I had the six-hour drive to think about how I ended up in this position. And where I want to go from here. It's easy to look at the events of the past year and a half and see what happened, like data points along a graph. It’s more difficult to bring out the magnifying glass and examine the unseen. But that is where I needed to focus, and I did. Through the dry, barren desert, and the spiky-limbed Joshua trees, I forced myself to come face-to-face with facts.
My wife is gone.
I am a widower, and I always will be.
A part of me will never stop loving Brea.
And then, the newest facts, the ones that have torn apart my life for the second time in eighteen months.
My mom was cheating on my dad when she died.
I'm in love with the daughter of the man she cheated with.
It's that last one I can't wrap my head around. The other facts? Data points. But Jessie? She is not data. She is emotion and feeling, warm skin and tender touch. A woman who knows her mind and spirit, and is unafraid of how big both are.
I'm soul-crushingly in love with her.
But how do I reconcile that with who we both are? We've discovered a shared history, and it's ugly and hurtful. How do we come back from that?
I'm twenty minutes early to meet the realtor, so I walk around the home. The entire place needs a good scrub. It's not filthy, but it bears the detritus of a place not maintained. All the pictures are gone, what's left are bones, really. Furniture, rugs, throw pillows. Even so, I see Brea here. Curled up on the sofa with a book, her favorite blanket thrown over her feet because they were always cold.
On the back patio, I kick aside the dried fuchsia bougainvillea leaves scattering the tiled floor. I lift open the stainless steel grill. So fancy, with its integrated smoker and internal halogen lights illuminating the knobs. I prefer the simple grill I bought for Jessie.
Finally, I drag my gaze to the place I've been avoiding. No small task, because it's endless and loud, its presence commanding.
The ocean.
I follow the pavers to the edge of the lawn and stand there. Brea loved the ocean. She didn't need to use sign language to tell me. The first time we stood out here and took in the view, she'd grabbed my arm and nodded emphatically. Her emerald eyes sparkled and she beamed. I'd turned around, met the eyes of the realtor showing us the listing, and given her a thumbs up.
There's a knock on the door, and I answer it. "Anissa, hello.” I stand back, welcoming in the same woman who sold me this home. “Come in."
Anissa is around fifty, her corkscrew hair dark as coal. She steps inside, turning to greet me. Her face holds pity I don't want to see. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Bennett. Such a tragedy. I went to the funeral, but I didn't approach you. Quite frankly, I didn't know what to say."
I accept her words with a simple nod. "Thank you." I walk into the living room and stop. "I'd like to list the house with you. Market value. Don't wait for multiple offers. This doesn't need to become a bidding war. I know it's a sellers’ market, but I'm not interested in going along with all that entails. Get a fair price, choose people who will love this home the way Brea did. That's all I ask."
We discuss a few more things, I hand her a key, and leave. The home will always be a part of me, but I want nothing more to do with it.
Still, the finality takes my breath away. I spend a few moments gathering myself in my car.
Before I shift into drive, I glance at my phone. I don't know how many times today I’ve checked my phone, but it's a lot.
Not once have I found what I'm looking for. Jessie hasn’t called, or texted. I don’t know that she will. She is as stubborn as she is strong-willed, and she has loyalty in spades. I admire these traits, even right now as I'm coming up against them.
But there is a text from Farley.I hate to tell you this, but there is nothing to be found about your mother, at least not electronically. No autopsy, like they already told you.
I think I knew that was going to be the case, but I had to try. I had to be certain. Like I told Jessie, I had to exhaust the possibilities. And I'm relieved the trail was cold. It would be so much more painful if there was something to be found.
A part of me wants to shift into drive and retrace my steps all the way back to Sierra Grande and straight to Jessie’s cabin. But I have work to do first. And I have no idea if Jessie will accept me.
I toss my phone back down in my cup holder and pull out. My next stop is my dad's house, for a long-overdue discussion with my father.
My dad is shockedwhen he answers the door and sees me.
He stands back and waves me in. "Come in, come in." There's a napkin balled in his hand, and he uses it to wipe his mouth. "Would you like some dinner?"
I hesitate, and he grins knowingly. "I cooked."
"Then, yes."
