Chapter 15
Fifteen
Taylor
After another fitful night, the morning arrives with the surreal reality that Will is dead.
Will is dead.
I glance at the wedding photo he kept on his bedside table, the two of us, smiling, each holding one of the kids in our arms. A brand-new family and a happily ever after that didn’t last anywhere near as long as it should have.
I stare at his handsome face. That face… My God, he had me at hello with that face, perfect cheekbones, lips to die for and shockingly blue eyes that never looked at me with anything other than pure affection and love.
I let my mind wander to that first day he came to look at my roof.
He’d been referred by a friend who’d filled him in on my widow status, which was actually a relief because he never asked to speak to my husband, like so many others did when they came to do work on the house while Greg was sick and after he died.
From the minute he arrived, he was nothing but helpful, sweet and genuine.
I was immediately impressed—and a bit dazzled, if I’m being honest. It’d been four long, lonely years since Greg died when Will strolled into my home and seemingly never left.
In all that time, I’d never had a single encounter with a man who made me think, hey, I’d like to get to know this one.
Until him.
It was immediate chemistry as we talked about the roof and other repairs I needed to have done to the house, things that’d been ignored as I dealt with more pressing issues, such as two young, grieving children.
Not to mention my own despair over losing my first love far too soon, and after so much suffering.
The suffering undid me. I’ll never forget the helplessness of realizing there was nothing I could do to ease Greg’s pain or his despair over knowing his precious babies would grow up without him.
That suffering is why I stepped away from the Wild Widows after Will and I were married.
I couldn’t bear to dwell in that space any longer than I already had.
I give Iris and Christy and the others so much credit for sticking with it, even after they’ve moved on to happy chapter twos. I couldn’t do it anymore.
And now here I am, right back in the place I started seven long years ago when Greg died, leaving me with two young kids to raise on my own. This time, I’ll have three kids to care for as a single mom.
I’m exhausted and hasn’t even been a full week since disaster struck once again.
I long for Will. He’d put his strong arms around me and tell me everything would be okay, that he’d make sure of it. Without him here to tell me that—and then make it so—it’s hard to believe that anything will ever be okay again.
Miles stirs next to me. As his eyes open to a new day, I can see the exact second when he remembers what’s happened.
Within seconds, his eyes are full of tears that spill down his cheeks.
I reach for him, and he burrows into my embrace, his little body racked with sobs that break my heart all over again.
How in the world do I encourage him and Eliza to have faith in the future when life has already been so incredibly cruel to them? How do I find that faith myself?
Oh, Will… We loved you so much. You were everything we wanted and needed, and you showed up right when we were ready for you. I’ve always believed Greg sent you to us. I hope the two of you have found each other in heaven and that you’ll keep an eye on things for us.
The baby chooses that moment to give a swift kick that makes Miles giggle. “That’s so weird,” he whispers since Eliza is still asleep.
“How do you think I feel?”
“It’s like having an alien inside you.”
“You were in there once upon a time. Were you an alien, too?”
“No,” he says, laughing. “I was just a boy.”
“He’s going to need you to show him the ropes.”
“I’ll be the best big brother. I promise.”
“I know you will.”
“Mommy?”
“What, honey?”
“I feel bad for laughing when Daddy is gone forever.”
“Oh, baby, he wouldn’t want you to feel bad about anything. He loved you so, so much. He’d want you to laugh and play and do all the things that bring you joy.”
“I’m so sad.”
“I know. I am, too. But we’re going to be okay.
I promise.” I have no idea if that’s true, but I know it’s what he needs to hear.
I suppose it’s probably true, since we’ve survived it once before, even though that seemed impossible at the time.
Somehow, we did it then, and we’ll do it again. What choice do we have?
The day has just begun, and I’m exhausted by the challenges that lie ahead. First and foremost, we have to get through the wake and funeral, which I’m dreading. People will say the dumbest things.
At least you’re young and you can fall in love again.
At least he didn’t suffer.
He’s in a better place.
Whatever. And fuck off. Can I say that out loud?
Last time, I held my tongue when people said things like, At least the children are too young to remember him, as if that was some sort of blessing.
This time, I might not be so polite. I might actually tell them to fuck off with platitudes that do more damage than they can ever imagine, having never been through what we have.
The thought of making a scene has me smiling. After what Will learned from me and my friends about the pitfalls of widowhood, he’d approve of a full-blown scene at his wake or funeral. I have no doubt about that.
Roni
On Wednesday morning, Derek and I ride to the White House together after getting the kids settled with the at-home daycare provider who watches them while we’re at work.
My entire being has been upset since we heard the news about Will’s death.
I feel like I’m standing on the side of a glacier without the right equipment to keep me from sliding into the dark ravine, or something equally dramatic.
Everything feels uncertain all of a sudden, when last week, I was confidently charging forward in my new life with Derek, his daughter, Maeve, and my son, Dylan.
Today, I’m a wreck again, back in the headspace of early grief when everything was raw, scary and devastating.
I hate it here. I hate how the sick feeling that lasted for months, starting the minute Sam Holland told me my husband had been killed, is back with a vengeance, even though I barely know Taylor and Will.
I know what she’s been through, and I’m trying to understand what it would be like to go through it a second time.
Derek is tapping along to the music as he drives. It’s hard to believe something that’s become part of my everyday routine—the ride to work and his drumming to the beat, along with all the other things he brings to my new life—could be snatched away from me as suddenly as Patrick was.
