39
One month later.
WhenI reached for Amalia this morning, the bed was empty, and her phone was still docked on the nightstand. My first instinct was to panic because the sun was barely halfway into the sky, too early for her to be awake on a Sunday. But I talked myself off the ledge, thinking she might have gone to the bathroom or to get a snack. Anxiety hit me a second time when it was apparent she wasn’t home. I’d intended to look for her, but that’s when I realized my bike was gone. I didn’t know whether to be relieved that I was able to track her or scared shitless because she’d only practiced riding less than a handful of times.
I clocked my bike’s location and went after her.
The dewy smell of wet grass filled my senses while the chill of a light rain bit at my exposed skin. I was too desperate to see my wife and make sure she was all right to throw on more than a T-shirt.
Amalia’s shoulders stiffened as I approached, though quickly relaxing when I sat behind her and pulled her into my arms. We sat in silence for what seemed like hours, but I was willing to give her all the time she needed.
Nearly a month later, there were still days when she’d wake up screaming from a nightmare, or I’d find her crying in his room. She wasn’t just grieving; his death had changed her in subtle ways. Amalia was quieter these days. Life moved slower. There were times she lashed out, trying to drive me away, but she should have known that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“How’d you get here?” she asked, her eyes still focused on the endless horizon of headstones.
“Your car. I figure if we’re trading, I might as well.”
Her chest shook with a faint laugh. “Great. Now I’ll have to readjust my seat.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I nearly took out my knees, trying to climb inside in a hurry.”
She twisted in my arms. “And why were you in a hurry?”
I clasped my hands behind her, our faces inches apart. “I didn’t know where you were. I woke up, you were gone, and you left your phone—you can’t do that to me. Not after everything.”
Amalia averted her eyes. “I had a nightmare. I saw him, and he told me it was my fault…that he’d never forgive me.” Her voice broke, eyes flooding with tears.
I held her quivering face. “Maybe you’re the one who has to forgive herself. Gio loved you.” She shook her head and sobbed, gripping my shirt like a lifeline. “And he knew how much you loved him. None of it was your fault.”
“No!” she shouted. “I said awful things to him, Kai. Those were the last memories he had of me…and I don’t know how to live with that. It hurts too much.”
My heart sank, tears brimming in my eyes, distorting the face of the woman I loved more than anything.
“Amalia, let me help you. Please.”
“I went to our spot on the hill,” she whispered, lifting her broken gaze. “You know why? Because I wanted to be with him and Tony.”
The air was knocked from my lungs, and I gripped her as if she were still on that hilltop, ready to end her life, and with her, the brightest source of light in mine. “No, baby…no.”
She sobbed against me, her pain seeping through the walls of my chest. I would have given anything to switch places and take away her suffering.
“But I’ll never see him. Gio is somewhere good, somewhere I don’t deserve. And that kills me.”
“Amalia, look at me.”
“No, no…I want to be alone.”
“And I need you to listen.” I cupped her cheeks, the rain falling harder, slipping past my lips as I spoke. “Remember when I said that death takes a piece of us every time? What you’re feeling right now is a gaping hole, and I know it feels like you have nothing left.”
“I don’t,” she cried, squeezing her eyes closed.
“That’s where you’re wrong.” My voice broke as I lifted her chin. You have me. Let me fill all the hollow pieces of your soul, baby. I’d give you my very last breath if I could. But I need you to stay…or take me with you.” Amalia cried harder and buried her face into my chest. “I love you.”
As she shuddered in my arms, terror filled my heart at the thought that my love wouldn’t be enough. But like the vows I’d made the day she became my wife, I would remain by her side, even in death.