by Ellie Wade
Alma and I circle the party all day, introducing ourselves and thanking everyone for coming. The day couldn’t be any better, and I’m pleasantly surprised at the turnout.
As I introduce myself to each child, I look him or her in the eye and express how happy I am that they’re here. Alma is the social one between the two of us. Loving others comes as naturally as breathing to her, but I try my best to make each child feel important. I compliment art projects, smiles, and basketball form. My goal is to find something unique and special about each kid and tell them, let them know that I see them and that I care.
After the last volunteer and family have left, Alma and I stare out toward the empty parking lot, exhausted and humbled.
I turn to her when I hear a sniffle and see tears cascading down her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
“We did it, Leo. We did it. You and I, we made it happen. Our dream. We did it,” she repeats herself, sentiment thick in her voice.
“I know. It’s pretty surreal.” I wrap my arms around her, and she hugs me tight.
“I’m so proud of us. We’re going to save all the little Leos of the world who don’t have anyone to save them,” she cries.
I let out a soft laugh. “Well, let’s start with this city and expand to the world at a later date. One project at a time.”
“Deal,” she says.
We lock up and get in the car to drive home.
Inside the car, Alma asks, “Are you happy, Leo? Like truly happy?”
“Absolutely,” I say, preparing to pull out of the parking lot and onto the main street. “Why are you asking?”
“I just want to make sure I’m there for you and that I’m being a good wife. We’ve been so busy the past two months. I simply wanted to check in.”
I put the car into park and turn to my wife. “You make me happier than I’ve ever been every single day, just by being you. Never doubt how perfect you are for me or how much I love you. Okay?”
“Okay.” She smiles, and my chest aches at how incredibly beautiful she is, inside and out.
“You’ve changed my life, Alma. I’d have been gone from this world years ago without you. I know it. You saved me in every way possible and gave me this incredible life. I am thankful for you every second of every day.”
Tears fall from Alma’s eyes again, this time for a different reason. “I’m grateful for you every second of every day too. Thank you for loving me.”
“You’re easy to love. I should be thanking you.” I chuckle as I shift to drive before pulling out onto the street.
“Someday, I hope you realize just how easy you are to love too.” Alma smiles and squeezes my hand.
I might never believe that, but as long as Alma loves me, the rest doesn’t really matter.
FORTY-NINE
Alma
Radio turned high, windows down, I drive home from tutoring at the Lair. My hair whips around behind me to its own beat. As I extend my hand out the driver’s window, the warm sun and air feel good against my skin. Driving with open windows to good music is one of my favorite things. It doesn’t get much better than this.
Leo and I have been running the Lair for almost a year now, and it’s been an inspiring journey. We work so hard and come home exhausted every night, but it’s given us so much. The relationships we’ve built with these kids are priceless. I get to come home from work each day with gratitude in my heart, knowing that I’m making a difference in someone else’s life. I can’t save the world, but I can love a child and maybe save them. When they grow up and have children, they’ll raise them with a legacy of love and not hurt. They’ll break the cycle of pain. It’s a positive ripple effect, and it’s important.
People loving people will save the world. I know it.
Pulling into the driveway, I spot Ethan’s car and smile. He hasn’t been over for a while. It will be good to see him. I park the car and check my phone to see if I have any missed texts from Leo. I shoot him a quick text.
Hey, Ethan’s here. You heading home soon? Love you. xx
I’m anxious to see how Leo’s day has been. I’ve called him several times today with no response. That happens sometimes when he’s working off-site conducting home visits with some of our troubled youth. It’s important to check in on our kids at their homes to make sure they’re getting all of their needs met. These visits often go in a direction of their own. Leo never knows what he’ll find. Sometimes, the family is short of food, so he buys them groceries. He’s entered homes that weren’t fit to live in and had to hire a cleaning crew and get furniture delivered. Other times, he might walk into something that needs a government agency intervention.
I enter the house to find Ethan sitting at the table with his head in his hands. His face is red and wet from tears.
“Ethan,” I gasp. “What’s wrong?”
He raises his stare to meet mine. His eyes are haunted and pained. I’m not sure how I know what he’s about to say, but somehow, I do. The deepest parts of my soul shatter because I know that he’s gone.
I drop my purse, and my hands cover my heart.
“No.” I shake my head.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
“No,” I say louder. “No,” I cry as tears start to fall from my eyes.
“I got a call from one of the guys Leo used to run with back before you. He said Leo used today, and it must’ve been a bad batch or something. He doesn’t know, but I wanted to tell you before the cops arrived. I didn’t want you to find out that way,” he sobs.
“No!” I scream. “It’s not true. It wasn’t Leo! You’re mistaken.” My back heaves with sobs, and the room starts spinning.
What is happening? It doesn’t make sense. This isn’t right.
“I’m so sorry, Alma. I wish it weren’t true, but it is. Leo’s gone.”
“No,” I choke out. “No,” I beg, praying this reality isn’t real.
It can’t be. There has to be a mistake.
“Ethan?” I plead, hoping against all odds that he’s wrong.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeats.
