She laughed at herself. No, she really wasn’t. At first she was, but not now, not after she saw what she’d created. She realized this was the first time she’d ever completely decorated a tree, top to bottom, all by herself. Add that to her ever-growing lists of accomplishments.
Now, she had about thirty minutes to put away the boxes, freshen up a bit, and prepare to attend a grief session. She really dreaded doing this, but if she wanted to move forward, she knew this was a good place to start. She’d been grieving and sad for so long, she wanted to find a way to help herself so that she could be a better mother and a nicer person. She hadn’t liked herself much the past three years. The third anniversary of Jeff’s death was right around the corner. Instead of spending that day alone in her bedroom looking at old photos and crying and wishing he were here, she had a plan. This year she would try something new.
Last night’s attempt to direct the future for her and the kids hadn’t been particularly successful, at least not where Keira was concerned. But Matthew was thrilled at the prospect of going to the mall to shop. Poor guy, she thought. He’d always been such a sensitive child. How had she totally ignored his growth spurt? Three years was a long time. He’d gone through puberty, and she hadn’t so much as noticed that he’d started shaving though there wasn’t much to shave. Still, she should have paid attention to the changes he was going through. He was now much taller than his father had been. And if she were honest, much more handsome. Jeff had been cute, with thinning brown hair, a tad too long for a music teacher, but it was because of this that he got away with his whimsicalness. A free spirit, totally devoted to his passion. Family and music. Maybe in the opposite order. Jeff always dreamed of playing in a band, and he did occasionally. But sometimes his dreams were unrealistic. She’d never thought of this when he’d shared them with her, but with hindsight, they were. He wanted to be the next Axl Rose of Guns N’ Roses, but he wasn’t quite as talented. Teaching music was his calling, she thought. The students loved him, and he was good at it, but his true passion was to become a famous rock star. Sadly, he hadn’t lived long enough to pursue the dream, and, what was even sadder, Brandy knew in her heart of hearts that he wasn’t quite talented enough.
She sighed and had picked up a few boxes to take to the storage room when a man’s voice startled her. She dropped the boxes and whirled around to see a tall, dark-haired man carrying what looked like cake boxes.
“Can I help you?” she asked apprehensively.
“I think I should be asking you if I can help you.” He nodded to the pile of boxes she’d dropped. “I must have startled you.”
She followed his gaze. “Yes. I mean no, you can’t help me. Yes, there’s quite the pile here. I need to put them away before tonight’s grief session. Is there something I can assist you with?” she asked in what she hoped was a professional voice. She didn’t know this man. He could be another volunteer. Maybe one of those Friends of the Library who’d canceled on her.
“You could help me with these cupcakes,” he said.
“Sure,” she replied, taking the top box, and when she did, their hands touched briefly. Brandy’s hand felt like she’d stuck her finger in a wall socket. His dark eyes met hers, and when they did, she quickly looked away. “Where do you want these?” She assumed they were for tomorrow since it was so late.
“The main room. They usually have a table set up. Frankly, I haven’t a clue who’s responsible for the preparation, but someone’s set up the Keurig and all the stuff that goes along with it.” He looked at the tree. “Best I’ve ever seen it. Did you do all the work?” he asked.
She headed to the main room before it hit her. Again, she felt out of her realm. This was the room where the grief sessions were being held tonight. Of course they’d serve snacks or cupcakes. Was she supposed to set the room up? If so, Andrea had failed to tell her so. One week on the job, and she was already neglecting her duties.
“I guess not,” the tall man said to her as he followed alongside her.
“Guess not what?” she asked stupidly.
“That you’re not responsible for decorating the tree.”
“Oh,” she said. Again, she felt silly. “Actually I did. The Friends of the Library were supposed to help, but they canceled at the last minute.”
“That’s unusual. They’re usually on top of everything the library needs,” he said, sounding a bit perplexed.
“Well, this year, all twenty-three of them apparently had other things to do,” she said, as they entered the main meeting room.
“Odd.”
When the man turned on the lights, Brandy saw that someone had set up the table with the Keurig coffeemaker and all the little extras. Paper plates, napkins, and plastic utensils were placed beside the powdered creamer and packets of sugar.
“I’ve never seen you here before. Are you a new volunteer?” the man asked as he opened the boxes and began placing the cupcakes on a platter stacked beside the coffee machine. She barely even noticed them. For that matter, she’d hardly noticed anything except the man’s long, tapered fingers, the lingering scent of his cologne, and the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow, which happened to look exceptionally attractive on him.
“No,” she said.
“Are you here for the grief session? Dr. Farough is speaking tonight. He’s quite good,” the man added.
Feeling an overwhelming sense of relief, then a sense that she’d missed out, though on what, she hadn’t a clue, she couldn’t find her voice for a few seconds. She raked her hand through her newly cropped, shoulder-length hair. Had she worn makeup today? Yes, thank goodness, but she hadn’t had time to freshen up as she’d planned. She’d dressed in plain black slacks with a matching blazer and red blouse. Truly, she hadn’t planned on caring if she freshened up, what she wore, but she had the thought, so it must mean something. She was attending the session so she could be a better mother to her children, more focused on her life as a widow and a single parent. She hadn’t allowed herself to use those words, widow and single parent, too much, but it was the cold, hard truth, and she had no choice but to acknowledge them as facts.
