186 Miles
Authors: Nicole Hildreth
186 Miles
NICOLE HILDRETH
To Robbie…
And my long list
of rock star family and friends
who have
literally been listening to me
yammer on about
this for the past six months.
XOXO to you all.
Contents
I
don’t remember what the weather was like that day. It could have been 30
degrees outside. It may have been 100. I just remember sitting in an uncomfortable
plastic chair, wearing an uncomfortable black dress, staring into a hole. That
hole was made in order to bury my husband.
Ryan
Stephens was a good man. He worked as an insurance actuary. 35 years old. We
had no children; we were “waiting for the right time.” He went running on a
Saturday morning. 45 minutes later, I got a visit from the police. Ryan was
gone. That was it. Heart attack.
I
was 33 and starting over.
What the fuck do I do now?
After
the service, everyone came to my house, a tradition I’ve never understood.
Luckily, I was always a party planner. We hosted three to four parties a year;
I knew exactly how many canapés would feed 30. So, I made platters. I made
cold food, I made hot food. I kept busy.
An
idle mind is the devil’s playground.
(My
mother said this.)
No
one knew what to say. The looks on their faces said it all. Everyone pushed
to keep the atmosphere light. There was a lot of arm rubbing and reassurances
that I “wasn’t alone” and if I “needed anything,” surely, I should let them
know.
Was
I supposed to call them when I couldn’t sleep? Or eat?
Ryan
was in a band in college. I always assumed it was, you know, the marching band
or something super-geek. He talked about “the band,” but I never inquired much
about it. Not only was I the host of
this
event, but I was also hosting
two of the members of this group for the week.
They
came Monday afternoon.
Word travels fast.
The viewing was Tuesday at 4
pm. The burial was the next morning. They wanted to
help
me.
Rachel,
what can we do? Can we help you set the table? Call anyone?
For
the most part, I kept quiet. I liked both of these people. They were great; I
just didn’t feel much for socializing and they let me have my time.
I
asked them questions. Not a lot at first, but enough to know who was staying
in my home. They were brothers. Vince Conti was the older of the two. 35,
the same age as Ryan. He had wild, deep brown hair and a tall, thin frame.
When he smiled, I noticed that one of his teeth in the front was overlapping the
other just a bit. I liked it. It gave his face character. Vince, he smiled
a
lot
. He was here for his friend’s funeral, but he had a calm air about
him. He, too, did a lot of arm rubbing. I had never met this man, but I let
him touch me. He felt oddly familiar, friendly even.
Jack
was my age. He wore his dark hair short, neatly trimmed and tight. He was shorter
than Vince by at least three inches, his body resembling that of a boxer. Strong
looking arms, substantial shoulders, washboard stomach. He wore glasses most
of the time; cute, retro-looking black plastic frames… very GQ. Jack and Vince
had faces that indicated their close relation, but that’s where the
similarities stopped. Vince looked like he could eat anything and nothing
would happen. Jack looked like he ate 3,000 calories before breakfast and then
spent the remainder of the day under a weight bench. He seemed quiet, reserved.
Jack
wore a wedding band. Vince did not.
That
day, I spent a lot of time filling and refilling trays.
Do
you need another drink?
Napkin?
Let
me get that for you.
I
ran around. I talked to the kids, got them an extra juice box, watched them
color. I avoided “the adults.” I knew everyone meant well.
Of course they
did!
They were my friends, my family, Ryan’s friends, Ryan’s family. But
this
day, they were all just in my house. Eating my food, staring at their plates.
Bereaved. Uncomfortable.
They
offered to stay, help clean. Visit… keep me “company.” Normally, if someone
wanted to help pick up, I’d be
all
about it. Want to help clear at
Thanksgiving? Hell yes. Want to collect all of the random wrapping paper on
Christmas? Have at it. Today, I wanted to be left alone. I fantasized about
eating Ben and Jerry’s and drowning myself in an Arrested Development marathon
on Netflix. I made it clear that I wasn’t interested in any extra guests.
Vince
helped me clear plates, bag trash, wash dishes… all while telling me about his
life back in Chicago. Even though we were only a little over a three hour
drive, I wondered why I had never met him before. I had heard Ryan speak of
him often, but I didn’t know what he did, what part of the city he lived in, if
he was married; nothing. I felt embarrassed. He seemed to know a lot more
about me than I did about him.
I
peeked around the corner towards the living room. Jack was laying back on the
couch, head propped on a pillow; his eyes were shut.
I
kept my voice low. “So, I noticed that Jack wears a wedding ring, but he’s
never mentioned being married.” I picked up a fork and set it in the
dishwasher tray.
“He
is,” he whispered, “but I think that they are getting a divorce. Not a hundred
percent, but…”
“He’s
maybe
getting a divorce and you’re not a hundred percent?”
“Well,”
scratching his head, “the girl he married? She got pregnant.”
“And?”
“It’s
not his.”
“Yowsa.”
“Yeeeeahhh.”
He smiled. He had a dimple. I hadn’t noticed before.
“Well,
there you go.” I smiled back.
