Chapter 7
I should, in theory, be an excellent widow.
After all, I’ve spent a lot of time on my own. I was seventeen when I ran away from my family’s circus. I lived in enough crappy apartments that I can easily fix a leaky pipe or reset an electrical breaker. And then there was my brief tenure as a military spouse when Nate was deployed. Riley might have technically been around, though conveniently never when the lawn really needed to be mowed. I was the one who handled the house.
And yet, since Nate died, I have to give myself a pep-talk every time I need to take out the trash. I don’t even know how it fills so fast now, given its just Lucas and me. It’s like it does it just to torture me.
I usually save it for the mornings when I’m rushing around with Lucas because when he’s around, I’m stronger. I have to be. I have to let him see that I can do it all, to prove I’m enough for him even though he deserves so much more.
But it’s Tuesday and trash pick-up is early Wednesday morning, so I can’t put it off tonight entirely. I just put it off until I’m ready to go to bed.
That’s all I want to do. I want to go upstairs and fall asleep and come down to the kitchen tomorrow finding the trash can empty, lined with a fresh bag, a sign Nate came home from work while I was still asleep in this god awful nightmare.
I feel it, the flood of tears threatening to drown me and push off from the counter, furiously yanking the lid of the trash can off and wrestling with the full bag, nearly ripping the plastic before I free it.
In the mudroom, I open the backdoor as I slip my feet into still tied sneakers, the canvas tongues folded uncomfortably.
“Stay,” I order, and Tides tips his head in confusion. I slip out the door, almost struggling with the weight of the trash bag. The load isn’t heavy and yet my body weeps as I carry it.
You’re stronger than this , I tell myself angrily. Strong enough to take the trash out without a second thought. Strong enough to be a mother and a father, to raise a son and make his world so beautiful he won’t realize he ever went without the one who lit it up the most in the first place.
I lug the bag down the steps to the side of the house where we normally keep the larger trash bins only to find they aren’t there. The bag slips from my hand, but before it lands on the ground, it’s swooped up. It happens so quickly, I wonder if I did fall asleep on the couch earlier and this is all a dream.
Because when I turn, it’s Riley’s familiar shadow I see walking away from me toward the end of the driveway.
“I brought them out already,” he says gruffly.
Riley’s first words to me since my husband’s death are about the trash.
My eyes pan from his Jeep parked at the garage and back to him as he walks down the driveway with the bag. I start marching toward Riley, but after he dumps the trash into the can, he turns and walks past me as if I’m not even there.
He takes the stairs up to his apartment two at a time, like he can’t get away from me fast enough.And me? I can’t get to Riley quickly enough. But he whooshes past me again halfway up the stairs, knocking me with a duffle bag he clumsily carries with his uninjured arm. When I look at his Jeep, I can see the backseat is full.
Now, I’ll have an answer for Lucas when he asks where’s Riley?
The answer will be gone .
I don’t know why it steals my breath as hard as I imagine it will Lucas's.
“You’re leaving?”
The only sound Riley makes is some sort of grunt as he leans over the doors, shifting things around. I don’t know if he hears me approach from behind, watching as he struggles with only one working arm. The hard cast he had on at the funeral now is gone, replaced by a soft splint. His grey t-shirt stretching across his broad back is painted with sweat, his signature bun loose enough his dark hair nearly escapes it.
“Riley, what—”
“I’ll come by tomorrow for the fridge and have someone come clean the place.”
Riley reaches up, wiggling the surfboard until I hear the sound of a box sliding down. When he releases the board, he leans against the door, breathing heavily, clearly exhausted.
There’s a lankiness about Riley I see in the shadows, and it’s more than his normal long, lean body. I know, from the way he supports himself against the car, he’s breaking down, just like me. It’s the impact of loss, and I don’t know why it’s only hitting me now that I didn’t just lose a husband and Lucas a father.
Riley lost something in Nate too. Something big.
When Riley pushes off the back door of the Jeep I instinctively reach out but stop myself from touching him, my eyes landing on the hand that I know from Caroline was so damaged it needed surgery to fully heal.
But I wonder if it’s possible to ever heal what Riley left in the car that night.
Riley fumbles with his keys and drops them. I’m quick to retrieve them before he does .
“That’s it?” I ask. “You pack your stuff and disappear at night?”
