5. Chapter 5
At five past one, I lock the door and hang the “Out To Lunch” sign on the door. Smiling, I think of Groundhog Day, one of Justin’s favorite movies. After pouring myself a glass of iced tea, I sit down in front of my leftover salad from yesterday and flip its contents over with my fork in an attempt to spruce up the wilted lettuce and soggy croutons. I take an obligatory bite and close my eyes. Not to savor the food, but to reminisce about my old life. The life I loved.
I was young and in love. After graduating from college, Justin and I were both putting our degrees to work. I was a graphics designer for a local advertising agency, and Justin a graphics engineer working for a company based in Harrisburg.
He worked mostly from home, only having to make the four hour trip to Harrisburg once a week. He’d report to the office on Tuesday and Wednesday, spending one night at a friend’s apartment in Penbrook. Wednesday night, he’d drive home. Justin moved into our new house as soon as we got the keys. We had just put the finishing touches on the house and everything was ready for our wedding.
He was on his way home three days before our wedding. When I hadn’t heard from him by eleven, I knew something was wrong. I started calling his cell over and over again, but I kept getting voice mail. He never let my calls go to voice mail. At midnight, I called his parents to let them know I couldn’t get a hold of him, and after I hung up the phone, I started calling all the hospitals between here and Pennsylvania.
At three o’clock in the morning, there was a knock on the door. My heart sank. It was my future in-laws. I could tell they’d been crying. I looked at one and then the other. I started shaking my head, not wanting to hear the inevitable.
We drove in silence, arriving at the hospital an hour later. Justin had been taken there after being involved in a solo vehicle accident the night before. I walked into the emergency room, where they had worked on him, and had done everything humanly possible to save him. He was covered with a blanket up to his chest and he had a tube in his mouth.
The ringing phone snaps me back to the present. I realize tears are running down my face and I use my napkin to wipe them away. “Hello,” I say.
“Hi, Sweetie. I brought you some lunch. Open the door.” Mom’s voice at the other end sounds warm and cheerful.
I run to the front door and unlock it. When Mom walks in she gives me a hug and then looks at me, assessing my mood. “You’ve been crying, I can tell.”
I reach for the chain around my neck and slip Justin’s ring onto my index finger before the tears start to flow again. Mom walks to the front door and locks it before returning to me and wrapping her arms around me.
We walk to the kitchen and sit at the table. She doesn’t say anything. She just puts her hands over mine and lets me weep.
After I feel like I’ve run out of tears, she pulls some tissues out of her purse and hands me a couple before asking me if I feel better.
“I will never feel better, Mom.”
“Sweetheart, you have to allow healing to take root.”
“How, Mom? How am I supposed to just, what, move on?” I ask as more tears start to flow.
“I hate to bring it up, but do you remember the therapist you saw right after we lost Justin? She helped you set some goals to help you move forward. Remember?”
I nod.
“Have you crossed any of those goals off the list?”
I shake my head and blow my nose.
“Well, it’s time to start. You’re young, Sweetheart. You have a lot of life ahead of you. You deserve to be happy.” She pulls another pack of tissues from her purse, opens it and hands me a couple more. I blow my nose again and wipe my red and swollen eyes.
“I don’t know how to live without him, Mom.”
“Loren, I’m your mother and I love you, so please don’t take this the wrong way. You have to make the decision to live without him.”
“I don’t want to hear this, Mom.”
“Do you think Justin would want you to be miserable, sad, depressed for the rest of your life?”
I shake my head.
“Justin loved you more than anything in this world. If the tables were turned, I’d be having the same conversation with him. But you’re the one who’s still here.”
“But mom, I can’t imagine being with anyone else.”
“You and Justin were together for so long that it’s hard to imagine it, but it’s not impossible. When the time comes, you’ll know. You just have to open your heart to the possibility.”
“Mom, I don’t think you’ll ever understand how I feel.” I look at her, expecting her to say I’m right, and I see that she’s in deep thought, and wants to measure her words before saying more.
“Honey,” She begins, “You do have the capacity to love another man. Justin was your first love, your only love, but you can love again.”
I wonder what she’s not telling me, and if she’s going to elaborate. I wait.
“Before I married your father, I was engaged to my childhood sweetheart. We met when we were both in junior high. Watching you and Justin grow up together and then fall in love reminded me of my relationship with Jimmy, my first love.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Why didn’t you ever tell us?” I ask, “Does Dad know? Why didn’t you marry Jimmy?”
“He joined the military after we graduated from high school. The week before he left for basic training, he got down on one knee and proposed. I said yes.”
“What about Dad?
“It’s a long story for another time, Sweetheart. I really don’t like talking about it, but I felt it was important to tell you so you can believe me when I say I understand what you’re going through. Just know this, Jimmy was my first love, but your father is the love of my life.”
I nod and I wonder if my sisters know, but I don’t say anything.
“Jimmy had been gone for eight weeks,” She continues, “I was at home counting down the weeks, the days, the hours until I saw him again. He never returned.”
