Authors: Lexy Timms
S
he always expected it to be raining on this day—if that day were ever to come.
Of course, when she pictured the day she also pictured herself as an old woman, a shell of her former self. It wasn’t supposed to happen on a bright spring day where she could literally hear the birds singing. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be gloomy and the rain was supposed to be pouring down while everyone hid under big black umbrellas while they dabbed their eyes with tissues.
Instead of long black coats, everyone wore short-sleeve black dresses or dark suits without a jacket. There was no need for umbrellas; they were silhouetted around trees that were in blossom and leaves that were beginning to show.
By all accounts it was a beautiful day, which made everything sting all the more as she felt the tears racing down her cheeks. Everyone had come to give their respects to Michael and it warmed her heart to see they had come.
After all, Leslie and Michael had both thought the long, drawn-out nature of the end might have pushed people away. It was hard to gauge such things. But here everyone was, all together and showing their support for her in this hour of darkness, bathed in sunlight and serenaded by singing birds that had just returned from their far away journeys. In the end it all seemed so cruel to Leslie, that she just wanted to sink to her knees and throw her hands in the air as she sobbed and wept. She didn’t know for sure how many times she had cried in the past year, but it felt like she was almost to the point where only salty dust could come out of her eyes.
That was the cruelest point of it all.
She never thought she would come to a threshold where pain and sorrow simply ceased to affect her, that it would all just become something normal, something almost mundane.
Leslie was too young to be in this position. Her mother had told her this, her friends said it repeatedly, and Michael had mentioned it too many times in the past few months. It was only now as she stared at the casket holding her withered husband that she finally admitted it herself, too. When she was eighteen, she had been adamant that she’d found the man she was going to marry and it was true love.
Damn it! It’s not fair!
She swiped at another onslaught of tears cascading down her cheeks.
She had only dated four other men before she found Michael. They had been camp counselors her senior year of high school at a summer camp for disabled middle schoolers. In her sophomore year of college, he went down on one knee in the quad and showed her a diamond ring she knew he couldn’t afford on his own.
Now, four years later, she’d graduated college, continued down the path of her career, and was burying her husband.
She was too young for this. She was
way
too young for this.
No, she wouldn’t think about the past. She couldn’t think about the horrible fact that she didn’t have a past with Michael. She had a taste of what life might have been with him and now it was gone. It was over in the blink of an eye, and she was never going to get to do any of the things she had wanted with Michael. She was never going to get that trip to Spain or see the ocean with him. There were no children in the future, no grandchildren, and there was no happy retirement out on a beach somewhere.
All she could picture was the vast passage of time toward her death, where she would be alone and forgotten.
She didn’t want that.
She didn’t want to face the world without Michael.
As the preacher spoke about Michael’s much too short amazing life, she closed her eyes and bowed her head, feeling the weight pulling her down. The sorrow was like a whirlpool, churning and calling her name as she sat by her husband’s grave.
This was a moment they had talked a lot about over the past year and a half. Ever since he came back from the doctor, he had wanted to talk about the moment when he would no longer be with her. She had hated him for that. It was hard for him at first, but dying seemed the easy part. It was living on after he was gone that was the hard part, the portion she’d been given. In the grand cosmic scheme of things, she’d been given the short straw and, somewhere, Michael had gotten off easy.
The preacher talked a lot about how much time he had spent with Michael, and how Michael had been given the blessing of understanding his own mortality and facing it with courage. He explained about how Michael, in the final months of his freedom, had wanted to give back to those he loved and spread as much cheer and joy as he could before his illness took his mobility from him.
Leslie knew it was true, but hearing it out loud didn’t make her any happier. She had wanted to take him to Spain, to take him on adventures and travel to see all the things that he’d never been able to see, but he hadn’t wanted to leave the city. That had been hard for her to accept. She hated herself for being selfish.
“See the world when I’m gone,” Michael had told her just after he’d refused her offer to go to Spain. “Go see the world and know that I’m with you. Or forge a new life without me; new experiences and found beauty in the moments that take your breath away.”
