Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Taylor
On Saturday afternoon, I arrange some time alone with the kids in Eliza’s room. We have a houseful of family and friends, so I shut the door, hoping we won’t be disturbed.
My poor babies are looking at me with dread that I quickly put to rest so they won’t think something else has happened. I sit on the floor, my back to Eliza’s bed, and they sit on either side of me.
“I want to talk to you about Daddy’s wake and funeral.”
“What’s a wake?” Miles asks, his little brows knitted adorably.
“It’s when everyone comes to tell us they’re sorry that Daddy died and that they love us. And then the next day, we have the church service, where they’ll pray for him and us.”
They’re quiet as they process the information.
“I wanted to ask if you’d like to go or stay home. And before you answer, I want you to know that either answer is the right one. If you don’t feel comfortable going, you don’t have to.”
“What if we want to go?” Eliza asks.
I tuck a strand of her soft hair behind her ear.
“Then you’re more than welcome to. Before you decide, I want to tell you more about the wake.
At the front of the room, there’ll be a wooden box that’s called a casket.
Daddy’s body is inside that box. Sometimes, they open the casket so people can say a final goodbye to the person.
Other times, they keep it closed. I’ve asked for it to be closed, because I want to protect his privacy.
So if you come to the wake, you wouldn’t have to see his body or anything like that. ”
“Even if we wanted to?” Miles asks.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, buddy. It’s much better for you to remember him the way he was when he was alive and here with us, than to have the other picture in your mind.”
“Would you let us see him if we asked to?” Eliza says.
I think about that for a moment. “I’d probably say no, because I understand better than you do that sometimes, when you see something upsetting, it overtakes all the good memories. Does that make sense?”
They nod as they think about what I said.
“It’s better for you not to see him. I need you to trust me on that.”
“Okay,” Eliza says. “Will it be hard for you to go to the wake and funeral?”
“Oh yes, honey. It’s a very hard thing because everyone will be so nice and so kind, and all I’ll want is to be home with you guys and Daddy, not at the funeral home or the church.”
“We should be there with you.” Eliza glances at her brother, who nods in agreement. “You shouldn’t do that alone.”
“I won’t be alone, honey. Gram and Pop will be there, and so will Auntie Laura, Auntie Amanda, Auntie Kate and Auntie Iris, as well as Grandma and Grandpa Lonergan and Daddy’s brothers and sisters. And I’ll have lots of friends there.”
“I want to go,” Miles says. “I want to be with you. The three of us are a team, and a team does things together.”
“Even the sad things,” Eliza adds.
“You guys…” I gather them in close to me. “You make me so proud every day, but especially this week. I’m so, so sorry this has happened to you again. No one should ever have to lose two daddies.”
“We were lucky to have them,” Eliza says.
I blink back the tears that’ve been threatening since I walked into the room. “That’s a nice way to look at it.”
“Some kids have no daddies,” Miles says. “We got to have two.”
“That’s true.”
We sit together for a long time, drawing comfort from each other the way we have in the years since we lost Greg. “When the baby comes, we’ll add him to our team and make sure he knows how very much his daddy loved him.”
“Daddy was so excited,” Eliza says. “He was silly excited.”
Smiling, I say, “Yes, he was.”
“We’ll take good care of our brother,” Miles says. “Always.”
“Love you guys the mostest.”
“That’s not a word,” Eliza says with third-grade disdain.
“It’s a word if I say it is,” I reply in a teasing tone. “I’m the mom.”
“Mommy,” Eliza says tentatively, “when will we go back to school?”
They’ve stayed home this week. “Maybe after the Thanksgiving break, if you feel ready?”
She nods. “I miss my friends.”
“I’m sure they miss you, too.”
“What do we wear to the wake and funeral?” she asks.
“Let’s go see what our options are and figure that out, and, guys… If you change your mind about going, it’s totally fine. Daddy doesn’t expect you to put yourself through this if you don’t feel up to it—and I don’t either.”
“We won’t change our minds,” Eliza says as Miles nods in agreement.
I’ve never been prouder of them.
Derek
On Sunday, Roni is quiet and introspective from the minute we get up, through our morning coffee ritual and breakfast with Maeve and Dylan.
Maeve tries to get Roni to sing one of her silly songs for her, and Roni tries, but her song doesn’t have the usual joyful frivolity.
Later, when Dylan is napping and Maeve is having quiet time in her room with her stuffed animals and books, I go looking for Roni and find her in the laundry room, folding the mountain of clothes two young kids produce.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“What’s up?”
“Just folding. You?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, why?”
“You haven’t been your usual happy self this weekend.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just…”
“Processing it. I know. Me, too.”
“I want to go to the wake and funeral.”
“Roni… You’ve met them twice.”
“I know, but I want to go for Iris.”
Leaning against the dryer, I cross my arms and sigh. “I get that, but you don’t have to put yourself through it, even for her. She’ll have Gage, Christy and Joy with her. She’ll be okay.”
“Other than you, she’s my very best friend in the after, and Taylor is one of her best friends. I need to be there for her.”
“Okay, then we’ll go.”
“You don’t have to.”
I really don’t want to, but… “Do you honestly think I’d let you do that alone?”
“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with the others.”
“And with me.”
She gives me the exacting look that women have been giving men for all of time.
I give her the mulish look that lets her know I’m not backing down.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“What’s the plan for the kids?”
She reaches for her phone. “I’ll ask my mom to come over.”
“Mine would do it, too, if yours can’t.”
“Okay. Are you mad at me?”
“What? No, I’m not mad at you. How can I be when I love you for your big heart, which is aching for Iris today?”