“There
you go.” He nudged me with his hip as he loaded a few plates. It seemed
deliberate.
“So,
what about you? Married? Girlfriend?” I cocked my head at him. “Boyfriend?”
“Uh
huh. To all three.” He smiled again. “Actually, I’m not really a ‘dater.’”
“A
‘dater?’” A thin smile spread across my lips.
“I
don’t really ‘date.’ I see girls sometimes, but I’d rather wake up alone, you
know?” He shrugged. I got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time he’d
answered that question. It sounded well-rehearsed.
“Huh.”
“What,
huh? What does ‘huh’ mean?” He shut the dishwasher door.
“Nothing.”
I wiped my hands on a dishtowel and threw it on the counter. “Anyway, I’ve got
a lot to do tomorrow. I think I may go to bed. Can you get the lights?”
“Yeah,
sure.” He paused. “Hey, Rachel?”
“Yep?”
“Thanks
for taking us in. We’ll be gone before you know it.”
“You’re
no trouble. Really.” Honestly, they weren’t. I welcomed the distraction.
*
I
woke to the rooster. That goddamned rooster. I hated that alarm, but Ryan found
it “amusing.” I couldn’t bear to pack it. Although, that was what today was
for. Today, we packed.
In
movies, when a child died, I always found it bizarre that it took the parents
something like ten years to even endure the task of packing a single stuffed
animal. I mean, I guess I got it, but it always seemed excessive. Now, faced
with that situation myself, I couldn’t imagine holding on to anything. Looking
at all of Ryan’s things made me want him back. I just wanted to shut the
blinds and hide.
How would I ever feel normal again?
Would
I? Would I meet someone new on fucking match.com and then remarry in a year?
The
thought repulsed me.
Ryan
was an average man. Not flashy or rich or beautiful. He made me feel safe. Flawed,
but he was thoughtful and charming. He told me I was pretty. I always felt
like I was too fat. Ryan touched me constantly. He would lay his hand on the
dip in my side and say “I love this.” He talked about me in front of his
friends like I wasn’t there.
Isn’t she amazing?
I
sat up in bed and looked at his side of the closet. After a quick scan, I
lowered my eyes to my feet and focused on my chipped toenail polish.
I
would not cry.
I
shuffled out to the kitchen, careful not to wake my new friends. After making
a pot of coffee, I dug around for lawn and leaf bags. Grabbing a few, I headed
back up to my bedroom. Sitting down on the floor, I took out a pair of cream
colored Converse. They were ruined. I placed them in the bottom of the bag
and literally choked on a sob.
Could I do this?
Vince
gave a quiet two-fingered knock to my open bedroom door.
“Rachel?”
I
quickly wiped away my tears and cleared my throat. “Hey!”
Ugh.
A
little
too
animated.
“Hey,
you alright?”
“Yeah,
what’s up?”
“I
thought I heard you crying.” He ran his hand through his unruly, dark hair.
It really did have a mad scientist quality height to it.
“Nope,
just packing.” I picked up another pair of old running shoes and tossed them
in the bag like it was nothing.
“Want
some help?”
“Um…
sure. I’m just going to go grab a cup of coffee first.”
“Let
me. Black, right?”
“Yeah.”
I pinched my forefinger and thumb between my eyes. “Thank you.”
His
t-shirt was white and fitted with block letters that simply read “Shangri-La.”
I thought to myself
that’s totally Vince
, though I barely knew him at
all.
We
drank coffee. We talked about Northwestern. I found out that he worked at a
recording studio on Division. As it turned out, it was just up the street from
where my sister, Elsa, lived in Wicker Park. He was funny and eloquent. We talked
about Ryan.
Ryan
was an amazing guitarist. Ryan was an incredible writer. Ryan was such a
loyal friend.
He
had so many considerate things to say.
I
knew Vince would be leaving tomorrow. It made my insides twist.
Who would
I talk to?
Where would I go?
It was safe having him and Jack
there. They didn’t know me like my other friends. It was simpler that way.
They wouldn’t pry. They would just let me fucking sit.
My
mother had left me ten messages… since yesterday.
Rachel,
I don’t want you to be by yourself.
Rachel,
call your sister. I’m sure she would come down.
Rachel,
you should go to Carrie’s. I’m sure she could use some company.
Rachel,
make some chili. Who doesn’t like chili? And it keeps!
I
was surprised to have received the messages at all. My mother had a gift; she
made every disaster in life somehow revolve around her. I powered my phone
down. No more calls.
Vince
and Jack wanted to go out for our last night. They wanted me to show them “the
sights” of Indianapolis. I definitely wasn’t an expert on the city. We had
lived in town for a little less than five years, but I only knew how to
navigate
my
neighborhood with any mastery. So, I started there.
We
went to dinner at a pub in the Village. Jack wanted to drink.
To Ryan!
To Ryan.
We
went back to the house and sat on the patio. Ryan and I had spent many nights
out there, laughing with friends, sitting on the loveseat together, his hand
lazily stroking my thigh. I could still hear his voice.