Riley turns his head away toward the light coming from the garage and I see the strained stoicism on his face, the way his lips have disappeared into a thin line. Even when we’ve fought like cats and dogs, I’ve never seen this kind of expression on Riley’s face.
His ambivalence makes me see red.
“You have nothing to say to me?”
The continued silence leaves me fuming.
“Not…I’m sorry your husband died, Harper? Do you and your son need anything?”
Riley snaps his head back at me, but remains quiet.
I laugh to myself. “I’m not sure why I’d expect anything different when you’ve set the bar at the ground already. Go ahead, Riley. I’ve been waiting for this moment since we met.”
I slam the keys against his chest, not caring that he winces and cowers from the impact. In fact, it makes me feel good. It’s not that Riley’s pain brings me joy. It’s that I’m able to draw even the smallest reaction from him, relief that he feels something.
But what difference does Riley saying anything now make? There’s nothing anyone can say—let alone Riley—that makes me feel better. No song sung can soothe how intensely my heart aches, how my trembling arms are desperate to wrap around my husband’s warm middle. I’ll never stop missing the rumble of laughter that always began deep in Nate’s chest before loudly breaking free from his mouth, even when the joke wasn’t that funny. There’s no prayer, no Our Father or desperate ask for just one small miracle that can give me what I want—my family whole and complete.
I give up and step back. But somehow Riley always makes the situation worse.
“No thank you, Riley , for taking out my trash?”
I’ve never hit anyone in my life, but right now, I’m considering it. That is, until the sound of four paws quickly bouncing on the back porch make me turn.
Lucas rubs his face. “Mommy?” The initial grogginess of Lucas's voice changes into an alert, light, and happy tune. And out it comes, a sweet gasp that captures the wonderful, magical innocence of childhood. As if a superhero appears before Lucas's eyes, he runs.
“Riley!”
I peer back at Riley who ducks his head and slips into the car, and I need to intercept and scoop Lucas up when he comes charging toward the driveway.
“You have to go back to sleep.” The engine starts behind us, I make my way to the house, whistling at Tides who paces the back lawn in curiosity. “It’s really late.”
Lucas doesn’t resist my hold but pushes against my chest, stretching his neck. “Where’s Riley going?”
Even though Riley made it out of the car that night, Lucas really lost two of the most important people in his life at the bottom of the bay.
“We’ll talk—”
“Lucas.”
I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of Riley’s voice and make no effort to turn and look at him when he finally does say something.
“I’ll see you around, kid.”
It’s nothing more than a promise he never intends to keep. The easiness of the lie coming from his lips—a lie to Lucas of all people—makes me nauseous.
“Be good for your mom,” Riley adds before he drives off.
“Mommy?”
“Shh,” I mutter into Lucas's hair. “You have to sleep.”
I carefully take the stairs and hold Lucas with one arm while I reach for the door with my free hand, pulling it open for Tides to go inside first. When I turn to avoid hitting us both with the door, my eyes land on the small table in front of the porch swing .
And sitting on it? Bouquets of flowers, white tulips. And leaning against the wall? A surfboard just a bit bigger than Lucas. In the faint light, I see it’s painted with all the Avengers, Lucas with a surfboard right in the middle, Tides at his feet.
I can’t think about the board. But I can think about the flowers and how my windowsill has sat naked, free of a vase, for two months.
I swallow as I count them.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
The flowers always came even when Nate was in Afghanistan. And now, they come even after he’s gone.
I should smile. I should feel so lucky that I married the kind of guy who somehow planned for this, a sweet, familiar rainbow I would very much need to see in the aftermath of grief’s storm.
Really, it’s a struggle to smile. Because I know all this already. I hate how the universe thought I needed death to show me the kind of man my husband was.
But what I hate more is that Riley had something to do with it.
“I try to follow the child’s lead. Lucas loves to draw. And loves his dog, apparently.”
This is my first sit down with the school counselor, Margot. I sift through the papers on the table. There are eight drawings. Six of them are of Lucas and Tides. “They’re kind of inseparable.”
“It’s normal for children to crave consistency following a death. Sometimes that comes in the form of a toy, or a pet, another family member. They look to find bits and pieces of the person they lost in something else. Tides seems to be a great comfort to him.”
