She sure hadn’t felt like a fairy tale in my arms, though. She’d felt like a completely real, completely carnal, sexy-as-sin woman. What was it about her that gave me this reaction? I hadn’t felt attraction like that since Christine—certainly not for any of the appropriate women my various friends had tried to fix me up with since her death. If I was going to be drawn to a woman—and even Peggy and Griff had been encouraging me to start dating—why did it have to be this one?
Maybe because shewasso completely inappropriate, I thought. Maybe my subconscious was trying to keep me from starting anything serious. Everyone thinks I should be ready for a relationship, but the truth is, I’m probably not.
I’m more than a little afraid that I may never be—and the thought is depressing as hell. I wonder if a part of my brain will keep me from ever getting that close again because it will always be thinking,at any second, something can happen to her.
Nothing about that last night with Christine had seemed out of the ordinary. We’d had dinner and put the girls to bed, and I’d turned on the TV. When Christine said she was going upstairs to take a bath, I’d just nodded and kept on watching the basketball game. It wasn’t until the game was over—LSU had been playingTexas A&M—that I realized she’d been gone a long time. I went upstairs and found her stretched on the bed, still fully clothed—her eyes open and vacant.
I’ve never felt fear like that—cold, sickening, desperate, crushing. My heart had stopped, then damn near jumped out of my chest. I immediately lifted her to the floor and started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Christine and I had both taken CPR classes before the girls were born. I paused for a nanosecond to find the phone and call 911, then I kept at it, rhythmically compressing her chest and breathing into her mouth.
This couldn’t be happening, I remember thinking. This was a mistake. She was a young, healthy woman with two small children who needed her.Ineeded her.
The worst part was her eyes. If she’d close her eyes or blink, I just knew it would be okay. But that vacant, unseeing stare—was anything colder, anything more hopeless than the unseeing eyes of the already gone?
I hated turning her over to the medics when the ambulance arrived, but I figured they would know what to do. They used a defibrillator. She jerked off the floor, her eyes still open and vacant. Again. And again.
A neighbor had come over when the ambulance arrived and offered to stay and watch the kids. I agreed. I followed the ambulance to the hospital—I don’t know how I drove, but my car was there later, so I must have. At the hospital, she was whisked into the ER. They made me wait outside. I called her parents. And then the doctor came out and told me she was gone.
Gone where? From what? How?
The medical staff askedmequestions. The police came and asked me questions. So many questions, and I had no answers—no answers at all. The next day, I learned she’d died of a brain aneurysm, but I still couldn’t answer the biggest question of all:Why?
I still can’t answer it. I hate it when the girls ask, as they sometimes do.
In the two years since, I’ve learned to live with uncertainty. We all live with it, whether we’re aware of it or not. We’re all just a piece of bad news away from having our hearts broken.
The only defense is to not care that deeply. I can’t help it with my daughters, but I’ve wondered if I’ll ever let another woman close enough to cause that kind of pain again.
I pulled into my drive, noting with relief that Jillian’s car wasn’t parked there—nor was it across the street at her parents’ home. Good. I wouldn’t have to deal with her wifelike concerns. I was looking forward to seeing Hope without Jillian’s hovering, stifling presence.
“Daddy’s home!” yelled Sophie as I walked through the door.
As always, my chest filled with warmth. Both girls came barreling toward me. I dropped my computer case on the credenza, then bent and scooped them both up in my arms, whirling them around in a way that made them squeal. They’re growing so fast I won’t be able to hold them both at the same time for much longer. The thought gave me a pang.
Griff toddled in behind them, his face creased with a wistful smile. The sight of the girls hanging on to my neck seemed to give him a pang of his own. “I remember when my girls greeted me like that.”
Sophie tugged at my arm the moment I set them down. “Daddy—come see the drawing I did at school!”
“Me, too. And I’ve got some papers to show you—and they all have stars!” Zoey said.
“Okay, okay—just let me get my coat off.”
I looped my jacket over a dining room chair and grinned at Griff. “You’re on babysitting patrol all by yourself?”
“Briefly. Peggy stepped next door a few minutes ago to say hello to Miss Addie. Think she wanted to check on Hope’s sketch of the girls’ room, as well. She left a pot of gumbo for you and the girls on the stove.”
“That was mighty kind of her,” I said, loosening my tie and unfastening the top button of my shirt. “Peggy’s gumbo is the best.”
The only problem was it reminded me of Christine, becauseshe’d used her mother’s recipe. Every time I tasted it, I got a lump in my throat that made it hard to swallow.
Griff waved good-bye and let himself out the front door.
I headed into the kitchen, sat down with the girls, and admired their papers. Peggy had also left a salad in the refrigerator, so as the girls set the table, I dished up salad and bowls of gumbo, and we sat down to dinner.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d been listening for the sound of the doorbell until it rang as we were cleaning up.
“That must be Hope!” said Sophie.
“I’ll get it,” I said, drying my hands on a dish towel. My pulse irrationally picked up speed.
