mind the mess. The girls are just out at a fencing class. Can I get you a drink?" 

"Not for me, thank you." 

"Well, I will just grab myself some water and be right with you. Make yourself comfortable."

Amber sits awkwardly on the sofa, looking guiltily up at the beaming Rupert Hawkins in a nearby photo. He stands next to a small boy, both carrying fishing rods.

"So, how long have you been with Rupert?" 

Taylor sits beside her. 

"A month. And I want to say upfront—I didn't know he was married. If I had, I wouldn't have accepted his dinner invitation or anything that followed. I believe in the sanctity of marriage and—" 

"Miss. Marks... Amber. You don't have to explain or feel guilty or remorseful for my husband's actions. I'm not upset. We're a very open household. We always joked that our marriage was like the temple we were married in—open to everybody day and night." 

"But..."

"You see that picture beside you? That's Tim—Rupert's son from a relationship with a lovely flight attendant from Queens, whom he met on our honeymoon. Very well-travelled. In fact, she's getting married in June and has invited us to the wedding. He has several more children from various relationships. The girls are mine, from a previous marriage. My point is that he's my husband, and I love him. And I trust him to come home to me." 

"T...that's the thing, Mrs. Hawkins. Rupert won't be coming home. He... He's dead."

"What?" 

"He's dead." 

The glass falls from her hand. Water spills everywhere, soaking into the rug, her tights, and the sofa cushions.

"No. No. That... that can't be. He is in good shape. He goes to the gym. He gets his ten thousand steps in. He ran a marathon last year."

"Mrs. Hawkins..."

"... You know what I am doing, don't you? You know that if I keep talking long enough, I won't have to come to terms with... come to terms with... Oh... my Rupert is gone."

"I'm so so sorry."

"How?" 

"We don't know. They think maybe an aneurysm. Or else a heart attack. I ... found him this morning... In my bed."  

"I don't know what to say." 

"I'm sorry."

Taylor's hands are trembling.

"No... no... no. You have no reason to be sorry. An aneurysm, a heart attack—those are natural. Horrible. Cruel. Sudden. Devastating. But natural. They can happen at any moment. How are you holding up?" 

"Me?" 

"It was your bed." 

"Oh... Still very shaken, to be honest with you. This... this doesn't happen to me often." 

"I don't doubt that for a minute."

"He... He was good to me. Last night. Kind, generous, loving."

"He always was. Everyone said so. Even those who came to gloat about our "failing" marriage." 

"Failing?" 

"No. Not in my eyes. Not in his. We are so very happy together. And he loves... Loved... his children with all his heart. They wanted for nothing. He always made sure to get them presents. Pay their child support. See them, if they wanted that. Of course, there were going to be others. For him. And for me. I have had my nights of a lover or five. And whether he came home with a receptionist, a nurse, a dentist or a professional male rugby player, he knew that I would always love him. Just as he always loved me..."

She begins to sob. 

"I miss him... I already miss him so much."

"There, there. Mrs Hawkins. It will be all right. Let me get you a tissue." 

"... Thank ... thank you. Sorry. Look at me, crying my heart out. This is probably the last thing you want to hear." 

"... No. I ... I always wanted to know more about Rupert. I thought him to be the most wonderful man. When I discovered he had a wife, I was so angry. So hurt. So confused... And I feel guilty... Harbouring those feelings.  I didn't even want to come here to tell you. As selfish as that sounds."

"I understand that. I really do. And for what it is worth, I am sorry. I don't condone Rupert's dishonesty with you. That was bad. Dubious. Selfish. And unlike him. And that makes me sad. And angry. But I hold no ill will towards you. In fact... I am so very grateful. Not only do you seem like a kind, courteous, honest, selfless young woman... You were there with him at the end. He... He wasn't alone. And that brings me so much relief."

Amber begins to cry, too.

Taylor pulls her into a firm, reassuring embrace. There they remain.