I squeeze my eyes shut because shouldn’t it be me? Shouldn’t I be the comfort Lucas craves?
Margot clears her throat. “I didn’t mean to insinuate you aren’t comforting. I only meant that for Lucas, there’s a direct tie to his father through his dog.”
I pick up another photo labeled My Family and trace the brown of Tides’s coat, the yellow of my hair, the smile on Lucas's little face. I stop when I get to the other person in the picture. Where I expect to find Nate’s short crew cut, I find Riley’s dark mop of hair, a colorful surfboard at his side.
“This is Riley,” I tell Margot, unsure if she knows. “Not Nate.”
She lets go of my hand and sits back. “Lucas told me about Riley. He talks about him a lot.”
“More than his dad?” I ask. I don’t find a stitch of Nate in any of the photos.
“Children often process what’s right in front of them. They’re very literal. They can’t quite understand the idea of someone always being a part of their family when they physically aren’t present.” Margot says. “Lucas not including your husband in these photos isn’t alarming, even if it might be hurtful.”
I place the drawing down. “I don’t know what Lucas told you about Riley, but he actually no longer lives with us.” I sigh. “It’s kind of another thing Lucas is dealing with…it’s complicated. Riley is complicated.”
Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. This is about Lucas .
I look at the drawing again and frown. But for Lucas, it’s also about Riley.
“I wanted to get your opinion on something in particular and ask how I should handle it.”
“What’s that?” Margot asks.
Looking at the surfboard, I frown. “He’s afraid of the water,” I say before looking up. “My husband…Nate drowned. And Lucas, he’s always been happiest at the beach. He’s a strong swimmer. He was so excited to learn to surf this year. His dad was going to teach him and…I always wanted to wait, you know? I was scared he was too little, too small. And I made him wait and…”
And I hate myself. I hate that I never let the two of them have that moment , I want to scream, but no more words come out, only silent tears.
Margot hands me a tissue. “It’s not an abnormal response for Lucas to be afraid of the thing that took his father’s life. I usually suggest to parents to try to take up a hobby to help memorialize their lost one. An example would be starting a small garden because their grandmother loved her rose bushes. Maybe there’s something your husband loved you can do together so he feels safe. And if surfing was a huge part of his life, Lucas might feel differently seeing you take it up, seeing you in the water safely having fun.”
I look at the sketch of Riley holding the surfboard.
“It’s only something to think about,” Margot says. “Lucas might gravitate toward your dog so much because he was such a part of your husband’s life. And he’s already something safe. For him, water or surfing might be something his dad loved, but it’s no longer safe. That doesn’t mean it will be forever. We can work on it gently.”
I nod and sigh, stacking the papers. “Can I take these?”
“Of course.”
I leave the counselor’s office with the papers pressed against my chest and keep looking at them on my passenger seat as I drive home.
“Lucas, keep it in the fence, please!”
I look around at the other four-legged patrons. I know it’s only our dog that will be the one to hop over the fence like he’s chasing a suspect and not a tennis ball.
I startle when a voice approaches.
“You’ve got a beautiful dog.” Looking up, I find a man to my right. “German Shepard?”
“Thank you. Yes.” I offer a simple smile, the kind you’d give to a stranger you’re passing on the street. It takes more effort than necessary.
“Always wanted one of those. I hear they’re a lot of work though.”
I let out a little laugh. “You have no idea. Is this yours?” I look down at the very round heavily-breathing bulldog sitting at the man’s feet.
“Yes.” He takes a seat at the other side of the bench but before he’s interrupted by Tides who sprints across the park, stopping to sit between us.
I reach out, patting his head to let him know it’s okay. The man looks skeptical even though Tides lets out a groan when I scratch the base of his ear.
“Don’t be fooled. He hides under the bed during thunder storms.”
The man laughs and holds out his hand so Tides can sniff it.
“I’m Ben. This is Axel.” Ben motions to the bulldog who doesn’t seem to care about Tides in the least since he has begun snoring.
“This is Tides. I’m Harper.” I look up, seeing Lucas running. “My son, Lucas. ”
“Tides,” Lucas calls. “Tides, come.”
“You’ve got a pretty cool dog. I’ve only seen ones like him in the movies.”
