I let out a ragged breath. “That’s if they’ll even accept me. I’m sure they have a ton of people wanting to get in here.”
“They’d be lucky to have you as a resident.” She squeezed my arm. “Take it. Please? Or, at least try. For me. I’m begging you.”
“I…” I did want it. I really did, but Liam. I’d be leaving him. “I need to think about it.”
I could see the disappointment in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything. She gave me a smile and pulled me close, her cheek next to mine. “Okay. You take your time.” She hugged me, and in that moment—with my heart wanting one thing, but loving another—I needed that comfort.
I went home feeling like I was crazy. How could I leave Liam’s home, my home with him? I walked into the house, hung my coat on the rack beside the door, and went to the kitchen. It was dark and empty.
There’d been life here before. Liam’s baseball caps. The pile where he’d dumped his gym clothes. It stunk up the entire first floor. He always promised to move them, and he never did. I did, and I was always irritated. He was always clueless how they got back into his drawers.
So many memories, but half of them were packed away.
I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of everything. The pictures had stayed up, but not the ones from the wedding. Those I sent to my parents, along with Frankie. After the accident, I ceased eating, bathing, living for a while. I couldn’t take care of myself, much less our dog, so I sent him to run happily around on the farm. Or that was what I told myself. I hoped he was happy. Liam hadn’t been a hunter, but my dad was. Frankie was a bird dog, so maybe everything worked out for the best…for Frankie.
I gazed over the empty table, the empty counters. Then I opened the refrigerator and found it empty except for a head of lettuce, ranch dressing, and two slices of cheese. And wine. I pulled out an open bottle from the door. It was half gone, but I didn’t remember opening it.
Sia had been here every day for the first full month after I lost Liam. Then it became every other day in the second month, every third in the next. It was the sixth month when she couldn’t take it anymore. I think it depressed her too much. She never said so, and I never knew if it was the house or just me, but I realized she didn’t want to be here.
I took pity on her and never asked her to come to the house again. I always went to her now.
The neighbors had come over when they heard about the accident. They’d brought casseroles, flowers, and blankets. I don’t know why I got the blankets, but it was fine. They went into a pile in the guest room, and those eventually went to my parents as well. I’m sure my mother washed them, and I’d have my pick to use the next time I visited.
I let out a sigh. It seemed to echo through the house.
Liam and I hadn’t gotten to know the neighbors before. We were still in the honeymoon phase, and it was all about us… I wished now that I’d made friends with a few of them so I could run over for a glass of wine, or hell, if I ever bought enough to bake, I could pretend to ask for a cup of sugar. I hadn’t been inclined to make friends after he died.
“Should I leave?” I asked no one, though I still half-expected a response.
Was Liam here? I closed my eyes. He was everywhere. He was coming home from work. Frankie was barking, running to the door. He was coming in to kiss my forehead, telling me about his day. Frankie’s paws pitter-pattered on the floor. He barked, darting around Liam, hoping for food. Liam would’ve grabbed a snack and sat at the table across from me. He’d groan, complaining about what Marsha said, or what Amie did. His co-workers drove him nuts. Frankie would whine when it was time to eat. Then Liam would take him for a walk, and I’d have food ready for everyone when they got back.
A tear fell, sliding down my cheek. I left it there. I knew more would join it.
I asked again. “Should I leave?”
No one answered. I was alone…with memories of my dead husband.
I skipped the salad and finished the bottle. Wine was one thing Liam had loved. He drank it sparingly, but he’d loved collecting his favorite bottles and had accumulated enough to try his hand at a makeshift wine cellar in the basement. I went downstairs, pulled out a few more bottles, placed two of them into the refrigerator, and took one with me back upstairs.
That bottle kept me company for the rest of the night.
There was a buzzing in my ear. It was loud, drowning out everything else. The air was hot, and people were running around, but a fog descended over me. I could hear a dog barking in the distance. Someone was screaming. There were sirens. I couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing, but I knew it wasn’t right. None of this was right.