I went to the kitchen to make her a glass of ice water. When I came back, she was under the covers. Right next to Kacey. I set the water and a box of Kleenex on the side table and crawled in on the other side. Kacey was sprawled out between us.
I laid in the dark, hurting for my wife. Her soft sniffling started up again. What else could I do for her? I didn’t know. I wished I did. I had fumbled this part of our life together over and over.
A bit of time passed before Miranda sat up. Ice clinked and she blew her nose. Before she settled in again, I reached over Kacey and caught her arm. She froze and whispered, “What?”
I didn’t answer. I gently led her down and around Kacey. She followed my gentle tugging until she had crawled to my side of the bed. I lifted the covers and she slipped in beside me.
There was nothing graceful about it. She flopped into my arms, melting into tears all over again. This time, she stifled them so she didn’t disturb Kacey. I encircled her in my arms. Her head pressed against my chest, her tears leaving a wet spot on my t-shirt.
This. This was what my wife needed from me when she had grieved our children. Images of her crying like this, curledin a ball all alone, while I was off running or watching a stupid game or doing some other dumb crap made me so angry at myself I could hardly draw a full breath.
But I rubbed her back, pressed her close. After a while, she slid her hands up and around my neck, stretching out against me. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For just holding me.”
Something else Pat told me hit my brain like a kick: “She needed someone to hold her up... That’s all I did. Sit with her. Let her lean on me.”
Emotions swelled in my chest. I’d had so many opportunities to hold my wife like this, but opted out. I reached up, sinking my fingers into the loose roots of her bun. “I’m here.”
If there was a millimeter of distance between us, she scooted into it, sealing us together. She lifted her face to mine, pressing a warm salty kiss on my lips. It shocked me into perfect stillness. Was the last thing I expected. I wasn’t sure why she offered a kiss, but I wasn’t going to argue. A few seconds later, I kissed her back, keeping things as gentle and tender as she wanted them.
It was short, chaste. Appropriate for the moment.
I loved her.
Please forgive me, Miranda.
I wanted to beg her, but I promised I’d stop pressuring her. I gave my word.
She pulled away and tucked her head against my thrashing heart. In a matter of minutes, she was breathing heavy and sleep found us entwined.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Miranda
Richard’s memorial service was three days later. I met all his wonderful children. They were in their late forties and fifties and their children were my age. Lots of them recognized my name because Richard had apparently talked about me. I got so many phone numbers and was overjoyed to learn many of them lived close by. Two of Richard’s granddaughters wanted to do coffee soon. They had children Kacey’s age and he fell in love with them, too.
His granddaughter, Evie, said, “If you were family to Richard, you are family to us.” I choked back an onslaught as Evie hugged me and wiped tears from her own eyes. When she let me go, Jack’s hand came to the small of my back. The light pressure held me steady.
Apparently, the biggest holiday of the year for this bunch was the Fourth of July at Bob and Cynthia’s house. We accepted the invite. This huge, loving family sucked me and Jack right in. Exactly like Richard had.
There were lots of tears, but also laughter. Each generation following Richard was full of life and joy.
A harvest.
A beautiful, bountiful harvest I was one-hundred percent certain was due to Richard and Rose. It made me cry all over again every time I allowed myself to feel the magic, the radiance, and the hope within the room.
I thanked Richard a hundred times in my heart. Hoped he could hear how grateful I was. I thanked Rose too. For loving Richard so much he had love overflowing for me. For letting me be a recipient of all they had to give. For letting me have the special things they were so intent on giving away.
Jack’s hand never left mine. Every time I introduced him as my husband, I’d feel him glance down at me. Trying to sort me out. Trying to figure out if I meant what I said. I did mean it, and I couldn’t wait to tell him.
During the reception, one of the older men, I forget his name, said, “How long have you two been married?”
Jack answered. “Two months.”
The man laughed. “Oh, newlyweds! No wonder you two look the way you do.”
When I realized why the man said that, my cheeks started to burn. Jack’s extreme attentiveness to me must’ve garnered some notice. In fact, I could only remember two brief moments during the whole thing that Jack didn’t hold my hand, touch my back, rub my shoulder, or put an arm around me. And I was well aware of the dumb look on my face when I looked up at him. I tried to have a more neutral expression. But I couldn’t help but beam at him. He was so handsome and I loved him so much.
For the first time ever, he made something emotional easier to face. I had so much to tell him. So much to share with him. I couldn’t wait to talk to Jack about our future. But, I’dhad to hit pause. After I lost Richard, I needed a few days. Time to be sad, to think, to find my bearings.
