Chapter 8
DELPHINE
Icould have been to the church in five minutes.
Instead I drove the long way, past the harbor, then looped back through the residential streets, then pulled into the church lot and sat there with the engine running.
It was a beautiful warm evening, the sky still bright at six, gulls wheeling overhead.
“Okay, just do it,” I whispered to myself.
I turned off the engine, but didn’t move.
What was I so afraid of? That someone would see me? That I’d have to say his name out loud in a room full of strangers? That I’d cry? That the pain would be too much and I wouldn’t be able to handle it? The unknown? That was the scariest part.
But Annie had done it. So could I.
I shoved the door open with my shoulder a little too hard. Wincing, I locked the car with a click of a button. If only everything were that easy.
Scents of almost burned coffee and floor polish hit me the moment I arrived in the church basement.
Folding chairs were arranged in a loose circle, maybe a dozen of them, and several were already filled.
A woman with graying hair, wearing a dress that looked hand woven, rose to meet me.
She introduced herself as Ellen but didn’t make a fuss.
Just said welcome and to sit wherever I liked, then pointed me toward a card table with a coffee urn and a plate of store-bought cookies.
The thought of either made my stomach churn, so I sat in the chair closest to the door. Just in case.
In case of what? Fire? Flood? My chest actually splitting open in front of everyone?
Dorian came in, glancing at me before taking a chair closest to the cookies. He gave me a small nod. That was it. No wave, no smile, no attempt to come over. Thank God. If he’d taken the chair next to me and said something kind and encouraging, I might have bolted.
A few more people drifted in and took seats.
There was a man about my age in a pressed suit, wedding ring catching the light, who sat with his spine very straight, like posture was the last thing holding him together.
A woman in her thirties with short dark hair and tired eyes sat next to him.
A younger man in a ball cap pulled low chose a chair near the door, same as me.
An older woman sat next to Dorian, pulling out a wad of yarn and knitting needles.
Ellen started a few minutes past six. She explained the agreements. “What’s said here stays here. You’re welcome to share, you’re welcome to pass. We don’t compare losses. We don’t try to fix one another. We listen. We make room.”
Easy enough. Right?
“We have someone new tonight,” Ellen said, her eyes settling gently on me, “so let’s go around with names. If you’d like, you can say who you lost and how long it’s been. If that’s too much, just your name is plenty.”
The knitting woman went first. Lorrie. Her son, Daniel, had died eight years ago, when he was thirty. The man in the suit was Everett. He’d lost his wife.
The dark-haired woman spoke next. “I’m June. My husband, Scott, died three years ago. I’ve got two girls who are my whole world.” Her smile wobbled.
The man in the cap was Mateo. His sister, Elena, had died two years ago at age twenty while he was overseas at school.
Dorian went next. “I’m Dorian. My best friend, Nate, died after a long career in the Navy.”
Ellen turned to me. “How about you?”
My mouth went dry. I clasped my hands together, wishing I could run.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Ellen said.
“No, it’s okay. I’m Delphine.” Okay, name was out. That was good. “My husband. Six years ago.” I left it at that.
“Thank you, Delphine,” Ellen said. “Does anyone have anything they’d like to share?”
June raised her hand. “I have something. I made a dating profile. Kept it up for twenty-four hours and then took it down.”
“Do you want to talk about why?” Ellen asked.
“Why I put it up?” June asked.
“That and why you took it down,” Ellen said.
“I put it up there because I’m lonely and I’d really like to meet someone. I took it down because … I don’t feel like I deserve to find someone new.”
“I get that,” Everett said. “The last night … before the end, I made a romantic overture. Like an idiot.” He folded his hands, shaking his head.
“The last thing I did was to try and get her into bed because that’s what I wanted.
When she said no, I actually pouted about it.
Slept in the guest room. Way to be supportive, right?
Who would want a man who would do that to his sick wife? ”
I closed my eyes as waves of grief and guilt washed over me, trying to pull me out with the riptide, as a memory surfaced.
I’d insisted Jon go to Seraphina’s book launch party with me.
I’d said to him, Take a shower, for heaven’s sake.
Put on real clothes. And don’t embarrass me by sitting at Seraphina’s table without saying a word.
No one wants a sad sack at a celebration.
Even if you have to fake it. Now, I cringed, thinking about how cruel I’d been.
To my surprise, I felt an urge to share.
“Right before the end, I bullied my husband into going to a friend’s party with me.
I shamed him instead of offering compassion.
That’s something I can’t forgive myself for.
” I’d been carrying that around for six years like it was a necklace from a bag of stones.
Saying it out loud made me feel remarkably lighter.
Maybe there was something to this support meeting thing after all.
“But you were tired of it,” Everett said. “Tired of doing everything alone. Resentful that the marriage wasn’t what you’d imagined it to be.”
“I was, yeah.” I looked directly at Everett. “For one night, I just wanted him to be … okay. Just okay enough to go to the stupid party with me.”
“That’s it exactly,” Everett said. “You can hate yourself for it, but, the truth is, you were doing your best in an impossible situation.”
“Thank you for saying that,” I said.
Everyone was quiet for a moment, until Dorian spoke up.
“Nate and I had been in the Navy together, and, when we came home, he wasn’t right.
I didn’t know how to reach him. It was like the real Nate had disappeared into this seething angry man I didn’t recognize.
We saw some stuff, you know. Stuff you can’t forget.
When we were deployed, his wife and little girls had been all he talked about.
How he couldn’t wait to get home and spend time with them before it was too late.
But when he finally got there, he was distant even with them.
