Chapter 3
Jack
Six Weeks Later
Just walk up to the door and knock. You’ve done this a thousand times.
It took me a good, long while to convince myself to get in my beat-up old Jeep. Took even longer to start the car and put it in drive.
I’ve been parked in front of Aaron and Abby’s house nearly twice as long as that.
Losing Aaron has been a waking nightmare. And a sleeping one. A 24/7 terror that has me in its clutches, one that doesn’t seem like it’s going to loosen its grip anytime soon. I haven’t slept through the night since it happened. It’s not just about him being gone, but about the way he left.
A frantic call. Panic. Blue and red lights. Shattered glass. A car on its side.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, willing the images to go away, until a sharp rap on my window makes me jump about a foot out of my seat.
Rubbing my head where it hit the roof of the car, I turn to look out my window and find a very irritated redhead with her arms folded, looking distinctly like Granny does when she’s cross with me.
I swing the door open, finally exiting the two-ton hunk of metal I’ve been using as a shield from reality.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I mumble, head still throbbing.
“Well, you annoyed the shit out of me,” she mumbles back. “I’ve been looking out the window for twenty minutes waiting for you to get out of the damn car. Are you going to come inside or not?”
I look at the house and feel something akin to a boulder dropping in my stomach. I stare at it for a few moments, swallowing hard before turning back to Abby, whose expression has softened.
“The first time is the worst,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it gets easier every time. And you have something I didn’t.”
“What’s that?” I say, voice thick with emotion.
“Someone to do it with.”
Without another word, she slips her arm through mine and leads me up to the front door. Stepping through the doorway for the first time feels like passing through a portal to another world, one that shouldn’t exist–and one I definitely shouldn’t be in.
There’s no jazz album loaded in the record player, no miscellaneous kitchen gadgets whirring in the background. No booming voice welcoming me with a clap on the back, a drink already poured for me. It’s quiet. Empty.
It’s not supposed to be this way.
“Come on, Jacky boy,” Abby coaxes me further into the house, not letting go of my arm until we’re both seated on the couch.
“This is weird,” I muse, mostly to myself.
“It’s like losing a limb,” she says. “You know it’s not going to grow back. You know nothing will ever be the same again. And as much as you try, you can’t ignore it.”
I nod silently.
“But,” she continues, “Slowly but surely, you learn to live with it.”
I swallow painfully, fighting the emotion crawling up my throat.
“Jesus, Abs, I should be the one comforting you,” I say hoarsely. “You lost your husband.”
“You lost your best friend. One loss isn’t worse than the other, they’re just…different.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see the tears threatening to spill over.
“I miss you,” she says, voice wavering. “And I don’t want to lose you, too.”
“Why on earth would you lose me?” I ask, bewildered.
“I don’t know,” she says. “It almost feels like I already have. Aaron’s not here, and you’re not here, and I’m alone in this house, and–”
I cut her off, pulling her in for a hug. The second her head hits my chest, she lets out a sob, her shoulders shaking.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against her hair. “I’m sorry I haven’t come around.”
“I’m not mad,” she says, leaning back and wiping the tears from her eyes. “I get, I really do. But can you maybe start doing that? Coming around?”
“Of course I can,” I say, swiping at the stray tear still on her cheek. “As often as you want, for as long as you want.”
“Good,” she says with a small smile. “Because I’m going to need you. I’m going to need everyone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she starts, biting her lower lip and hesitating. “I kind of need to tell you something.”
“And what’s that?”
She gets off the couch and disappears down the hallway, her footsteps fading as she walks toward the bedroom. When she reenters the room, her hands are behind her back.
“Close your eyes,” she says. “And put out your hands.”
I do as I’m told without question, and patiently wait for whatever it is she’s about to put in my hands. She sets something long, thin (and maybe plastic?) in my palms.
“Okay,” she says nervously. “Open them.”
When I look down, I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking at. Then I see the bold [Pregnant] on the screen, and my jaw drops.
“Is this yours?” I gasp.
“No, it’s David’s,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Of course it’s mine.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Yeah, that’s what the ‘Pregnant’ on the screen typically means.”
I look back down at the test, lost for words.
“When did you find out?”
“A few days ago. I haven’t told anyone else yet.”
I look back up to see her nervously chewing her lip again.
“A few days? You sat on this for a few days?”
“Well, I’m not exactly in a rush to share that I’m with child with the only baby I’ll ever have with my husband.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I say hastily, rising to my feet. “I mean, you’ve been dealing with this alone? Why haven’t you told Ellie or your dad?”
“Because then it’s real,” she whispers, eyes welling with tears again. “It’s really real, and I’m really pregnant, and I really have to do this by myself.”
I pull her in for another hug and say fiercely, “You are absolutely not doing this by yourself, Abigail Thompson. Not for one second.”
“You promise?” Her voice is muffled from where her head is buried in my shirt.
“I promise.”
I let her go, and we sit back down, both heaving heavy sighs.
“Now for the more pressing question,” I say, fixing her with a stern look. “And no bullshit.”
“How have you possibly found a way to be annoyed with me right now?”
“Did you really put something you peed on directly in my hands?”