“I think that hurt his feelings, or he was just stubborn and more determined to stay after that.”
She shrugs a shoulder and pops a piece of Swiss into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully.
“Either way, I didn’t coddle him during that call. I told him he was tired because he was a stubborn ass, and I didn’t feel sorry for him. I told him to suck it up and deal with it, and good luck.”
She stares at the cracker in her hands, then looks up at me.
“I didn’t say I love you. I didn’t say anything nice during that call, actually.”
I remember the crash now, but I wait patiently and let her finish telling me herself.
“The next thing I know, I’m getting a call from Bobby, Rick’s manager, who was with him, telling me that Rick screwed up in the race and was in a massive accident.” She looks me square in the eyes, and the turmoil churning within her is almost my undoing. “The car exploded, and he didn’t survive. I saw the crash on TV before they cut to commercial. I was praying that he somehow made it out alive, but he didn’t.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“Yeah.” She sets the cracker aside and dunks her teabag in the hot water. “It was pretty horrible. And I had a bad case of survivor’s guilt because I was so mean to him that morning. And for a million other reasons.”
“You didn’t know.”
“No, but I feel guilty all the same. I told him to suck it up and just deal, and it probably cost him his life.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s absolutely true. He could have pulled out of the race altogether and cited medical problems. But I had to challenge him, and he died because of it.”
“He died because he didn’t listen to common sense and get rest when he should have,” I counter. “He was an adult.”
“I suppose.” But she doesn’t sound convinced.
“What else are you feeling guilty about?”
“Everything,” she says without even thinking it over. “It’s why I work so damn hard. If I’m working, sinking all of my energy into the job, I don’t have time to think about Rick and that whole clusterfuck. But it caught up to my health, and my doctor made me take this three-month vacation.”
“How is it affecting your health?”
“I was getting dizzy. I passed out twice on the road. I was convinced I had a brain tumor, but the doctor said it was exhaustion and ordered mandatory rest.”
“Good.”
She raises her brow and takes a sip of her tea. “I hadn’t slept with anyone after Rick until you. That’s why I didn’t text or call you after. Because I felt a massive amount of guilt for not only being with you but also enjoying it so much.”
“Starla, Rick would want you to move on with your life. He would want you to be happy.”
She shakes her head adamantly. No.
“Of course, he would,” I continue. “He loved you.”
“No. He wouldn’t.” She takes a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this. I probably should have made you sign an NDA when we started seeing each other.”
“That’s the second and last time you’ll insult either of us like that.”
Her cheeks darken with shame. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
“Tell me.”
“About a month or so before he died, Rick was filling out new insurance paperwork, life insurance and that sort of thing. Doing what he did for a living is dangerous, and he always had an updated will. He was making sure I was the beneficiary on everything since we were just a few months from being married. Anyway, I can’t remember exactly what led to it, but I said something about wearing black for a whole year if he died, out of respect. I said it in a joking way, you know?”
I nod, waiting for her to tell me more.
“And he said, ‘No, you’ll get in that coffin with me, babe. If I die, you die. There’s no happily ever after without me.’”
I’ve never wanted to punch the hell out of a dead man so badly in my life.
“I laughed at him, sure that he was continuing the joke, but he was dead serious. He was like, ‘no, you’re mine, and if one of us dies, the other does, too.’ I blew him off, and we never talked about it again.”
“Starla, that’s not a normal thing for someone to say to a person they supposedly love.”
“Well, I didn’t grow up in a typical loving family, and I’m not using that as an excuse, but I just blew him off because he was only thirty-two. I never expected him to actually die.”
“Of course, you didn’t.”
“I was so fucked up after it happened.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head mournfully. “And I will admit—to you—that I thought about killing myself.”