Chapter 4 - Andie
Chapter Four - Andie
Idon’t remember driving home, but I recall pulling into the garage.
I find myself standing in the doorway, staring at the empty house through fog.
A house I no longer share with Cody. No longer will he hold me in bed.
No longer will we gaze at the stars together on our deck.
His unfinished book on the coffee table and the note he left catches my eye and cause even more tears to fall.
Walking around the house in a trance, I grab a shirt of Cody’s, a pillow, a blanket, and the note he left me.
I’m not ready to lay in the bed we shared, so instead, I decide to bury my sorrows on the couch.
His army green T-shirt is big on me, but I don’t mind.
It’s soft and comfortable. He used to tell me how good that color was on me, so I would find myself stealing it to wear.
I lose myself in his scent, hoping I can be a little closer to him. Memories of us pour through my mind but disappear just as quickly as they came.
Gripping the letter, I pause, wondering if I should open it.
His letters were always the best part of my day when I got home from work.
He would leave one for me every day before he left.
A simple I love you or a small message to show how he felt about me.
The gesture itself would leave me on cloud nine, giving me the energy I needed to get through even the roughest shifts.
Now I stare down at the letter, wondering if I’m strong enough to read it.
Should I wait? The paper in my hands mocks me, but in the end, it wins the battle.
I carefully unfold it, so it doesn’t tear and begin reading his last words to me.
The last letter I’ll get from him. The last time I’ll read that he loves me.
My love,
I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed our evening together.
You always look so beautiful as you wake up next to me.
I’m the luckiest man in the world to be married to you, and I look forward to the time I get to spend with you.
Sorry, I didn’t stay home today, but I promise to make it up to you tomorrow.
We will have a whole day together, just us. I love you more than words can express.
—Cody
I smile at his words, but that smile fades as I remember he won’t be keeping his promise because he won’t be returning. Hugging the letter, the tears surge again, streaking the mascara on my face. My cries soak his shirt and the pillow as I give into the exhaustion and fall asleep.
The sound of cabinets opening and closing in the kitchen pulls me from my slumber.
The familiar dripping of the coffee maker, followed by the clinking of mugs hitting the counter, pulls my vision to the kitchen.
The overpowering smell of lavender drifts through the air—Maddie’s signature scent.
It has to be her. When Charlie texted while I was on my way home to let me know she was flying in from Chicago, I wasn’t surprised.
He’s worried about me being alone and knew that Maddie would be the one person who would drop everything to be here.
The local news plays softly in the background, and through the fog of my grief, I hear the reporter’s voice, “Three firefighters remain hospitalized following the blaze that claimed the life of Lieutenant Cody Harris. Two are listed in critical condition, while the third is said to be in stable condition.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. While I’ve been drowning in my own pain, other families are fighting for their loved ones’ lives.
Other wives are sitting in the hospital rooms of their own love, praying for them to make it through the night.
The same fire that destroyed my world nearly took others with it.
The guilt crashes on me. How could I be so consumed with my own grief when others are still fighting?
It’s been a week since I learned the news and took up permanent residence on the couch. I remain in this perpetual state of numbness, feeling like my whole world is lost. Unsure if I’ll ever get my own thoughts back or if the deep heartbreak of his death will forever taint them.
The phone calls continue, and messages fill my inbox. I don’t answer any of them. Family and friends all have some sort of bullshit words of wisdom for moving on with your life. The constant sympathy calls and casserole drop-offs fill my week.
Maddie’s been keeping me together this whole time, proving how deep our friendship goes.
She’s not just my best friend, but my family by choice.
She’s been my person since we were kids—the girl who had to move to Chicago with her dad during our senior year but never let the distance break our friendship.
She knows the depth of the grief I feel, having lost her mom at a young age, and right now her experience in loss is exactly what I need.
Charlie’s been dealing with his own grief, unable to face me since that day at the hospital.
Losing his best friend, while having to be the one to destroy me, has left him a shell of himself.
