To Say Goodbye (18 page)

So after work, she did something she hadn’t done in a few weeks, perhaps out of avoidance, perhaps because she knew the guilt was building up.

_______________

The sun was setting when she stood on the ground, a light layer of dirt coating the top of the stone. She brushed it off, stooping down to the headstone as she always did. She wanted to feel close to him, even if this stone was as close as she could get.

She was all alone in the middle of the cemetery, the only souls in sight the souls of the departed. She looked around, thinking about all of the company Tim was keeping. Babies. Elderly. Teenagers. Death didn’t spare anyone, as she’d learned all too well.

Before Tim’s death, she’d thought she could never be one of those unfortunate women. Other unlucky women—poor things—lost their husbands at a young age. Not her. Not Sophia. Not Tim. She’d fooled herself into the naïve oblivion of so many in their twenties and thirties. She’d felt immortal, like death happened around them and to others, but not them.

Then came the earth-shattering call. She’d been at Pink Lemonade when it happened. The words no one could believe, the words she thought she had dreamed.

_______________

The horror story began a warm Tuesday afternoon, at exactly 11:19 in the morning. That was when her immortal world stopped turning, replaced by the shivering specimen of death.

It hadn’t been a monumental day. There’d been no flashing signs telling her life was about to flip over on its side. She’d had a cup of Folgers with him, both relaxing at the island in the kitchen listening to the morning news.

“I have a meeting after work today,” he reminded her.

“Okay. I think I’ll make barbecue chicken for dinner. Is that okay?”

“Sounds good. Maybe we can head to Home Depot after dinner? We need some light bulbs for your closet.”

“Yeah, okay. My last appointment is at four today, so we should have plenty of time.”

He finished sipping his coffee, both basking in a long, quiet moment. Tim sighed, looking at his watch. “Guess I should get going. Have a great day, babe. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

They’d kissed. He’d left.

Then, at 10:47 in the morning, Tim died, all alone in his office, a pile of paperwork his only guide into the afterlife. The heart that had beat solely for her had stopped beating. He’d died, taking a piece of her heart with him, too. He’d torn out of her life in a flash, in a moment, in an unexpected blur. As effortlessly as he came into her life, he was gone, and she was left to fathom how it all happened.

She knew she was lucky to have had a final, calm moment with him. Some women in the grief group she’d attended the first month had horror stories of harsh, sour final words. Her last encounter had been the normal, routine encounter of their marriage. I love yous, a kiss, and an assumption they would see each other later.

She couldn’t see it that way, though. It was just a painful reminder of how blindsided she’d been.

There had been the moments of shock that began at 11:19 that horrifying day. She’d slumped to the floor, zoned out, tuned out Stella’s shrieks and tears. Everything blurred in a swirl of irrational thoughts and feelings, of both chaos and emptiness. In many ways, she felt like she was gone, too, an empty carcass being toted through the motions.

She barely remembered being transported home, the visits from loved ones, the phone calls, and relentless flowers. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t beg for details. She didn’t hear the comforting words from friends and family, didn’t stop to analyze what it all meant. The moments from the torturous phone call until the moment at the funeral were a hellish blur, a whirling cloud of black smog in her crushed heart. In reality, every moment after Tim was a hellish blur, a distinct fight for survival from a girl who had once had it all.

_______________

Every time she stood here on this icy piece of earth, she was taken back to those moments, those moments of sheer hell, when her world had disintegrated beneath her feet.

Time will heal,
everyone told her.
It’ll all be okay.

In a way, they were right. Time was making it more bearable. She didn’t want to die every second of every day. She didn’t wish every breath were her last.

True, she still had moments each day when she wanted to quit, when the pain of losing him was so torturous she wanted to suffocate.

She still missed Tim. She still loved him.

“I love you, Tim. I will always, always love you. I hate how you went away. But I’m trying to make a life for myself. I’m trying to carry on. I’m sorry if it hurts you that I’m trying. I’m sorry.”

Sophia wished like the movies, she could hear a whisper of forgiveness in the wind or a rustling of the trees. She wanted a sign Tim was okay with her moving on.

