Bared Souls

by Ellie Wade

  “Mrs. Alma Harding?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I respond.

  “Hello. I’m Alan Grice, the Hardings’ estate attorney. I have Leo’s will and asset information here for you. I’ve been trying to reach you via phone and email but not had any luck. Please excuse me for dropping by, unannounced.”

  “Oh, no problem. Please come in.” I step to the side to allow him entrance.

  I sit across from him at the kitchen table as he removes files and sets them out on the wooden surface.

  “Leo came into my office four years ago and set everything up. I just need a couple of signatures from you, and I’ll be out of your way.”

  “What is all of this?” I ask.

  “These are Leo’s trust and investment accounts. He put them all in your name.”

  “You mean, our joint bank accounts?” I ask, knowing that my name is already on our checking and savings accounts, which totals a substantial amount of money.

  “No, these are accounts that Leo has never made a withdrawal from. He invested the majority of his original trust fund years ago, and they’ve been building. I don’t think he ever had any intention of using the money from these accounts unless he really needed it. He told me that too much money is dangerous. But as they are all in your name, you should have the account information for them. In total, the sum is around forty million dollars.”

  “Forty million dollars,” I choke out.

  “Yes,” Mr. Grice says calmly, as if that amount were pocket change. “I’ll need your signature here and here”—he points to two signature lines and hands me a pen—“to make everything final. All of the information you need to keep track of the investments or make withdrawals or additions is included here.” He places his hand on the file. “My information is here as well, and I can help you with anything you might need.”

  I sign the paperwork.

  “And finally, when Mr. Harding came in several years ago to transfer everything over to you, he gave me a letter to give to you upon his death.”

  I gasp, “What?”

  Mr. Grice pulls a sealed envelope out of one of the folders. My name is written on the front in Leo’s handwriting, and I immediately start to cry as I take the letter.

  “I will see myself out. Please reach out if you need anything. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Harding.”

  Mr. Grice retreats, and I’m faintly aware of the door closing in the distance. My fingers tremble, and I clench the envelope.

  I stare at my name for the longest time, absorbing every letter. Leo wrote this. I can’t believe it. Tears stream down my face, and anticipation invades every pore. I’m about to read Leo’s words for the last time.

  Finding my courage, I carefully open the envelope. Pulling out the pages, I unfold them and lose my breath when I see the stationery from the hotel on Mackinac Island, the place where we got engaged. Then, I look at the date.

  He wrote this the night of our engagement, over four years ago.

  My dearest Alma,

  You’re asleep, drunk off of sugar from our excessive fudge-tasting, and I’m sitting here, watching you breathe, thankful for every breath. The diamond ring I gave you circles your finger, and I’ve never felt more happiness. In all my life, I never thought I would find someone as perfect as you, and I never thought you’d love me back.

  Knowing that you’re going to be my wife someday is so overwhelming. I can barely process it all. Yet it’s true. I’m going to marry you, Almalee Hannelda Weber, and cherish every piece of you for the rest of my life.

  My existence hasn’t been easy, but knowing that I get to finish this journey with you makes it all worth it. Any amount of time that I get with you is priceless. If everything I went through led me to you and our life together, I can’t regret any of it. I’d go through it all again just to get another hour with you. Your soul gives mine life. Your love gives me purpose. You give me everything.

  Last year, I told you that I didn’t think I was long for this world, and it upset you a great deal. I mentioned that when I look into the future, all I see is blackness, and that’s still true. If you’re reading this letter, it means that I’m gone. I really hope that I’m wrong, and you’re reading this letter with a silver bun atop your head, swinging on our porch swing, surrounded by our grandchildren.

  I hope I’m wrong, Alma. I truly do. More than anything, I want a long life with you. I want to experience everything this world has to offer. I want the house, the pets, the kids, the adventure, the grandchildren—THE LIFE.

