by Owens, Wendy
I watch as Emmie reaches up to open the curtains I’d so carefully pulled closed the day before.
“Leave them,” I gasp desperately, reaching up with one hand. Emmie stops and turns to look at me. I know this is hard on her, too. I can see she wants to fix it—that’s what Em does. She fixes everything. But you can’t fix this. It’s like the hole that Henry’s mother warned me about. It’s so deep your body aches, wanting to find something to fill it, and you know nothing ever will.
“Colin called this morning to let me know he and Olivia made it back okay,” Emmie says as she walks to the chair next to me and sits down.
“That’s good,” I reply, staring at a picture on the coffee table of Henry and I on our honeymoon. He looks like my Henry, not the man I said goodbye to. I want to tell Emmie to leave, but I know she won’t understand. It’s hard to be around someone who has her person still, after you lost yours. I never knew I could feel anything except love for Emmie, but somewhere inside me, there lurks a scarier version … a version of me who hates her. I hate Colin, too. I hate anyone who has what I lost.
“He was a good man, Paige.”
I turn my head, glaring at my friend. “Was there ever any questioning whether or not he was a good man?” I snap.
“No,” Emmie quickly replies, trying to find the words to state what she meant. “That’s not what I was saying.”
“Then what were you trying to say?” I ask coolly.
Emmie bows her head, exhaling deeply. “Just that I know you’ll miss him.”
I shudder, my shoulders folding in as I pull my legs close to my body. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.” My voice cracks as the tears begin rolling down my cheeks once again. I’ve cried so much since Henry died, that most of the time, I don’t even notice when it starts.
“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Emmie says, reaching out and placing an open hand on my arm. “Nobody can understand what you’re going through but you. You’re twenty-seven years old, you shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“I didn’t know you could hurt this much.” As I speak, the nasal sound consumes my voice. The pressure in my head clicking and popping as the congestion from the hours of sobbing shifts in my head. “I miss him so much.”
Emmie doesn’t speak; she falls to her knees, and like the perfect friend she is, pulls me into her embrace. I wish I hadn’t had such terrible thoughts only moments ago. I can’t hate her—I hate the pain. Emmie rocks me until I lose track of time, the tears now dry on my swollen cheeks.
“I don’t think anyone can understand your pain. All we can do is be here for you.”
“I wanted to be there for him,” I say.
“You were,” Emmie insists.
“I know he hung on so long because of me. He knew I wasn’t ready. They told us it would be within weeks after the chemo. Dr. Abbott said it was nothing short of a miracle that he held on for five more months. Henry kept telling me he was going to give me an anniversary. He wanted me to have that.”
“He loved you very much.”
“I wish we could have had an anniversary, just one. It would have meant the world to him,” I repeat softly.
“You were his whole world. All that mattered was that he had you in the end.”
I exhale, my chest shaking as I do. “I never realized what people went through when someone they love dies like this. I thought I did. I watched Henry go through it with his mother, but it’s so different when you’re living it. Did you know they give you a list of things you need to watch for if they choose to pass away at home?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It’s surreal. Thinking back, it’s like it wasn’t even me going through it. I feel like I was watching someone else’s life play out. When your husband is thirty years old you don’t expect to be watching for the signs it could be the end. How fucked up is that?”
“You’re going to get through this. Come to Texas with me, at least for a little while,” Emmie pleads.
Lifting my head, I smile. “I can’t.”
“Why not? We want you to, you’re our family.”
I look away; I don’t want her to see the truth in my eyes. I can’t go to Texas because Christian is there. I can’t be near him. I can’t possibly grieve for Henry with him around me day in and day out. But that’s just the thing. I should have known Emmie would see right through me.
“Colin can tell him about Henry’s passing. You don’t even have to—” Emmie begins.
“No!” I shout, turning to look her in the eyes. “You have to swear you won’t tell him!”
“I don't understand. He cares about you, too. He’ll want to help you get through this,” she argues.
“I said no! Christian might want to help me, but he won’t be able to stop himself. Eventually he’ll want us to try again.”
“Is that so terrible? You two obviously loved each other.”
“Henry’s body is barely cold, and you want to talk about Christian and me?” I can’t hide the contempt in my voice.
“I’m not saying you rush into his arms, but you’re are still young, Paige. You’re going to fall in love again.”
“Not him,” I insist. “I almost cheated on Henry with him. I won’t do that to his memory.”
“Fine, but he’s going to find out about Henry eventually,” Emmie says. “He’s already been asking questions. He knows something’s wrong.”
“Umm—” I hear Em’s mom’s voice from the doorway. “You have a visitor, sweetheart.”
I peer past her and see Christian standing behind her; he looks like he hasn’t had much sleep. I can’t speak. I open my mouth, but the words won’t come. I tell myself I need to shout for him to leave, but still, no words.
Emmie stands up, crossing the room to join her mother. “We’ll leave you two alone.”
Before I know it, Christian is standing right in front of me, alone in the room with the door closed. He crumples a piece of paper he is holding in his hand. It’s obvious, he is struggling just as much as me for what to say. “I’m so sorry,” he softly offers at last.