That hadn’t been what she’d wanted to hear. She didn’t want to go visit the world and see its wonders with the spirit of her dead husband. She wanted to witness them with him. She wanted to look at immense wonders and tiny treasures with her fingers laced in his, feeling the warmth of him beside her. She wanted to laugh in luminous caves with him and take in the wonders of a great coastal resort with him hugging her from behind. Instead, she would be doing it alone, hugging herself as she felt the emptiness that had come to consume her life. She was never going to go. She knew it the day he told her he wanted to stay home.
Loneliness is a poison that slowly seeps into your life. It’s a riptide that drags you into isolation, and you never comprehend that it’s happening until it’s too late.
It was selfish of her to be angry with a man who’d loved her unconditionally until the very end. It wasn’t his fault he’d gotten cancer. It had been a horrible twist of fate, the turn of the cards, and the writing in the stars that had gotten the best of him. No one ever asked to be susceptible to cancer. No one ever wants to die young. Yet she couldn’t help but feel like he was getting the better deal.
It was proven that men move on from these sorts of things faster than women. There’s something written in their loins that demands that they keep trying to be fruitful and multiplying, whereas women lingered with the loss longer. She knew it would be a loss she’d carry with her the rest of her life. She was so young, and already everything felt like it was shattering around her. There was no recovering from this. She could feel that in her bones.
Of course, they’d talked about it. Michael was a religious man, but the reality that he was leaving a twenty-four-year-old bride behind when he died was too much for him to reconcile one husband and one wife for eternity. Sure, Leslie would gladly wait in hopes that maybe there was some credence to Michael’s faith, but Michael wouldn’t hear anything of it. He’d been the dying husband who urged her to move on, and told her that he was at peace with it. He knew what was happening to him and desperately wanted her to find that spark of love again. Fate was pulling him away from her, and she deserved happiness. How could he want her to move on and find love again? While he withered away, changing into a different person than the one she had kissed under the big oaks in the quad freshman year, she felt her heart breaking every time she looked at him. And he wanted to talk about her life after he was gone?
Even now, as she stared at the picture of Michael on the pamphlet they handed out at the funeral, Leslie didn’t recognize him. It was the face of a young, handsome man who had his whole life ahead of him. It was the face of a man she had known a year ago who had been so full of life and excitement. The only face she could remember now was the bald, sallow face with gaunt cheeks and sunken eye sockets. She remembered the spots on his skin and how he became emaciated during the treatment. He had wanted to go aggressive, to buy himself as much time as he could before the inevitable took him. For a little more agonizing time, she had lost the man that she had married.
In front of her, she watched as they slowly lowered her husband into the earth, praying for his soul and his salvation. He was just a body, a husk of what he had been once upon a time, silent and quiet now. He had been a hollow shell of his former self for a long time now, months even. When the end came, she was comforted by the fact that he would be out of pain and at peace finally. It was a horrible thought to have about the one you loved, but she couldn’t help feeling it for him. It tore at her, angrily biting at her heart as she watched him lowered into the earth.
“At least he’s at peace now,” someone murmured.
What kind of a terrible thing is that to say? Or wish upon the one you love? Leslie watched as the top of the glossy black coffin vanished from view, sinking into the dark, morose hole. Centuries from now, they would dig up her husband and hypothesize who he was and what kind of a life he had. They’d never know the hurt and the loss that she had experienced upon his death. They’d never know the sorrow.
“Come on, sweetheart,” her dad said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “It’s time to go.”
Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Leslie stood up. Behind her was the field of friends that Michael and she had collected through their work with the disabled, their college careers, and their fledgling professional lives. The doctors and the staff who had come to know Michael so well in the final months had come, too, out of respect for him. Leslie tried her hardest not to think about their sympathetic and pitying smiles. It burned and ate at her. She would have to face them in a little while and she’d have to have the courage to lie to all of them.
It was time to go home and put on a brave face.
S
omeone, once upon a time, felt the urge the ensure that everyone who ever lost someone would have to sit through a final ritual where you praised the dead for their accomplishments, their ideals, and their hopes. You would look back upon their lives, and you would smile and laugh and reminisce about how wonderful it was for them to have blessed the lives of everyone present. But when it came to a man who was only twenty-four years old, it was hard not to feel the bitter remorse of the time that was stolen from the deceased.