It was a good thing, she thought. A sign that she would get through this. She’d had almost three years. She’d spent three years crying over the loss of her husband, the father of her children, the heart and soul of her family; but now it was time for her to step up to the plate and meet her responsibilities. She was going to do her very best to make up for lost time.
And she had vowed that she would start now.
“This is my first week working at the library. Yes, I thought it would be good to sit in on the grief session. I hear they’re very . . . helpful.”
“Since we’re the only ones here, what would you think about sneaking one of these cupcakes before the others arrive? They’re the best, and there won’t be any left if we don’t have one now.” He grinned, and Brandy felt her heart thump in a way that it hadn’t in a very long time. She found herself smiling back. A real, genuine smile.
“I think it’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” she said, reaching for a chocolate cupcake with red frosting. He handed her a paper plate and a fork. She shook her head. “Cupcakes weren’t meant to be eaten with a fork.” She bit into hers and closed her eyes. She’d deprived herself of all desserts for so long. She took another bite and another, then took a second cupcake, not caring that the man watched her. This time, she chose a red velvet cupcake with cream cheese icing sprinkled with red sugar. She bit into this one and smiled. The sugary concoctions were heavenly. She wanted a third but refrained.
“I take it you like sweets,” the man said.
She nodded, wiping her mouth on a paper napkin. “I haven’t had anything sweet in almost three years. Those are divine.”
He still held his on a paper plate, then when he saw she was watching him, he devoured his in three bites. “Lily would have a fit if she saw me eating like this, but she isn’t here, so no harm no foul.”
; She nodded and wondered who Lily was. He must’ve recognized the curious look on her face.
“Lily is my daughter. She’s eight and thinks she’s twenty.” He laughed. “And she would not like the fact that I haven’t introduced myself. Where are my manners, she’d say. I’m Ryan Rogers.” He held out those tapered fingers.
Dare she shake his hand? She did, and again, felt a bolt of desire shoot straight from her hand to her belly and down to places that hadn’t been touched in so very, very long.
These thoughts caused her to blush, and she hoped this man, Ryan Rogers, didn’t notice. Quickly, before she embarrassed herself further, she said, “I’m Brandy Heyers, it’s nice to meet you.” Good grief! It wasn’t nice to say this at a grief meeting.
“Yes, it is,” Ryan said.
Suddenly feeling awkward, Brandy made herself a cup of coffee. As she waited for the cup to brew, Ryan stood next to her. “How long for you?” he asked, and she had no idea what he was referring to. Sex? A relationship? Then it hit her like a brick.
“Three years on December twentieth,” she told him. Expecting tears to fill her eyes as they almost always did when she said the date out loud, she was surprised when she remained dry-eyed.
“It’s been six years for me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It must be very difficult for you.” Not that it would be anything but difficult, but six years was a long time to grieve. Wasn’t it? She’d been grieving for three, but it hadn’t seemed that long.
“Actually, I’m good. Or rather, I’ve accepted my loss. I’m over mourning Anna. She would want me to be. Now I go to these sessions more for the company than the counseling. Six years is a long time. Actually, I’ve decided that tonight is my last night. It’s time to move forward.”
He seemed so confident, so finished with mourning his wife. Would she feel this way after six years?
Being candid was new to her, but she felt the situation called for it. “Why tonight?” Why did she feel a tinge of sadness that he wouldn’t be attending meetings in the future?
“I’m not sure, really. No, I’m not being honest.” The soft murmur of some people entering the room made him lower his voice. “I’ve decided to purchase a new home and move on with my life. I’ve learned that it’s okay to move on and be happy. For the first year after Anna died, I felt like I was living in a bubble. Lily was barely two years old when her mother died, and I was sure I couldn’t go on, but I did. Then one day, I realized that an entire day had passed without my thinking of her, then another, and there I was, living my life with my daughter. Working helps. With eight hundred kids to focus on, I found myself busy, content with my life, and well, it just continues to go on. Grief passes in time. Not the loss, but the pain lessens. Anna was only thirty-two.”
Brandy listened intently while he spoke. They’d wandered over to the group of chairs when the room filled up. They sat side by side. “Jeff was forty-two.”
“Then we’ve both lost our partners at a young age. Do you have children?”
Brandy smiled. “Yes. A boy and a girl. Keira is eighteen, and Matthew is fifteen.” It was so liberating to speak to someone who knew what she had been going through. She remembered she was moving forward and had to move forward in her thinking as well.
“Kids can be trying at that age,” he said, but he was grinning when he spoke.
She laughed out loud, then realized some of the other attendees were staring at her. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I shouldn’t be laughing, and here of all places, but you said ‘trying.’ That’s putting it nicely. How is it you know so much about teens when your daughter is only eight?”
“I’m the principal at Pelican Elementary. In my profession, I’m around kids of all ages.”
