Someone Like You: Wild Widows Series, Book 1 Page 14

  “One of my best friends since childhood. Dave and I went to St. George’s School in Rhode Island, which is a boarding school. We lived together for three years. He came to Vic’s funeral, said and did all the right things, and I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Oh wow. That hurts, huh?”

  “Yeah, it does, and the thing I don’t get is why he wouldn’t even reach out to check in. We talked all the time before, and now, there’s just silence where he used to be.” He takes a sip from his drink and then uses the stirrer to mix it up. “Who is it for you?”

  “My college friend Sarah. Like your friend, she was there at first, but since then, she’s mostly disappeared. She told one of our mutual friends that she simply couldn’t bear it.”

  “Poor love,” Derek says, his tone dripping with sarcasm that I appreciate.

  “Exactly! What happened to her?”

  “Nothing, but your tragedy is a reminder that it can happen to her, and that’s what she can’t deal with.”

  “I never would’ve suspected she would cut and run when life got hard.” I glance up at him. “She texted me to apologize.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That I wasn’t available to help her through my loss. I got that line from one of the Wild Widow posts on Instagram, and it was just what I needed to sum things up with her.”

  “Good for you for telling her the truth.”

  “Old Roni would’ve smoothed it over with her. I hate drama and angst with the people in my life. I would’ve gone out of my way to fix things, but this… This is different, and new Roni isn’t so quick to try to fix things with people who can’t do the bare minimum for me.”

  “While I totally get that, I think you should consider forgiving her.”

  That surprises me. “You do?”

  “Yeah, because being angry with her is taking energy you need for other things.”

  “I guess that’s true. Would you forgive Dave?”

  “If he asked me to, I suppose I would, but I’m not going to make the first move. That’s up to him. Your friend has admitted that she sucks, so that’s something anyway.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Think about it. You don’t have to do anything about it until you’re ready to, but it was big of her to reach out and own her shit. That probably wasn’t easy for her. People, even really good people, often don’t know how to deal with a loss of this magnitude. Hell, it happened to us and we don’t know how to deal with it.”

  “That’s true. You’ve definitely given me something to think about.”

  “Excellent, then my work here is finished.”

  I glance at the big wall clock over the counter, and I’m shocked to see it’s already ten thirty. “We should go. It’s a school night.”

  “This was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

  “I’d like that.” I’m not exactly sure what I’m agreeing to, but I refuse to pick it apart after the best night I’ve had in a while.

  Derek insists on paying, and we walk out together.

  “Where do you park the car?” he asks.

  “A few blocks from my place.”

  “I’ll follow you there and give you a ride home.”

  “You don’t have to do that!”

  “I know, but I’ll sleep better knowing you got home safely.”

  “I could text you.”

  “Or you could let me follow you and give you a ride home.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  “All righty, then.”

  “Lead the way.”

  As I drive back to the District, I pick over the parts and pieces of this momentous day, from the ultrasound to the widows’ meeting to the time alone with Derek. The competition between joy and sorrow is ever present in this new life of mine. No matter what I’m doing or how much I’m enjoying something, grief is part of the mix. I wonder if it’ll always be that way, and I assume it will, since my love for Patrick will never die. He’ll be with me forever, but I simply can’t spend the rest of my life counting the days until I’ll get to see him again in the afterlife. I’m just not wired that way.

  I went through a particularly devastating breakup in high school. My boyfriend, Connor, who I honestly thought I’d be with forever, suddenly decided we were done and didn’t even have the decency to tell me that himself. He got one of his friends to do it for him. I’ve never forgotten how dreadful that felt or how I was sure that I’d never feel that bad again. How funny that seems now. But then, like now, I had a hard time remaining in that low, devastated space indefinitely.

  Not that I didn’t ache for a long time from the loss of that relationship, not to mention the cowardly way he ended it, because I did. But my optimistic nature prevailed, and within a few weeks, I was back to feeling more or less like my old self, albeit with a few new internal scars.

  I’m finding that happening now, too. I ache all the time over the loss of Patrick, what was taken from him, from us, from our child. I can’t bear to think of that awful day or the dark weeks that followed, but I’m finding that with each new day that passes, I’m settling into a place of acceptance. I never would’ve chosen to create a life without him, but what choice do I have?

  The new job is helping, as are the new friends I’ve made through the Wild Widows. But more than anything, the baby growing inside me is giving me a reason to go on. On Saturday night, I’ll have my family over to tell them the news, and I’m already looking forward to how they’ll respond. After that, I’ll go see Patrick’s parents to share the news with them, too.

  I can’t wait to tell them, to give them a reason to look forward to the future.

  Back in the District, I park in our assigned space in the garage that does, in fact, give me the creeps. When I emerge onto the street, Derek is parked in his black Lexus SUV at the curb, waiting for me. I get into the passenger seat and direct him to my building.

  “You shouldn’t be walking alone from the garage at night.”

  “It’s fine. No one ever bothers me.”