There was just dead silence. She could only hear her own breath.

A part of her knew asking a dead man for permission to move on was ludicrous. She hadn’t lost her mind or anything. Another part of her, though, felt like she owed it to the man who was her soul mate, her everything, to tell him what was happening.

A year ago, if you’d asked Sophia if she would ever fall for another man, she would have laughed in your face. She didn’t even fantasize about other men like some women did. She didn’t fantasize about Gerard Butler or anyone else of celeb status. The only man she saw when she closed her eyes or when she thought about forever was Tim. She’d known from the first time their lips had touched two weeks after the lasagna meeting he was it for her.

It had been a soft, slow, sensuous kiss, the kiss a woman only dreams about. There was no rain like in so many romance movies. Instead, the sky was a heavenly blue, not a cloud in the sky blocking out the sun’s gorgeous rays.

_______________

A mariachi band played a festive tune as they stood on the sidewalk, waiting for Stella and her latest man crush to buy a funnel cake. Crowds of kids ran screaming through the streets of the annual festival as parents frantically chased after them. Fried foods passed by everywhere. Sophia hung back, standing near the lemonade stand as she waited for her friend. Tim stood by her, his toe tapping to the music.

They’d had a lovely third date, reconnecting with their inner-childhoods as they maneuvered the simple street fair. Cotton candy, a few corn dogs, and a lot of getting to know you questions had eased them into a comfortable place.

Now, he stood smiling, staring at her. She twirled a curl in her fingers self-consciously. “What?”

“I might be falling for you,” he admitted without hesitation, staring directly in her eyes. He said it as if he were telling her his name was Tim or he loved pizza.

She felt her cheeks warm. “Okay.”

“Are you falling for me yet?”

“You’re forward.” She grinned. She liked his honesty. She’d never been with a man who was so open, so willing to admit his feelings for her.

“Are you?” He took a step closer.

“I mean, I like you, but it’s a little soon, don’t you think?”

“No,” he said, gently taking her face in his hands and leaning in to kiss her.

She’d thought about pushing him away, about saying it was too soon. Who was this guy? Kissing her already?

She couldn’t, though. Because as soon as his lips touched hers, she realized this was the kiss she’d been waiting for. This was the kiss to make her believe in love, to make her fall for a guy she met over a plate of lasagna. His lips moved slowly, carefully, as if he were drinking in every second. He was gentle yet confident, smoldering yet playful. It was a kiss hinting at what they could be together. It was a kiss hinting Tim was right—it wasn’t too soon, and she definitely could fall for him.

Tim and Sophia only pulled away when they heard a whistle and some clapping behind them.

“Nice!” Stella said, laughing as she stopped her clapping.

Sophia pulled away, wanting to admonish Stella for being immature. She couldn’t say anything. Her gaze was glued to Tim, her lips tingling with the feel of his lips.

The only words that came to her were ones she would later regret. It was a comment Tim would mercilessly tease her for, would always bring up. Later, when they were in a heated argument or she was pissed at him about his socks lying on the bedroom floor, he would turn to her and say the words symbolic of their relationship.

As Tim, Stella, and Ricky waited for Sophia to say something romantic, intellectual, or just plain normal, all she managed to say was, “Hot damn!”

_______________

Sitting on the ground now, Sophia smiled at the memory. “Hot damn,” she said jokingly, knowing if anyone were around they would have her committed.

It was a ridiculous thing for her to say, but it was all she could think of. He’d knocked her socks off with the first kiss and every other moment in their time together. He was charismatic, charming, but he always made sure she knew she was the only woman for him. When they went to a party or wedding or a family gathering, she could always feel his eyes on only her, could see him looking at her with sheer lust and love. Their marriage had never undergone the seven-year itch or the boredom so many experienced.

Sure, they’d had their issues and fights. She hated how he left dirty laundry everywhere in the house. She hated how she had to beg him to pressure wash the house twice a year or to help her clean out the rain gutters. She hated how he never put the salt and pepper shakers back or how he left cereal in his bowl in the mornings. There’d been fights over money, over in-laws, over forgotten dating anniversaries.

