Dread overcomes me. The room fades to darkness, like a blanket has been pulled over my head. I’m sick to my stomach. I haven’t felt this sensation since I died and didn’t think it possible. A boulder sinks to the pit of my stomach and weighs me down, holding me in this hospital room. Thank God Karen isn’t here to see this. I need to keep this from her, shield her from Wren’s death. But I suspect this is impossible. She must already know. We’re all interlinked.
Home.
Back in the little yellow house. “Karen?” I call. My voice doesn’t carry, doesn’t come out at all. I feel nothing except the growing sense of dread. She’s not in the living room.
“Karen?” No sound, no answer. Not in the kitchen.
The bedroom is empty except for Prissy, curled on Wren’s pillow.
The nursery. “Karen?” No answer. Nothing at all. She’s not here. She’s not anywhere.
Karen haunted Wren.
Wren is dead.
They’ve both left us.
***
I’ve lost her again.
In a heartbeat, she was gone.
In one life, I left her. In this one, she left me.
I sit in the rocking chair but don’t rock. I’ve been here for days, maybe weeks. Time is lost, lost like Karen. My eyes remain closed. The sun rises each morning and sets every night in its faithful way, but I pay it no mind. The house is mine alone and eerily quiet. If a pin dropped, I would most definitely hear it. Every few days someone sneaks in the back door but stays only a few minutes. Probably feeding Prissy. Whoever enters doesn’t linger, rushes back out as if it’s haunted. If I weren’t a ghost myself, I’d be scared of this house too. Dark things lurk in the corners.
If I open my eyes, I’ll see nothing. With them closed I can picture her clearly, standing right there in the forefront of my mind’s eye. She’s everything I ever wanted, and I’m afraid I can’t face the world with her gone. In my real life I never found something or someone who fulfilled me the way she did. This house holds nothing but pain without her here.
Sitting on the rocker, I let my mind wander to dark places. This afterlife was yet another cruel trick of the universe. Karen and I were never truly meant to be.
***
If only I could fall asleep. It’s the thing I miss most from my real life—that sweet sensation of drifting off into a soft pillow after a long day. Waking up feeling refreshed as a new day shone through the blinds. Even being exhausted sounds better than whatever I am now. Feeling so tired that putting one foot in front of the other was too much. Now I’m never tired. I use no energy, I simply am. The closest I come to sleep is closing my eyes and pretending to shut down. I liken it to a robot powering off. When this happens, I see how long I can go without moving, suspending myself in a state of complete timelessness and weightlessness. It’s not nearly as good as sleep, but it’s the best I can do. I only hope one of these times it might last a whole forever.
Days go by.
The baby cries. They’re home from the hospital. Finally, I leave the rocker and go down the stairs.
Jimmy and June are not alone. My parents are here, carrying bags in from the car. Dad holds a bundle of balloons, and I can’t help but smile. Look at him, a grandfather. I wish I’d seen this side of him in my own time. Behind the smiles and presents, they’re clearly grieving. Mom keeps her eyes downcast as she passes the mantel, not looking at the pictures of Wren. Jimmy stands in the center of the room, looking like a man lost. He’s aged ten years since leaving the house.
Amid all the sadness, there’s something else. Pain unites them and reminds them of what’s most important: family. I envy them. I wish I had someone to share my misery with.
June Robin is precious. Everyone says that about babies, but she’s the real deal. She looks like her mom and like my Karen. Lying on her back in the bassinet set beside the couch, she turns her inquisitive eyes from side to side, taking it all in but not crying. Mom holds Jimmy to her chest in a hug, just like she did when I was a kid. He’s a foot taller than her but looks small in her great presence. Dad’s moved into the kitchen to fix them all drinks.
I hover over the crib to study the new girl of the house. Looking down at June, I resist the urge to cry. Her eyes are the same hazel green as my own. It’s like looking into little pools shining back my own reflection. Though they are the same color as mine, they have Karen’s shape—oval and darkest around the outer edges, framed by long lashes.
