As I walked into my empty home, I felt more alone than I had in the weeks and months after Robert passed. The feeling got worse as I readied myself for bed. I stood under the shower until the hot water ran out, and when I pulled on my pajama bottoms, they were inside out. I left them that way, just happy I’d managed to get the T-shirt on correctly.
Walking into the bedroom from the en suite, I toweled off my hair as I looked forlornly at the king-size bed I’d once shared with my husband. I still slept on my side, even though it was the side farther from the bathroom.
Tonight, however, I went to Robert’s side of the bed. He and I had long ago determined that we each needed our own flat sheet and duvet because one of us (me) was a bit of a cover hog. Our bed had always been a little less neat as a result, but we’d agreed that sleep and marital happiness were more important than perfectly aligned sheets.
I pulled back the linens and blinked away tears as I took in the indention where he’d slept. I didn’t tell anyone this, but every once in a while since his passing, I would lie in the well created by his heavy body. Sniffling, I ducked under the covers andpulled his pillow over my head. His scent was long gone, but I could feel a bit more of his presence this way.
Lying there, I thought about Major and how he was still taking care of me. I was annoyed to be grieving both my husband and an impossible relationship that I should’ve gotten over months ago.
A loudbangagainst the bedroom window tore me from my reverie and sent my heart pounding in my chest. What the hell could be banging on my second-floor window this late at night?
The curtain was partially open, and anotherbanghad me out of the bed. I grabbed the massive flashlight that Robert had always kept on hand and tried to peer through the window, which was near impossible with the lights on.
I could only see myself, underweight and sleep-deprived, gripping the flashlight like a baseball bat. Middle-aged and alone. I stood there, barely able to breathe, waiting for the next bang, only to be greeted with light tapping.
At first, that was just as distressing as the louder noises, but beyond my reflection, I spotted a flash of red. Finally, panic receded enough for me to think logically. There was a tree on this side of the house, but only the thinnest branch sat outside this window. There wasn’t any way for a human to get up there. However, until we added a few stickers to the window, it hadn’t been uncommon for birds to mistake it for an opening and smack into the glass.
I turned off the overhead light and pushed the curtains aside so that I could unlock the window. I could have left the window closed, but I needed to verify my hypothesis. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep otherwise.
There, perched on the windowsill and dimly visible in the moonlight, was a cardinal. I hadn’t seen one in a long time. It looked up at me expectantly, as if it were waiting to be fed. I grabbed the stash of trail mix I kept on my side of the bed and brought it to the window. The cardinal hadn’t moved, so I shook out a small handful of nuts and raisins onto the sill.
Using his beak to sort out the good from the bad, the bird grabbed a raisin and ate it. I shuddered. I hated raisins, but this was the snack Robert and I had shared. He used to eat the raisins so I didn’t have to.
The cardinal nosed through the rest of the offering, picking out all the raisins, plus a few sunflower seeds.
“Are you my new trail mix buddy?” I asked, half expecting the bird to answer, perhaps in my husband’s voice.
Instead, he looked at me, tilting his head in that jerky way that birds do. I felt as if he were expecting something, but I had no idea what he could expect from me. I was just a lonely widower who’d spent the evening feeling sorry for himself.
The cardinal plucked one final raisin from the windowsill, then fly-hopped over to the narrow, swaying branch before taking off into the night sky. I slid my window shut, locked it, and drew the curtains back across the darkly mirrored glass.
If I believed in such things, I’d say that had been Robert looking at me like I was wasting my time, wondering what I’d been doing with my life since his death. If anyone asked me, I wouldn’t have a clue what I’d accomplished since then.
My thoughts, as they frequently did, drifted to Major. I picked up my phone, as I had many times in the last several months, mythumb hovering over his number. I didn’t trust my voice to hold, so I sent a text.
Me:Can I come over?
I was immediately horrified by how needy that sounded and wished I could take it back. The bouncing balls fluttered to life.
Major:Of course. Are you okay? You don’t have to drive—I can come over there.
Me:No. This house feels a little haunted tonight.
Major:Okay. I’ll put on some chamomile for you.
I nearly wept at the kindness in his words. Or simply from relief. I couldn’t tell at this point. I shoved my feet into my old slippers and grabbed a light sweater, not bothering to change into street clothes.
CHAPTER 21
major
Sawyer had once told me that watching Hendrix grind himself down on tour was killing him, and I understood the sentiment perfectly. So, when I got Ren’s text, I nearly broke with relief.
He needed me and was willing to let me take care of him.
The knock on my front door came twenty minutes after Ren’s text. It was nearly one a.m., and I was wide awake.
“Hey,” he said as I swung the door open.