Overall, they’d had a good run. Which only made his death even worse.

If Tim had lived until he was 109, she knew she’d have been by his side. She’d have never strayed, have never dreamed about another man in her bed.

Now, a daunting thought plagued her. Tim hadn’t lived to see old age, and she just might.

As much as she wanted to rip her own heart out and leave it there on the gravestone, she couldn’t. She couldn’t stop her heart from feeling, couldn’t close herself off completely.

Maybe she shouldn’t want to.

Maybe it was okay to look for those feelings, to explore a life with Jackson. He would never be Tim. He could never replace their lemonade stand kisses, their late-night fights, or their dates in the middle of a snowstorm at the Chinese restaurant.

Maybe, though, she could find new memories with Jackson. Christmas walks, trips to the zoo, and new things to keep her alive, keep her feeling.

“I’ll always love you, Tim. And I never want to say goodbye to you, not completely. I hope you understand I have to find a new kind of happiness. I love you. Always.”

She rose calmly, quietly from the grave, put one hand on the stone again, and turned to go home.

JACKSON

“A
re you sure you’re ready for this?” Jackson asked as she put Henry in his crate.

“It’s just some burgers,” Sophia replied, but Jackson sensed a hint of tension in her voice, in her stance.

He’d been surprised when she’d called yesterday to tell him the plan to go on a double date with Stella and Larry. Now, as she stood before him in a simple pair of jeans, a tight red shirt, and a blazer, her hair billowing in soft curls around her face, he was filled with mixed emotions. It felt good to be on the same page, to be overcoming the guilt and the roadblocks on the way to... whatever this was.

The roadblocks, he’d come to realize, would probably always be there. A glimmer of hesitation on both of their ends would always hold them back; hers from the loss of her soul mate, and his from the way Chloe’s affair cracked his heart. They couldn’t start completely fresh with each other, not really. They would always be haunted by a tenuous past and by their connection through their mutual love for Tim.

As she smiled at him though, asking, “Ready?” that tension melted away. He was done analyzing and categorizing. He just wanted to feel, to bask in the softness of her face, the glow of her. She was radiant, not just on the outside. She was a soothing voice in a weighty storm. She was a reminder that life, no matter how tough, had elements of beauty.

“Let’s do it,” he said, leading her to his truck, opening her door.

“I can’t wait to try this place,” she said.

“You’ve never been?”

“Nope.”

“Well, looks like we’ll be making new memories, then.”

“Yes, we will.”

He put the key in the ignition, off to whatever Red Robin, a double date, and the future might hold.

_______________

“What? It’s not like I’m trying to fool you guys. You all know I like to eat,” Sophia said as Jackson eyed her plate. She certainly hadn’t held back, ordering a colossal burger, fries, some cheese sticks, and a chocolate shake.

“No, I like it. I like a woman who can eat. I just don’t think you’re going to finish it all.”

“Game on,” she teased, as she reached to his plate for a French fry.

“How the hell do you stay so skinny?” Stella asked.

“Oh, stop,” Sophia grumbled back.

It’s been a good night so far,
Jackson thought as he downed some fries, dipped in his milkshake of course.

He’d hit it off with Larry, both sharing a love of video games—to Stella and Sophia’s chagrin—and an interest in classic cars. They’d chatted about engines and rims until Stella finally interrupted them.

And then she turned the conversation to hair and makeup, to the guys’ utter dismay.

It had all been fun, despite the gender-slanted conversations. The four of them found common ground, a common sense of humor, and a common sense of comfort at the table at Red Robin. He couldn’t remember feeling so connected with a group of people he’d just met. He liked Stella’s bold observations and Larry’s calm demeanor.

Mostly, he liked Sophia. He liked the feel of her against him in the booth. He liked joking with her about her appetite and her mispronunciation of Gouda cheese.

He liked being the man beside her.

When she finished her burger and moved on to the cheese sticks, she turned to him. “Still think I can’t finish my food?”