“My husband was the music teacher at Lee County High. Maybe you knew him? Jeff Heyers?”
“The name sounds familiar. We probably ran into each other at one school function or another.”
Suddenly, their conversation became stilted, as if they’d been caught talking about something they shouldn’t. Like their dead spouses.
The speaker, Dr. Farough, stood at the dais, introduced himself, and began discussing the different stages of grief. “There are five stages of grief. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. There is no order for these emotions. We’re all individuals with different coping skills.”
Brandy tried to focus on Dr. Farough’s words but found herself more focused on Ryan Rogers, who seemed to listen intently as the doctor continued explaining the different stages of grief. She knew them all. Very well.
As she halfheartedly listened, she came to the conclusion that she was tired of death, tired of grief, and tired of feeling guilty the few times she’d managed to feel several moments of happiness. A good book. A movie that made her smile. All of her focusing on her grief had alienated her from her children.
It truly was time to move forward. So deep in thought, she almost jumped out of her skin when Ryan whispered in her ear, “Are you game for coffee when this lets out?”
Is he asking me out on a date? At a grief session?
“I am,” she said.
For the first time in three years, Brandy Heyers felt hopeful about the future.
Chapter Eleven
It was after midnight when Brandy finally climbed between the cool sheets. Physically, she was exhausted, but mentally, she was as alert as ever.
She’d looked in on Keira and Matthew before going to bed. Both were sleeping soundly. Kids—they were very resilient. They would be fine, she thought. Yes, they were going to go through some rough patches, but this would happen whether Jeff had lived or not. Maybe he would’ve been better equipped to deal with them when they came, but she would be, too. She had to be. She was here, and he wasn’t.
She rolled onto her side, peering out the window. The sky was a midnight blue, and the stars glistened like tiny white diamonds. Often, she wondered what lay beyond them, but tonight she simply admired their beauty. The quietness of the night. Occasionally, a frog croaked, and a wild bird swooped across the sky, its wings creating a soft, rippling sound across the water. Tonight, she listened to this and realized that she couldn’t recall the last time she’d actually focused on something other than herself and the grief she’d carried around for so long. Too long, she’d told Ryan. And it hurt to admit this, but it was true. Her grief had been through four of Dr. Farough’s stages numerous times. Now it was time to allow herself to move forward to the fifth stage.
Acceptance.
She accepted that Jeff wasn’t coming back and accepted that her life would be different but reminded herself that different isn’t always a bad thing.
She closed her eyes and drifted into a soft, dreamless sleep.
A tap on her bedroom door jolted her awake. She jumped out of bed, tripping over the clothes she’d had on yesterday.
Was she late for work? She glanced at the bedside clock. Eight thirty! They’d fire her!
“Mom?” Matthew called from the other side of the door. “What time are we going to the mall?”
Relief washed over her. It was Saturday! She opened her door. “Come on in, let’s chat.” She plopped down on her bed, motioning to the spot beside her. She and Jeff had always had an open-door policy. When their door was closed, that meant the children were not allowed to come in, or that they had to knock unless it was a life-threatening emergency. Those rules no longer existed. Her policy had been complete isolation in this room. No more.
Hesitantly, he entered her room. “You sure?” he asked timidly.
“Of course I am.”
He sat on the edge of the bed. “So what time should I be ready to leave?” he asked.
The mall didn’t open until ten, but she knew he was as anxious as ever to go.
“Why don’t we go out for breakfast first? We haven’t done that since—”
Matthew interrupted. “Mom, can we stop?”
“What?”
“Every wo
rd that comes out of your mouth, well not every word, but close enough, always has to do with Dad. Before he died. After he died. What he liked, what he didn’t like. Can’t we just live like now? Without, you know, always saying that stuff.”
Brandy saw Matthew’s eyes. They were full of tears, and he struggled to keep them at bay.
“I know,” she said as she brushed the hair from his face. “I have a long way to go, but I promise to try my very best.”
“What’s going on in here?” Keira stood in the doorway. Her burgundy hair was back to its original shade of blond, and had been cut into an adorable pixie style.
“Keira, you look like an angel!” Brandy said, and motioned for her to join them. “How, rather when, did this happen?”
Keira gave up a grin. A real Keira grin. Her blue eyes were minus the thick black eyeliner she’d caked on for three years. “Linda took me to Emily’s last night after dinner.”
Leave it to Linda. She had three daughters, one two years younger than Keira. She must’ve said the magic words because Brandy had moaned and groaned about her hair and makeup, and Keira just caked on more. Whatever Linda said, she owed her big-time.
“Emily did a great job. You look like,” she almost said “your father” but didn’t. Instead, she said, “you.”
“Thanks, Mom. I know I’ve been a real witch lately. I’m sorry. Linda told me some things, and well, I know it’s time for me to get serious and stop acting like I’m twelve.”
No doubt more of Linda’s parental expertise. Her children had turned into little cherubs. Overnight. Later, she’d ask Linnie what sort of threats she used. She wanted to borrow them for the future. Just in case.
The Most Wonderful Time Page 6