“No,” I gasp and drop to my knees. My face falls, and my entire body mourns.
An eternity passes in the space of a few desperate sobs. In that fraction of time, I die a hundred times over. The pain is so intense that every cell in my body aches. A despair this deep could only be healed by one person, and he’s the one who caused it.
Nothing adds up. We were happy. He was happy. Our life was fulfilling. Why would he do this to us? To me? He promised me forever, and I counted on it because I can’t live this life without him.
Arms pull me from the ground, and I swat them away. I just want to lie on this floor and die. I can’t do this.
“Come on,” Ethan urges, his arms propped under mine. “They’re here.”
Two uniformed police officers stand at my door, telling me what I already know but can’t believe. Words fail me. Shock is my new home.
Ethan says something to the officers and then closes the door.
“What can I do? How can I help?” he asks.
“Leo’s family,” I mutter before staggering down the hall.
“Okay, I’ll tell them.” He follows behind me.
“Anyone who matters, please,” I request.
People who love Leo should know, but I’m not strong enough to tell them.
“I can do that,” he says.
I kick off my shoes and stumble into bed, tears soaking the pillow immediately.
“Are you going to be okay?” Worry saturates Ethan’s words.
“No, but you can go. I need to be alone.”
I’m not okay. I’m never going to be okay. My mind, body, and soul are shattering into a million pieces, but I need to break alone.
“I’ll go. Please call me if you need anything. I’m so sorry, Alma. Truly, I am,” Ethan says before he’s gone.
I’m not sure how to mourn a loss this devastating.
How do I live in a world where Leo doesn
’t? How do I breathe when he isn’t?
I don’t know how I’ll ever get past this, and maybe I won’t. Some heartbreaks are fatal. Our love was all-encompassing, and now that it’s gone, it might take me with it. Maybe I’ll let it because I’m not strong enough to fight without it, and even if I were, I don’t want to.
FIFTY
Alma
Lying on my side, the soft white comforter wrapped around me, I stare at a spot on the wall beside my bed. It’s a small black dot, almost like an ink stain from a ballpoint pen. I can’t recall seeing it before, and I don’t know how it got there.
I remember when Leo surprised me with these painted walls. I had spent a rare day with my parents and come home to him painting our bedroom. The light blue, almost gray, made me so happy. Such a calming color. Perfect for this space. Soft, welcoming, soothing, and romantic.
The dark blemish bothers me. It needs to be fixed, but I don’t know if Leo had any leftover paint. If I try to color-match the paint and the shade is off, it will ruin the wall that Leo gifted me. I’m not sure I can risk it, but imperfection grates on me. He made it perfect for me, and now, it’s not.
The alarm on my cell phone sounds, and I reach toward the nightstand, snatch it up, and turn the intrusive sound off. There are dozens of notifications—texts, social media tags, and missed calls from family and friends. I can’t read them all. I don’t care what those who claim to love Leo have to say. No one knows him and loves him the way that I do … did … do. I can’t wrap my mind around past tense just yet.
It was always meant to be me and Leo against the world. I know him. I know every hidden whisper of his soul—me, no one else. They can’t possibly mourn him the way he deserves to be mourned, only I can. Me. Because I am his, and he is mine.
He is mine.
He was mine.
How can I do this? How can I get up and go to his funeral? The task seems too difficult to bear. I’m not strong enough.
Amos’s text pops up on my screen as I stare at my screen saver, a black-and-white picture of Leo and me from our wedding. We’re so happy in this photo. My back is to his front, his arms wrapped around my waist. His strong hands hold mine against my middle. I’m leaning into his chest, my head tilted back to see him. His face is leaning in toward mine. We both carry larger-than-life smiles. I don’t remember what we were laughing about, but it must have been something great. Leo didn’t gift the world with his smiles often. Most of them were reserved for me, and I cherished every one of them.
I read my best friend’s text.
One step in front of the other. I’ll be there soon. xo
Per usual, Amos has a direct link to my heart and knows exactly what I need to hear.
One step in front of the other. I can do that. For Leo, I can do that.
Setting my phone back on my nightstand, I sit up. The room starts to spin, and I close my eyes while my mind settles. The world has been a blur these past few days. I haven’t gotten out of bed but a few times. I haven’t eaten or drunk anything besides the few sips of water that Amos made me drink. He’s been in and out, making sure I’m okay.
Truthfully, I wish I could stay in bed and sleep until the pain resides. I don’t want to exist until my soul no longer screams in agony from Leo’s absence. I suppose I want to sleep forever. I can’t live in a world without his light.
You owe it to him to say good-bye, I remind myself.
Feet on floor. Stand. Walk to the bathroom. Shower. I list off my next steps in my head. One step at a time.
I stand and brace myself against the wall until I’m not so dizzy. Spotting the water bottle that Amos left beside the bed, I grab it and force myself to drink it down. I can’t mourn Leo properly if I pass out from dehydration.
I amble to the bathroom and turn on the shower. In my hands, I clench the black T-shirt that I retrieved from the hamper the day of Leo’s death. I bring it to my face and inhale. Tears well in my eyes. I can hardly smell him anymore.
