Chapter 2 #3
Mateo said he’d repaired his mother’s porch railing.
“She called crying, saying some kid had crashed into it with his bike and then just sped off. She was fixated on this kid, you know. Thinking of revenge. It was weird. But anyway, I went over there and fixed it for her. After I was done, I teased her about her violent streak and that I really didn’t want her to go to prison over a kid and a broken fence.
That got her out of her funk and made her laugh.
She made lemonade and sandwiches, and we had lunch outside on the patio. Didn’t talk much but it was nice.”
“I’ve been rereading The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion,” I said. “I find it helpful.”
“How come?” Annie asked.
“It’s about the year after she lost her husband, quite suddenly,” I said.
“She doesn’t try to make meaning out of her loss or provide some platitude of comfort, which I find refreshing.
Instead she just goes deep on the magical thinking the title refers to.
This irrational, almost superstitious bargaining the grieving mind does.
For example, she couldn't give away her husband’s shoes because he would need them when he came back.
She knew it was absurd but somehow her mind refused facts, held contradictory beliefs at the same time.
It’s an extraordinary piece of writing.” I stopped, realizing I sounded like a bookstore owner, which made me think of my mother.
“I sometimes wonder why I can accept my mother’s death so much easier than Nate’s. They died only a few months apart.”
“But your mother lived a long, satisfying life,” Ellen said.
“And Nate’s was deeply troubled,” I said.
“Therein lies the problem,” Everett said.
“Yep, pretty much,” Mateo said.
“Anyway, if anyone wants to borrow my copy, come by the store,” I said. “Or if you just want to find a good book. I’m your guy. Friends and family discount.”
Ellen closed the group the way she always did, reminding us to be gentle with ourselves and to call someone if the night became too heavy. Then we all prepared to go, collecting purses and knitting and paper cups, to return slowly to the world above us.
“Annie, may I speak with you for a moment?” Ellen asked.
I pretended to drop my sunglasses under the chair, stalling my departure.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” Ellen said. “You were very brave. But because you’re fifteen, I’ll need to speak with your mother before you attend another adult session.”
Annie’s shoulders stiffened. “Yeah, okay. She won’t want me to come here.”
“I cannot say I totally disagree. You deserve support that’s meant for you,” Ellen said. “There’s a teen grief group that meets here on Wednesdays. Other kids your age. Some who’ve lost parents. Some who’ve lost siblings or friends.”
“Do I need permission from my mom for that one?” Annie asked.
“No, you can just show up,” Ellen said.
Annie glanced over and caught me watching. For a moment, we simply looked at each other. I nodded to convey my support, but I wasn’t sure she took it that way.
She shifted her gaze back toward Ellen. “Okay, thanks for letting me stay tonight.”
“Again, I’m glad you came,” Ellen said.
Annie left. I shoved my sunglasses in my jeans pocket and strode across the room, hoping to catch up with her.
“Thanks, Ellen,” I said, before heading out the door.
I caught Annie at the top of the stairs. “Annie.”
She turned to look at me. “Hi, Dorian.”
“Hey. Just wanted to check in with you. I’m sure you didn’t expect me to be there.”
“No, I didn’t think anyone I knew would be there.” She looked down at her feet, clad in tennis shoes. “I don’t want my mom to know.”
“I’ll keep my mouth shut. But why?” I had to ask.
Annie lifted her shoulders and sighed. “She doesn’t think anything like this would help, so she just, full-stop, rejects the idea.”
“I can understand that. It took me months to get up the courage to come here.”
“Is it helping you?” Annie asked.
“It is, yeah. Just being with others who understand but don’t try to fix anything provides a lot of comfort.”
“Yeah, I felt that tonight for sure.”
“Do you think you’ll go to the teen one?” I asked.
“I think so. As long as it doesn’t interfere with soccer practice.” She smiled up at me. “Thanks for keeping my secret.”
“Anytime.”
I watched as she sprinted toward a parked car, realizing too late that it was Seraphina who waited for Annie. She had agreed to bring her. Interesting.
I held up a hand in greeting but didn’t walk over to say hello.
It felt weird to do so, even though Seraphina and I were good friends.
I’d met her through the bookstore, where I carried her books and hosted signings.
She’d mentioned one time how she thought Delphine and I would make a great match.
I’d quickly dismissed the idea, even though I couldn’t deny an attraction toward the terrifying Delphine Delacroix.
Regardless, I knew Delphine had zero interest in the likes of me.
Seraphina returned the wave as Annie got into her car. They drove out of the lot and disappeared down the street, but I stayed another moment, breathing in the sea air, thinking about how hard life could sometimes be. And lonely.