Second Chances

by Teresa Roman

  I pushed away the panic that gripped my heart. Pull yourself together. I was a grown woman, a mom. I could handle this. Over the past few years, I’d contemplated asking Ryan for a divorce at least half a dozen times. But then I’d imagine life as a single mother and feel overwhelmed. Now, I had no choice. Was this karma biting me in the butt? It didn’t matter. I’d find a way to be the best single mother on the planet. I had a shitty childhood. When my kids were born, I vowed to do everything in my power to give them the kind of life I’d dreamed about as a kid. Ryan or no Ryan, I wasn’t about to break that promise.

  I took a deep breath and brushed my hand on Ryan’s shoulder. The sheet kept me from actually touching his skin. It creeped me out to think of what it would feel like. I’d never liked hospitals and left the room whenever Ryan turned on one of his favorite medical dramas or hospital reality shows. He liked talking about his gory patients, people with broken bones poking through open flesh or who’d accidentally chopped off a fingertip with a skill saw. His stories turned my stomach, and I tuned him out whenever he shared one of them, even though he’d get angry whenever he thought I wasn’t paying attention to him. It was one of the seemingly thousand things that caused friction in our marriage.

  I stared down at the man that had been my husband for the past ten years and whispered, “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

  Then I turned around and walked out of the room.

  A nurse ushered me to a private seating area where I waited for Dr. Mallet. He walked over to me a few minutes later and took a seat in a chair across from me.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m still so shocked,” I replied. “I just never expected something like this would happen.”

  “It’s a shock to all of us.” The doctor shook his head. “Ryan was a good man.”

  I wondered how well he actually knew Ryan, and then I wondered if he actually meant those words or was just saying them because that’s what was expected when someone died. Ryan almost never had anything good to say about any of the people he worked with, but I hadn’t remembered him mentioning Dr. Mallet’s name in the past, so perhaps the two of them had a good working relationship. Or maybe their paths hadn’t crossed all that often. I had no idea how often an emergency room doctor and an X-ray tech actually interacted.

  “So what happens next?” I asked. “Will he get an autopsy?”

  “Ryan died in the hospital, and we know the cause of his death. Under those circumstances, an autopsy usually isn’t done. Unless of course you request one.”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t think it’s necessary.”

  “Then your husband’s body will be taken down to the morgue. After you contact a funeral home to make final arrangements, they will claim his body.”

  “Does that mean I have to find a funeral home myself? You guys don’t do that?” I’d never handled anything like this before and didn’t have the slightest idea how to proceed. Was I just supposed to call some random funeral home from the yellow pages, or did the hospital provide me with a list of places?

  “No, we don’t do that.”

  “Um, okay. I guess I’ll figure it out.”

  “Perhaps the best thing would be to ask family or friends or maybe even your local church.”

  “That sounds like a good idea,” I said, even though I knew I wouldn’t be doing any of those things.

  “Do you want me to get someone from social services to talk to you?” he asked.

  I shook my head and wiped away a stray tear with the back of my hand. “No, I’ll be fine.”

  Dr. Mallet walked away after that. It took a few minutes, but somehow I managed to collect my thoughts. There was a lot to do, and sitting around in an emergency room wasn’t going to help get those things done. I had a funeral to plan. And a job. And kids that needed to be picked up from school in a few hours. I could sort through my feelings later when they were in bed for the night and the house was quiet. I stood up and headed back outside.

  The first thing I did when I got home was call my supervisor, Diane. I worked as a human resources representative. Ninety-five percent of my job I was able to do from home. Only occasionally did I have to go into the office for meetings. But even though I didn’t have an office I needed to show up to at a certain time, I still had emails and calls that needed answering. Which meant I had to speak to my supervisor and let her know what was going on.

  “Oh my God,” Diane said after I told her about Ryan. It felt so strange to say to someone that he’d died. “I’m so sorry. How are you holding up?”

  I’d never been on the receiving end of condolences and wasn’t really sure how to reply. “As well as can be expected.”

  “What happened?”

  People were bound to ask me why my husband, at the age of thirty-five, was dead. I needed to get used to telling the story. So even though I didn’t feel like talking about it, I explained that Ryan had fallen asleep at the wheel on his way home from work.

  “That’s terrible. If there’s anything I can do—”

  “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. It’s just that I’ll probably fall behind on some of my tasks.”

  “Vanessa, that’s the last thing you need to worry about right now. Take some time off, as much as you need.”

  “I’d rather not,” I said. “Work is a good distraction.” And provided a paycheck, which at that moment, I realized I’d need now more than ever with Ryan gone. A wave of panic ran through me. How was I supposed to take care of two kids and pay a mortgage on my income alone?

  “Well, okay. If that’s what you want. But if you change your mind, just shoot me an email.”

  “Thanks, Diane,” I said.