Finally something clicks in my head—anger—and with that I am able to find the words that have been escaping me. “Damn your brother.”
I watch as he furrows his brow. “He didn’t tell me about Henry. Trust me, I was pretty pissed he didn’t.”
“Then who?” I demand.
Christian hesitates. He looks at the paper in his hand and then back to me. “It was Henry, he told me.”
I shake my head. “You’re not making any sense, what the hell are you talking about?”
Christian quickly moves forward, shoving the piece of paper into my hand, and when he nears, I can see his swollen, bloodshot eyes. It’s obvious he’s cried recently. My heart stops for a moment until he steps back.
“Just read it,” he instructs me.
My hands are trembling; the room is so dark, lit only by a lamp on the other side. I have to hold the note close to my face to make out the words. Immediately I recognize the handwriting. It belongs to Henry.
Christian,
We haven’t officially met, but I feel like I already know you from what Paige has told me. She’s a very special lady, isn’t she? She won my heart the moment I saw her. I’ve spent the last four years trying to show her just how much I love her, and I hope I’ve succeeded.
I wanted to write you this letter to let you know I love Paige so much, and I want her to be happy. As happy as she has made me. I’m not sure if you know, but I’m dying, and if I’ve sent this, I may already be gone. I saw you and Paige on our wedding day. The way you argued so passionately for her heart, and the look in her eyes.
Perhaps it was selfish of me to marry her after seeing that look, after knowing she felt the same way about you. I didn’t want to die alone, and I didn’t want to give up the one person who made me happier than I had ever been.
But now that I’m gone, I want that for my Paige. I want to know that she is going to spend
the rest of her life loving and being loved, not mourning me. She deserves that. Help her live her dreams, hold her hand when you’re walking next to her, she loves that, and hold her when she cries. She won’t make it easy on you; we both know that’s not her.
Fight for her, she’s worth it. She’s yours now, so please be there for her, and help her find that joy again. That joy that she gave me every day until my last.
-Henry
My arms drop down to my side, as I clench the letter tightly in my fist. I can feel my chest tightening, my breaths growing shallow. My brain’s not sure what part of the letter to process first. He saw Christian and I on our wedding day? My heart aches to the point where I wonder if it might physically crack. I push that thought aside, and question what Henry could have possibly been thinking. I’m not something he could just give away.
“He must have sent it just before the end,” Christian says.
“I miss him.” I don’t know why those words leave my lips, but it’s all I have in me.
“I know.” I hear Christian’s voice shake, heavy with the emotion of the moment. “He must have loved you very much.”
“I can’t do this, Christian,” I quickly add as he takes a step closer to me.
“You can’t do what?”
“I can’t flip a switch and just be happy with you. Everything without Henry feels wrong.” My chest heaves as I fight back the rage of tears behind my eyes.
Christian laughs softly.
“That’s funny?” I snap.
Christian shakes his head, closing the gap between us. “I don’t expect things to feel normal anytime soon. And I don’t think Henry expected you to flip a switch either. Whatever will or won’t happen between us, I’m not worried about right now. All I want right now is to hold and comfort the girl I’ve known and loved since I was a kid.”
He stares at me—waiting for any sign his embrace might be welcome. I bow my head, which he quickly takes as an invitation. He wraps his strong arms around me. The zipper of his sweatshirt presses into my cheek uncomfortably, but the massive warmth and strength of his embrace is so intense I don’t dare push him away. I almost welcome pain inflicted from something other than my cracked-in-two heart.
Gripping the sleeve of his sweatshirt, I crumple into him, the wall coming down and the raw pain enveloping me. “It hurts so bad.” I cough and heave, my words barely audible.
He pets my head, he doesn’t let go, and I cry as he speaks, “Please let me be here for you, Paige. Will you let me do that?”
I nod, unable to speak, the pain in my chest more than I can bear. I have never felt so utterly broken. I can’t process Henry’s letter, I can’t process anything except that I hurt. I hurt, and I don’t want to. The loss is so great my body actually aches. I fall to my knees, curling into a ball, and try to shut it all out.
Christian is there, he moves with me, holding me, rocking me through my sobs. My eyes are burning, and I wonder if breathing will always be this painful. I struggle to breathe, Christian’s broad hand rubbing circles across my back, trying to calm me.
I close my eyes; the warmth of his body and his steady breathing lulls me into the sleep that has escaped me for days.
One Month Later ...
SOME DAYS I feel strong—almost like I might be able to get out of bed and walk down to the table for breakfast. But just before I slip my robe on each time, the sadness creeps in, and I settle for pulling the blankets back over my head.
Then there are the days that I feel like I am a frail and broken leaf, laying on the ground, waiting for the massive storm that is just over the horizon to come and blow me away. Since I spend most of my time here, in this bed, staring up at the ceiling, I also have taken up a new hobby. At least that’s what I like to call it. I worry. That is my hobby.
I worry I’ll forget what Henry looks like. I worry I’ll forget his smell, or his laugh. I worry there’s nothing after this life, and I won’t get to see him again. I worry I will get cancer and die a painful and terrible death alone—like Henry. I worry my friends will tire of me and send me back to New York.
