“You’ve got a helluva nerve, almost hitting me!” I screamed at her car as it was rounding the corner and then out of sight.

I hauled the groceries inside, finding Owen in the kitchen. After grabbing bags out of my arms, he began putting things away while I stood with my hand propped on my outthrust hip, the don’t-bullshit-me stance I always used to demand his attention.

“Who was that?”

“Who was who?” He continued casually opening and closing cupboards and refrigerator drawers as the bags of food disappeared into their usual organized compartments.

Oh, he wanted to play games, did he?

“The woman I just spotted running from our house. She seemed awfully scared to meet me. You better damn well have an explanation, Owen.”

It didn’t escape me, the accusatory tone with which I reprimanded him, when what I was doing in secret was so much worse.

“Wrong house. She was looking for someone else. Sorry to disappoint you that it’s not something more scandalous.” He said it so matter-of-factly I almost believed him.

“Who was she looking for?”

“I don’t remember. I just know it wasn’t a name I recog-nized. Might have been the previous homeowners. Oh, wait. I almost forgot.” He reached behind the drying rack and pulled out a shiny metallic cone of wrapped flowers. “Got you these.”

His eyes sparkled as he waited for my reaction. When his smile faded, I realized I hadn’t reacted at all.

“Oh, honey, thank you. What are these for?” I sniffed the flowers as any grateful wife would do, then began unwrapping them from the crinkly paper.

“Just because I love you. Do you like them?” Did he even care if I liked them? Or did he care more that he liked feeling like a doting husband? I guess control freaks needed affirmation too.

“I love them. You’re so thoughtful. Thank you.” I tenderly placed them in a vase, admiring the bright splash of color they gave the room. I always was a sucker for flowers. The vibrancy, the sweet scent, the warmth they promised. Even weeds, with their twisted, choking nature, could be beautiful. You just had to look for their beauty. I knew the feeling.

“Anyway, babe, I’m going to watch some TV until dinner. I’m beat.” His kiss stung my forehead as he passed me on his way to the living room.

Flowers could make up for a squabble. Their bright heads peeking out from the edge of a vase could even hide the darkness that lived in our home. But they couldn’t make up for the emotional sinkhole that grew bigger every day and would eventually swallow us whole. If I let it.