He chuckled. “Going.”
She nodded, then looked over at the kids, spinning circles in the sand and laughing. “I love seeing her laugh,” she said.
“Me too.” His voice was rough when he said that.
“How is she?”
“You see her three days a week,” he pointed out.
“Yes, but she’s distracted when she’s playing with the boys. How is she at home?” She could talk about this. About Chloe. She was a common concern they both had.
“I never know how to answer the question,” he said. “You aren’t the only one who asks, but you do ask a lot.”
That put her on the defensive, which made her feel a little bit crappy. You weren’t supposed to be defensive if your motives were pure, right?
“It seems rude not to ask. I… I worry. About both of you, actually.”
He frowned, the firelight throwing the features on his face into stark relief. He looked carved out of granite then, his cheekbones hard and high, the cut of his jaw sharp, his mouth severe. “About me?”
“I’m sure in a lot of ways it’s a really good thing you had Chloe.” She closed her eyes. “But have you had a chance to fall apart?”
“It’s been more than a year,” he said.
“I know.”
“No,” he said. “I haven’t. Because falling apart doesn’t do anyone any good.”
“But…but…”
“But what? My wife is dead? I know.”
She realized he was being hard to push her away, and he was Will’s friend, not hers. Maybe he and Will had had any number of productive conversations about grief and healing, and hell, she didn’t know anything about loss.
She’d never been close to her mother’s parents. They’d lived too far away for her to develop a relationship with them. They’d died when she was seven and fifteen.
Her paternal grandparents were still alive.
She didn’t know anything about this, but she felt bad that all she’d managed to do was give him the same trite questions that everyone else did. Her intent might be good, but it wasn’t doing anything for him. It was about salving her own guilt.
I checked in on the widower, and he says he’s doing okay. Now I can check that box.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Your wife died.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she decided not to hold them back. “I’m sorry. She was just a really great woman, Logan.”
He looked up at her, the flames reflected in his eyes. “She was.”
“Is it weird I didn’t sit around and cry about it last year? Is it weird it makes me want to cry more now?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No. I do. Chloe has grown two inches since Becca died. Sometimes I think…it’s two inches she never got to see. She’s getting tall. She’ll probably be taller than Becca was. She’ll grow into a whole woman someday, and her mother will never get to see. That makes me sadder than anything, and the more time that passes…well, I’m watching it happen, that whole sad realization.” He paused, his indrawn breath sharp. “The more time passes, the longer it’s been since I’ve seen her. It makes me miss her more.”
That all hit her hard. The thought of watching her little boys grow into men was a bittersweet one. But the thought of not watching them grow at all was crushing.
She pressed her forearms to her thighs and leaned forward, looking into the fire.
“That’s just shitty,” she said.
Then, much to her surprise, he laughed. Not hearty, a little rusty, but a laugh all the same.
“It is. Thanks.” She looked up at him as he took another sip of his beer. “That’s something no one’s said to me before, and it’s the truth.”