Worse than looking back and pretending like everyone wasn’t bitterly angry at whatever divine orchestration was behind this loss was the assembly after you put them in the earth. Slowly lowering the one you love into the cold embrace of the earth wasn’t enough; then you had to go home and eat with other people who didn’t even come close to hurting like you did. In fact, they offered you their condolences and their sympathy while giving you the most pitying looks you’d ever experience.
When Leslie pulled up to her house, sitting in the back seat of her dad’s car with her mom and grandfather next to her, she couldn’t help but feel like the house was a giant’s head, mouth agape and waiting to swallow her whole. She didn’t want to go inside, even though it was her home. It was the house they had bought together. She couldn’t wait to sell it and get rid of the ghosts. Tears formed in her eyes again. She wanted to stay with the memories forever, but she couldn’t do it in the house they had made their home.
How could she live here anymore? How could she even try to live here, when it was full of the ghosts of aborted dreams lingering and languishing in every corner of that house? She looked up at the second-story window where her office was, where her desk looked out over the hill, trying so hard to glimpse the bay. She couldn’t see the bay, of course, but it was nice to think that she might, just beyond the rooftops. She’d like to think that if she stood on the tips of her toes, she might be able to see it.
She couldn’t even convince herself to sleep in the bed they’d bought together after an entire weekend of hunting for the best bed that they could find. Leslie had told Michael when he was still strong enough to have such conversations that she thought that she’d have to move when he finally passed. She told him that it was hard enough walking around San Francisco without him next to her. Whenever she went into her favorite places, she would be bombarded by the memories of him being with her, smiling and laughing. It hurt because there were so many good memories of him all across this city. When they were in college, they had insisted that they discover everything there was to know about the city they’d just moved to. They had explored every nook and cranny of the city, and now it was entirely soiled by the lingering ghosts of her mind.
“Where would you move to?” Michael had asked her between coughs.
“Grant lives in New York.” Leslie had shrugged. It would be nice to be near her agent. He was always trying to convince them to move out to New York, where she would be the spotlight of any party. Everyone wanted to meet the mysterious Evelyn Frock, but Michael wouldn’t hear of it. Leslie wouldn’t hear of it either. But ever since the news of his terminal diagnosis, it had been alluring to her.
“You’d like New York.” Michael had grinned, his beautiful brown eyes pulling her in so full of love.
“Maybe.” Leslie had shrugged, her eyes brimming with tears.
Her father pulled into the driveway and cut the engine.
“I don’t want to do this,” Leslie murmured as they sat in the car, staring at her house. “I don’t want to go in there and talk to people.”
“That’s fine, dear,” her mom said warmly. “We can tell everyone you’re not feeling well and that you want to be left alone.”
“No one’ll think twice about it, Sport.” Her grandfather smiled at her. It was the only smile that ever cut through the darkness, no matter what the situation was. It was the power that only her grandfather had. She offered him a weak smile in return. It was the hardest smile that she had ever had to force upon her face.
“No,” Leslie said after a moment. “I’ll go. This isn’t just about me.” She followed her mother out of the car and then led the way to the house, wiping the tears that just kept coming, reminding her that she was still alive and that this was really happening.
They opened the old gate that Michael had always wanted to fix because it screamed against the hinges. Over the cobblestone walkway that cut through their tiny yard and up the steps where Michael had sat on the porch in his rocking chair, watching the sunset with her until he was forced into the hospital. She unlocked the door and went inside, where her parents had already set up everything with the help of her brothers this morning. Everything was taken care of for her. No one wanted her to lift a finger. As far as they were concerned, she had lifted enough over the past month.
At the entrance, she looked at herself in the mirror and felt like everything she saw was a waste. Her entire life, Leslie had been terrified of being an ugly girl. It wasn’t that she was ugly, but rather she just had an overwhelming fear not to be the ugliest person in the room. Being a late bloomer had been mortifying for her, and during college she was delighted to see that she was going through the transformation from ugly duckling to beautiful swan. A fan of healthy eating and a beloved member of her gym, Leslie had sculpted her body with the singular motivation of making herself the best for Michael. Even as he wasted away in the hospital, she found solace in the gym, working out the aggression and rage that she felt washing over her all the time. She wanted to be beautiful for him. She wanted him to see her at her best before he passed. She wanted to be perfection that he could hold and touch before he left this world. Now, without him, all she saw was a hollow beauty devoid of purpose or the desire to keep going.
