Page 88 of Just Ten Seconds

I let out a laugh-like cry. “There’s no way Ryan was a monster like Benjamin.”

“He wasn’t, but he wasn’t perfect either. Feeling anger is part of the process,” she explains.

Cynthia lets out a sorrowful sigh. “You’re supposed to remember only the good memories when someone dies. They’re so much more than their flaws.”

“No one’s perfect,” Lauren adds. “To pretend they were makes you feel awful about all those times you fought with them when they were alive. That’s what took me a long time to get over after Ryan died. The night before, we’d had a blowup about the wedding. He didn’t think it was as important as I did. He told me I was a brat, and I hated him for it. He could get a temper sometimes.”

“Isn’t remembering the good times better than dwelling on the bad?” Cynthia asks.

Tracey takes Cynthia’s hands and holds them tightly. “Take the good with the bad. Isn’t that how the saying goes? It’s what we do with all of this that’s the point. You only want the good. Neither is wrong.” Tracey releases Cynthia’s hands and turns to me. “Mara, your husband wasn’t good. That must have been hard for you to learn. Is knowing of his deceit what’s keeping you from moving on?”

“There are too many things that hold me back.” I want to name them all. Talk about the murder, the moment I died inside. The trial. The months I spent as a prisoner in my own home. The friends who turned their backs on me. The pocket watch I keep by my bedside.

My walls feel like they’re going to crumble from within, and yet here I am. If it wasn’t for Jackie, I wouldn’t be alive right now, and if it wasn’t for Dean …

I swallow back the tears.

“I met someone,” I say, and just stating it aloud to a room of people makes it feel beyond real. “I’m so unworthy of his affection, and yet his affection is the only thing that makes me feel worthy. It scares the hell out of me. I’m falling for him, but I don’t know if I’m allowed to.” I chew on my lip and pull my arms around me tighter. “He doesn’t know about my past.”

“He’ll understand,” Kevin says with a smile. “If he’s worthy of your affection, then he’ll understand.” His words are poignant, and he has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Is he good-looking?” Tracey asks with a sly grin.

I’m surprised by her question. What an odd thing to ask when I’m here with my arms hugging my body tightly and tears spilling down my cheeks.

“Very,” I say honestly, and everyone laughs a little.

With a nod, I understand her question. She’s trying to refocus me.

Tracey stands up and places her hands on my shoulders. Her almond-shaped eyes stare right into mine as she firmly declares, “Everything you’re feeling is right. There is no roadmap for grief. It’s whatever path you choose to make. In the short time you’ve been sitting with us, you’ve opened up so much. I know that you are headed in the right direction. Keep driving, Mara. Don’t pull over and ask for directions. You’ll get where you’re going. You are on your way to healing.”

With closed eyes, I drink in the hug she’s giving me and hope this road I’m on doesn’t lead me over a cliff.

As I’m walking through the parking lot, I’m relieved to see Dean’s car isn’t here.

“Mara,” Lauren calls out.

I turn around to see her jogging toward me.

“Hi.” I pull my purse up my shoulder, surprised by her appearance.

She pushes her hair behind her ears and bounces from one foot to the other. “I know it’s none of my business, but I just wanted to let you know that Dean is a really good man.” She looks down and shakes her head with closed eyes. “I’m talking like I know him on a personal level. I only know him from this group and the occasional drinks we all go to, but I just want you to know he’s worth taking the chance on. And if he’s showing you interest, it’s because he genuinely thinks you’re worthy of being around his daughter.”

A small rush of relief rushes through me. “Thanks, Lauren. That means a lot.”

She smiles. “You’re welcome. Dean is not like your husband. That sounds like it could be a good thing.”

“You’re right about that. Benjamin is nothing like Dean.”

I open my door and am about to get in when she calls out, “Wasn’t.”

I stop. When I turn to her, her chin is lowered, and her eyes are staring at me, serious.

“You talk about your husband in the present tense.”

“Oh. Yeah,” I say, trying to hide my eyes but it’s hard when she’s looking at me like she knows exactly who I am. “Good night, Lauren.”

“Be careful driving home.” Her words are purposeful.