Bad Behavior Met with Sweet Forgiveness

Sometimes, not often, bad behavior is rewarded with sweetness. This is my story of a lost ring, a lie, and one such sweet reward.

The story begins with a thoughtful gift. After his mother died, Handsome Hubby gave me her beautiful engagement ring.

I already had a stunner of an engagement ring. In fact, I was blessed with two: one from my father and one from my mother.

The First Ring

My first “engagement” ring, from my father, was a gambler’s bounty. Big Julie, as he was  known, had hit it big one night at the craps table. And when gamblers win (which happens on rare occasions), they rush to buy jewelry at conveniently located casino jewelry shops, to shed their cash winnings before they’re tempted to run back and continue their “lucky streak.”

Flush with his gambler’s glory, my father returned to our Las Vegas home and presented a shiny engagement ring to my mother, who was staring at a stack of unpaid bills.

“Why an engagement ring?” she queried. “I’ve already got a wonderful ring. Please take this one to a pawnbroker. We need the money.”

“I’m not selling it,” declared my father,” Wear it on your other hand. Give it to Karen. She doesn’t have a diamond ring.”

“Give it to our 12-year-old daughter?” she asked incredulously. “I don’t think so.”

Back and forth the debate went with much pointing to the bills on the kitchen table.

Finally, my mother agreed to put the ring in a safe deposit box, with the promise to give it to my future fiancé. And that is what she did 20 years later when she handed it to my spouse-to-be to hand to me.

My Second Ring

Years later, when my mother died, I, as the only daughter, received her beautiful engagement ring. Handsome Hubby joked that our kids were set. With two diamond rings in the family, no engagement — or inheritance — battles loomed.

My Third Ring

My husband’s mother’s ring comes with a sad history. It was found in a Reno hotel trashcan by a friend who worked as a janitor. Short on cash, he asked Jon’s parents if they wanted to buy it. It was a stunning piece. What anger or heartbreak led someone to throw it away?

When HH gave me the ring, I —  like my mother —  pointed out that I already had an engagement ring (well, the two, actually).

He — like my father — declared I could wear them on alternate hands, on multiple fingers, on alternate days!

Ironically, I’m not a big fan of diamonds. They’re cold-looking, like ice. They’re expensive. Wear them and you worry someone will bop you on the head and grab them. Plus, there’s the worry somebody will break in and steal them.

Bad Behavior Begins

It’s that last fear that gets to my lie.

Fear of break-ins prompted me to get a safe deposit box and take out one ring at a time for special occasions.

If the occasion fell on a Saturday night, I would hide the ring “somewhere” in the house, until I could get to the bank on Monday or Tuesday or …

One time, I hid Jon’s mother’s ring and couldn’t remember where. I searched all my usual hiding places — and all my un-usual hiding places. I tore my closet and cabinets apart. And I tore my hair apart. I searched for five years, but I still haven’t found that ring. Clearly, diamonds, unlike in Marilyn Monroe’s case, are not this girl’s best friend!

But that’s not the worst of it.

I lied — for the first and only time — to my husband of 33 plus years. He specifically asked me to wear his mother’s ring to a special family party. The night of the big event, when I wasn’t wearing it, I told him I hadn’t had time to go to the bank to get it.

True Confession

For five years, this ring drama has been ringing in my head. Finally, I couldn’t stand it. I confessed.

I told Jon as he was heading out the door to a meeting. He listened, nodded, and left.

The hours passed. He was gone longer than anticipated. I called. No answer. I left a message. I texted. No reply. I waited a while. Then called again. He answered.

“Are you mad at me?”

“I’ll be home in 20 minutes. Let’s talk when I get in.”

I was nervous.

I met him at the door. He smiled. Put his briefcase down and put his arms around me.

“You worried five years about a lost piece of carbon? We have weathered much bigger storms, suffered much bigger losses. I’m sorry you were so worried. You should have just told me.”

And then he kissed me.

🎂 🎂 🎂

Happy birthday, sweet HH. I love you.