Shattered Perfection (The Perfection Series Book 1)

by Heather Guimond

  I don’t want to promise. I am afraid of what it means if I do.

  “I’m afraid, Vance.”

  “I know you are, baby, but if it helps, I’m not. These last days at home, spending time with everyone, have shown me that everyone is going to be okay. I have been blessed with a great life, good friends, a wonderful woman who has given me more love than I ever hoped to have and certainly more than I ever deserved. All I need now to make my life complete is your promise that you will do what I ask.”

  Hard as it is to imagine that I can ever live up to this promise I’m about to make, I know there is no way I’d deny him this. I can’t let him go feeling I didn’t love him enough to give him everything I could, so I open my mouth and whisper the second hardest thing I will ever have to say to him. “I promise, Vance. With all my heart, I promise you.”

  He gathers me to him and tucks my head under his chin. “Thank you, Mimi. My heart has always been full for you, to the point of bursting, but I want you to know and always remember it is, and has only ever been yours. I never loved anyone until I met you. I may take a piece of you when I leave, but I am leaving all of me behind with you.”

  “I love you, Vance. You will always be the one great love of my life, no matter what comes next. Take that with you.”

  We both spend the night, holding each other, alternately crying and whispering words of love and encouragement. The next morning, I wake to the sun shining softly through the blinds. Vance doesn’t.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I quietly rise and dress, my eyes on Vance’s body the whole time, a numbness stealing over mine, making my movements slow. My old mantra enters my head. Breathe in, breathe out. One foot in front of the other, as I leave the room and find Miriam. She’s still sleeping. I gently wake her, and by the look on my face, I know she knows. Her face falls, and she buries her head in her hands for a moment. Suddenly she straightens her shoulders and steels her spine, raising her head high with a stoic look on her face. She stands and I lead her back to the bedroom. As she enters, a small whimper escapes her lips and she approaches the bed. She kneels beside it, taking Vance’s cold hand in hers, as I shut the door to give her some privacy.

  I find the hospice nurse sitting in the living room with her knitting. I have to tell her that he’s gone, but I want to wait for a few minutes in order to allow Miriam her time with her son. The nurse will have to go in and gather his medications to dispose of them immediately, lest anyone try to abscond with the controlled substances. I understand this is only policy, but it rankles nonetheless. So, I pass her by as if nothing has happened and go on to the kitchen to make coffee. While I am sipping from my first cup, Miriam’s emotion overcomes her, and I can hear her wails echoing throughout the house.

  I run to her side, but of course the hospice nurse is already there. At least she is trying to comfort Miriam, rather than just going about her duties. I nod to her to go ahead, and wrap my arms around Miriam to lead her from the room. I settle her on the sofa in the living room and just hold her while she cries.

  The hospice nurse calls the mortuary and before long, they arrive to pick up his body. I dash into the room before they can claim him and shut myself inside. I sit beside him on the bed, holding his hand for a moment, just studying his peaceful face. I feel a mixture of emotions, tremendous sadness, love, disbelief, but surprisingly I feel a sense of relief. I am relieved that his suffering is over, that the oppressive cloud that has hung over this house is finally lifted, that the agonizing experience of waiting for the end has finally come to pass. As the hospice nurse knocks on the door reminding me that the mortuary attendants are waiting, I lean forward and whisper the hardest words I will ever say in my life against Vance’s lips.

  “Goodbye, my love.”

  Two days later, on a Monday morning in late summer, and what would have been our second wedding anniversary, we have a memorial service for Vance. He wanted to be cremated, always saying he took up enough space when he was alive, he didn’t need to take up anymore after he was gone. The service is attended by a great number of Vance’s friends, all the partners from his firm and his co-workers, including that vile Tiffany who blubbered her way through as if she’d lost her own husband.

  The funeral itself, I am told, was lovely; I mostly tuned out. I did however pay rapt attention to the eulogies, as they were loving, heartfelt and sometimes humorous speeches from the people who knew my husband best. I declined to speak, as I didn’t think I could get through a few sentences without breaking down.

  As long as I kept my interactions with people to a minimum, I didn’t cry. The numbness that had crept over my body after I left him was back, and I wrapped it around me like a suit of armor. Part of me felt like I had spent all my emotions that last night with Vance, anyway. As if I had given him all I had, and there was nothing left for anyone else to see. Maybe some people saw my demeanor for what it was, maybe some thought me heartless. I didn’t much care, either way. My love was gone, and despite what he said about taking a piece of me with him, I thought he was wrong. He’d taken it all.

  Justin was there to hold my hand through the church service. He even rode in the limousine back to the house for the gathering after the funeral and stayed close to Miriam and me in case we needed the support. Mostly, I tried to avoid everyone. I did my duty greeting everyone and accepting their condolences of course, but other than that, I spent my time in the backyard, chain smoking and drinking Vance’s scotch.

  Laurel had flown out to help with all the arrangements (and to keep me standing upright, if truth be told). She tried to be supportive and keep me engaged, but while I loved her and appreciated her compassion and concern, her exuberant personality was just too much for me to handle. Her way was to try to ‘keep my spirits up’ by acting positive and philosophical. I really couldn’t wait for her to go home. I avoided her throughout the afternoon as much as I could.