  From a very young age, I’ve accepted the fact that I’m going to die young. Most children dream into the future. They can envision what their life is going to be like. I’ve never had that ability. My future is unknown; it’s a blackness that I can’t predict. I don’t see myself old and gray with a grandkid on my lap, but I do see you that way.

  Now that I’ve found you, the thought of leaving you terrifies me, and I want more than anything to be wrong. I will do everything in my power to stay with you, Alma. I will. But if my fate is a short one, I need you to know that you’ve made it enough.

  I know I tell you all the time, but I don’t think you quite grasp how much I love you. There aren’t sufficient words that could ever describe it. The closest I can come is to say that I was dying, and you gave me life. I was suffocating, and you gave me air. I was drowning, and you pulled me from the depths of despair. I owe everything I am to you, and I’ll pay that debt with my love.

  I can face whatever tomorrow brings because I had today. One day of your love is enough. You are my everything. And if you’re reading this letter and you’re younger than eighty, I’m sorry for leaving you too soon. Please forgive me. Please move on. Love again. Promise me you’ll be happy again. The only thing that terrifies me more than losing you is leaving you alone and sad.

  I want you to be happy. You deserve a life bursting with love. You made all of my dreams come true. Know that I was filled with joy and love and gratitude for every day that I got with you.

  True love, like ours, transcends time and space. Even if I’m not physically here, I’m still loving you from afar. If you need me, close your eyes and look within. I’ll be there. My love will always be there because you own every piece of it.

  I love you forever.

  Leo

  I blink away my tears as I read the last few lines. My eyes swell from crying, and I gasp for breath. I set the letter down on the table and wrap my arms around my middle. Closing my eyes, I search for him.

  I love you, Leo. I need you to help me get through this. I’m dying without you. I miss you so much. I love you. I love you. I love you.

  I rock in the chair, searching my heart for him. I feel it—the love. My body warms, and my breathing calms. He’s here. He’s always here.

  I can do hard things.

  I will survive this.

  I am loved.

  The thoughts come to me, and I think that maybe my inner strength is cheering me on, but I can’t deny that it’s him. It’s always been him.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Alma

  Leo’s been gone two months. I still ache for him every second of every day. My body still mourns him, and I can barely hold down food. But I’m trying to live. I’m trying to be happy. It’s going to be a while before I can feel happiness, so for now, I’m putting one foot in front of the other. I’m taking it one day at a time.

  I’m showing up. I’m leaving the house. Checking on Lion’s Lair. Grocery shopping. Cooking. Eating. Trying. I spend more time not crying than sobbing, so I consider that progress. I reread Leo’s letter each day, and it helps me feel like he’s still here. I believe that part of him is.

  I’ve had lunch with Quinn, Amos, Ollie, and Cat over the past month, which is also progress. It’s been good to talk to people who love me or Leo. I don’t feel as alone as I did, and the truth is that I’m not alone.

  The extravagant amount of money that Leo left me is going to remain untouched—for no
w. Maybe, someday, I’ll use that money to expand Lion’s Lair to other cities or use it for other forms of good. At this moment, all I can focus on is getting up, putting one foot in front of the other, and going through the motions, and that’s enough.

  Standing in front of the new bathroom mirror, I brush my teeth to get ready for the day. My gaze keeps dropping to the spot where Leo’s electric toothbrush and charger sat. Two weeks ago, I finally threw them out. Nothing says desperate widow like holding on to an old toothbrush. There’s still a water ring against the granite where the toothbrush sat, reminding me that it’s been quite some time since I cleaned the bathroom.

  You can do hard things, I remind myself.

  A small chuckle teases my lips as I think about what my life has come to. I used to love cleaning; it was my happy time.

  That’s it. I’m going to blare some music and deep clean the house today. It will feel good—or if not good, then normal. I connect my phone to the Bluetooth speakers. An upbeat Post Malone song plays through the house. I reach under the sink to grab the tile cleaner and knock over a box of tampons.

  My mouth falls open, and I step away from the sink, hitting my back against the wall.

