Maggy walked slowly up to her front door, keys in one hand, attention-hijacking phone in her other hand blaring out a podcast.

Podcaster: “I can’t believe he just did that! What a stunt! World Trends CEO, Burt Landow, just made history with his announcement of seeding life on another planet. Incred–“

Maggie’s foot collided with a heavy object as she stepped up onto her front porch. She fumbled to catch her phone as it almost flew out of her hand. Stopping the video, she glared around for the offending object. A stack of three, plain cardboard boxes stood neatly on the stoop.

“I don’t remember ordering anything. Oh, well. Maybe it was Harold. He’s been working on cars again, so maybe it’s parts or something.”

Maggie let herself into the house. “Honey, I’m home.”

No answer except her own echo running faintly through the three-story house.

Then she spied a note on the kitchen table.

“In the garage, sweet pea.”

Maggie left the note on the table. Setting her purse on a chair, she smiled as she made her way through the house to the garage on the far side. She loved it when Harold called her “sweet pea”. Usually, it rumbled out of his mouth with a deep southern drawl whenever he was in a good mood—like, for example, when everything was going well with a car repair. And she loved to watch him work on those cars, even though she didn’t have a clue what all those bits and pieces and parts were for or how anything worked.

Their marriage worked that way.

Maggie knew plenty of people in her life who would kill for a marriage like hers. A loving husband who never judged her for not understanding his work, never made her feel inadequate for it, but never judged her success or felt inferior because he didn’t understand her work, either. She felt the same way about him. Things just worked, like puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. They loved each other unconditionally, uncompromisingly. She’d give up everything she had accomplished in a flash for him—she’d almost had to make that choice once before. But she hadn’t budged against the opposition to her marriage, and the people in her field had backed down, not wanting to lose her unique skills.

Finally, she pushed open the side door to the garage. There was her Harold, with his whole head and upper body submerged in the engine compartment of a snazzy-looking hot rod. She wasn’t sure what kind of car it was, but it looked like it could whip any starliner in a race.

“Hey, babe. I’m back.” Maggie walked over as Harold stood up, brushing his grimy hands on his denim coveralls.

Maggie reached out to hug him, but he held up his hands, palms out, black goo and grit clinging to every crack in his skin. “Don’t wanna git ya all nasty when you’re all dressed up for work, sweet pea.” He smiled.

Maggie chuckled. “The suit coat’s black. No one will notice a little matching grease.”

Harold wrapped his brawny arms around Maggie. She closed her eyes and pressed her head to his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

“So, how was work?” Harold asked.

Maggie didn’t move as she answered his question. “Good. Well, except Jenna Hill from accounting called and said she found some weird numbers in my department’s fiscal records for this quarter. Looks like someone is going to get fired—or go to prison. People just take things that aren’t theirs way too much. But hopefully I’ll be able to get to the bottom of it all before I have to make my quarterly report to the board. Oh, and my boss just started a kelp farm on Mars. Although, ‘seeded life’ sounds much more impressive. Depending on how that goes, the colonies on Mars, and many other planets, may be able to start growing their own food in their own soil soon, too. I guess we’ll see over time. How’s your car coming?”

“Alternator’s busted. Rod snapped and blew up a bunch of other pistons. Water pump’s fused. Cam system’s all out of time. Might be a couple of weeks on this one. So, all said, it’s comin’ fine.” Harold chuckled, squeezing Maggie a little tighter.

“I love it when you use big words.” She laughed, lifting her head to look at him. “Oh, I think your order came in. There’s some stuff out on the porch.”

“My order?”

“Yeah. I figured it was parts or something. Three boxes, real toe-stubbers.”

Harold’s brow wrinkled. “I didn’t order any parts yet. Is it for you?”

“I didn’t order anything that big. Could be a mistake delivery. Want to help me bring them inside, and we’ll find out?”

“Sure.” Harold pecked Maggie’s cheek. “Let me git cleaned up a little.”

Once Harold finished washing his hands and got out of his coveralls, Maggie led the way to the front door. The stack of boxes was right where she left it. Harold lifted all three together and carried them into the kitchen. He let the stack thump onto the table.