  Jessica, Liz and Grace came and eventually found me hiding. They made sure I knew they were all there for me. They were very considerate and said all the things friends are supposed to say under the circumstances, but they weren’t pushy and didn’t stay too long, which I appreciated. I would eventually get in touch with them but it would be a while.

  Now, it's dark and the scotch has run out. I start thinking it's time to go inside - Miriam will need help cleaning up. Before I can move, though, Justin comes out and sits down next to me on the chaise lounge I am occupying

  “Got any more of that scotch?” he asks.

  “Afraid not, although I’m sure there’s another bottle beneath the wet bar, if you really want some,” I respond.

  “Do you want some more? I’ll go in and get it if you do.”

  “Nah,” I say, lighting another cigarette. “I’ve had more than enough already, but please, help yourself.”

  “Maybe later.” He reaches over and places a hand on my knee. I look down at his hand, then up at his face, slightly irritated that he is touching me. Holding my hand is one thing. Nobody should be touching me anywhere else.

  “How are you holding up?” he asks. “I haven’t seen much of you since the service, which I am sure is by design, but I thought someone should check on you to see if you needed anything.”

  “I am partially upright,” I motion to my semi-reclined position on the chaise lounge, “and following the default plan. All things considered, today is a success.”

  “Default plan?” he asks, a confused look on his face.

  “You remember, breathe in, breathe out…” I say, taking a long drag on my cigarette, and exhaling to demonstrate my point.

  “Ah, yes. Under the circumstances, I believe it’s a sound plan and probably the best that can be expected of any of us.”

  “Miriam seems to be handling things inside rather well. I don’t know how she manages to interact with all those people, listening to their condolences, hearing their stories.” I say, shaking my head. “I would want to scream if I had to stand there, smiling politel
y as every word is another dagger in my heart.”

  “I think she takes comfort in their memories of Vance, knowing that he touched their lives, too. For her, it makes her feel a little less alone.”

  I nod, thinking it will be a very long time before I ever feel less alone. “That’s good. She deserves that.”

  “She does. Don’t you think you do too?” he asks.

  “What, deserve comfort or to feel less alone?”

  “Both, I guess. They kind of go hand in hand, really. Don’t they?”

  I think about it for a moment, before responding. “I can’t imagine feeling any less alone, so it’s hard to imagine taking comfort from anything or anyone right now. The night before he died, Vance told me to surround myself with people who loved me, but let’s face it, anyone who loves me, also loved him. They’re going to be grieving too. It’s selfish, but I feel too wrapped up in my own pain to share theirs. However, I also made a promise to him that night. I just don’t know if I have the strength to live up to it.”

  “I know what you mean, in a way. My way of coping is to keep it all inside too. Instead of locking myself away though, I try to take on everyone else’s pain so I don’t have to deal with mine. Two different approaches, both of them just as fucked up as the other.”

  I lean my head back against the lounge and eye him skeptically. “So what are you thinking? We form a support group of two?”

  “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea. You aren’t overwhelmed by too many people sharing their grief with you, and I don’t take on more than I can handle and avoid my own feelings.”

  I nod. “I’m not wild about not being able to lock myself in my bedroom for the next six months, but in an effort to keep my promise to Vance and because I owe you the world, I’ll give it a try.”

  “That’s all either of us can do, Mimi.”

  The following months blend one into the next. I repeat my mantra several times a day, every day, but the more I try to keep going, the more I sink lower into a pit of despair. The cloud of darkness is back, and every breath I take of the heavy air surrounding me is a weight on my chest threatening to crush my heart. Thanks to Vance’s life insurance, I don’t have to look for a new job right away, so I don’t. I spend my days, when I manage to get out of bed, rambling around our house, wrapped in his robe or one of his shirts, reliving our good memories. Sometimes I sit in his office just handling things that belonged to him, taking solace in the knowledge that the items once touched his skin. It’s like touching him by proxy.

  Justin comes over several times a week, bringing me groceries and making sure that certain things are done, like checking the mail, taking out the trash and sometimes even doing a load of laundry or two. I have come to depend on him for far too much, physically and emotionally.

  Grace, Liz and Jessica have long since stopped trying to get me out of the house, because I have repeatedly declined their invitations. They still call occasionally to check up on me, but I keep our conversations short. The only person I truly allow to be a part of my life is Justin and I think it’s because he is a connection to Vance. That’s not to say I don’t truly look forward to his visits, I do. They are the only reprieve I have from my agony, dulling it to a lonely ache while he’s around. He makes good on our agreement to be a support group of two by consistently showing up and keeping me from wallowing in my sorrow twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but I am afraid I am a dismal failure at living up to my end of the bargain. I don’t know what he gets out of our arrangement, because I don’t really give anything back to him. I don’t call him or make sure we get together. He does all the work and I do all the taking. I have to say though, I don’t know how I’d manage without him because he’s the only tether I have to the outside world. I know if it weren’t for him, I’d probably wither away in my own self-pity until I disappeared.