  “Still, Roni, it’s dark, and you’re alone, so you should call me any time you need a ride from the garage.”

  “I’m not going to do that, but thank you for the concern.”

  “How do you get to work?”

  “On the Metro.”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  “You don’t have to do that!”

  “I know I don’t, but I will. Seven thirty work for you?”

  Since a ride in his warm SUV beats the Metro any day, I say, “Uh, sure.”

  “What do you get at the coffee shop?”

  “Hot chocolate and a cinnamon bun. Why?”

  “I was just wondering.”

  I give him a side-eyed look. “What’re you doing, Kavanaugh?”

  “Hanging with my new friend, Roni. What’re you doing?”

  “Getting through another day.”

  “You’re doing great.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do, and I’m somewhat of an expert on these things.”

  “Thanks for the ride and the drink and for understanding.”

  “Available whenever you need it.”

  “Good to know. See you in the morning.”

  “See you then.”

  13

  Roni

  I get out of the car, go up the stairs to my building and use my key in the door. When I look back, he’s still there, waiting to make sure I’m inside before he waves and drives off. As I go up the stairs to my apartment, I’m a mixed-up jumble of emotions regarding Derek Kavanaugh, which makes me feel unfaithful to Patrick.

  That’s ridiculous, and I know it, but it’s there, nonetheless.

  Patrick would tell me to live, to love, to be happy and to remember him. That last part will be the easiest, as I’ll always remember him with so much love and gratitude for the wonderful years we spent together.

  Which is why I hate that I’m a tiny bit attrac
ted to Derek.

  There. I said it. And I hate myself for it.

  It’s too soon to be attracted to anyone. Patrick isn’t even gone four months yet. But those months feel like an eternity of emptiness and loneliness. And no, I’m not that woman who can’t be alone and needs a man to make her feel complete. I’ve never been that woman. After Connor, I didn’t date anyone until Patrick, almost three years later. Not that I didn’t have the opportunity to date others. I just chose not to.

  I waited for someone special, and almost the minute I met Patrick, I knew he was different from the other guys who’d asked me out in the years between Connor and him.

  Derek is like that, too. He’s special, and not just because he gets what I’m going through, although that doesn’t hurt anything. But even when he was accusing me of being a stalker, I felt a spark of that special something I’ve experienced only twice before.

  The timing is horrendous with me a few months out from a brutal loss and expecting my late husband’s baby. What man in his right mind would want to take that on?

  “He’s probably just being nice to the new widow, and you’re reading all sorts of nonsense into it,” I tell my reflection in the mirror. “Don’t go getting carried away on some crazy trip when you have enough on your plate as it is.”

  After having this talk with myself, I brush my teeth and get into bed with my laptop to check my personal email. I immediately forward the wedding video to Rebecca and tell her to keep it for me until I’m ready to look at it.

  Once I see that the message has sent, I delete it out of my in-box so I won’t be tempted to reopen my wounds by watching it. I’m definitely not ready for that, and it’s possible I may never be, even if I’ll be glad to have it for our child to watch someday.

  I have yet another email from yet another company that requires a copy of Patrick’s death certificate before they can close his account. I attach the scanned copy in PDF format and hit Send, hoping this will be the last time I’ll have to do that. I’m quite certain it won’t be. Shutting down a life isn’t simple business.

  That’s been one of the hardest parts for me—erasing the life Patrick built for himself over his thirty-one years on earth. Eventually, I’ll have to donate the clothing in his side of our closet. I’ll have to give away the things that made up his life, including his baseball card and record collections, although he’d tell me to sell them because they’re valuable. I can’t imagine selling or giving away the things, such as the multiple computers, that made him who he was. That doesn’t have to happen any time soon, but eventually, I’ll have to deal with that and figure out what to do with it all. Some of it I’ll put away for our child to have someday. I want him or her to have things that were Patrick’s since they won’t have him.

  The very idea of dealing with his stuff is so formidable as to be nauseating, so I try not to think about that as I settle in to sleep. My thoughts wander back to Derek, who was so sweet and kind tonight. I’m not sure what’s going on there, but whatever it is, I’m relieved to have something else to think about other than the relentless march of grief.

  * * *

  Derek

  What am I doing? That is the question of the morning as I wait in line for my usual breakfast order, adding a medium hot chocolate and a cinnamon bun, which seems to shock the woman behind the register. So I’m a creature of habit. What can I say?

  That brings me back to my original question: What am I doing buying Roni breakfast or offering to drive her to work?

  I tell myself it’s all about supporting a new friend going through the same awful loss I suffered, but I can’t deny it’s more than that. For the first time since Vic died, I’m legitimately attracted to someone. For so long, I’ve wondered if that would ever happen, and now that it has, it’s almost a surprise to feel something I thought I lost forever.

  Because I can’t do anything the simple way, I have to be attracted to a woman who is in no way ready to start over again. So I have two choices: move on from this attraction comforted by the fact that I can feel that way about someone other than my late wife, or wait until Roni is ready.

