Two

A viper inches through the grass

While searchers at the scene,

Compelled to handle every bone,

Will pick the wreckage clean.

Andrea stamped her foot on the red rose, grinding it into the sparse grass on Jack's grave with a twist of her ankle. She had found a missing piece of the puzzle.

Her mood had lightened in the last week with the appearance of daffodils and the smell of spring on the breeze. Now everything was crashing down on her again.

Andrea had driven to the cemetery to see if the headstone had been set. She walked toward the sweet gum tree that had become her landmark, hoping that the sight of Jack's name etched in granite would help her accept his death. A few feet east of the noble tree, Andrea saw the gray stone marker that was his. She wasn't prepared for what else she found there.

Next to the stone, on the grave that had not yet settled, there lay a faded red rose with a handwritten note that read, I love you, Jack. The words hit hard. Andrea collapsed to her knees and read the note over and over. No signature, just, I love you, Jack. Andrea was furious; but more than anything, she was confused.

"Estelle?" Andrea wondered aloud. "Were they lovers?" The thought made her sick.

Andrea struggled to breathe, her mouth agape. There had never been a hint; but here it was in black and white, not something she had overheard and, perhaps, misunderstood. This was a love note to her husband. A million thoughts raced through Andrea's head as she leaned with both hands on the cold earth, then slowly rose to her feet and brushed at the dirt on her knees. She crumbled the soiled note and shoved it in her pocket.