Chapter 1
Abby
The Funeral
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“It was a beautiful service.”
“We’re all going to miss him so much.”
“Please let us know if there is anything we can do for you.”
Every platitude, every somber expression, every hug–they all feel empty. And useless. They’re for the people giving them, they aren’t for me. They don’t help me.
Nothing can help me.
Everything about today is wrong. It’s an absolutely beautiful day–no clouds in the sky, birds chirping happily as the last vestiges of the oppressive Texas summer heat are being ushered out by a cool autumn breeze.
But here I am, laying a single white rose, pressing a soft kiss to my fingers and grazing them over the polished wood before resuming my place between my dad and Aaron’s parents.
There’s nothing beautiful about this. Anger flares in my chest–this is all so fucked up. Shouldn’t the entire world be dark and falling apart the way I am?
As the last few mourners lay their roses, my eyes drift around the gravesite. Directly across from me, Jack stands alone, hands stuffed into the pockets of his suit pants, jaw clenched. His dark gray irises look distinctly like storm clouds, even in the bright afternoon sun.
I should go and say something.
I want to go and say something.
Before I can take my first step, the preacher gives a closing remark, and the cherry wood tomb that holds Aaron slowly lowers into the earth.
When you say “‘til death do us part,” you picture gray hair, rocking chairs, and a million happy memories.
You don’t picture standing at your husband’s graveside at thirty years old.
But here I am, staring into the abyss the casket will soon call home, and trying to comprehend that the love of my life will be buried there instead of singing loudly in our kitchen while he experiments with a new recipe.
I’ll never hear that singing again.
The thought is so ludicrous that I giggle. Then laugh. Then laugh harder, and louder, until all the remaining mourners are staring, jaws dropped in shock. I can almost hear the old bitties clutching their pearls and crying, “Oh my stars, how unbecoming of a widow.”
The mental picture makes me laugh even harder, to the point that I can’t tell if I’m crying tears for my dead husband or crying from laughter. Probably both.
“Come on, my sweet ginger angel. Let’s get you home.”
My laughter slowly fades into hiccups which fade into sobs as a kindhearted blonde, my best friend Ellie, loops her arm through the crook of my elbow and leads me to the car. From the corner of my eye, I spot Jack again, hand half raised like he thought about stopping me but decided against it.
I want to look at him. I want to call him over, to loop my free arm through his, to bring him with us. I don’t want him to be alone.
But I don’t do any of those things. I just walk in silence, feeling horribly like I’ve lost more than just my husband.
“What home?” I whisper as we slide into the backseat of the black SUV provided by the funeral home. “That house isn’t a home anymore. Not without Aaron.”
“Then we’ll go to my home,” she says, swiftly removing bobby pins to free my auburn curls from the tight knot I’d wound them in this morning, and planting a kiss on the top of my head. “And it can be your home too. And Griffin and I will be your family. For as long as you need.”
With a nod, I take one last look out of the back windshield at the grave as I’m driven away from the love of my life.
A much shorter life than I imagined.