“Oh my God, Mom. What happened?”
“It was a training accident. It was a terrible accident.”
“Oh, Mom,” I say, reaching for her and giving her a big hug. She’s not crying, but I can tell talking about it is very difficult.
“I was seventeen, but I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.”
She looks at me and squeezes my hands in hers before continuing to make sure I listen to what she has to say next.
“You’re caught in a cycle of grief that only you have the power to stop. It’s time for you to start living again.”
“You’re right, Mom,” I concede. “But how?”
“For one,” Mom begins, “You have to hire someone to help you run the studio. It’s not good for you to repeat the same routine over and over again, day in and day out.”
I think of Groundhog Day again.
“You have to start going out. Doing things that you enjoy. Having fun. When was the last time you went out?” she asks.
“I visit the Clays.” I say, thinking of my almost-in-laws. “We have a standing dinner date the first Tuesday of every month.”
“You know that doesn’t count,” she says with half a smile, “You have to go out with girlfriends. People your age. When was the last time you saw any of your friends?”
I honestly can’t remember.
“When you get asked out on a date, say yes. Even if it’s just as friends, so you can get out and do something fun, something different.”
“It sounds good when you say it, but I’m just not up to it.”
“I know there are different stages of grief, but they shouldn’t last forever. This,” she says, waving her hands around, “what you’re doing, is not living. You’re doing the bare minimum to just survive. You’re twenty-six years old. I’m sure Justin would want you to live a full life.”
I take a deep breath and give her a hesitant smile.
“And speaking of,” she says as if she was just now remembering something she’d forgotten, “Your father and I are going to Greece next year, and we would love for you to join us.”
“Greece?” I ask. “Are you kidding? Mom, Justin and I were going to Greece on our honeymoon. Did you forget?”
“No, I didn’t forget. The only reason your father and I have put off vacationing there is because we were trying to be sensitive to you.”
“I know,” I say, “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Honestly, I think going on this trip might help you find closure,” Mom says. “Please consider coming with us. Promise me you’ll at least think about it.”
“I promise I’ll think about it.”
“If you decide to go, you’ll need to get everything situated here between now and then. So put a ‘Help Wanted’ sign on the door, an ad in the paper, or whatever it is you young people do nowadays when you need help and want to hire someone pronto.”
I laugh. A genuine laugh.
“Now, eat your sandwich before your lunch hour is over.”
Twenty minutes later, I hug my mother goodbye and watch her walk out the door.
The rest of the day is quiet, so I decide to close an hour early. I go to the check-out counter and pull up the project list on my laptop. Every paying customer provides a name and an e-mail address or phone number so I can contact them when their projects are ready for pick up. I look up the letter B and find Holly’s information. I know where she lives, but I figure I’ll call Aaron to let him know I’m on my way to drop off Holly’s plate. I wrap it and put it in a little gift bag before I walk out and lock the door behind me.
It only takes me a few minutes to get home, but it’s long enough for me to start daydreaming about Greece, and long enough for me to forget to call Aaron. I pull up in front of my house and grab the small gift bag next to me. I walk up to Aaron’s door thinking about how happy Holly will be when she sees her finished project.
I stand up straight and square my shoulders before ringing the doorbell. I try to look casual, ignoring my sore neck and stiff shoulders. I run my fingers through my hair trying to give it some lift. I look down, not remembering what I’m wearing, and to my shock, I spot a small mustard stain right on the front of my white blouse.
When I realize no one is answering the door, I figure I can go home and change. I’ll come back later, but just as I turn to walk away, I hear the door open. I put on my best smile and pray he doesn’t look down at the stain on my top.
The door swings open. Wait, this is not Aaron. It’s not Holly either. In front of me stands a gorgeous young woman. Maybe Laila’s age. She’s tall and has red hair and bright blue eyes. Her white smile is sweet, and I can’t help but smile back. She’s wearing blue jeans that hug her curvy hips and tiny waist. The sleeveless polo shirt she’s wearing is tight and shows off her toned arms. It’s unbuttoned all the way down to the top of what must be a lacy push-up bra. I feel plain and inadequate standing next to this beautiful woman. I swear she could give Marilyn Monroe a run for her money.
“Hi,” she says.
“Um, hi,” I say, “I’m Aaron’s next-door neighbor.
She doesn’t say anything. “I’m dropping this off for his daughter, Holly.” I say lifting the bag in front of me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, “Aaron isn’t home, but you can leave that with me. I’ll make sure he gets it.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s the art project Holly made at my studio, Just In Clay Ceramics, on Main Street.” I realize I’m oversharing.
“I’m sorry,” she adds, “I just moved here, so I don’t know the area.”
She reaches for the bag, and I hand it to her.
She looks at me and smiles again before asking, “Is there anything else?”
“Uh, no. Um, do you know when they’ll be back?”
“He’s working out of town today. I don’t know when they’ll be back. Would you like to leave him a message?”
“No. No, that won’t be necessary. Thank you. Bye.” I give her a little wave, turn around and start walking away just as the door shuts behind me.