  One night, Justin shows up with a sack of groceries, informing me he is going to cook for me. I am dubious, since we normally have take-out and sit around watching movies. I follow him as he marches through the house and into the kitchen, where he takes out packages of steaks and lobster tails from the brown paper bag he brought with him.

  “Have you ever made these before?” I ask, eyeballing the food as if it might be poisonous.

  He just gives me a look that says I should keep my mouth shut and let the expert work. He finishes unpacking the bag, pulling out a bottle of red wine. I begin to laugh hysterically as I recall Vance’s bug-eyed look on our first date when he realized I didn’t like wine. Justin looks at me in shock, obviously wondering what has gotten into me, but also because I haven’t laughed in months. Of course, my laughter quickly dissolves into loud hiccupping tears as the happy memory rips me in two. Justin quickly rounds the kitchen island to where I stand and pulls me into his arms, holding me close and shushing me softly.

  When my sobs have died down to quiet sniffles, he pulls back and wipes the remainders of the tears from my face. “Care to tell me what happened there?”

  I try to share the memory with Justin, but I can’t really translate the humor in the retelling, and my melancholy doesn’t exactly help, either.

  “You really had to be there,” I say, wiping more tears from my eyes.

  “I guess so,” he says, looking at me with the softest expression on his face. “Even though it didn’t end well, it was good to see you laugh there for a minute.”

  I smile sadly, visions of that night still playing in my head.

  “What about you, Justin? I’ve been a shitty friend. How you are you coping? What has it been like for you without him?”

  Justin blows out a breath and rubs his jaw with one large hand. “It hasn’t been easy. So many times, I’ve picked up my phone to give him a call, to just shoot the shit, or to tell him something I know he’d get a kick out of, and realize when I see his name in my contacts that he isn’t there anymore. Every time, I wonder why I still have his number in my phone, but I just can’t bring myself to delete it. I don’t know if I ever will.”

  He goes back to the other side of the island and resumes his preparations for the meal, pulling out pots and pans, and all the other utensils he needs. I lean against the counter as he continues to speak.

  “I miss the guy, plain and simple. There’s no other way to put it. He was my best friend, someone who always had my back. It’s kind of like your left arm, you don’t really think about it, but you know it’s always there when you need it. It was the same with Vance. I guess I took him for granted, and now that he’s gone I realize I should have appreciated what a rare friendship we had. Friends like Griffin and Bryant are great, but they aren’t much more than good company. Vance was different. You could talk about stuff that really mattered with him, without feeling like a giant pussy, you know?”

  “You mean, like your feelings, Justin?” It feels odd, but I can’t help but poke him a little bit.

  “Is that you, Peaches, trying to make fun of me? Careful, now. I might think there’s some hope for you after all,” he says, brandishing a meat fork at me.

  I ignore his comment and try to distance myself from the changing mood of our conversation by asking if I can help prepare the meal. He gives me some potatoes to wash and peel, which quickly devolves into an argument over how the potatoes should be prepared.

  “You do not have mashed potatoes with steak.” I insist. “You have them with chicken.”

  “What difference does it make?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “Everybody knows you have baked potatoes with steak. Although, since we’re having lobster tails, I’m thinking red potatoes probably would have been the more appropriate choice over russet,” I say thoughtfully.

  “Are the food police going to show up and arrest us if we don’t have the right potatoes?”

  “Hardy-har. You just be quiet and handle your meat over there and I’ll take care of the vegetables,” I say as I grab a fork to puncture the potatoes.

  I clap my hand over my
mouth just as I hear him mutter, “I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

  “You know what I meant!” I shout.

  Justin bursts out laughing. “Yes, Peaches, I did. It’s just been a long time since I’ve had a date.”

  I begin wrapping the potatoes in foil as I say, “Really? That’s unusual. How long is a long time?”

  “Longer than I care to admit. I’ve been really busy recently, so there hasn’t been much time to meet anyone, and there isn’t anyone that I’ve already met that I’m interested in seeing again.” He says as he rubs seasonings into the steaks.

  “Do you have a lot of contracts you’re working on right now? Is that why you’re so busy?” I ask as I push him out of the way and pop the potatoes in the oven.

  He nods and admits “I’ve also been spending a lot of time with my friends lately.”

  Instantly, I feel guilty. He’s trying to tell me that taking care of me like he does is interfering with his social life. I need to stop relying on him so much and let him get back to his own life. He doesn’t need to keep babysitting me, but if I tell him that, I know he will deny that’s what he’s doing. I can’t be this selfish anymore by taking advantage of Justin’s good heart. He has a lot to offer someone and currently I’m eating that up rather than letting him use his time to get out there and meet someone. That’s going to change, pronto.

  I keep my newfound realization to myself and allow myself to enjoy this last night in his company, as much as I’m able to enjoy anything these days. To my surprise, Justin turns out to be a really good cook. The steaks are cooked to perfection, the lobster is succulent, and the potatoes melt in your mouth, if I do say so, myself. He also brought over a movie, a comedy, of course. He’s always looking for a way to lift my spirits and this time I manage to muster a couple of chuckles. He looks at me each time like the earth has moved.