  The logical thing would be to move on, taking the new information with me as I continue to work and take care of my daughter and hope that lightning will strike again sometime. But I’ve lived long enough by now to know that lightning doesn’t strike very often, and when it does, it’s something that needs to be treated like the special event that it is.

  These are the thoughts in my mind as I pull up to Roni’s building at seven thirty.

  When I see her coming, my heart starts to beat a little faster. This isn’t good at all, and yet it feels better than anything has since before I lost Vic.

  I lean over to open the passenger door for her, and she gets in, sighing with pleasure at the seat I heated for her.

  “This is some excellent service you provide, Mr. Kavanaugh.”

  “Nothing but the best for you, Mrs. Connolly. There’s your breakfast.”

  “Derek! Come on. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to.”

  “You’re very sweet,” she says with a deep sigh. “But I hope you know, I’m just not… I mean, I can’t…”

  I reach over and place my hand on top of hers, which I immediately realize was a mistake. Her skin is so soft, and it’s been so long since I touched a woman. “It’s fine, Roni. I understand where you are and what you’re dealing with.”

  She surprises me when she turns her hand and wraps it around mine.

  Shit. I can’t have a predictable response to her touching me, but that’s what happens.

  “I like you, Derek. I really do. And not because I thought you resembled Patrick at first. I like you for you.”

  “I like you, too.”

  “I’m very conflicted about the fact that I like you.”

  Her honesty is so incredibly refreshing, but then again, everything about her is refreshing.

  “I understand that, better than just about anyone else ever could. It’s the strangest thing, isn’t it? To be forever in love with someone who isn’t here anymore and to be thinking about someone new, too.”

  “Yes,” she says on a long exhale as she squeezes my hand. “That’s exactly it.”

  “The beautiful thing is that we’re allowed to be forever in love with the people we lost, and we’re allowed to entertain the possibility of new people in our lives, too. It’s this bizarre dichotomy of grief and joy all mixed into one big pot of emotion that makes sense only to those of us who’ve traveled this path.”

  “Sometimes, when you say that stuff, it feels like you’re inside my head and can see my thoughts.”

  “It’s because I get it, Roni. I freaking get it.”

  “I’m not ready for something new.”

  “I totally understand.” And I already know I’m going to wait for her to be ready for whatever this could be. All it took was ten more minutes with her to convince me that I don’t want to go looking for lightning anywhere else. Not when she’s around.

  “I shouldn’t be holding your hand.”

  “Does it bring you comfort?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then don’t let go.”

  She holds on all the way to the White House, where she’s forced to let go so we can get out of the car to go to work.

  “Thank you for the ride and for breakfast. I’ll buy tomorrow.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Yes, I will!”

  “No, you won’t. Text me when you’re ready to go home. If I can break free, I’ll give you a ride.”

  “I can get myself home.”

  “I know that, but why take the Metro when you can ride in heated seats with a new friend?”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Kavanaugh.”

  “Have a good day, Connolly.”

  “You, too, and thanks again for the ride and the breakfast.”

  “My pleasure.”

  We’re about to part company, her to go
to the East Wing and me to go to the West Wing, when Sam appears in the foyer, seeming startled to see us together.

  “Children,” she says in a teasing tone as her eyes dart between us. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, Mom.” I leave them with a grin and head to work.

  Best ride to work ever.

  * * *

  Roni

  “Holy bombshell, Batman,” Sam says after Derek walks away. “I haven’t seen him smile like that in a very long time.” She’s wearing a plum-colored top and black dress pants, and her dark blonde hair has been straightened into waves that fall to her shoulders.

  “He’s very nice.”

  “Yes, he is.” She uses her shrewd detective stare to try to see inside me to get to the real story. “Quit looking at me like that.” And yes, I am talking to the first lady of the United States that way. But right now, she’s not the first lady, she’s my friend, and I need one.

  She takes me by the arm and steers me toward a staircase carpeted in bright red. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Upstairs.”

  “Don’t you have to go to work?”

  “Yep, but it can wait.”

  Anyone who knows her even a little knows her work doesn’t wait for anything, so I’m honored that she’s giving me some time when she has more important things to do. We end up in a sitting room in the residence. “Wow, this is really nice.” I put my cup of hot chocolate and the bag that presumably contains a cinnamon roll on a coffee table and sit on the sofa.

  She sits next to me. “It’s amazing, but I don’t want to talk about the residence. I want to talk about you. And Derek.”

  “There is no me and Derek.” The statement sounds weak, even to me. If I want her to believe that’s true—hell, if I want myself to believe that’s true—I need to be more convincing. “There can’t be anything like that. Not now, anyway.”

  “But do you want it to be something?”

  “I can’t think about that, Sam. Patrick has only been gone for three months. It wouldn’t be right to be thinking about someone else. Not yet.” The tears that fill my eyes infuriate me. I’m so sick of crying. I’ve cried more since Patrick died than in my entire life beforehand.