1. Ivy #2
“I’m…” I squeeze my eyes closed, drawing in a ragged breath. “Not great.”
Whatever Marlo was doing in the background stops, the other end of the line now dead silent. “What happened since the last time we talked?”
It’s incredible how much can change in only a few hours.
One minute, I was in bed under Drew. Lost in his touch. His kiss. His absolute devotion. Blissfully happy. Falling into that ethereal haze that always surrounded me when we were together.
And three hours later, he was gone.
“I just signed for?—”
A sob slips from my throat instead of the words I’m trying to find.
The box?
The ashes?
Drew?
What do I even call that thing on my mantle?
I slap my hand over my mouth, trying to contain the all-out breakdown threatening to come that I’m not sure I would be able to find a way out of. “Shit, I’m sorry?—”
“Oh, God. No, Ivy. Do not apologize. I can be there in forty minutes if I stop to pick up wine and sushi. Thirty minutes if it’s only the wine. Twenty if you don’t need the alcohol.”
Despite the anguish attempting to consume me, her offer brings a laugh bubbling up.
“I already ate.” Lie. “And I have a bottle in the fridge.” Though I’ve barely touched that, either.
“But I’m okay.” I take a deep breath, willing it to be true even though I haven’t been okay in a very long time.
“I’m going to head to bed soon anyway. You don’t need to come over. ”
“Are you sure?”
Am I?
Curling up on the couch to eat sushi and watch something funny and mindless with Marlo does have its appeal, but I just want to be alone tonight.
Well, not alone.
My eyes move to the mantle again, and I swallow through the emotion clogging my throat again. “I’m positive. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Marlo releases a little sigh. “You don’t need to come in. You can take more time off. I promise, we can hold down the fort.”
If anyone else were trying to keep me away from Buds I just need to be alone with him.
I’ve spent the four weeks since Andrew’s death trying to hold myself together.
Attempting to be strong. Moving through each day and night with this emptiness threatening to consume me—a black hole that devours all light, all happiness, everything good and pure I once had.
Tonight, now that he’s home, I’m going to let it.
I need to allow myself to mourn what I was supposed to have. What today was supposed to be. Who I was supposed to be when I came back to this house—Mrs. Doctor Andrew Usher. Instead of what I am. Not even a widow, just… alone.
Thunder rumbles the house, close enough that the metal frame holding the photo of Drew and me that sits on the end table beside me actually vibrates against the wood slightly.
I reach out and take it with a trembling hand, brushing my fingers across my favorite picture of us—on the shore, with the sun shining down on us, the waves crashing in the background, and Drew lifting me and spinning me around.
The joy of that moment when I said, “yes,” radiates from the snapshot.
His dark hair disheveled in the wind. Bright-blue eyes filled with so much warmth and affection as he looks at me. A smile so wide the photo can barely capture all of it.
“Fuck…” I battle another sob. “Why the hell did you leave me?”
I’m never going to see his face again.
I’ll never experience the same happiness I had in his arms.
“Shit. Shit. Shit! ”
I slide the picture face down onto the end table, then drop my head into my hands, rubbing the heels of my palms into my wet, swollen, painful eyes.
Thunder rolls again, and a shiver slides down my spine.
The storm hanging over the city doesn’t want to seem to let up, almost as if God Himself is mourning with me.
Maybe that should be a comfort, but I can’t find comfort in anything right now.
Still, I push to my bare feet and pad across the hardwood floors to the front door. Going outside to stand in the warm summer rain might help wash away some of this despair—even if only for a few moments.
And I need it.
Something.
Anything that might help.
My body vibrates as I unlock the deadbolt and turn the handle, like it can feel the energy of what’s waiting outside. For the briefest split second, I hesitate before tugging the door open.
Storms like this can be dangerous. But the potential threat waiting for me doesn’t stop me from pulling the door toward me. It can’t overpower the need to seek any way to temper the agony.
I stare out at the unlit porch, under the burned-out bulb Drew never got around to replacing.
Someone stands at the edge of the poured concrete slab in the rain.
Back to me.
About to step off and onto the path that leads down to the sidewalk.
Leaving without ever knocking or ringing the bell.
A tall man.
All I can make out is broad shoulders covered with a black leather jacket.
Thick, dark hair, soaked from the rain that still pours down.
The sound of the door opening makes him freeze.
Slowly, the man turns toward me.
Lightning flashes, illuminating his face, and my breath catches.
Goosebumps break out across my skin, and my body trembles as inky darkness encroaches around the edges of my vision, blurring out the face I never thought I’d see again. “Drew?”