  No, it can’t be. It’s not possible.

  I recall buying the box over two and a half months ago, before Leo’s death, but there’s no way. It has to be the stress. Women skip periods all the time because of stress, and Lord knows I’ve been under a lot of it.

  But what if …

  I snatch my phone, purse, and car keys and run out of the house.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m home from the pharmacy and in the bathroom, peeing on a white stick. I pace up and down the hall, waiting for the allotted four minutes. Finally, I step into the bathroom and peek at the plastic wand lying on the countertop.

  Pregnant.

  The single word is displayed clear as day through the oval window.

  It can’t be. I shake my head and pick up the test. It says pregnant. A sob erupts from my throat, and I hold the test as I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the tiled floor.

  I can’t believe this.

  Tears fall, and my cries are tormented, a mix between despair and joy. I’m so torn. On one hand, I could be carrying a piece of Leo in me right now. On the other, our dream is coming true, and he’s not here for it.

  I rise from the floor and call my doctor’s office. I beg the receptionist to get me in ASAP, and thankfully, there was a cancellation. Jogging back out to the car, I peel out of the driveway and toward my gynecologist’s office.

  Sitting in the office amid other women—some visibly pregnant, others not—I can’t make my tears cease as I wait to be called back. I imagine a collective sigh of relief from the other waiting room occupants when my name is called. After a pit stop to the restroom to pee in a cup, I’m escorted to an exam room.

  As soon as the gown is on and I’m sitting in the chair with the stirrups, Dr. Belland enters. There’s pity in her eyes when she sees me. She must’ve heard or read of Leo’s passing. She reaches her hand toward me and gently squeezes mine.

  “I took a test, and it said pregnant, but that’s not possible, is it?” My words come out in rapid succession.

  She nods, a tight smile on her face. “You’re pregnant, Alma.”

  I cry harder. “How is that possible? I thought I couldn’t get pregnant.”

  “Well, on the scans, your tubes look almost completely blocked, but it’s been four years. Your body changes, heals. There had to be a small enough opening for at least one egg to sneak through.”

  I shake my head. “This is unbelievable.” Tears fall against my chest, wetting the pink hospital gown. “Am I going to be able to carry it full-term?”

  “Well, let’s take a look and see. When was your last period?” she asks as she turns on a machine beside me.

  “At least two and a half months. I don’t remember.”

  “Go ahead and lie down. We’re going to do a vaginal ultrasound to check the baby.”

  I do as instructed, and she inserts a wand into me. Whooshing sounds come from the machine, and Dr. Belland smiles.

  “There’s your baby.” She points to the screen, and I gasp.

  There’s a tiny human on the screen. I can see the head, body, arms, and legs. The baby seems to be puckering his or her lips, one arm reaching out in front of its little round belly.

  “Oh my God. I can’t believe it,” I cry in disbelief. “This is such a miracle.”

  Dr. Belland nods. “It is, Alma.” She moves the wand, and another angle comes up. This time, the baby’s spinal cord is visible. “I’m going to take some measurements and snap some pictures for you.”

  She works, pointing out parts of the baby—his or her heart and brain, spine, and limbs—stating that everything looks great.

  “Based on the measurements, you’re three months along. Your uterus looks great, no visible problems that I can see. Eighty percent of miscarriages occur within the first three months, so your chances of carrying the baby are good. You are considered a high-risk pregnancy based on your history, so I’ll be seeing you weekly, but everything looks great, Alma. No cause for concern right now.”

  She pulls out the ultrasound wand, and I sit up.

  Wrapping my arms around my chest, I cry, “Thank you.”

  She tilts her head and watches me, curiously. “Do you want a hug, Alma?”

  “Yes, please.” I nod.

  Dr. Belland hugs me, and I hold her tight, tears falling onto her shoulder. I wish I were crying with Leo over this joyous news, but it feels nice to hold a real person.