“Hi, pretty girl,” I whisper. To my surprise, my voice works. June looks at me. She stares straight at me. Sees me. My heart beats in my chest again, and it pulsates a little faster.
“You look just like your mommy,” I say. I smile down at her, and she continues to stare at me. She lifts a tiny hand in my direction and curls her fingers my way. “Your mommy was an amazing lady.” My eyes water. I feel the heat of life again. “She loves you very much.”
June sees me. She hears me. I’m still here. Karen is gone, but I’m still here. Maybe this is my second chance at a second chance. Not everything is lost.
“I’m your Uncle James,” I whisper, even though this isn’t technically true. Tentatively, I reach my hand into the crib and touch her outstretched fingers. A jolt of electricity runs through me, similar to when I first made contact with Karen and watched Wren leave this life. But June is alive. “I’m going to watch over you,” I promise. “Protect you.” We hold each other’s gaze.
I have no idea how to explain how she sees me, but all that matters is that she does. No doubt this miracle won’t last forever. Perhaps she’s so new to this world that she can’t tell I don’t belong. June is so pure she doesn’t yet know ghosts aren’t real. Maybe adults can’t see me simply because they don’t believe. Like the fairies in Neverland.
In a world where doubt comes naturally, believing in anything too strongly is not easy. I’m as guilty as the next person. In my life I believed in all the wrong things—money, success, materialistic possessions. But now that I’m a manifestation of all that’s unbelievable, I think I can change my own mindset. I can be a believer. I can choose to believe in myself and believe the best is yet to come. Believe this isn’t the end. Believe that loving Karen had a purpose. Believe in the unbelievable.
Where is Karen now? Against all odds, she was here once; who’s to say she isn’t someplace else now? When Wren died, Karen followed. I have no idea where they are now or if they are together. But I choose to believe she’s still out there. I believe Karen is somewhere, and I hope I will see her again sometime.
56
Jimmy
Age 38
February 2009
It’s a bittersweet day.
First, it’s Valentine’s Day. Wren and I never celebrated much, usually exchanging something small and treating ourselves to a nice dinner. I gave her roses once. Our first Valentine’s Day together, I assumed she’d want roses. It was what all the other boyfriends sent their girls. I bought a dozen and handed them to her while standing in front of her locker before heading into homeroom. She laughed at me, a little snort that would have broken my spirit had she not been smiling so brightly with her eyes. She was only teasing me, always teasing me. When she finished laughing, she promptly asked how much those “monstrosities” cost. I lied and said twenty bucks, even though they were closer to thirty-five dollars, my whole week’s allowance. She sighed and kissed me before telling me she hated the color red and much preferred yellow. Then she qualified this statement by telling me she liked yellow, but never yellow roses, since they were “pretentious.” If I ever gave her flowers, she’d rather have something simple, like daisies or daffodils.
Needless to say, I never bought Wren roses again.
Second, today is June Robin’s first birthday. I’ve just finished feeding her breakfast, some Cheerios and banana slices that somehow ended up all over the kitchen floor. She’s messy, just like her mom. I’m terrified of what our house will look like when she’s older, since she’s already a little wh
irlwind of destruction. Only a tiny whisp of a thing, she’s quick. When she learned to crawl two months ago, I knew I was doomed. Walking came soon after, and now my twenty-pound doll is half running, half stumbling around the house. Not entirely steady on her feet, she scurries from room to room, not caring if she falls on her diapered butt. Everything is childproofed, but she seems capable of anything. Maybe I’m biased, but I’m pretty sure she’s a genius. She can unhinge the gate to the stairs in under three seconds.