“Some delivery! Must weigh a hun’ard pounds. But this one’s addressed to you.” He ran a thick grey finger across the top box’s mailing label. “Dr. Marguriette Combe. Huh. No sender, though.”

Maggie looked askance at the boxes. “Weird. What do you think is inside?”

Harold lifted the top box and shook it from side to side.

“Careful!” Maggie held up a cautioning hand. “I just don’t want to find out the hard way if it’s like a bomb or anthrax or something.”

“Why would anybody send us that? You got no enemies.”

“No, but my company has plenty.”

“Point taken.” Harold set the box gently back on the stack. “So, wanna open one an’ find out the not-suh-hard way?”

Putting on a pair of heavy-duty mechanic’s gloves, Harold got out his hunting knife and carefully slit open the packing tape that held the top of the top box shut. Maggie stood behind him, peering around his elbow. Harold used the tip of the knife blade to push open the cardboard flaps. The box was full to the brim with paper. The first sheet read, “CONFIDENTIAL: PROPERTY OF WT INDUSTRIES”, in large red letters.

A single sticky note had been placed on the page under the words.

“He sent them to plant kelp, but that’s not all he sent up with them.

Enjoy the read.”

–X

Maggie suddenly realized she’d stopped breathing and sucked in a gasp. “Harold!”

“M-hm.” His placid southern accent had a strained undertone, like he was expecting something terrible to happen any second. Pulling off his gloves slowly, he used his knife to flip the box flaps closed.

They both stood staring at the boxes. Maggie felt like the whole world had frozen solid around them. She couldn’t quite process what had just entered their house.

“I have a mind to think this is somethin’ we ain’t supposed to see.” Harold picked at gunk under one of his fingernails with the point of his blade. “But I also think it might be just that thet means we outta. I’ll leave that up to you, since it was made out to you personal.” He turned to look his wife in the eyes.

“But we might put ourselves in a lot of danger if we read this,” Maggie whispered.

“Just the fact we got this atall might put us in a fair amount already. So all’s you have to decide is if ya wanna know why.”

Maggie looked at the boxes again. She swallowed hard. Then she gingerly picked up her purse and pulled out her reading glasses.

Maggie had been asked by plenty of people—at plenty of different decibels—how she could have married a Tennessee garage mechanic after earning herself a PhD in bio-chemical engineering, and landing the most lucrative job in her profession heading up the BCE department of World Trends Industries. But she never had to ask herself that question. She had always known the answer. No one around her treated her like a normal human being—only like she was a giant brain with money and breasts. No one but Harold. He was the only one she had ever known who looked past her success, and her failure, and saw the real Maggie. Loved the real Maggie. And he let her see the real him, too. She loved that about him more than anything else.

Tonight, he again proved all the ridiculous scoffers at her job dead wrong. Maggie usually made the evening meals. But Harold knew she needed to read and think. He silently bustled around the house, making ‘dinner-to-go’ as she called it when she had to work while she ate. He brought her dinner and ate quietly in the living room. Then he did the dishes.

All the while, Maggie poured over the reams of paper in the first box. By midnight, she’d gone through half the box. She took off her glasses, rubbing the bridge of her nose with a thumb and forefinger. “Nothing very valuable yet.”

She got up, stretching the cramps in her calves. Then she meandered over to the couch where Harold lay, with a throw blanket draped over him. His feet stuck off the end of the arm rest, even though he had curled himself up. But there was just enough room at the front of the cushions for her to slide in beside him. She snuggled her head and shoulders up against his warm barrel chest and tucked her legs up in front of his knees.

Harold stirred, wrapping his arm around Maggie. “Anythin’ intrestin’ yet?” he mumbled.

“Not really. Just a lot of big names and a lot of big money. But nothing that really explains the note. So, I’m taking a little break.”

“A’right. Let me know if ya need anythin’, sweet pea.” And he was asleep again.

Maggie patted Harold’s hand gently. Her eyelids fluttered as country night sounds shimmered and chirped outside the house. Then she drifted to sleep, thinking about what that mysterious note might mean.