By Proxy(74)

I never really told you much about my time out in MT. I don’t know if Jenny’s talked to Ingrid at all, but if she has, you probably know that something was going on between us during that weekend in Gardiner. I fell hard for that girl, Kris. Hard like rock-hitting-pavement hard. I didn’t even realize how bad it was at the time. I didn’t realize how bad it was until I got home. (“Home” being a joke since I have never felt so out of place as I now do in Chicago.)

I’m headed back to MT for New Year’s; I thought I’d head up to the Triple Peak, just like when we were kids. If you can believe it, I am actually considering a move out to Great Falls, even have an interview lined up for the day after tomorrow. I always missed Montana when I was away. Now that I literally can’t stand Chicago, maybe it’s time to trade in the concrete jungle for greener pastures.

Frankly, it just sucks to be anywhere she’s not. I thought I had to be in Chicago to be happy, but I think I could be happy a lot of places if she was with me. Not Gardiner, which, as you know, is a one-horse town at the end of the Earth. But, maybe we can find somewhere that works for both of us. Who knows?

That sounds a little too hopeful now that I’m re-reading it. I don’t even know if she’d give me the time of day at this point. I tried to make her choose between me and her family; I didn’t even consider offering her a compromise. I just thought if she wanted to give “us” a try, she’d make the sacrifice. I was a selfish bastard and I know it. Part of me feels like I hurt her enough and should just leave her alone. The other part? Well, between you and me, Kris? I love her. She’s it for me. I’d go the whole nine yards—rings, kids, a mortgage. If I ever get the chance to tell her, I’d never risk messing up things again. I’d never let her go.

I’ll say hey to the Northern Lights for you, cuz. I bet you ten bucks they show this year. You can pay me when you get home.

Stay safe,

Sam





Chapter 11



When Jenny lost her mother, the sorrow she felt had been overwhelming, paralyzing, even, and her only balm had been the company of her father and brothers. They had come together in unified sadness, negotiating their movements like severely sunburned people sharing a small space, careful not to touch one another, careful not to touch the awful red rawness of their blistered skin. They ate dinner together every night, occasionally in total silence, finding the only possible solace in the common, unspoken heartache that set them apart from the rest of the living, breathing, buzzing world. Being around other people unaffected by their visceral loss took such a lion’s share of their daily energy, it was a relief to be quiet with one another at the day’s end. Their fellowship of sorrow carried them through those first dark days.

Gradually, Jenny found, with relentless insistence, life demanded that those still living move forward. They spoke more, until they all laughed together one night—more than one of them feeling guilty over their giggles—remembering a silly family memory. Little by little, their shared sorrow became a shared life experience, and was woven, bit by bit into the tapestry of their family. Daily supper became twice-weekly supper as other commitments and obligations infringed on the family time that became less and less crucial and finally turned into a Sunday supper as regular life resumed. Red and raw was pink again, healing, and they were living and breathing and buzzing with the rest of the world again.

Silence was replaced by stories of their daily lives, bickering and teasing. The five lives that emerged covered with new skin were changed; they had survived the loss together, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were tougher for it. Fear could still permeate moments of Jenny’s quiet grief, however bearable now. Unbearable would be losing one of them again.

Sam wasn’t a member of her family, which had led her to believe losing him would be bearable.

She was wrong. Managing her sorrow was wearing her down on a daily basis.

When she lost her mother, she’d read, “Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.” Lewis was just as right now as he had been then, and the passage resonated with Jenny all over again. Every moment was surrendered to Sam’s absence.

The very worst thing about the week after the vows was Jenny didn’t have a fellowship of sorrow with whom to share her sadness and confusion. Her loneliness was exquisite, unparalleled in her life and thoroughly exhausting. Too much had been lost all at once: her simple, satisfying life, her romantic innocence, her sexual dormancy, saying wedding vows aloud, and all of these crucial life changes shared one vital, common element. The one person with whom she could have processed and grieved her losses was also the source and had left her behind.