Third, today is the anniversary of Wren’s death. Exactly one year ago today I lost the one thing in my life I thought I could not live without. Somehow, I have survived. The resilience of the human spirit amazes me. It hasn’t been easy. Some days I wish I could stay in bed forever. I roll over and expect to see her on her side of the bed, but it’s always empty. It crushes me every time. If it weren’t for June, I fear I would have drowned in my own depression. June is my reason for waking up, for putting one foot in front of the other. Wren would be disappointed in me if it were any other way. She’d have told me to stop my crying and wash the damn dishes already. Wren would be mad if I gave in to my heartache, no matter how great.
In a year, so much has changed, yet so much has remained the same. My parents are worried about me. This makes me feel guilty. They’re too old to be worried about their only son. Even Wren’s parents come around more often than before. Age has done wonders for them. Losing Wren hit them harder than any of us expected, and though they weren’t exemplary parents, they are proving to be amazing grandparents. Despite their shortcomings, they loved their daughter, and now that she’s gone, they are showering affection on June, a sort of penance to Wren.
Wren is gone, but part of me refuses to truly believe this inarguable fact. Then I see her book sitting on the nightstand, an ace of hearts holding her page. She’s on chapter fifteen; I checked. She’d never leave a book unfinished. She can’t be gone. Her favorite shoes sit by the back door exactly where she walked out of them, left foot first. She wore those shoes everywhere and never put them away. They wait, ready for her to slip them back on. She can’t be gone.
When I look around the living room, she’s everywhere. So much of her remains it’s hard to believe she’s not upstairs or maybe at the grocery store, but surely coming back. Every time I look at our miracle baby, I see her. I can’t believe she’d leave us behind. She must be coming back. She can’t be gone.
My folks and in-laws are coming over later for a birthday party. Until then, it’s me and June. After the party I’ll visit Wren’s grave and leave flowers, something yellow and bright. Anything but roses. I yearn to talk to her alone. I need to tell her it wasn’t enough time together. I need to tell her I love our memories and our baby, but it isn’t enough. I wanted her and I wanted forever.
I lift June from the rug and plop her on my lap. In one hand she holds a toy pony and in the other a bottle. Leaning over the coffee table, I open a photo album and flip to pictures of Wren and me. I try to show her pictures of her mommy whenever I can. I want her to know Wren, even if only in photos.
“This is Mama when we went to Niagara Falls, before you were born,” I say, pointing to a snapshot of us, arms around each other. Some nice woman offered to take our picture against the backdrop of the falls. As she handed the camera back, she told us to enjoy each other. At the time I didn’t notice her sad smile as she gave us this message. Now I wonder who she lost.
The picture came out beautiful. Despite the glory of the falls behind us, all I see is Wren. Her head is tilted back slightly as though she’s midlaugh. I hear her voice so clearly still. Sometimes it wakes me up at night.
“Your mama was very, very pretty,” I say, bouncing June on my knee. She drops the pony and points at the pages, trying to grab at the pictures. Laying her hand on a photo on the right-hand side, she gurgles and looks up at me.
“You like that one?” I study the picture. This one is of Wren alone. She’s wearing ripped jeans and her favorite BC sweatshirt. Her long hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. I close my eyes, and the memory clicks in place. This was the day she told me she was pregnant again. I’d insisted on capturing her glow.
“You’re in that one too.” I point at Wren’s stomach. Her face is alight with joy; she radiates off the paper. It’s like she’s right here in the room with us. “You made her the happiest mommy in the whole world,” I say. I remove the picture from its plastic holder and hand it to June. She grasps it between her thumb and forefinger and instantly puts it to her mouth.
She coos, giggling at her new prize. “Mama?” she gurgles.
“What?” Recently she started saying Dada. Every once in a while she says kitty when Prissy curls up beside her. This is the first time she’s said Mama. “Yes, that’s Mama. Mama.”
“Mama!” she says again, louder this time, before exploding into a fit of giggles. I tickle her tummy and hold her tight. I can’t help the tears that come to my eyes.
“Mama, Mama, Mama,” she repeats, pleased with herself.
Settling back into the couch cushions, I think of Wren. She’s not here in person, but she must be watching over us, somewhere. She’d never miss this.
