And there was thatboulder again. It was clearly going to be one of those days. The days nobodysaid would still be hitting me years later.
I nodded, forming asmile that I wished I felt. “Of course, it is. It’s a beautiful drawing.” Istood up to open the car door. “You want ice cream?”
***
“One more chapter?” Shelly asked. Herhands clutched her teddy bear, her big, brown eyes pleaded, and I regrettablytucked the bookmark back between the pages. She pouted and flopped back againsther pillows. “Please, Daddy?”
“Shell, if I keepreading all night, there won’t be any to read tomorrow,” I reasoned, eventhough I would’ve loved to sit there all night, reading about Milo and Tock. Iwanted to fall into their world, far away from the heartache that awaited me inmy own bed.
I tucked them in andkissed their foreheads, and when I stood in the doorway with my fingerpositioned over the light switch, I said, “Tell me you love me and tell megoodnight.”
“Goodnight, Daddy. Loveyou,” Lilly replied first, and her sisters followed closely.
They were exhausted. Icould hear it in their voices. Tired from an exciting afternoon of an ice creamdinner and a long walk to the beach from the ice cream parlor afterward. Theyhad run to the sandy playground, heading immediately for the swings and slide,and I sat on a bench nearby to watch and smile, until Annabel needed me to giveher a push.
I was tired, too. Theheft of my grief had weighed me down all afternoon as we ate ice cream andplayed together. She was missing. Hell, she was always missing, but some days,the hole she’d left felt bigger.
Today was one of thosedays.
It was exhausting.
I pulled in a tightbreath and turned off the light. “I love you, too, girls. Good night.”
Shelly must’ve been tootired to mention the door and how it needed to be left open, but I left itopen, nonetheless. Just as I always did. I walked the few feet from their roomto mine, and with the closing of the door, I opened the lid on my bottled-up emotion.
My ribs ached under theweight, crushing against my chest, and I exhaled, sweeping my eyes over theempty bedroom. Some days it felt too empty. Too cavernous, despite it beingjust big enough for the Queen-sized bed, dresser, and my keyboard. I neededmore, though. More warmth, more her, more anything.
I closed my eyes,pressing my fingertips to my temples. The motion struck a chord and plucked atthe agony within my heart. Remembering those last moments, remembering my lastconversation with her.
My eyes opened to thekeyboard. The shiny white, the gleaming black. The keys that had been mylivelihood for the past fifteen years of my life.
Beth had brought in thebulk of our income, working herself to exhaustion with a variety of jobs. Shenever wanted me to quit my passion. She never let me even consider packing upthe keyboard and finding something more stable.
“Well, of course not,”I laughed bitterly. “That would’ve meant letting your parents win.”
I took two steps fromthe door and sat at the keyboard, laying my fingers lightly over the keys andthought about Charles and Alice McKenzie. My snooty, disapproving in-laws andall their judgements. God, they hated me—still do, I assume, but they seldomspoke to me now. Not since Beth died. They called to wish the girls a happybirthday, or a Merry Christmas, and they sent gifts, but that was it.
Justas well.
I was tempted, to playa melody that might reflect the emotions rampaging through my veins, pulsing myheart and aching my bones, but it was scary. It was dangerous, even, to allowmyself the freedom to wander down that road. There would be anger found alongthat path, tears and agony, and a restless sleep that could only lead tosomethingsimilar toa hangover. I had the girls tocare for in the morning and I hadworkthe next day.Responsibilities.
My hand reached for mypocket and pulled out my phone. I thought about calling Jeff, to confess that Ididn’t feel okay. That I was never okay. God, when was the last time I had beenokay? He would help, and he’d let metalk. But it was getting late, close to nine, and while I knew he wouldn’t mindthe interruption to his night, I knew I’d feel guilty. There was nothing new tosay—same thing, different day—andhe’d only repeat everything he’d been saying for years.
“Youneed an outlet, Jon. You need to let yourself feel. You need to let yourselfgrieve and give yourself permission to let go.”
“Or maybe I just need asecond opinion,” I answered the memorized lines, and scrolled through my phone.
CHAPTER TEN
TESS
Just aweek into being part of their lives, he began to open, little by little. Itwasn’t unlike opening an ancient chest, splintered and dusty, and theconfessions that spilled out were abundant. But I gladly burdened myself withhis pain. I gladly carried the weight, to lighten his load, just in the hopesthat he’d laugh a little more.
***
“Hey Tess,”Jon said over the phone,sounding tired and weighted. “Sorry to call you so late.”
“Oh, please. It’sfine.” I wrapped an arm around my middle, shrugging to no one, as I added, “Um,is everything okay?”
