She died before we met, so I never questioned it much.
Until last Thursday.
Claire was working late.
Our two kids were at school.
And I was making a sandwich when I realized we had no pickles.
Surely one wouldn’t hurt.
I went downstairs.
The jars were arranged in neat rows, but 13 stood together in a separate section of the back shelf.
I chose a small one.
Twisted the lid.
Reached inside.
And froze.
Something silver glinted under the cucumbers.
I pulled it free.
A tiny transparent capsule.
Inside was a wedding ring.
I unscrewed the capsule and examined the engraving.
Two initials.
A date.
Neither meant anything to me.
Then I noticed something similar in the neighboring jar.
And the next.
Thirteen jars.
Each with something silver hidden inside.
And at least two of those objects were wedding rings.
I was examining the second ring when I heard footsteps.