Emmie can tell this is a new state of broken for me, and though she tries every day, I fear I am now becoming a burden on her. I then worry that Henry felt like he was a burden to me.
“Paige?” I hear Christian’s voice and a knock on the tiny green door. I don’t answer. He enters anyway. He’s used to me not answering. “Are you hungry?”
I still don’t answer. I simply stare past him. This never seems to bother him. He sets the tray he is carrying down on the small trunk at the foot of the bed and makes his way over to me, picking up a pillow I’ve discarded to the floor. He places it behind me and gently nudges me into a sitting positing, propping the pillow up behind me.
“Emmie made oatmeal. It’s got raisins and nuts, and I brought up a little jar of pure maple syrup for you in case you wanted it a little sweeter,” he says. I watch him as he retrieves the tray. I don’t understand why he is doing this; I want him to stop.
“I’m not hungry,” I say at last.
“Well, you need to eat something,” he insists, pulling up a wooden chair next to me and placing the tray on his lap.
“I said I’m not hungry.” My voice is dripping with venom.
“Then I’ll sit here until you are,” he informs me.
“Why won’t you just leave me alone?” I ask, glaring at him.
“Because I care about you; we all do,” he explains.
I huff. Deep inside me, I want the fight. I want to unleash all my hurt, anger, and fury onto him, but I simply don’t have the strength to expel that much energy. Relenting, I scoop the bowl off the tray and shove a spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth.
“There you go,” he commends me.
I study him as he watches me just as intensely. I’ve been so cruel to him since I came down to stay with Emmie. I can’t figure out why he puts up with it. “Can I ask you a question?” I ask after swallowing.
“Anything,” he answers with a half smile.
“I got married to someone else,” I begin. “Why didn’t you move on, start dating someone else?”
Christian thinks about my question for a long time. Finally, he furrows his brow and answers me, “The same reason I didn’t date anyone the last time we were apart. Nobody was you.”
I shake my head, shoving another bite of oatmeal into my mouth. “Are you trying to tell me you would have stayed single forever if Henry hadn’t been sick?”
“I don’t know—maybe. It’s hard to say. Perhaps, eventually, I would have found someone else who I connected with in the same way, but I just don’t think that happens very often ...” He pauses, leaning forward. “For some people, it doesn’t even happen once.”
His dark eyes grab my attention, and I force myself to look away. I don’t want to look at him. I just want to miss Henry. Why won’t he leave?
“Does it make you uneasy when I say things like that?” he asks.
My head snaps back as I stare at him through squinted eyes. “No! Why would that bother me?”
“I don’t know. It seemed to upset you.”
“I’m not upset,” I insist.
“Sorry, my mistake.” I don’t like the way he won’t argue with me. Nobody will argue with me. It’s like they all think I will lose all touch with reality if they push back.
“Do you come up here every day because you think eventually I’ll give us a second chance?” I ask pointedly. I can see the question annoys him.
“I come up here every day because I care about you, and I don’t want you to be alone with your pain.”
“So you have no hopes of me ever loving you again?” I demand.
Christian shakes his head. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
“Answer me, damn it!” I shout.
“Pain makes us angry sometimes, and I’ll be here for as long as you need someone to take it out on.”
“Whatever,” I huff.
&
nbsp; Christian reaches out and grabs my hand. He pulls me closer, and I am suddenly uncomfortable. “Paige, I’ll be here for you, but you’ll never get me to stop loving you, so stop trying.”
I feel my chest tighten, and my eyes fill up with tears. I wildly yank my wrists away. An awkward silence settles over the room. I wait for him to say something, to leave, to do anything, but he doesn’t. He just sits in that damn chair and watches me.
I look to him, my voice shaking, and I ask, “What if I am never ready to be loved again.”
“I’m not worried about that. I’m not even thinking about that,” Christian answers softly.
“Because I may never be able to be with someone ever again. Do you understand that?”
He smiles, that crooked smile with his dimple, which is still amazingly sexy, but can’t seem to pull me out of my stupor. “What happened to you is something you should have never had to go through, but you did. So right now, all I’m asking is that you take it one day at a time and let me be your friend. I’m not thinking about our future, or us, I promise. Will you let me be your friend?”
I feel my chest ache and tighten. I think about Henry’s letter and what it must have taken for him to write such things to Christian. I feel so confused, and I don’t know what to do, but a friend like Christian sounds amazing. I nod, no words seeming appropriate.
He reaches out and takes my hand into his. “What do you say to going downstairs and seeing Olivia and Colin and Emmie for a little bit?”
“I don’t know,” I say, hesitating at the idea of leaving the safety of my tiny room.
“How about you come down and try, and if you want to come back up, just tap my arm, and I’ll come up with some excuse and whisk you back to bed,” he offers. “Sound like a plan?”
“Okay,” I agree and stand, wrapping my oversized robe around my small frame.
He opens the door, and as I step up to the doorway, I freeze, taking a deep breath.
“You all right?”
“I’m scared.”