  I hung up the phone and sat down at my desk. Then I opened the web browser and typed “funeral homes Sacramento” in the search bar. A long list of options popped up. I clicked on the link at the top of the page. All of a sudden, I felt overwhelmed. There were too many choices, and I had no idea which was the right one. In the ten years we’d been married, Ryan and I had never talked about final arrangements. I didn’t know if he wanted to be buried in a fancy satin-lined casket or if he preferred to be cremated. Would I have to plan a funeral service? Neither of us were churchgoers, so I had no idea how to get something like that arranged.

  I turned away from the computer. I couldn’t handle making a decision that big right then. Maybe someone in Ryan’s family would know what to do. Not that there were many people to ask. Ryan’s mother had passed away from breast cancer when he was a teenager. The only members of his family I’d ever met were his father and younger brother. Since he didn’t get along with either of them, we didn’t exactly keep in touch. I’d only met them a handful of times. Ryan used to call them freeloaders and complained that they only called when they needed something from him.

  I sighed. That left the final-arrangements decision up to me. But not yet. I couldn’t move forward with funeral plans until after I talked to the kids. Jacob was only nine, and Lydia only six. They were still so young. I was afraid of what losing their father would do to them. It was all I could think about, so before I did anything, I needed to let them know their daddy wasn’t coming home anymore.

  3

  After picking Jacob and Lydia up from school, I listened to the two of them prattle on about their day. Just like I always did. In every way this day felt like any other. Except it wasn’t. It struck me how innocent my children were. How completely oblivious they were to the shocking news I was about to unload on them. I wanted to put off telling them. Forever. But of course, that wasn’t an option. So instead, I asked them to take a seat at the table as soon as we got home.

  “We’re skipping soccer practice today,” I said.

  “What? Why?” Jacob asked, sounding unhappy about it even though he usually grumbled about going.

  “Because Mommy has something important that she needs to talk to you two about,” I began, grasping their little hands in mine in an effort to comfort
them and myself at the same time.

  Jacob and Lydia looked up at me, their eyes full of curiosity. “What is it, Mommy?” Jacob asked, concern in his voice. He was such a sweet, sympathetic little boy.

  I took a deep breath. “Your daddy got into an accident on his way home from work this morning.”

  “So that’s why he wasn’t home when we left for school?” Jacob asked.

  “What kind of accident?” Lydia asked, her childlike voice as innocent sounding as she truly was.

  “A car accident.”

  Jacob cocked his head to the side. “Is he okay?”

  I shook my head and bit my lower lip, trying to keep myself from crying. I needed to be strong. “Your father was hurt very badly. He didn’t make it.”

  Why couldn’t I bring myself to just say the word dead? They were children. “He didn’t make it” wasn’t an expression kids typically understood. Or maybe it was. I had no way of actually knowing. This was all so new to me. I didn’t know the right way to break the news to my children that their father was dead. Was there even a right way?

  Lydia scrunched up her face. Her long hair was a mess like it always was after a day at school. She looked a lot like me, deep-brown hair, hazel eyes. Her brother, on the other hand, was a dirty blonde with brown eyes like his father’s. “Make it where?”

  “She means Daddy’s dead,” Jacob said to her before turning his head back toward me. “Right, Mom?”

  That was my Jakey. He was a smart kid and proud of it too. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

  “Wait, Daddy’s dead?” Lydia asked, sounding more puzzled than anything.

  I nodded. My throat had tightened to the point that I couldn’t bring myself to reply with words.

  “Are you sure?” Jacob asked.

  I nodded again.

  Jacob and Lydia glanced at each other. Almost in unison they began to cry. I pulled them both into my arms and let them sob into my shoulders. My heart bled for them. They were my everything. My whole world. Ever since Jacob had taken his first breath and let out his first cry, I’d fallen madly in love with him. Three years later, when his sister was born, it had been the same with her. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I could love anyone as much as I’d loved Ryan, but as soon as my children were born, everything changed. I didn’t think a love as deep and profound as the love I had for my children even existed. I wanted to protect them from being hurt, and it killed me that I’d failed.

  “So we’ll never see him again?” Jacob managed to ask, his little voice cracking as he got the words out.

  “I’m sorry, honey. But no.” I squeezed him a little tighter. “He’s with the angels now.” I had no idea why I even said that. We weren’t a religious family, but I hoped they’d find some comfort in those words.

  “I’m scared, Mommy,” Lydia said. “What if something happens to you too?”

  “Oh, honey.” I wiped her tears away with my fingertips. “Nothing will happen to me. I promise. I know how much you and your brother need me, and I won’t ever leave you.”

  “You don’t know that for sure,” Jacob said, accusingly.

  “Yes, I do,” I replied, even though, of course, he was right. I couldn’t really guarantee anything, but I’d do whatever was in my power to be there for them. “You have to trust me. Everything will be all right. I swear.”

  Jacob wiped his tear-soaked face with the back of his hand. “Is it okay if I go to my room?” He was nine and slowly starting to assert his independence. I hadn’t expected it to happen so early, but I tried my best to give him the breathing room he wanted. Still, it worried me that he wanted to be on his own at a time like this.

  “If you’re sure that’s what you want to do.”