  “You’re going to be just fine.” She pats my back and releases her hold on me.

  “Thanks again.”

  “Days like this are why I love this job.” She grins. “I’ll see you next week,” she says and leaves the room.

  I stay seated and cross my arms over my chest, hugging myself once more. I close my eyes and try to feel him.

  Thank you for leaving me a piece of you. Keep the baby safe. I love you.

  An immense amount of love engulfs me. I think it might be Leo or maybe the love I already feel for this life growing inside of me or perhaps both. For the first time in two months, I smile—a real, genuine smile.

  Leo was kind and his soul gentle. I know he fought hard for us, but there are some evils that fragile hearts can’t fight forever. Maybe that’s why he said he always knew.

  I’d give anything to change the past. I’d give anything to have Leo here with me. I don’t understand the meaning behind his death, and maybe I never will. I have to stop allowing the questions I can’t answer to steal the life from me.

  Focusing on the truths will keep me going. Leo loved me, and what we had was a gift. We were happy, and our marriage was special. He was my soul mate, and I was lucky to have found him. I wouldn’t trade the time I had with him for anything. This aching sorrow consuming me is a small price to pay for my life with Leo. He was worth it, all of it. He gave me a miracle, and I’m certain that the best parts of Leo are growing inside of me.

  Maybe he couldn’t stay, but a part of him did. That life, that perfect piece of Leo, is here to save me. And I know I’m going to be okay.

  EPILOGUE

  Alma

  Eight Months Later

  My life has never been what one would call normal. As original as my name, my story is mine alone. As brutal as it’s been beautiful, I wouldn’t give up this life for anything.

  Soul-crushing love is rare, and I had it. If I’d known that I’d lose him so soon in our marriage, I would’ve married him all the same. A hundred times over. Five years with Leo is worth more than a million years of regular love. I don’t know if I’ll ever remarry. How is it possible to promise yourself to someone else when your heart will always be taken?

  There is nothing beautiful or poetic in experiencing a great loss, but there is something incredible about surviving it.

  The fortune from years ago that’s
framed above our wedding photo in my bedroom couldn’t have been closer to the truth. There’s no doubt in my mind that Leo was meant for me as I was for him. He will be burned into my soul forever. No matter what else I do in this life or who else I love, I will carry him with me—for real love never truly leaves. He will always be a part of me.

  The last six months of my pregnancy were a healing journey. The scars over the loss of Leo will never heal fully, but I’m as whole as I’ll ever be, and I owe it to her. My miracle.

  My pregnancy was typical in all of the usual ways. I was exhausted, bloated, and waddled around like a very unfortunate duck. My friends gifted me with pink everything. Quinn threw me an adorable baby shower. In the later months, my back and hips killed me to the point where sleep evaded me most nights. Instead of sleeping, I would lie in bed and feel her as she jumped and kicked around like a little ninja.

  My pregnancy was anything but ordinary in a lot of aspects. I heard morning sickness tapers off for most women, but for me it arrived late, and stuck with me for the remainder of the pregnancy. I threw up daily, like it was my part-time job. My husband wasn’t there for the ultrasounds or first visible kicks. I ran to the store on my own at two a.m. for pickles and ice cream instead of sending my husband. Two of my best friends, Quinn and Amos, were in the delivery room with me instead of Leo, but at least I wasn’t alone.

  All in all, pregnancy was like the rest of my life—heartbreaking and beautiful, at the same time—and I loved every minute of it because it brought me to her.

  Love Grace Harding.

  Seven pounds, two ounces.

  Nineteen inches long.

  Most gorgeous baby girl in the universe.

  I wanted to find a name that meant lion, so she could be named after her gentle and fierce daddy. In my search, I found that løve in Danish means lion. The Danish version isn’t pronounced the way love in English is pronounced, but I thought it was perfect. It means lion, and if any baby was conceived out of love, it’s her. She was wanted more than anything, even when I didn’t think the idea of her was a possibility.