“Derek.”
“What’s up, hon?”
“Can you pull over for a second?”
He glances at me and then ducks into a spot that has a no-parking sign over it.
I open the door, lean out and throw up.
“Gross,” a guy walking by says.
“Roni, oh my God, are you all right?”
I’m dry heaving through sobs that make me feel ridiculous as well as grief-stricken for people I hardly know.
Derek puts a hand on my back. “What can I do, sweetheart?”
I shake my head. There’s nothing he or anyone can do to rid me of the trauma that resides within me, resurfacing at times like this to remind me that the horror of Patrick’s murder is hard-wired into my soul and always will be.
Derek tossed and turned all night, too, no doubt triggered by memories of Victoria’s murder and the grim days that followed.
“What do you say we take a day off?”
“Too much to do.” We both have a full day of meetings that would have to be rescheduled.
“It’ll keep until tomorrow, and we have people who can cover for us. Let’s take today and just be.”
“Okay.”
While Derek calls us out of work, I try to pull myself together, using a tissue to wipe my mouth, followed by a sip of cold water from the cup I bring to work every day.
Lilia calls that cup my assistant because it’s always with me.
I hate to feel like I’m letting her down, the best boss I’ve ever had and now my close friend, too.
Not to mention Sam, who gave me the ultimate dream job as communications director to the first lady.
Hopefully, they’ll understand, as it’s my first unscheduled day off since I started the job.
As Derek drives us home, I rest my head against the seat and focus on breathing.
One breath at a time. That’s how I got through Patrick’s sudden death, and it’s how I’ve gotten through everything since then.
One breath at a time. I remember that first day, wondering how I’d survive it and how I focused on taking the next breath and then the one after that.
At home, Derek pulls off his tie the second we walk in the door and tosses it onto the kitchen table.
His suit coat is slung over a chair as he takes my work bag, grabs the lunch I made for myself to put in the fridge and then puts the bag by the door for tomorrow when we’ll try again to go to work. Hopefully, it’ll go better then.
Taking me by the hand, Derek leads me straight upstairs, where he helps me change into my favorite at-home attire—track pants and one of Patrick’s long-sleeved T-shirts.
While I go into the bathroom to brush my teeth and rinse the foul taste out of my mouth, he goes into the closet to finish removing his work clothes and emerges in basketball shorts and a T-shirt from a 5K he did last year.
Derek sits next to me on the bed. “What can I do?”
“This is what I needed. Thank you for making it happen.”
He puts his arm around me, and I drop my head to his shoulder.
“I’m always thankful for you, but never more so than when widow shit arises.”
“I get it.”
“I know you do—and I’m sorry that you do.” We stay like that for a long while, absorbing the comfort we can get only from each other. “I thought this kind of setback was a thing of the past.”
“PTSD doesn’t work like that. It says when and what and how.”
“So I’m discovering. I’m not a fan.”
He grunts out a laugh. “Nor am I.”
“Will it always be this way? Ten years from now, will I hear about something happening to someone else, someone I don’t even know all that well, and it’ll cause a spiral for me?”
“I hate to tell you that it’s apt to be a thing for the rest of your life.”
“Great.”
“You know what the good news is?”
“There’s good news?”
“Always. It’s that you loved Patrick so deeply and so truly that you’ll suffer over losing him for the rest of your life. So many people never get to experience a love like that.”
I raise my head so I can see the face that’s become the center of my life in the after. “Or a love like this one.”
“We’re truly blessed to have found it twice.”
“The most blessed people have the most to lose.”
“That’s also true. Life is just a series of risks that hopefully add up to something beautiful.”
“I can’t take it sometimes. I really can’t.”
“And that’s totally fine. When you feel like that, take the time you need to feel stronger again. This widow thing isn’t just the first few months after a loss. It’s a life sentence, and there’ll be days when it’s too hard to carry and other days when it barely shows up.”
“I’d like a schedule so I can better prepare for the days when it rears its ugly head.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice? But think of it this way… If you had a schedule, dreading the upcoming bad days would take the joy out of the happy days.”
“You’ve gotten good at this.”
He laughs. “Gee, thanks. Just what I always wanted—to be a successful widower.”
“You’re a good man first and foremost.”
“I’m a better man now than I was when I was married to Vic. I have a lot of guilt about that, as you know. But all we can do is all we can do, you know? When we know better, we do better.”
“Hell of a way to know better.”
“Yeah, I’d take a hard pass on the murder shit if I had the choice.”
“Right there with you.”
He gives me a tight squeeze. “I’ll always be right here with you—and Dylan and Maeve and maybe another one someday. And whenever the PTSD shows up, we’ll get through it together.”
“There’s tremendous comfort in that.”
“For me, too.”
I reach out to put my hand on his face and bring him in for a kiss. “I love you.”
“Love you, too. So, so much, and I hate to see you suffering.”
“This too shall pass.”
“Yes, it will, and in the meantime, we have an entire kid-free day to do whatever we want. What shall we do?”
“I can’t think of a single thing. You?”
His hand moves in slow circles over my back. “I’ve got a few ideas.”
“Is it the same idea you have most nights at bedtime and during weekend naptime?”
“Very similar in many ways, the only difference being that naked time can last all day.”
I laugh and lean into him. “Sounds good to me.”