Chapter 7 #2
I tap lightly on the window, so I won’t scare him.
He looks over at me.
I hold up the football and raise a brow. Tipping my head, I ask if he wants to come out and throw the ball.
For a long moment, he has no reaction.
As I wait for him to decide, I toss the ball from one hand to the other. When I miss and have to bend to retrieve it, I stand up to find him smiling. I unlock the car and pull the handle to open the sliding door. “Clearly, I could use some practice. What do you say?”
“Did my mom send you over?”
“Actually, I asked if I could come. Drake still can’t throw a decent spiral. I bet you can, though, right?”
“Uh, yeah. I could do that when I was four.”
“I don’t believe it. Come show me.”
His deep sigh breaks my heart. He doesn’t want to throw the football with me. He wants his dad, and I’d do anything to be able to give him that. But since I’m all there is right now, I’m elated when he releases his seat belt and climbs across to get out of the other side of the car.
I toss him the football. “Show me what you’ve got, hot stuff.”
“Go long.”
As I jog across the open expanse of grass, I glance over to see Angela watching, hand on her heart, when Jack throws a perfect spiral my way.
Taylor
The day is an endless parade of people, food, sympathy and tears.
My older sister, Laura, has driven up from North Carolina and takes command of grief central, recording each delivery and who brought it for the eventual thank-you notes we’ll send.
We’ve done this before. We know the drill all too well.
Maybe I should start a business called Widows ’R’ Us or something like that to help people through these first horrendous days after loss since I’m so good at it.
Flowers arrive along with fruit platters and more food than we can eat in a month. Thankfully, we’re also overrun with friends and family, so I ask Laura and Amanda to put out the food for the visitors.
I’m on the sofa in the family room with my feet up, hoping to alleviate the swelling in my ankles.
After hearing about Will’s death on the news, my midwife made a house call to check on me.
She expressed concern about my swollen ankles and plans to return tomorrow to see if it’s gotten any better.
If not, we may be looking at an earlier-than-planned delivery for the baby.
I really hope that doesn’t happen. I’m not sure I can deal with a new baby right now on top of everything else, but of course, I want to keep myself and the baby healthy, so I’ll do what I have to.
My kids slept on either side of me last night, their little bodies trembling with sobs long after they were asleep.
I was awake most of the night, my brain racing with a million thoughts and my heart aching with intense sadness for my sweet Will.
I miss him so much. I want to turn to him and ask him what I should do, but he’s not there, and he never will be again.
I simply can’t believe he’s gone. He was just here the other day, kissing me—and then my baby bump—goodbye before he left for a double shift. He’s been working a lot lately, as they tried to make up time lost during an unusually rainy autumn that put them behind schedule.
It’s impossible to believe I’ll never again see his handsome, smiling face.
I’ve grown accustomed to living without Greg, as hard as that’s been, but this time…
Will was supposed to be my happily ever after, my reward for surviving the loss of my first love and the father of my children. We were supposed to last forever.
Now what am I supposed to do?
First chance I get, I want to move out of this house where I’ve lived with two husbands who died.
This place is cursed, and you’ll never convince me otherwise.
I want to get myself and my kids out of here, but of course that won’t be simple with a new baby due imminently, not to mention it’s the only home Eliza and Miles have ever known.
Leaving here will be another loss on top of the others.
But I can’t stay here. It was hard enough to stay after Greg died in this house.
It’ll be even harder this time around, as the kids are old enough to have loved Will with their full hearts.
Losing him is devastating for them. They’ve been very quiet today, accepting the outpouring of love from the people in our lives while coming to check on me every few minutes, as if they need to see with their own eyes that I’m still here.
My poor, poor babies.
Iris comes into the room, carrying a steaming mug of the decaf tea I drink while pregnant. It’s no substitute for coffee, but it’s better than nothing.
She sits on the coffee table and hands the mug to me. “I put some honey in it to sweeten it up.”
“Bless you.”
She glances toward my feet. “How are the cankles?”
“Still cankling, but maybe a little less than they were.”
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“I don’t think I could.”
“I hate to say that you have to, but…”
“Maybe some soup or something like that. There’s this lump in my throat…” I stroke the spot. “I can’t get anything past it.”
“I remember that lump and how hard it was to eat.”
“I didn’t have it when Greg died. I had it when he was first diagnosed, and it showed up often throughout his illness, but it wasn’t there when he died.” I glance at her. “As awful as it sounds, I was relieved after because he was free—and so was I. It sounds terrible to say that out loud…”
“I get it. I’ve heard other widows say the same thing after nursing a spouse through a terrible illness. Lexi talks a lot about the relief—and the associated guilt—after Jim died from ALS.”
“That’s another thing I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”
“For sure.” She reaches for my free hand. “I wouldn’t wish any of this on you. None of us would.”
“Thank you for being here. What’d you do with your kids?”
“Roni and Derek have them for a sleepover.”
“That’s good of them.”
“They send their love and said to tell you they’re here for you and the kids. Whatever you need. All the Wild Widows I’ve spoken to have said the same thing.”
“That’s nice of them. Most of them barely know me. I went running off into my happily ever after without so much as a glance back at the group.”
“No one blames you for that, Taylor. We’re all about doing whatever it takes to survive.”
“Still… I could’ve continued to give back a little here and there like you have.”
“There was no need. We’re good—or I should say as good as a merry band of widows can be.”
I give her a small smile. “I’m a widow again. I have to keep saying it out loud because it’s unbelievable that this can happen to the same person twice.”
“It’s incredibly unfair.”
“What am I going to do, Iris? All I can think about is how I want to move out of here as soon as possible. This place is cursed or something. But that’ll just upset the kids even more than they already are.”
“Remember what we always preach… No big decisions the first year.”
“How do I stay here after losing two husbands who lived here with me?”
“Why don’t we cross that bridge in a week or two?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
When Will’s younger brother, Matt, comes into the room, Iris stands. “I’ll see about that soup.”
“Thanks.”