my waist and the Polaroid. The only thing I kept were the ultrasound pictures and my wish for her to find her true love and live happily ever after.
“It’s the best I could get on short notice, but I ordered something more official,” she says, backing up to stand beside me. “A headstone with her name engraved on it and the year.”
“It’s very good,” I say, looking at the cross and the tiny mound of dirt beside it. She was so tiny.
Amy and I hold hands as we gaze down on her memorial. Bill stands across from us with his arm around Sylvia, who touches her eyes with a cloth handkerchief.
“Lord, in your infinite wisdom, you know the beginning from the end,” he starts, and we all bow our heads. My eyes close, but I’m far from here. “I pray that in this time, you will be near us as we mourn, weep, perhaps even harbor bitterness. I pray you will bless us with hope for the future. Help us to know that in our deepest sadness, you are comfort. You are hope. Amen.”
We’re all quiet, and Sylvia steps forward to put a bunch of small roses on the little grave.
“There he is,” Bill says. He’s smiling warmly, and his eyes are focused behind me.
I turn, and a flash of pain steals my breath as my eyes connect with the ones I’ve been longing to see. Stuart wears jeans and an untucked long-sleeved shirt. Scruff covers his jaw and dark shadows are under his eyes. Instead of joining us, he stays away, down beside a tree. A bouquet of yellow daisies is in his hand.
I have to look away. I can’t bear to analyze his expression or try to understand what he’s feeling. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since we lost everything.
As if on cue, Bill touches Sylvia’s hand, and they approach me. Sylvia gives my arm a squeeze, and they continue on in the direction of the house. Amy wraps her arm over my shoulder and gives me a hug.
“Take your time,” she says quietly before releasing me and following her mother and uncle.
We’re alone, but I won’t look at him. The nonstop breeze pushes tendrils of my hair around my shoulders. I’m wearing a black shift dress that stops at my knees. A flesh-toned bandage covers the crescent-shaped bruise on my upper arm. The hideous bruise on my hip is gradually fading from purple-black and blood red to a nasty yellowish green. The only invisible wound is the one that will never heal, the one on my heart.
Neither of us moves. I study the small mound where my heart was buried along with my childish dreams of a family. At last, I can’t take standing here any longer, wishing for something that isn’t going to happen.
I step forward and place my little bunch of bluebells on Jessica’s grave then I turn and begin walking to the house. I’m at his side when he stops me.
“Wait.” His voice is rough. I stop walking, but I don’t meet his eyes.
Several moments of silence pass, and I’m sure he’s trying to decide what to say. I’m not sure what I want him to say. He doesn’t reach for me, but his eyes are like heat on my skin.
“How are you?” he finally says.
I don’t think I can answer that question without tears, so I only nod.
“I wanted to be there…”
I’m not sure what he means, so I do look at him then. Up close, I see what I couldn’t see from the grave. I see the break in his eyes. I see the emptiness in his face. Even when I met him that day at the gym so long ago when he was struggling against an addiction threatening to overcome him, even then he had a spark of fight in his eyes. Now that spark is gone, and I’m the reason.
Again I only nod. It’s time for me to go. I have to drive into town and catch my flight to Bayville. I linger a moment at his side, wishing for something, a touch, a sign that I’m not alone. A reason to believe we might survive this.
I’m a breath away from the man I once believed I’d build a life with, and we couldn’t be farther apart. He doesn’t move, and with a fortifying inhale, I start walking again. I’m going back to the house then back to my old life.
* * *
Stuart
I’m back on the couch in the cabin, my head is in my hands, and the fifth of Crown is empty at my feet. She left me. I went to the house thinking I’d take my uncle’s advice. I’d try to find the words I’ve been struggling with for a week. I would apologize. I’d tell her I’d do whatever she needed to make it right. If she wanted to try and get pregnant again, we could. I’d do anything to put the gold back in her beautiful eyes.
Instead, I found our room empty. Her engagement ring was on the dresser and the closet was bare except for my things. Opening drawer after drawer, all I found were my jeans, my socks, my grey Henley…
Her message was loud and clear. We were done.
The memorial service gutted me. Watching her cry from afar was like standing in the hospital all over again, seeing her battered body for the first time. I wanted to hold her, but I couldn’t seem to move. I couldn’t take her away from the comfort of the people who had never hurt her, who had never put her in this place of pain and loss.
When she came to me, the distance in her eyes twisted my insides. She stood as if trying to protect herself from me. She wouldn’t even speak to me. She only nodded.
It all wound together into a pain worse than anything I’ve ever experienced. My physical injuries couldn’t compare to this. My withdrawals were closer, but still not like this. This pain is despair and hopelessness and knowing I’ll never find another reason to care as long as I live.