He checks in through Maddie to make sure I’m eating and not completely falling apart, but he can’t stomach seeing me right now.
We’re both drowning in our own ways. I’m just hoping that eventually we’ll be able to get back our friendship.
I look down and see my phone ringing again. It’s my mother. Ugh, make it stop! I hate all these incessant calls, and I sure as hell don’t want to talk with my mother.
“You gonna pick that up?” The cup of hot tea she gives me warms my hands as she takes her seat next to me.
“Nope, it’s just my mom. She’ll figure out how to tell me I need to move on while simultaneously telling me how his death is an inconvenience and how it has impacted her and her life. I don’t need or want to hear it.”
It’s not that I don’t love my mother, but she has a flair for the dramatic. Regardless of the event, everything has to tie to her. She needs the sympathy and the acknowledgment. It’s all about her and my sister in her mind.
“Fair enough,” Maddie says. The minute the phone stops ringing, it begins again. “Andie, just answer her. You know she’ll keep calling till you do.”
“If I suffer, you suffer,” I say as I place it on speakerphone for all to hear.
“Hi, Mother, what can I do for you?”
“Andie, is that any way to greet your mom? Never mind, I’ll let it slide. I wanted to see how you are holding up?”
Not what I expected, but that’s actually nice of her. “I’m struggling, but I’m better than yesterday.”
“That’s great to hear, honey. I’m glad you’re doing so good. I need your help. Your sister is busy planning her engagement photography session, but she is so torn up about Cody’s passing. She didn’t want to ask, so I told her I would. Do you think his funeral can be moved to a different day?”
Maddie’s eyes almost pop out of her head at that request. “I’m sorry, Mom, what?”
“It’s just that, the day you picked for his funeral is the day that works best for your sister’s pictures, and we want her day to be joyous, not filled with sadness. So, if we can move Cody’s funeral, that would help a lot.”
Over the years, my mother has had a ton of outrageous demands.
I remember when she asked me to skip my senior prom because my sister couldn’t attend.
“It wouldn’t be fair if you got to go and not her.
” I remember the echoes of my mother’s words from that night.
Or when she asked if I could pick a different job because telling people her daughter was a nurse wasn’t exactly what she had hoped for.
Her requests are always out there and sometimes causes one to pause, but this one takes the cake.
It’s so crazy I don’t have words for it.
Maddie quickly hits mute while my mother continues to plead her case. I hear snippets of her shock about me forgetting Abby’s pictures and how I lack responsibility as Maddie speaks.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Andie? We spent days coordinating with the funeral home, the church, and Charlie’s schedule for this day! Tell her to fuck all the way off.” Her face is red with indignation. I unmute the phone, knowing my mom is about to run out of insults, and I need to respond.
“Absolutely not, Mom. Maybe Abby can pick a different day for her pictures. I’m sorry if my husband’s death is an inconvenience to you guys, but I’m not moving his funeral.”
“Andie, be reasonable. This day is important to your sister.”
Maddie is still in shock but sees that this is frustrating me and steps in to save the day.
“Mrs. Rose? It’s Maddie. With all due respect, the funeral won’t be moved.
So, Abby can move her thing, or she can skip the funeral.
Up to her, but the date for the funeral stands.
Andie will call you when she is ready to talk. Bye now.”
Maddie disconnects the phone before my mother can respond, which is best, as it typically ends with me in tears. Looking at Maddie, I can tell she remains astonished by my mother’s audacity to ask such a stupid question.
“I told you I didn’t want to deal with her.”
“I can see why. I forgot how much of a bitch she can be. We’ll just ignore the calls for a while,” Maddie says.
My mom has always favored Abby and made sure her needs came first. For years, I have catered to my mom’s wishes, just hoping that someday she will love me the way she loves Abby.
I don’t have the energy to deal with it anymore, and my mom will have to be okay with it.
I accepted that I would never be as good as my sister, but to have her not truly be there during my time of grief hurts.