  “I’m sure.” He stood and headed down the hall toward his bedroom. I was tempted to follow him and make him talk, but when Jacob shut down, he didn’t open back up until he was good and ready.

  I carried Lydia in my arms over to the couch. At six, she was still small enough that I did that from time to time. Soon, she’d be too big. She lay her little head in my lap and started to cry again. I stroked her hair and whispered to her, “Everything will be all right.”

  After a while, she closed her eyes. All that crying had tired her out.

  Later that evening, while the kids were washing up right before bed, I managed to sneak in a call to my best friend, Marla. She was the one person I confided in about damn near everything because talking to her almost always made me feel better. I didn’t want Jacob or Lydia to hear me discussing what happened to their dad on the phone, but I needed someone to talk to and figured the running water from the sink while the kids brushed their teeth would drown out the sound of my voice.

  “Hey, girl,” Marla said.

  I took a deep breath. “Something terrible happened today.”

  “What?” Her tone had gone from casual to serious.

  “Ryan died.” It felt so strange to say those words. I choked back the lump in my throat. “He got into a car accident on his way home from work this morning.”

  “Holy crap, Vanessa,” Marla said. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

  “There’s nothing you can do,” I said. “I just needed to tell someone.”

  “Do you want me to stop by?”

  “No. You don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”

  She had her kids with her. Marla was a single mom, like I now was, with two sons and a daughter of her own. She shared custody with her monster of an ex-husband, Steve, and Wednesdays were one of her days. Which meant she had three kids to help with homework, cook dinner for, and clean up after. Then she’d need to help them get ready for school the next day. I didn’t want to add to her long list of things to do by having her drag her kids all the way over to my house. She didn’t live that far away, but it was late, almost bedtime I realized as I glanced at the clock that hung on the wall in my kitchen. All things considered, I was doing better than I’d thought I would. After picking the kids up from school, I’d gone into Mommy mode, sorting out what I needed to do to help Jacob and Lydia get through losing their father. Everything else, my feelings about Ryan and being a widow, worrying about money, planning a funeral, was secondary. I was all they had now.

  “Well, I’m coming over Friday with dinner. It’s Steve’s weekend with the kids,” she said, “Don’t even bother telling me no.”

  “Okay. I won’t, then. Good night, Marla.”

  “You know I love you, right?”

  “Yes.” I smiled after hanging up, thankful that I had such a good friend, since when it came to family, I had very little to speak of. Strangely, that was one of the things Ryan and I had in common and something we’d bonded over when we’d first gotten together. We both knew how it felt to come from dysfunctional families. But after we fell in love, it didn’t seem to matter. We’d said we’d be each other’s family. If only it had actually worked out that way.

  My parents split up when I was around Lydia’s age. It happened not long after we’d moved from Los Angeles to Sacramento. My father hated it here. Sacramento was too small for him. He craved the big-city life he’d had back in Los Angeles. So one day he took off without a word. The next time my mother heard from him was a few months later, after he’d filed for a divorce. Like most people, a lot of my childhood memories had faded over the years, but not the one of my mother sobbing at the sight of those papers my father’s lawyer had sent her.

  I didn’t even know where he was anymore. Maybe he was still in LA. For all I knew, he was long dead. My father’s departure had left my mother so depressed that she couldn’t function without the aid of some sort of prescription sedative or narcotic. Me and my brother, Brandon, had to learn how to take care of ourselves. As soon as he graduated from high school, he got the hell out of California. He finished his degree at some college in Illinois and never set foot in Sacramento again. Not even for my wedding. We talked on our birthdays and Christmas, w
hich was about as often as I spoke to my mother, even though she only lived a half hour away in Citrus Heights.

  That night, the kids slept in my bed, their bodies wrapped around me for comfort. I watched them while they slept, and for a few beautiful minutes, it felt like everything was going to be all right. I had them, and they had me, and I was good enough at the whole mom thing that I’d more than make up for the fact that their dad was gone. But then the doubts crept in. Just because Ryan and I had fallen apart didn’t mean the kids felt the same way about their father as I did. He was Dad to them. And no matter how angry he sometimes made me, I wanted them to love him because I knew how much it hurt to not have a father in your life. That wasn’t how Ryan saw things, though. Whenever the kids did anything to show they preferred me over him, Ryan insisted that I’d poisoned their minds against him, but he was wrong. I endlessly defended him, not for his sake, but for the children’s.

  “Kids are just naturally closer to their mother,” I used to tell him every time he got upset when the kids fought over who got to sit next to me when we went out to eat.

  “That’s not true,” he’d insist. “You just talk shit about me to them behind my back.”

  “Do you really have to start a fight with me right now? Can’t we just enjoy lunch for once without you criticizing me?”

  “You’re the one who’s criticizing me.”

  Back and forth it would go until I realized what we were doing. Ryan was either exceptionally good at baiting me, or I was exceptionally bad at not letting him get to me. When Jacob was first born, I’d sworn Ryan and I would never argue in front of our kids. Of course, back then things between us hadn’t been as strained. I was still in love, happily bouncing away on my own personal cloud nine. At least most of the time.