Lucas reaches for his water bottle, his red cheeks expanding as he chugs from it. “Does yours like to play frisbee?” Lucas points at the plastic disc on Ben’s lap.
“Axel likes eating and sleeping.” Ben hands Lucas the frisbee. “I bet Tides might get better use out of it.”
“What do you say?” I remind Lucas when he takes the frisbee.
“Thank you,” he calls over his shoulder as he scampers away, Tides skipping in tow.
Reaching down, Ben gives Axel a rub. “He’s what? Nine?”
“Just turned eight.”
“I’ve got a ten-year-old he’d be head-to-head with. Tall kid.”
“Like his dad.”
The words leave my chest and steal my breath and I wonder, as Lucas grows and grows more like Nate if they will keep searing my heart and burning my throat when I speak them.
I fall into small talk with Ben, who tells me he’s a high school teacher, a transplant from Northern California. He has a son, and lets me know—after a pregnant pause—that he’s divorced.
It’s then I notice how his eyes drift to my bare ring finger every few words and I’m hit by the realization that at some point I’m going to have to start telling people I’m single, and not by choice. The idea of admitting it makes me feel sicker than the idea of sharing closeness and intimacy with a stranger.
“I guess he appears more intimidating than he really is,” Ben says, after Tides jumps four feet in the air to catch a frisbee. “I suppose your husband doesn’t have to worry much about you two out on your own.”
“Definitely not,” I say without even thinking. But before I can backtrack, my attention is captured entirely by something else that has me on my feet .
“Excuse me for a second. Hey, Lucas!” I stand and begin to walk away from the bench.
My hurried steps turn into a sprint because it’s my two legs racing against four, and not the four belonging to my dog. They belong to someone else’s and my eyes bounce between the brown and white fur running along the fence and Tides who stares at it with the frisbee hanging in his mouth. I don’t like it one bit.
“Lucas, come here.”
Lucas barely gives me a nod of attention because the other dog has taken three quick steps and latched onto the frisbee held in Tides’s mouth.
“Hey! That’s not yours.” Lucas moves closer to the game of tug-of-war that has my heart beating so strongly it painfully thumps against my sternum.
I should tell Tides to drop it, but all I can worry about is screaming Lucas's name. I barely hear the whistle of the other dog’s owner or the growls. All I can see is my kid about to stick his hand in the middle of two pairs of strong jaws decorated with fiercely sharp teeth.
“Lucas, come here! Tides, drop it!”
Immediately he does, but it’s my son who doesn’t listen. Lucas grabs the frisbee, trying to wiggle it loose from the other dog’s mouth.
“Lucas, let him have it!”
I’m all of three feet away when the dog lets go of the frisbee, now dented by teeth, and lunges at Lucas.
But Tides, who never leaves Lucas's side these days, is there.
With a powerful swing of his hips and tail, Tides knocks Lucas to the ground, standing above him and caging him in protection as he barks and snaps his teeth.
I’m a foot away when the other owner yanks on his dog’s collar with both hands and all of his might, attempting to get him back.
“Are you alright?” My knees sink into the worn grass as I pull Lucas from beneath Tides who still stands alert, still growling.
Lucas has pieces of grass and dirt caked into his hair and though I don’t see any blood, I do see how his face is twisted in a grimace. “My arm.”
I find his wrist swollen, red, and tender. “You’re okay,” I say it over and over as I pull him to me, my heart threatening to break out of my rib cage. “It’s alright.”
Ben and others have surrounded us, and there are yells and screams at the other owner. It has Tides wound up, whining between the barks he releases to secure a perimeter.
With Lucas crying against me, I click my tongue, running my hand over Tides’s smooth fur, trying to get him to look at me. But me? I look past him, at the dog who has broken out of his owner’s grasp and lunged again.
I hook my arm around Tides’s neck, to both restrain and protect him, and even though it’s the flesh of my forearm sharp teeth sink into, it’s Tides that whines and cries against me as soon as the dog lets go and more patrons of the park restrain him again.
I don’t feel the bite, but I do feel the blood which pools down to my hand, flowing onto Tides’s fur. Lucas looks horrified, but he’s okay, and that’s the most important thing.
He’s the only important thing.
“Good boy, Tides,” I whisper, resting my head in his coat as I cradle Lucas. “You’re a good boy.”