For Lucy

“But …”

“No buts, Luce. It was my fault.”

“But he’s …” Her bottom lip moved uncontrollably as tears spilled down her cheeks. “H-he’s dead.”

I pulled her to me, hugging her tightly. “I know. It’s my fault that he’s dead. And I’m so very sorry for not being there. I’m so sorry I let this happen to our family. But we need to go home and be there for Mom. She’s so heartbroken right now, and she needs you. Can you be there for Mom? Can you help her through this?”

In my arms, her head moved up and down a little bit. I didn’t know if she could do it, if she could let her brain fully believe it was my fault and not hers, but I had to hope, I had to try.

When we arrived home, Lucy tiptoed into the master bedroom and crawled into bed with Tatum. I stood at the entrance and watched as my wife pulled Lucy into her arms and clung to her for dear life. As much as I wanted it to be me consoling Tatum, my arms holding her, I knew it had to be Lucy.

We buried Austin on a Tuesday.

Tatum clung to Lucy and her parents during every step of the way while I stood in the shadows, the guilty one. My wife couldn’t even look at me. I kept my emotions in check as if my confession robbed me of all rights to grieve.

I woke early in the morning, from my new spot on the sofa, to take a jog. When I reached an open field, absent of anyone who could hear me, I screamed—roaring like an angry animal, so fucking pissed off at God for taking my son. For a few minutes, I let myself completely fall apart with anger and tears and the question why? Why Austin?

Then I’d walk home, taking time to catch my breath and regain my composure before sneaking past Lucy and Tatum in our bed, to take a shower before heading off to work.

Work …

That was all I did.

Tatum didn’t say it, she didn’t have to, but I knew she didn’t want me at home. She needed Lucy, and some days, her parents would come to visit and make them lunch.

After a week of sleeping with Tatum, Lucy decided she was ready to sleep in her own bed again, which meant she expected me to sleep with Tatum. So we did. We slept together with our backs to each other and an infinite chasm of grief, guilt, and blame between us. An ocean too wide to cross.

I knew it from the moment I confessed to her in the hospital.

“You need to get rid of the fucking pool,” Tatum announced as she poured a cup of coffee a few minutes after Lucy got on the bus for her first day of school. It was the first thing she’d said directly to me since Austin died. With Lucy home as a buffer, she would say things to Lucy that I knew were meant for me.

“What’s for dinner, Lucy? I’d make enchiladas, but we’re out of chicken. And I’m tired of all the covered dishes clogging up the fridge and freezer.”

That was her way of telling me to go to the store to get chicken without actually looking at me or addressing me directly. It was her way of telling me to ditch all the food friends and family had left for us.

Apparently, she didn’t find it appropriate to tell Lucy to get rid of the fucking pool. Lucky me. We were back on speaking terms—sort of.

Nobody loved that pool more than Lucy. Was it fair to get rid of the pool when it was her favorite part of summer?

“We shouldn’t have ever gotten a …” Tatum trailed off.

We shouldn’t have ever gotten a pool. Of course, she thought it. I did too, along with so many other things we should or should not have done. I knew it. And I knew she did too, even if she couldn’t say the words or even look at me to start to say them. I didn’t blame her for not being able to say them, not when I couldn’t say them. Austin died and we ran out of words. The unimaginable gobbled up our place in the world, leaving us stranded with no road map for navigating life after losing a child.

“Should we talk to Lucy first?”

“It was her idea,” Tatum said, tightening the sash on her robe before taking her coffee to the bedroom where she shut and locked the door behind her.

So … I filled in the pool. Built a firepit with surrounding gardens. And planted an apple tree (Austin’s favorite fruit) with Lucy in honor of him.

I took care of the yard. Cleaned the house, washed the windows. I took care of the laundry and all of the grocery shopping, and I made most of the meals. Whatever I could think of doing, I did, asking absolutely nothing of Tatum.