She leaned across the desk and closed the window down to within an inch of the bottom, and then she stretched up and opened it an inch down from the top. Even Minnie could never squeeze herself through such narrow spaces. As she stepped back from the desk she looked at the flowers, and she had a moment of despair for herself because she had gone to the trouble to cut them and arrange them and put them there. But they were beautiful, and they improved the room. She would leave them. She put out her hand to touch the biggest marigold, and she imagined she saw her wedding ring reflected in the sharp edges of the cut glass. It was a plain gold ring, the only one she wore. Today was her wedding anniversary, the twelfth. She had been waiting for this day for weeks.

She had not known until this morning how much she had been counting on this day to somehow break the stillness between herself and Martin, but to break it in a natural way as any anniversary, Christmas or Easter or any feast day, will break into life and bring everything to a stop for the time of its celebration. She had been sure in the morning when she took in the breakfast tray that Martin would say something, but he was sitting on the straight chair beside his desk, reading the paper with such concentration that for a minute she thought he hadn’t heard her come into the room. When she put the tray on the desk, he said, “Thanks, honey,” and she hesitated, still thinking he would surely say something to her, but he said nothing. He had forgotten. And she walked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her, not knowing if she was angry with him or with herself. She was shaking with anger. She was so upset that she had to hold onto the banister, going down the stairs.

As she looked at the flowers, she thought, I should have spoken up. It’s too late now, but I should have spoken up.

There was nothing more for her to do in the room, but still she lingered, and when she finally went out she went very quickly, and closed the door behind her with relief, not realizing that once again she had substituted a prayer for a decision, and that the prayer was not even for certainty but only for an extension of hope.