For as long as we’ve lived in this house, a turquoise vase has sat on the mantel. Every season it’s filled with new flowers, usually yellow ones. Once a week it’s dusted around. At Christmas, stockings are hung carefully around its base. The vase has never moved. Suddenly the turquoise vase falls to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. I watch it happen, so slowly and deliberately. The vase wasn’t near the edge. Nothing touched it. Prissy is snuggled on the armchair, innocent of this crime. But the vase falls.
June points at the floor. “Mama?” She looks at me, hazel eyes twinkling.
I look up and close my eyes, smiling to myself.
“Mama,” I agree, and kiss my baby on the forehead.
Sometimes the only explanation is the one you want to believe.
57
James
After
February 2008
“Mama, Mama, Mama,” June coos, her voice high and sweet. She’ll have a singing voice like her mommy, I can tell.
I sit on the stairs and watch Jimmy show June the pictures of Wren. If I were braver, I’d sit on the couch with them and look at the pictures that are, but aren’t, of Karen. But since June saw me, I don’t dare get so close. She still senses me, although not as strongly as in those first few days.
I’m no longer sad all the time, even though some days Karen is all I think about. Baby June helps me through the hardest days. She reminds me that life goes on.
June is Jimmy’s strength too. He has it worse than me. Wren was his life, his everything for a long time. I had Karen for only a little while, and I’d lost her once before. I was prepared for the pain. Jimmy was blindsided. He never imagined a world without Wren; it was unfathomable. I doubt he will ever be completely used to it, to the void that will never be filled.
Although I’m not sad all the time, I’m far from happy. Sometimes I’m content. It’s the best I can hope for right now. I’m content to wait as long as it takes for the next step. I’m excited to know what happens after this.
The vase. It’s always a vase. It’s sat on the mantel for years. Since Wren died, it’s held some fake flowers, but before that it was always filled with something alive and beautiful. It slips to the floor, shattering before it even fully hits the ground. I stand, alert. Something stirs in the air. Goose bumps rise on my arms.
Jimmy and June look up. Prissy doesn’t budge from the armchair.
“Mama?” June gasps, pointing at the broken vase.
I’m afraid to speak. I’m not sure what scares me more, someone hearing me, or not being heard at all.
I wait. And hope.
Epilogue
Now
She’s a picture of agility and grace. Pointing her toes and stretching her arms to the ceiling, she lets her neck arch backwards for a moment before taking a deep breat
h in preparation for the difficult back handspring dismount she has begun to incorporate into her routine.
From the stands, her parents watch with bated breaths. Her father wraps his arm around the girl’s youngest sister and pulls her close to his side so she’s resting her head in the crook of his arm. On the beam, his other daughter pushes off her back leg to start her descent. The dad tenses his arms but resists closing his eyes. These dismounts always make him nervous, despite her obvious aptitude for the sport. Together they watch, the younger girl hoping to one day learn this move herself, although she is not as comfortable on the beam yet as she’d like. Already tall for her age, she fears the sequences will get harder the longer her legs grow and she might never be as good as the big sister she idolizes.
The girl’s mother bites her lip, thinking back to the days when she was first mastering the back handspring double full dismount. It is a difficult tumble, and the mom cautioned her oldest daughter against pushing her young body too hard, but her warnings were in vain. The girl is naturally talented and passionate about gymnastics. There is no stopping her. Smiling, the mother basks in the joy her daughter exudes as she explodes from the beam.
On the mother’s left is her middle child. Ten years old and just getting her first phone, she ignores her older sister completely as she scrolls through Instagram. She could care less about gymnastics and much prefers her new favorite activity, horseback riding. Her parents signed her up for lessons last summer and she’s been hooked ever since. She double taps on a photo of a beautiful grey pony and imagines owning one herself someday. She’d never understand the fascination with flipping around some beam or bar. Horses were so much more interesting.
Sometime, Somewhere Page 25
