I thought she was handling everything. I knew she was grieving the loss of the woman she loved like a mother, yet she had been calm. Steady. She had cried once, but I hadn’t seen her weep since the day Penny passed. Since the memorial earlier today, she had shut down. She had gone out for a walk, silently shaking her head at my offer to accompany her. When she returned, she went straight to her room until I went to get her to eat dinner.
Now, with my limited knowledge of helping other people, I was at a loss. It wasn’t as if I could call Jenna or Graham and ask them what I should do for my own wife. They thought we were close and would assume I would know exactly what to do. Today, when we left the funeral home, Jenna had hugged me and whispered, “Take care of her.” I wanted to, but I didn’t know how. I had no experience with such intense emotions.
I paced the living room and kitchen, restlessly prowling the floor, sipping my wine. I knew I could go and work out to relieve some of my tension, except I wasn’t in the mood. Somehow, the gym seemed too far away from Katharine, and in case she needed me, I wanted to be close.
I sat down on the sofa, and the plump cushion beside me made me smile. Another one of Katharine’s touches. Silky blankets, downy pillows, warm colors on the walls and the artwork she had added, made the condo feel like home. I paused as I lifted my glass. Had I ever told her I liked what she did?
With a groan, I drained my wine, setting down the glass on the table. Bending forward, I clutched my hair, tugging on it until it was painful. I had improved over the past weeks, of that I was certain, but had I changed enough? I knew my tongue wasn’t as sharp. I knew I’d been a better person. Even so, I wasn’t sure if it was sufficient. If she was struggling, did she trust me enough to turn to me?
I was shocked to realize how much I wanted that. I wanted to be her rock. To be the person she could depend on. I knew I had come to rely on her—for many things in my life.
Giving up, I snapped off the lights and went to my room. I changed into my sleep pants and walked over to the bed, hesitating, then left my room. I went to her door, not surprised to see it partially open. How my “night noises,” as she politely called them, brought her comfort, I didn’t understand, but ever since the day she admitted needing them, I never shut it at night.
For a moment, I felt odd standing outside her door, unsure why I was there. Until I heard it. The sound of muffled weeping. Without another thought, I slipped in her room. Her blind was open, the moonlight spilling in her window. She was curled in a ball, crying. Her body shook so hard with the force of her sobs, I could see the bed moving. Lifting the blanket, I slipped my arms around her, holding her close and carrying her to my room. Cradling her, I lowered us to the bed, tucking the covers around us. She stiffened, but I held her tight.
“Let it out, Katharine. You’ll feel better, sweetheart.”
She melted into me, her body molded to mine. Her hands clutched at my bare shoulders, her tears hot on my skin as she wept uncontrollably. I stroked my hand over her back, my fingers through her hair, and made, what I hoped were, comforting noises. Despite the reason, I liked having her close. I missed her softness melded to my hardness. She fit to me so well.
Eventually, her sobs began to taper, the terrible shudders easing from her frame. I leaned over, grabbing some tissues and pressing a bunch into her hand.
“I–I’m s–sorry,” she stuttered in a whisper.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart.”
“I disturbed you.”
“No, you didn’t. I want to help you. I keep telling you—anything you need, all you have to do is ask.” I hesitated. “I’m your husband. It’s my job to help you.”
“You’ve been so nice. Kind, even.”
I winced a little at the shock in her voice. I knew I deserved it, but I still didn’t like it.
“I’m trying to be better.”
She shifted a little, tilting up her head to study me. “Why?”
“You deserve it, and you just lost someone you love. You’re grieving. I want to help you. I don’t know how, though. I’m new to all of this, Katy.” Using my thumb, I gently wiped away the fresh tears leaking from the corner of her eyes.
“You called me Katy.”
“I guess it rubbed off. Penny called you that all the time. So does everyone else.”