She was certain that the gym was going to play a huge part in her process of getting her life back together, of working out her rage and frustration. She’d taken up boxing three months ago and found that it was most helpful to pummel her trainer when Michael had a particularly bad day. She knew she’d be back there often.
Truthfully, men hit on her all the time. When she’d had Michael around, he would always fire some sarcastic comment or barb at anyone who hit on her and they’d vanish, but now she was all alone. Whenever someone tried to compliment her or was less than chivalrous about their advances, it made her want to cry. Her protector and champion was gone.
Looking away from the mirror, she walked past the framed letter of acceptance she’d received from Grant when she was eighteen years old. It was the letter that told her that he wanted to read more about a female detective named Tiffany Black. When you’re eighteen and trying very hard to pursue a career in being a novelist, and in a last ditch effort send out the right query letter to the right agent, it’s overwhelming. When she was picking her classes for her junior year of college, she signed a deal with a publisher for six figures. She had paid for both her college tuition and Michael’s. She’d paid for this house and their cars. She had enough money in the bank that if she wanted to; she could move anywhere in the world and never work again.
She was twenty-four and one of the wealthiest, most enigmatic authors in America, but without Michael it seemed worthless.
She passed the bookshelf where her Tiffany Black series sat in pristine condition, her crowning achievement. When they had friends over, they had no clue that she was the author, that she was the mysterious Evelyn Frock. They would come into their home and they would always assume that one of them came from money and that was where they got all of their wealth, how they afforded a townhouse in San Francisco, and why Leslie only worked part time at a library. No one ever considered she could be an international bestseller. After all, how many people actually stopped and read the letter mounted on her wall? She took the framed letter down and slid it between the books on the shelf.
When people started to arrive, Leslie felt like she was doing right by her husband. She smiled and tried her hardest to make sure she wasn’t a disappointment to everyone or rude to them. Everything that she said to them, everything that she felt like she was supposed to say to them felt like it was a lie. It felt like she was nothing more than just a shade standing in this house, a remnant of a life that had been ruined and flushed down the toilet. It was hard to feel anything other than overwhelmed with grief and despair. In the end, this was all that she had left. This was all that she was going to ever have from the life that she had wanted to start with Michael. She was alone, and for the first time in her life she didn’t have her best friend to be there with her.
Friend, family, and people who had been part of Michael’s life streamed into the house one after another. Leslie found herself talking to all of them, smiling and nodding her head as she accepted everything they had to say to her. She found that there was relatively nothing that anyone could say to her today that she wouldn’t just offer a sweet smile and nod to. What else was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do in this situation?
Time felt like it had frozen entirely around her and everything was going so slowly that it all felt so surreal and so nauseating. She didn’t touch the food or anything to drink. She hadn’t been able to keep anything down outside of the bare minimum since Michael finally died. She closed her eyes and kept moving, kept standing and listening to the stories and the compliments people would give her about how well she’s holding up or how amazing Michael was and how lucky they all were to have him in their lives. It made Leslie want to throw up, but eventually people began to leave and the last stragglers were herded out by her family and her in-laws, who were strangely somber and dry-eyed at this point in the misery that had taken over.
From what they had said, it was a blessing that Michael had finally been freed and released. They thought of his final days and his final hours as something horrible and painful, like fiery bonds keeping him locked in his mortal coil. It was too bad that he was in a coma at that point, completely unaware of what was happening, unaware that death was creeping up.
Upstairs, Leslie took off her heels and looked at their bedroom, the room that they had decorated together and that they had poured their hopes and dreams into. They were going to live in this house for a very long time. They wanted to make sure that Michael’s career got started on the right foot and San Francisco was where they planned to be for the first ten years of their marriage. It was why they’d bought a house instead of rented. It was why they’d built everything that they had.
She could hear her family downstairs, talking with Michael’s family. They were all staying here, all suffering the misery of a slow demise. She could tell they were talking about her, about the future that was waiting for her. Everything in her life had evaporated into a smoky question mark. This was her life now, a huge mystery where she was alone, carrying the weight of a life that might have been.
For the first time since he was hospitalized, Leslie crawled into their bed and curled up. She felt herself weeping uncontrollably.