Chapter 12
As Riva and Laurel helped Windy clear the table and clean up, Fiona brought out musical instruments for some after-dinner entertainment. Marcus was strumming on guitar, trying to keep up with Fiona on the violin, and Kitty was using some kind of flat drum to accompany them.
“If discussing book group reminds Kitty of high school, then the musical trio out there reminds me of kindergarten marching band.” Laurel’s tone was cynical as she rinsed a serving platter.
“What do you two think of Kitty?” Windy asked quietly.
“She’s different and lively.” Riva tried to sound nonchalant.
“She seems like a free spirit. She could be fun,” Windy added.
“I think she’s opinionated and full of herself.” Laurel dried the platter. “I’m sorry I recommended her to live here, Riva. I obviously didn’t know her as well as I thought I did.”
Riva didn’t know how to respond. Instead, she pointed out the window where Kitty was dancing about and hitting the drum with her hand like an oversized tambourine.
“Well, she definitely dances to a different drummer.” Riva put the last of the leftover food in the fridge.
“And speaking of that, we should probably go back out to enjoy our entertainment.”
“You mean face the music?” Laurel threw down her dish towel.
Windy opened the window above the sink. “Hey, Fiona is really good. Listen to that, ladies. My feet are itching to do some dancing.”
As Windy headed outside, Riva lingered in the kitchen with Laurel. “Are you going to be okay with Kitty?” she asked her old friend.
“Oh, sure.” Laurel shrugged. “I’ve known women like her before. You just have to set boundaries and not let them push your buttons.”
Riva wasn’t really sure what that meant, but she nodded. “I just don’t want all of us to get off on the wrong foot. House-sharing might be trickier than I imagined.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be.” Laurel paused in front of a little mirror by the door, fluffing her hair and checking her teeth before going outside.
Riva considered doing the same but didn’t like seeing Laurel becoming slightly focused on her image.
She never used to be that way. But Riva knew it was for Marcus and in a way it was cute.
But it was also unnerving. Would her old buddy emerge unscathed from all the competition?
Leave it to a man to stir things up like this.
As Riva joined the musical throng on the patio, she suddenly imagined Marcus as some kind of swarthy, chauvinistic sheik with a harem of women catering to him and dancing about to seek his approval.
“Come dance with me, Riva.” Windy held out her hands with a wide smile.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” Riva admitted. But Windy had her by the hand now and was leading her about, telling her what to do and how.
“You’re doing great.” Windy swung her around, nearly making her tumble.
“Until I fall on my face.” Riva laughed. “But I’ll admit, it’s fun.”
“I can teach y’all how to line dance.” Kitty set down her drum. “But we need the right kind of music.” She told Fiona to play something more upbeat. “And, Marcus, you won’t be able to keep up on that guitar so put it down and join in the lesson.” She winked at Marcus. “There might be a test later.”
Before long, they were all attempting to line dance to Fiona’s fiddle music.
And although Riva was having fun, she felt a growing aggravation inside of her.
She couldn’t fully grasp what it was about.
Sure, Kitty was a bit irritating and Laurel wasn’t being herself.
But all in all, they were having fun, and Fiona’s music was delightful.
Finally, she couldn’t contain whatever was going on inside and had to excuse herself from the group.
As she went into the house, she hoped they’d assume she was off to powder her nose, but she had no intention of going back outside tonight.
Something inside of her felt seriously off, almost on the verge of anger.
But what did she have to be angry about?
Behind the closed door of her bedroom, she kicked off her sandals and listed all the good things that had come her way this past week.
She had enough money from her renters to pay both her taxes and insurance right now.
That alone should make her want to dance.
Plus, she had some very interesting housemates to liven up her otherwise drab world.
Her house had gotten fixed up a bit by her new tenants.
Thanks to them, her backyard was functional and getting better each day.
Even tonight, the space looked more festive since someone had strung paper lanterns through the trees.
She stuck another finger up when she remembered that Windy had fixed a delicious dinner for them.
Despite their differences, they’d even managed to organize her book group.
And right now, everyone was out there having a very good time. What was wrong with her?
She sat down in the chair by her bed, picking up a wedding photo she kept on her bedside table.
She just stared at it. They’d been so young and innocent back then, vowing their love to last until death parted them, figuring they’d be about a hundred by then.
But they vowed again, after Paul got sick, that their love would last throughout eternity.
She remembered the times he’d say those words.
Weakened by the brutal illness and useless treatments, numbed by pain pills, walking the fine line between living and dying, he would hold her hand and say, “I’ll love you forever. ”
She would always echo those words back to him.
How could she not? She would absolutely love him forever!
But she suspected that loving someone was easier from up there than from this side of eternity.
Not that she fully knew what up there really meant.
But she did believe in an afterlife. She believed in a God who loved them so much that he’d prepared a beyond-imagination beautiful place for them.
But sometimes, down here in dirty earth shoes, she felt disillusioned and not very loving toward herself or anyone.
At the moment, she felt left out and left behind and sad.
Similar to when she’d had measles in second grade and missed out on her class field trip to the zoo—times about a thousand!
And she couldn’t imagine that Paul could feel like that up in heaven.
He was probably having a fabulous time. She should be happy for him instead of having a pity party for one down here.
She’d experienced something of a vision not long after Paul’s death.
It had come in a flash one night. It was this amazing image of him all healed and whole.
He seemed better than he’d ever been on earth, even in youth.
He appeared strong and wonderful, actually glowing.
And with wide open arms, she knew he’d be there to welcome her home .
. . when her time came. It had been heartwarming and unspeakably sweet.
But tonight Paul felt so far away, and she just flat-out missed him. And it all felt so unfair.
Perhaps that’s what had made her angry. Her husband was missing . . . meanwhile everyone was having such fun in his backyard. She wanted to have Paul right there with her and felt unable to enjoy herself without him.
But he was gone.
She remembered the stages of grief that they’d talked about at the grief group and the way she couldn’t relate to ever feeling angry.
Well, that’s exactly how she felt now. Not a raging fury but a slow burn that stole any happiness she might’ve experienced tonight.
To enjoy an evening of food and music and dancing in Paul’s favorite place—without him there—had just felt wrong.
And she supposed she’d even felt guilty.
And that had made her mad . . . angry even.
Even so, it didn’t really make sense. After all, Paul was up there dancing in heaven.
Isn’t that what everyone told her after he passed?
So why shouldn’t she be dancing down here?
Except that she just did not feel like it.
Not anymore. Perhaps she never would. And she doubted that anyone or anything could change that in her.
She laid the wedding photo face down on the bed and clenched her fists.
“Oh, Paul!” She felt hot tears pour down as she stood.
“Why did you have to go so soon? Why aren’t you here with me?
Why am I left alone and broken?” Pacing back and forth in her bedroom, she felt guilty to think of the party going on out there.
She was being a neglectful hostess. But it wasn’t her party.
Not really. Windy was the cook. And the other housemates could play host. Riva locked her bedroom door, silenced her phone, and flopped onto her bed with a choked sob.
Why was this still so hard? It had been almost eighteen months, and she felt just as miserable as she had that cold December day when Paul had slipped away.
Lying on her back, tears still streaming down the sides of her cheeks, she stared up at the slowly turning ceiling fan overhead, watching it go round and round with blurry eyes.
“I still love you, darling,” she finally whispered. “I will love you forever . . . but right now I feel like I’ll miss you forever too.” Then, without getting back up to brush her teeth, wash her face, or even change into pajamas, she closed her eyes . . . and cried herself to sleep.