Becca would call crying—asking me what to do—how to get him to talk to her.
Of course I had no idea what she should do.
He wouldn’t talk to me either. And now he’s gone.
” He paused for a moment, but no one spoke, perhaps sensing he wasn’t done.
“I make it a priority to make sure Becca and the girls are okay. Taking them out for meals. Buying groceries before I come over. Showing up for school functions. But I’m not who they want.
And I can’t get my head around why the story had to end this way. ”
“It’s cool you look after them,” Mateo said.
Dorian shrugged. “I wish I could do more. Then yesterday Becca called to tell me she’s met someone, and it’s getting serious.
She wondered if I would like to meet him.
Give my stamp of approval.” He pressed the palms of his hands against his knees, leaning forward slightly.
“And I don’t know, it just opened the wound like it was fresh.
I couldn’t get past it yesterday. Grief overwhelmed me.
I had to leave work because I couldn’t hold it together.
Not that I blame Becca or anything, but it never occurred to me she’d ever love anyone but Nate. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“Not ridiculous,” Ellen said. “In fact, I would say it’s a common reaction when your best friend’s wife moves on.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Dorian said.
“How are you feeling today?” Ellen asked.
“Better,” Dorian said. “This morning I got up and went to the beach for a run. This is going to sound weird but there was this bird—not a seabird—but a sparrow, I think. It followed me halfway down the beach, then circled around my head a few times like it was trying to tell me something. I felt like it was Nate, telling me it was okay for all of us to move on. That maybe he was at peace finally. I know, it was probably just a bird wondering if I had seeds in my pockets. Somehow, though, I felt better.”
Everett nodded, leaning over his knees. “That’s all that matters.
Even if it wasn’t him, you felt a connection to something deep.
That’s a gift.” He hesitated for a moment.
“What you said about this angry, seething man—that’s what I’m afraid I’ve turned into.
I’m still so angry at her. I hate myself for thinking that way. It wasn’t weakness.”
“It was the disease,” I blurted out.
“Right. I wouldn’t be mad at someone who’d died of cancer,” Dorian said.
“You might be,” I said. “I pretty much run on rage and coffee. I bet I could find a way to be angry they let those cancer cells in there.”
That caused everyone to chuckle, which hadn’t been my aim, but it made me feel like part of the gang. Like I belonged here.
The conversation went on. Some people talked, some passed. I listened to every word, and every one felt like a life ring in that strong riptide I’d felt earlier.
When our hour was nearly up, Ellen turned to me. “Delphine, we sometimes close the meeting by sharing one ordinary thing we’re going to do when we get home.”
“Heat up my leftover Chinese takeout,” Mateo said right away. “And yes, chefs do order bad takeout. On occasion.”
“I love bad Chinese food,” Dorian said. “The greasier the better.”
“Totally,” Mateo said.
“I’m going to watch a movie with my girls,” June said.
“I plan on pouring a fat glass of wine and watching a Murder She Wrote rerun,” Lorrie said.
“I actually have a date,” Everett said. “With a woman I met on the dating app. It’ll probably be a disaster, but I have to do it. The first one’s the hardest, right?”
“I can’t wait to hear how it goes,” June said. “Maybe I’ll put my profile back up.”
“I’ll give you a full report,” Everett said.
They shared a smile.
“I’m meeting some friends at The Pelican,” Dorian said. “Which feels nice. To have somewhere to go. People to see.”
Ellen turned to me. “Delphine?”
“I’m going to read the next chapter in a book someone recommended to me,” I said, without looking at Dorian.
That ended our meeting. Everyone stood, gathering bags.
“Delphine,” Ellen said. “I’m glad you came. You’re welcome here any time. No pressure, no timeline.”
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it. “And thank you for sending Annie to the teen group.”
“Oh, Annie’s your daughter?”
“That’s right.”
“She’s a remarkable young lady. You must be proud.”
“I am. Very proud. And she’s the reason I finally had the courage to walk in here.”
“I hope to see you next week,” Ellen said.
I thanked her again and then hurried up the stairs and out into the parking lot. I’d just gotten to my car when I heard my name being called. I turned to see Dorian approaching.
“Hey,” Dorian said. “Just wanted to see how you are. Did it feel all right?”
“It did, actually. I can’t believe I actually talked.”
“I remember thinking that the first time too,” Dorian said.
“How’s Poe? Did he survive his big escape from the other night?”
Dorian laughed. It was a nice laugh. Kind of hushed but real. “That cat’s going to give me an ulcer.”
“I’ll let you know if he shows up at the gallery again.”
“He better not escape again or I’ll send him to live with you full time.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “The bookstore’s his home.”
“He misses my mother, I think.”
“Maybe that’s why he wanted to see me. He needs a feminine presence.”
Dorian rolled his eyes. “Or he just loves to mess with me.”
“I should get home. Annie’s waiting.”
“Yes, I should get going too.”
“Good to see you,” I said.
“Same.”
I unlocked my car and he sort of held the door for me as I slid inside. It was nice. No big deal, though.
He stepped back but stayed where he was, watching as I drove out of the parking lot and giving me a quick wave as I pulled out to the street.
I made it home before the tears came. And boy did they come, in violent waves that pulled me under like a strong riptide.
I put my forehead against the steering wheel and sobbed, without telling myself it was all fine and to suck it up like I usually did.
Instead, I just let myself wallow in grief and regret until the coating of the steering wheel was as wet as my eyes.
When there were no more tears left to cry, I wiped my face and went inside to my daughter.
Even in my grief, I knew one thing. Annie was my heart. I had to remain standing for her.