Chapter 14 #2
“I just thought after that rough night of feeling shook up by your anger . . . well, it might be helpful. I heard there’s a special guest speaker today. I’m not sure what the topic is, but it might be good.”
“Are you going?”
Windy stretched, reaching her hands upward. “I think gardening is more therapeutic for me at this stage of the game, but if you want someone to go with you, I could—”
“No, no, that’s okay.” Riva shook her head. She didn’t need handholding. “I’m not sure it’ll do me any good, but it probably won’t hurt. Besides, I don’t have anything else planned.”
“I think my car has you blocked in, but I can move it.”
“Don’t bother. It’s such a gorgeous day. I’ll walk.” Riva figured she could walk down the hill extra slow, be late to the meeting, “not want to interrupt,” and then continue into town for a cup of coffee.
When Riva got to the library, the doors to the meeting room were closed and, for a moment, she just stood there, trying to decide whether to wimp out or go in.
“Let me get that.” A hand reached past her, opening the door. She turned to see Marcus, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. “After you,” he said quietly.
Feeling trapped, she went in ahead of him. Today the chairs were arranged in rows, which felt a bit less intimidating. She took a seat in the back and Marcus sat next to her. As she settled in, she caught random phrases from the middle-aged woman in a business suit at the front.
“. . . compassionate comfort . . . the right to a peaceful end-of-life experience . . . educate loved ones . . .” The woman continued talking, but Riva’s mind was on alert.
She glanced at Marcus. His jawline looked stiff, and his brow furrowed.
Was he as confused as she was? Wasn’t this supposed to be a grief group?
It felt like a class on assisted suicide.
She fidgeted with her purse, removing her phone, and wondering if she could feign an urgent message that forced her to leave early.
Or did she need an excuse? Why not just walk out?
After all, she was a free agent. She glanced toward the closed door.
As a man up front asked the speaker a complicated question, she stood and made a beeline for the door.
Feeling breathless and somewhat claustrophobic, she exited the meeting room and practically sprinted from the library.
Outside, in the clean fresh air, she walked quickly, or maybe she ran, about a block before she stopped by a concrete bench and sat down, inhaling a steadying breath.
What was wrong with her? She was well-aware that assisted suicide was perfectly legal in Oregon, but it had never been a topic she’d felt the need to delve into.
And, really, she didn’t see how being educated on it could possibly help her move past her own grief.
If anything, it just made her feel worse.
“There you are.” Marcus stood over her. “Are you okay?”
She forced a wimpy smile. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I just decided I didn’t want to be there.”
“Was it the topic?” He sat down next to her.
“Probably . . . I don’t know. I don’t think I wanted to be there in the first place.
Honestly, I don’t see what today’s topic has to do with me.
I thought this was supposed to be a grief group.
I didn’t expect for some expert to stand up there and tell me how to die or how to let someone else die.
” She felt tears stinging. “Been there, done that.”
“Uh-huh.” He rubbed his chin. “And yet it must’ve pushed an emotional button with you.”
She looked at him with blurry eyes. “Well, maybe it did. I don’t know. I guess I’m not as far along in my grief as I think I should be. It’s been eighteen months, and I feel like I should be almost done by now.”
“I’m not sure we ever get done.” He sighed. “It’s been six years for me, and I’m still dealing with it.”
“You are?”
“Sure.”
“You really loved Anne, didn’t you?”
He hesitated. “I did . . .”
She was confused. “What happened?”
“It all just sort of changed.”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, I don’t mind. I thought I was going to grief therapy today too. Windy had encouraged me to go. I’m not even sure why.”
“She encouraged me too . . . told me there was a speaker . . .”
“To be honest, it kind of pushed my emotional buttons too.” He pursed his lips and looked toward the sky. “Anne actually mentioned something like this once. She knew it was legal in Oregon, and she confessed to wanting to exit her life.”
“Oh?” Riva studied him, trying to determine how much she should react.
“I know she was trying to come to grips with her illness and wanted to escape it. I didn’t agree though. I’ve always believed that God gives us our earthly lives and that we should wait for him to take us home in his timing, not ours.”
“That’s what I believe too.”
He nodded. “I suspected as much. But Anne always lived life on her own terms.” He let out a troubled sigh. “Sorry, that’s another story.”
“Were you with her when she passed?”
He shook his head grimly.
“Did that make it harder for you?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure. It’s . . . complicated. And like I said, it’s kind of a long story.” He looked directly at her with sad eyes. “One I’ve never fully told. Not even to Windy.”
“If you need to talk”—she placed a hand on his forearm—“I’m listening.
” For a long time, they both just sat there.
Riva was worried that her offer had been intrusive.
She knew stories about losing a spouse were personal and intimate, and she barely knew Marcus.
What right did she have to his story? She was about to backpedal and apologize for being nosy when he began to speak.