“How have you been?” Luis asked.
“Fine,” I replied.
“Is it still difficult coping with Daphne’s death?”
I hesitated a moment. “You know what?” I said. “I don’t really want to talk about that.”
He was quiet for a second, and I could feel his eyes bored into the side of my face. “So basically you haven’t been coping.”
“It’s been three years since she died,” I said. “I’ve coped and moved on.”
“Then why is it so hard for you to talk about her?”
I was starting to feel angry. When I said I didn’t want to talk about Daphne, people automatically avoided the subject. I hated the fact that Sanchez was forcing me to confront the memories that I was desperately trying to forget.
“Because she’s dead,” I snapped. “Death isn’t always the easiest thing to talk about.”
“You were in the army,” he continued, completely unfazed by my obvious annoyance. “Your wife was in the army. Surely, death is something you need to come to terms with.”
“What are you saying?” I demanded. “Because we were in the army, I should have expected this to happen? I should have expected to lose my wife?”
“Not expected to, no,” Luis said calmly. “But you had to have known it was a possibility. Surely, you were prepared for it?”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” I reiterated firmly.
I started walking faster down the beach, almost as though I wanted to outrun Luis and get away from his questions, but he matched my pace, refusing to be shaken off.
“Have you at least spoken to someone about this?”
“About what?”
“About Daphne, about Noah, about raising a child alone after losing your wife so suddenly,” Luis continued. “You should talk to someone about it, Middleton. What about a shrink?”
“You think I need a therapist?” I demanded, stopping short and turning to face Sanchez.
“Why not?” he said, with a shrug. “It’s obvious you’re not talking to friends or family about this. It’s been three years, and you’re acting like Daphne died two weeks ago.”
“Fuck you,” I said, trying to walk away from him.
“You have a lot of anger pent up in there,” Luis said, sticking me in the chest. “That can’t be healthy for you, and it certainly can’t be healthy for your son.”
“Don’t talk about Noah,” I said fiercely. “My son is fine.”
“How can he be?” Luis demanded. “When his father is so obviously a mess.”
Before I could stop myself, before I could even think, my hand and balled itself into a fist and screamed through the air before making contact with the side of Luis’s jaw. It was a big punch, but Luis stumbled back only a few feet before managing to regain his footing.
He looked slightly surprised, but he was smiling as he rubbed his jaw. “Wow, you’ve still got some bite to your punch.”
“Fuck,” I said, taking a step forward. “I’m sorry… I… That was—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Luis said, waving away my apology. “I asked for it.”
“You kind of did,” I nodded.
He smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re at least letting out some of that anger.”
“I…” I started to say something, but then I realized I didn’t know what to say.