He shakes his head. “Not to me. Sarah comes to me in my dreams sometimes too. We talk about Olive. I tell her all about what’s happening, and she gives me her advice in that same gentle way she did when she was alive. It used to be all the time, but the last few years, it’s only when something big is about to happen.” Turning to me, he says, “Now who sounds crazy?”
I chuckle a little. “We probably shouldn’t tell this to anyone else.”
“Agreed,” he says with a sad smile.
I turn away from his gaze and stare out at the blue water in the distance. There’s a lump in my throat now, and I know there’s no point in taking another bite because it’ll be a long while before I can swallow. Walt seems to know I need him, and he climbs onto my lap, reaching his head up to rub it against my chin.
Liam speaks up. “It’s hard being the one left behind, isn’t it? So many questions unanswered. So many ‘if onlys’ and ‘what ifs’ and ‘I should haves.’”
I nod. “Does any of that go away?”
“I don’t think so. People believe you should grieve for a period of time—and I’ve noticed that most seem to think the appropriate amount is about three months—then you’re expected to get over it and move on.” His tone is matter of fact when it could be bitter.
“I’ve actually had people ask which stage of grief I’m in and how long it’ll be until I’ve reached acceptance,” I say, rolling my eyes. “As though I have it penciled in on my calendar or something.”
“It’s because we were more fun before and they want the old version of us back.”
“As ifwedon’t want things to be how they used to be.” We exchange a look that shows we both understand the absurdity of it.
Liam stares out at the water. “Then they start pushing for you to find someone new. There isn’t a person I know who hasn’t either set me up on a date or suggested I get back in the game. Not one.”
“Except me,” I say, bumping his arm with my shoulder.
He chuckles and turns to me. “True. You’ve been a breath of fresh air, Abby.”
Oh my, that felt nice to hear. I clear my throat and put on a formal voice. “I, Abigail Carson, hereby promise to never try to set you up with anyone.”
“And I, you,” he says with a nod.
We stare at each other for a moment too long, erasing the words we’ve just said and opening the door of possibility. He glances at my lips, then back up into my eyes and I feel a pull from somewhere deep inside to lean toward him. Instead, I quickly stand, shocked at myself for even considering whatever I was about to consider. Clearing my throat, I say, “I better clean up that mess I made.”
* * *
The sun has almost set, and I sit on the deck, sipping a glass of chardonnay. Walt sits next to me, his body pushed up against my leg while I rub the top of his head and listen to the waves lap against the shore. I haven’t been able to get the conversation with Liam out of my mind since it happened. I’m confused by what I feel for him—this horrible attraction that shouldn’t be there. Shaking my head, I look down at Walt and say, “It’s not real. It’s just the result of feeling understood on such a deep level. And the fact that he’s a man and I’m a woman, which makes friendship somewhat complicated.”
There. Now that I’ve said it out loud, it’s true.
I sit for a while longer, still unable to put my finger on what’s bothering me. Then suddenly, it pops into my mind. His words about the pain of being separated from your child. I sigh, thinking of my mom, knowing I’ve caused her pain I never intended. Picking my phone up off the step, I send her a text.I’m sorry I upset you on your birthday. I know you’ve always wanted me to be happy and you deserve better than to spend your days worrying about me. I’m getting stronger—I promise. I love you and I’ll call you every Sunday from now on.
Chapter Fifteen
The real power of a man is in the size of the smile of the woman sitting next to him.
~ Anonymous
Liam and I are setting up my new bed in my newly renovated, lovely bedroom. To look at us, we could be in a commercial for a mortgage broker—two casually dressed happy people sharing lots of inside jokes while we set up our bed for later (eyebrow raise here). At some point, probably sometime around the mattress going onto the box spring, things started to feel a little awkward because now this is a bed and he’s a man and I’m a woman, and I really shouldn’t have an attractive man in my bedroom. Not if I don’t want to get confused.
Actually, now that I think about it, mounting the headboard to the wall was sort of intimate, requiring us to stand so close together, our shoulders were touching for a minute, followed by him on his knees, screwing it into the wall next to my thigh. Neither of us has said a word for a full five minutes, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s finding this as weird as I am.
Finally, he thinks of something to say. “I thought I’d move on to the roof since we’re supposed to have several days without rain.”
“Sure,” I say, holding the box for my nightstand still while he lifts it out.
God, he smells good for a guy who’s been working all day.Nope, Abby. Just nope.
“It’ll get real noisy, so you may want to work somewhere else for a few hours each day. Also, you won’t want to be doing any gardening near the house because you might get hit with a nail or an errant shingle.”
I open the second box while he carries the first night table over to the side of the bed. “If this keeps up, I’ll have you out of my hair by Halloween.”
