And I wonder, as ice floods my veins, how he can bring himself to come here. How he can see his beloved wife like this, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. How he can bear to know that there may be many more years of this existence laid out before him. And I understand how he must have felt so much more content when he was at the farm. How desperately he needed to get away from the city and the crushing pressure he must feel to visit. I bet he comes here every single day that he can. Because that’s Anders. Heisa man of honor, of duty.
He would have come, feeling guilty that his mother-in-law had put her own life on hold to care for her daughter. He would have come, knowing that his father-in-law was angry, maybe even at him because he hadn’t taken on the responsibility of caring for his wife himself. He came when he must have felt weighed down with the burden, with heartbreak, with despair. He came and he never would have stopped coming.
He neverwillstop coming.
He will never abandon her.
As I watch Kelly treating her daughter with so much love and gentle care, my heart shatters into a million pieces.
And it shatters for her, this poor woman, Laurie’s mother. I feel so desperately sorry for her. It is the most appalling, tragic situation, because Anders is right. Laurie isgone. They havelosther. And I don’t believe that she is ever coming back. Yet they will live like this—all of them—until Laurie’s body gives up of its own accord and she slips away for good.
But right now, she is Anders’s wife and he is bound to her.
35
I’m crying so much that I have to pull over: full-body-racking, animalistic-sounding, heart-wrenching sobs. It’s a while before I’m able to navigate back to Anders’s apartment without being a danger to myself or others.
Anders has been calling me, but I’ve been in too much of a state to answer. I wonder if he’s spoken to Kelly or Brian, if he knows I’ve seen Laurie.
My head is telling me to return to his place, pack up my things, and go. To leave him be. It’s about time I remove myself from his life so he doesn’t have to go to the trouble of trying to eject me again. But I can’t walk away until I tell him that I understand. He deserves that, my understanding. And I do understand now.
I no longer blame him for not telling me about Laurie. He has every right to not want to talk about her. It isn’t his fault that I developed feelings for him. He tried for a long time to not give me any reason to think that he might care for me too.
The thought of him endeavoring to keep his wife’s memory alive as he struggled to keep up his walls destroys me. He must have felt so torn.
I let myself back into his apartment and pack up my things before unpacking them all again to take a shower and brush my teeth. I can hardly think straight. Once I’m ready, I repack my things and go to the sofa to lie down, feeling utterly drained and desperately sad.
I must fall asleep because a featherlight brush along my arm rouses me. When I open my eyes, Anders is standing there.
“Are you okay?” he asks in a low voice.
His eyes are creased with pain. He’s suffering—deeply—and it hurts to see him in such agony.
I sit up, my arm still tingling from his touch.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, backing up a couple of paces as I get to my feet.
He’s wearing slim-fitting black trousers and a short-sleeved black polo shirt with his racing team’s logo printed on the breast pocket.
“No,” I say as he searches my face. “You don’t need to apologize to me.”
I step toward him and slip my arms around his waist, and his breath hitches as I lay my face against his chest. A moment later, his hands seek out my hips.
To go from only our hands touching yesterday to our full bodies today is almost too much. But I tighten my grip on him, and, in turn, he gathers me closer.
We’re flush to each other—our chests, stomachs, hips, and thighs are aligned—and my heart has inflated with so much compassion and sorrow that I think I might burst. I want to wrap him up in my love, try to take away some of his pain.
“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through,” I whisper.
He shakes his head and begins to withdraw.
“What you’ve done for Laurie and her parents, for your brother and your parents. You’re a good man,” I say. “You tried to keep me at a distance and you haven’t done anything wrong.”
He’s stopped trying to pull away from me, but we’re not pressed as closely together as we were.
“You’re right about Laurie,” I say. “She’s gone. And I am so very sorry you lost her.”
His chest expands as he shakily inhales.