What has it been, three days? Four? He’s leaving me.
I step out of my panties and remove Leo’s shirt, pulling it up and over my head. Balling it up in my fists, I press it to my face, trying to find him.
I locate a spot on the shirt that still smells like Leo, and I breathe him in. Don’t leave me, I beg as tears fall from my eyes. Stay. I rock back and forth in the bathroom, now full of hot steam from the shower, crying into his shirt. Stay with me. Please.
I love you.
Stay with me.
Lowering the shirt from my face, I hug it to my chest and open my eyes. I need to shower. I can shower.
One step at a time.
When I turn toward the shower, the mirror above the sink catches my eye. I gasp and drop the shirt.
The words I love you, written by Leo’s finger, appear on the mirror, highlighted by the surrounding glass that is fogged up from the hot, steamy air. I tremble and press my splayed hands against the glass on either side of his words. Beads of condensation start to form, causing the letters to drip.
No.
Something in me breaks, and I howl into the thick air, “You left me! You left me!”
My grasp finds the metal soap dispenser, and I scream as I throw it into his last words. The mirror shatters, and pieces crash onto the counter and the tiled floor.
“You’re gone. You left me.”
The fight abandons me, and my words are now sobs as I fall to my knees against the tiles. The glass shards crunch beneath me, but I don’t feel anything.
The pain and the heartbreak threaten to burst me open from the inside until it’s all so unbearable that it vanishes, leaving me numb. He’s gone, and I can’t feel anything. I look up to the place on the wall where the mirror used to reside, and I panic.
His words. They’re gone.
All that remains is the ugly brown backing of the mirror.
No. No. No!
I claw at the glass pieces around me and try to find his words. I can put it back together. Standing, I look on the counter in a desperate search of pieces of the puzzle that contain his message.
“I love you!” I cry out. “I’m sorry. Come back to me.”
None of the sharp shards on the granite countertop show Leo’s writing, so I drop back to the ground, frantically looking through the pieces on the floor.
I can fix this.
I blink the tears away from my eyes. Blurred visions of glass and bright red smears meet me as I search. I know the blood is coming from me, but I can’t address that until I find his words and put them back together.
“Oh my God, Alma!” Amos yells from the now-open bathroom door.
“Help me!” I cry. “I have to find the pieces. Please help me!” I beg him. “He was here a minute ago, and then I broke him, and now, I have to put the pieces back together. Help me find them. Please.” I dig around the broken mirror, but his words are gone. “He was here.”
“I know,” Amos says softly. He grabs my wrists and pulls me up from the ground.
“He was here.” My voice breaks. I point to the mirror. “He was here.”
“I know,” Amos repeats, pulling me toward the shower. He slides open the glass door of the enclosure and steadies my arm as I step in. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to clean this up, and then I’ll help you,” he says gently. His big brown eyes are wide with some emotion I can’t place.
Pity? Love? Maybe both.
Amos shuts the door, and I watch as the red-stained water escapes down the drain. My muscles hurt, and I’m just so tired. I lie down against the warm tiles of the shower. The water beats against my skin in a soothing rhythm, and I close my eyes.
“Come on, Alma. Let’s stand up.” Amos’s words catch me off guard.
How long have I been lying here? I don’t know.
I open my eyes to find Amos standing above me, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. He hooks his arms under mine and pulls me to my feet.
“Let me help you.” His words are steady a
nd kind.
I watch, almost as if I were a distant bystander, as Amos squirts shampoo into his hand and begins to wash my hair. He threads his fingers into my hair and massages my scalp before holding my shoulders and leaning me back into the shower spray to rinse. He applies conditioner and repeats the motions.
Taking the loofah, he loads it with my shower gel and scrubs my back, arms, and legs. He squints as he assesses the damage I’ve done to myself.
“None of them are deep,” he says aloud—to himself or me, I’m not sure.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I tell him, my voice quiet.
I’m starting to feel more human now that I’m clean, and I realize what it must have looked like when Amos found me naked and bloody in a pile of broken glass.
“It’s okay. You’re okay,” he reassures me.
I look up to him. “I don’t know if I can live this life without him.”
He pulls me into a hug. “I know.”
My tears mix with the water as they trail down Amos’s chest, and I let his embrace engulf me in a warmth that I so desperately need.
My breath catches when I see the stylish black dress that Amos laid out on my bed for me. Pulling the towel tighter around me, I hesitantly step toward the dress and gently graze my fingers across the material. A myriad of memories returns at the movement. Amos doesn’t know what this particular ensemble means to me or the sentiment it carries. How could he?
I close my eyes and remember opening the big white box and then wearing this dress while Leo asked me to be his forever before he removed me from it and made love to me for hours. It feels like it was yesterday. We were so happy, and life was perfect. I’d give anything for that day back.
I suppose most things from here on out are going to carry some sort of memory. Everything in my life has been touched by Leo in some aspect. I have to find a way to go on despite the heartache that the memories bring. This is my new normal.