“I’m aching for all of them. Iris, Christy and Joy, who got to watch Taylor fall in love with Will and move into a new happily ever after, only to have it snatched away so suddenly. I’m aching for Taylor’s kids and their unborn baby. It’s all so sad.”
“It really is, and I’ve felt that this week, too.”
“I know. You’ve been tossing and turning every night.”
“Brings it all back. Even when you don’t know the people well, you certainly understand the experience.”
“That’s it, exactly.”
Her phone lights up with a text. “My parents are happy to hang out with the kids for a few hours this afternoon.”
“Did you tell them where we’re going?”
“Nah. We’ll tell them after, so they don’t try to talk me out of it.”
“Which tells me you know this isn’t the best idea you’ve ever had.”
“Haha, yes, I know. But I’m still going.”
I reach for her, and she comes to me, relaxing into my embrace. “I love you for caring so much about your friend that you’re willing to put your own well-being on the line to be there for her.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
We plan to meet the others outside the funeral home in Falls Church before the wake so we can go in together.
I get a text from Iris as I’m getting dressed. I feel like Roni is coming to support me, but she really doesn’t have to do that.
Try talking her out of it.
Sigh.
See you soon.
Love you guys.
Love you, too.
I’ve been blessed with tremendous friends in my life, but my Wild Widows are a cut above the rest, and while the last thing in the world I want to do on a Sunday afternoon is attend a wake for a man I barely knew, I understand why Roni needs to be there for Iris.
Despite my reluctance, I want to be there for her, too, the way she’s always there for us any time we need her.
I decide against wearing a tie, and as I put on a suit jacket, my gaze wanders to the photo of Victoria that sits on my dresser.
Though I notice that photo every day, I rarely look closely at it the way I did when she first died, and I was desperate for answers as to why she betrayed me.
I found out later that she didn’t, that her loyalty to me led to her murder.
It’s been almost three years since that grim day when I came home from a weekend at Camp David with then-President Nelson to find her dead on the floor of our kitchen and our daughter missing for a time.
The days that followed were the darkest of my life, an experience so dire I’d rather be dead than ever go through it again.
I simply can’t fathom what Taylor must be feeling, how surreal it has to be to have lost her second husband, too.
Will seemed like a great guy, the sort who’s friends with everyone.
He had an easy smile and a quick wit, and I enjoyed the brief time I spent with him at Iris’s house.
The most recent was last summer when they came to swim in the pool on a hot August Sunday.
I remember how great Will was with Taylor’s kids, giving them his full attention even when surrounded by other people.
I recall her son, Miles, with his arms around Will’s neck as Will towed him around the pool, making boat noises that delighted the young boy.
It’s so fucking heartbreaking.
“Keep an eye on us today, will you?” I ask Vic. “It’ll be a tough one.”
I head downstairs, where Roni is getting the kids settled with her parents. Maeve loves them as much as she loves mine, and they’ve treated her like a granddaughter since they first met her.
Taylor’s tragedy is a reminder of how lucky and blessed we are to have this second chance at happiness.
“You kids have a nice time,” Roni’s mom says as we leave.
Roni and I share a grimace on the way out the door. Nothing about this outing will be “fun,” except the kid-free time with her, but even that’s tinged today by the dreadful occasion.
The ride to Falls Church is quiet, but we hold hands the whole way, drawing strength from each other the way we have from the start.
She’s given me a whole new lease on life that I didn’t realize I needed until she came along.
At first, I thought she was stalking me, which put me on high alert due to the bizarre series of events that resulted in my wife’s murder.
Later, she confessed that I reminded her of her late husband, Patrick, from behind, which had her following me, looking for something that was lost forever.
Then she appeared at the White House as the first lady’s communications director, and I found out we had widowhood in common when she attended a Wild Widows meeting.
I’d been a member of the group for a while by then.
After that, it seemed like fate wanted us together, even if it was far too soon for her.
We were close friends for a long time, including through the birth of her and Patrick’s son, Dylan, before our relationship became romantic.
“Thank you for this,” she says after a long silence.
“No problem.”
“Sure it isn’t,” she says with a laugh.
“I owe Iris, Christy and Taylor so much for starting the group that saved me in many ways. There’s no way I would’ve been ready for you and this if it hadn’t been for them.
Taylor was long gone by the time I joined, but I’m still thankful to her for what she helped to start and for what a big difference it’s made for me. ”
“All that said, you’re really doing this for me.”
“Ninety-five percent is for you, two percent is for Iris and Christy, and three percent is for Taylor.”
“Leave it to you to make a math problem out of it.”
The droll comment is much more in keeping with her usual chipper personality, which is a relief. “I’ve been taking the fun out of things for nearly forty years now.”
“Speaking of your four-oh, we need to have a party.”
“We absolutely do not.”
“Do.”
“Don’t.”
“We’ll see.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Whatever.”
“Roni, I mean it.”
“I heard you.”
The difference between Vic and Roni is that Vic would’ve heard what I said and acted accordingly.
Roni heard what I said, but I can’t be sure of what she’ll do.
I try to never compare them because I love them both, but life with Roni is full of surprises that I don’t really mind, despite what I said about a possible party.
If I’ve learned anything from my own loss and those of my friends, it’s that life is to be celebrated, even milestones we’d much rather ignore than celebrate.
Vic and many of our widow friends’ spouses and partners never made it to forty.
I see it as the gift it is, even if I’d rather not make a big fuss of it.
Luckily, I won’t be alone. Several of my closest friends are right there with me, hitting the big four-oh over the next year or two.
Not to mention the wake we’re about to attend for a thirty-eight-year-old who would’ve loved to be forty someday.
I have no complaints.