Chapter 7
7
HOPE
I slowly wake, then fold into a tight ball beneath my covers as awareness rolls through me—it’s the anniversary of the worst day of my life. Anxiousness has been my constant companion leading up to today. I’ve barely eaten, and it’s been a struggle to function.
I was determined to face this day differently than I have before.
I wanted to be stronger this time. I want to be over it, for fuck’s sake.
My stomach twists, and my heart stutters.
I’m so fucking weak.
I wrap myself tighter in the sheets and curl inward as if I can somehow protect myself from this pain. But how do I protect myself when the pain is inside me? It’s relentless. The devastation of my loss— our loss—steals my breath and breaks my heart daily. It twists my mind into dark and treacherous places, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to move forward and break out of the clutches of this tragedy.
Dragging Wyatt’s pillow into me, I trap it against my body, burying my face in the softness. Wyatt’s scent is long gone, but I feel closer to him, knowing he rested his head here. I ache for one more of his hugs, one more kiss, one more touch. To see his smile and share a laugh one more time. I would give up everything to have one more single moment. To make one more memory.
Maybe not everything . I’d never give up Evan. Not for all the new memories in the world.
I don’t want to face today.
It’s supposed to get easier.
Scrunching my eyes closed, I let my tears fall freely as the ache in my chest expands; my body’s weighed down like an anchor is holding me out at sea in rough waters, and I’m too exhausted to fight against it. I’m battered—body and soul.
I’m so tired.
Exhausted to the very center of every cell in my body. I can’t remember the last time I felt anything but this soul-crushing pain.
I desperately need it to stop.
The bed dips behind me, and an arm slides around my waist. The corners of my mouth press upward, and I snuggle back. “Mmm, Wyatt,” I murmur.
I grip his hand and tangle our fingers which feel all wrong, then my eyes snap open, and my reality slaps me in the face.
“Sorry, babe. It’s just me,” Clara whispers, then kisses the back of my head.
I close my eyes, and a sob explodes past my lips. My body shudders, and my sorrow comes out in full force. Tears that should have dried up long ago stream down my face and my nose runs like a damn faucet. I release my grip on my best friend’s hand and wipe away the snot. Her hold tightens, providing me sanctuary as I fall apart. Her mouth presses against my hair, and her fingers gently slide over my tangled curls. Just when my cheeks become dry, a fresh wave of tears fall.
Peeling my gritty eyes open, I notice the brightness filtering around the edge of my curtains, stretch out my aching body, then flop to my back. Staring up at the ceiling, I try to pull my thoughts together. I can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to Evan to see me like this all the time. For the past six years, he’s never seen me truly happy.
What does that do to a kid? It can’t be good. Just look at what happened yesterday.
Disappointment washes through me like a tsunami; I’ve let our son down in the worst possible way and now he’s acting out. He lost his father, and I’ve been emotionally broken for so many of his formative years. I can’t even say I’ve done my best to get us through the loss of Wyatt, because I haven’t. Far from it. I’ve been so selfish in my grief.
I throw back the covers and climb out of bed with renewed determination to do better, then head straight to the shower. The warm water runs over me, and I dip my head back to wet my face and hair, letting it wash away my dried tears and pain. Taking my time, I wash my hair and body. I shave and scrub. I methodically cleanse myself from head to toe, like I can somehow wash away my mistakes and start fresh.
Today’s a new day. Why can’t I— we —start fresh?
I flip my hair over and condition it, working through my hair routine. When I step out of the shower, I feel better, and my determination to face the day is at the forefront of my mind. Laying one of Wyatt’s T-shirts on my bed, I plop my curly hair into it and wrap it, then get dressed and head out of my bedroom.
Low voices drift upstairs, so I follow them to the kitchen. As I get closer, I recognize Wyatt’s parents’ voices and Clara’s chuckle. I didn’t imagine her earlier .
Clara and I met in middle school and became inseparable. Then, I met her older brother and fell in love. She was over the moon when we got married; everything was perfect … until it wasn’t .
Stopping just out of sight, I watch Wyatt’s dad talk and laugh with Evan while my mother-in-law stirs something on the stove. Guilt wraps itself around me. Evan can laugh with him, but not with me, and I’m ashamed we never laugh like that.
I’m not surprised they’re here today. They probably knew I’d be a mess. I know they mean well, and they find comfort in spending time with their grandson—their last link to their son—but I think I would have preferred to be alone with Evan today.
My boy notices me first, and his posture stiffens as the smile drops from his face. He lowers his eyes to the counter as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and my heart stops beating. We’re in worse shape than I thought. I paste on a smile and step into the kitchen, heading straight for Evan. “Morning, everyone.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders and kiss the top of his head. “Morning, big guy.” I squeeze him extra tight and drop my mouth next to his ear. “I’m sorry.”
He turns his head and forces a smile my way. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not, but things are going to get better for us,” I whisper, then muss his hair and greet Wyatt’s parents with a hug and kiss. “Thanks for coming over. I’m sorry I slept in, but I’m sorta glad I did because this smells delicious.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” Wyatt’s mom says as she mixes the scrambled eggs in the pan.
I kiss her cheek. “Not at all, Mom.”
Walking over to Clara, I wrap my arms around her, and we sway from side to side as I kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Clara.”
She winks at me. “You’re welcome. Come and sit while I make us all coffee.”
“Breakfast is almost ready. Evan, can you set the table, please?” Mom asks.
I jump in. “I can do that. You and Grandad looked like you were having a great time.” I wink at my boy and grab the silverware. Once everything’s on the table, I collect enough plates and place them on the counter.
Tracey dishes everyone’s breakfast—no, brunch, since it’s almost eleven—and we carry our plates to the table. Everyone is quiet for a few minutes as we eat, and I feel I should break the silence, but I’m embarrassed. After six years, I should be coping better. Doing better. Being a better mom. I wonder what they really think of me. Do they worry if I’m taking proper care of their grandson? They’ve never come out and said anything directly to me, but I see their side glances, I hear their sighs, and I watch relief slide over their faces once a month when I drop Evan at their house for the weekend.
“Thanks again for coming over today.” I swallow roughly, fighting the tingle in my nose and sting behind my eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve let you down.” I look around the table at Wyatt’s family. “I realize I need to do better from now on. I promise …” I drop my eyes to my half-eaten food as my heart hammers. “I promise this is the last time you’ll have to step in to pick up the pieces.” I blow out a long breath and smile shakily at the people who were so very important to Wyatt. The people who still are very important to Evan and me.
Mom slips her hand over mine and squeezes. “You haven’t let us down, honey. Far from it. We know how much you loved Wyatt, and none of us can imagine how heartbroken you are. Yes, we lost our son and Clara lost her brother, and by god, we’re devastated. But Wyatt was your future … Evan’s too, and that future was stolen from both of you in the most violent way. None of us begrudge you your tears and sadness, Hope.” When I look up at her face, all I see is empathy and love. “But we truly hope you can somehow find happiness again for your own sake.” Clara and Wyatt’s father, Graeme, nod in agreement.
“We love you so much, and we need you to come out the other side of this. Wyatt wouldn’t want you to still be so sad,” Graeme says gently.
I know losing their son has taken a toll on them—they aged almost overnight—so for them to say this to me must mean they’re desperate for me to climb out of my grief. I shrug. “I’m doing my best, but I’m going to try harder.”
Clara smiles softly. “You’ll get there, and we’ll be here for you every step of the way.”