“I’m sorry for your loss, Carrie. Truly.” I mean it. Alongside my condolence sits relief it wasn’t my husband. I’m not proud of that, but it’s true.
“It’s awful,” she says, clasping her hands together in front of herself. “Going through his things. Our things. But you know what?” She side-eyes me, and I tip my head back slightly, a cue for her to continue. “Now I don’t have to be a divorcee. I get to be a widow.”
I get to be a widow. I’ve never wanted to inflict physical pain on someone until right now.
“I don’t mean it the way it sounds,” she adds, her words tripping over themselves in her haste to fix what can’t be repaired.
“Yes, you do.” I say each word slowly.
“I’m just looking at this realistically.” She’s whispering again, more forcefully now. “We were going to get divorced. He didn’t want to be married to me anymore, either.”
Revulsion leaves a bitter tang in my mouth. I don’t know why she’s saying any of this to me, other than she thinks because I’m a therapist I’m receptive. But she is not my patient, I am not her therapist, and I am not a keeper of her secrets and innermost thoughts.
Ryan’s mother motions for Carrie. “Don’t tell anybody what I said,” she whisper-hisses.
“I don’t plan to.” Though she deserves it, Ryan does not. Gossip or negativity around his marriage need not exist.
Carrie slips away, sending me a pleading look in lieu of a farewell. By the time Gabriel makes his way back to me, I’msitting with Corinne at one of the tables set up in the church courtyard. She has hardly said a word through all this, breaking her silence once to ask for directions to the ladies room, and a second time to ask me to get her a coffee from the box provided by the church. I would imagine a funeral service for a young man is painful for her on many levels. Both Gabriel and his father have spent a majority of the last hour talking with the firefighters in attendance.
Gabriel kisses his mother’s cheek and pulls me up from my seat. I say goodbye and we start for his truck. He holds my hand.
“I saw you talking to Carrie. What did she have to say?”
I glance over at my husband in his shiny shoes and black suit, and his equally dark hair. Shadows darken the skin under his eyes. “Nothing of importance.”
We stop at his truck tailgate. He leans closer and says, “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you. I love you,” before placing a featherlight kiss on my cheek.
“I love you, too.” I take the keys from his hand. “I’ll drive. It’s been a hard day. You should relax.”
“You sure? I don’t mind.”
“Of course I’m sure.” I squeeze his forearm.
Gabriel nods in agreement and wipes a hand down his face.
I hate pretending.
But the smell of liquor on his breath? I hate that even more.
Gabriel pullsa navy blue Phoenix Fire Department T-shirt from the dryer. He shakes it out, then threads his neck and arms through. It’s his first time donning it since the night Ryan died.
It’s been one week since Ryan’s funeral, and Doug has ordered Gabriel back to work. Everyone else has returned, andhe said Gabriel was being the kind of colleague nobody wants, moping around and feeling sorry for himself. When Gabriel told me what his dad said, I picked up my phone, ready to tell Doug exactly how wrong he was. Tough love on a man like Gabriel? Terrible approach.
Gabriel shook his head at me, and when Doug answered, I told him I called him by accident.
Gabriel walks from the laundry room into our kitchen. His movements are certain. He reaches up into a cabinet, the muscles of his upper back straining against his shirt. His calf muscles, already generous and round, flex to support his reach. On the outside, he appears strong. Inside, he is soft. The two are separated only by a soluble layer. He keeps so much of himself hidden down deep, but none of it is particularly difficult to access. It is there, ready for the taking, if only people pay close enough attention.
I’m worried about what returning to the station might mean to him. To his soul. He is good at his job, but at what personal cost?
I never mentioned the alcohol at the funeral. I don’t know how concerned I should be. I don’t know how much leeway he should be given, considering the circumstances. Letting it go is easiest, and right now I’ll do just about anything to keep from rocking the boat.
Gabriel finishes making breakfast. He carries two plates to the table and places one in front of me. We eat quietly. Gabriel is wrapped up in his thoughts.
“Are you looking forward to work?” I ask buoyantly, my tone lifting at the end of my sentence, as if I don’t know how conflicted he feels. Yesterday he told me he didn’t want to go back, but today might be different. That’s how grief often works. What you didn’t want yesterday might be exactly what you need today.
Gabriel finishes chewing his last bite and pushes his plate away. He props an elbow on the table and reaches for me, hand curving over my cheek and tucking my hair behind my ear. He lets it rest on my jaw.
“No.” I don’t like his resolute tone. I can hear how he doesn’t believe he has a choice.
