The question alone released waves of emotions I wasn’t strong enough to endure. I opened my mouth to reply then stopped. How would I explain my attachment to a high school sweetheart who had been dead over a decade? Who had also assumed my last name in an attempt to escape her violent father? There was no way. Many inmates detach their minds and emotions from the outside world to protect themselves, but I didn’t. I became obsessed with Gracie. She was my only hope for a normal life one day.
Jules looked at me, waiting for my answer.
“She was my wife.” I resorted to the easy way out and hated myself for it. Jules didn’t deserve lies from me. She’d done nothing but offer me a leg-up since the moment I met her.
Another tear formed between her lashes. “I’m sorry. I lost my husband three years ago. I—I never talk about it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“And you don’t have to either.” She lifted the collar of her t-shirt to wipe her eyes. “I’m here to talk if you need someone, but I’m not going to demand any answers from you.”
I nodded and a comfortable silence settled between us.
Suddenly, she smacked her legs and stood up. She held her hand out to me. “We need to keep you moving. Sitting around inside all day is bad for your mental health. You need some vitamin D.”
When I didn’t grab her hand, she stooped and lifted my hands off the bed. “Come on. We are at least going to sit on the balcony.” She grunted and pulled. I grunted in protest. But somehow she managed to get me on my feet.
TWENTY-THREE
Julia
Ididn’t leave Pat alone. We spent every waking moment together. I’d go home to sleep and shower, and Fray would let me in bright and early each morning. Carl was getting used to seeing me crashed on the couch. The first morning he’d woken me up on his way out the door, encouraging me to take his bed. It was a resounding “no” from me. Thankfully, he never offered again.
Pat urged me to stay at my own place, but being down the hall from him made me feel better. I think he was embarrassed by our vigilance, but Fray said, “He’ll get over it.” Common sense told me Pat was doing much better, but I was reluctant to ditch our new routine.
The first week we walked miles. Pat never said very much. Occasionally, I’d find myself jabbering on our walks to find reprieve from the silence. But he didn’t seem to mind. He’d nod and glance over at me as I rambled about sports teams, world events, my time at Vanderbilt College, and other random things. When I had nothing to say, we walked in silence. We strolled through the complex, at the park, to the grocery store, and around the surrounding subdivision.
On the seventh day, when we had descended the stairs, he stopped and held out his elbow to escort me. I curled my hand into the crook of his arm, our shoulders pressing together. It became our new walking stance, and I loved it.
I’m pretty sure he loved it, too.
We also spent a lot of time sitting on the balcony. Especially early in the morning when the heat hadn’t ruined the day yet. Pat was really into sunrises and sunsets. We couldn’t see the sunrise from his unit, but the sunset was in full view every night. We would settle onto the balcony chairs and watch in silence.
The silence was a challenge for me. Justsittingwas something I’d avoided for a long time. In the quiet, my hurts caught up to me every single time. Except they were easier to handle when I was with Pat. Something about being by his side made me feel more capable of facing my own darkness. Maybe it's because “misery likes company” or whatever it is people say. He made me feel less broken and needed somehow. Having someone else to focus on was a welcome and refreshing distraction. I embraced it and practiced sitting in the silence. Jack would be proud of me.
When the silence got to be a little too much, I’d read a novel. Pat sometimes read, too. Mostly books on car mechanics and business basics. One time I asked him what he was reading about. I laughed at his answer because I had absolutely no idea if it was even in English. The only word I understood was “motor.”
Pat didn't seem afraid or ashamed of his emotions. I envied that. Many times, a tear would streak down his face, or he'd lean forward and wring his hands. Sometimes, he'd get such a faraway look in his eyes that I'd wonder if he'd ever come back. A few times, he excused himself and I'd hear him shut his bathroom door. He'd be gone for a while, and I'd pace the hallway, worried sick, until soft sniffling filtered under the doors. My heart broke for him. Even though curiosity ate at me, I never asked him any questions or prodded him to talk.
I got the feeling Pat was the type of person who would talk when he was ready. I was right.
In our second week together, he warmed up here and there. I got glimpses of the Pat who took me out for steaks. He talked and smiled more and seemed to genuinely enjoy my company.
We continued our walks and attended AA on Wednesday night.
When I realized how much Pat liked to read, I suggested getting a library card. He jumped at the opportunity. The outing inspired him, I think, because he was a lot easier to get out of the apartment after that. We went to a cooking class, saw a movie, window shopped downtown, and enjoyed the gardens at Opryland Hotel.
Whatever we did, he pressed in close. He escorted me on his elbow, sat shoulder to shoulder with me, or our thighs touched. I wasn’t sure if he was lonely or attracted to me. The reasons didn’t matter. I didn’t mind. Physical touch can be healing for people, so I humored the need. I placed my hand on his arm or shoulder, scooted close, and hugged him a few times.
I wasn’t sure if the touching was affecting him, but it was certainly affecting me. By the end of our second week together, my heart pounded, and I breathed too quickly whenever he was near.
* * *
In our third week together, Pat surprised me.
I slipped in Thursday morning as Fray headed out. “See you, Julia.”
“Bye.” I whispered as I eased the door silently into its latch. As usual, I threw my pillow on the couch and curled up for another couple hours of sleep. Soon a warm hand cupped my shoulder.
