Midnight Valentine(70)

By the time I get home, I’ve got a bunch of messages on my voicemail from Suzanne. I’m not surprised. I ran from the church as if I were being chased by lions. I text her an apology, say I’m not feeling well, and make a joke about the shadow of the cross. Then I shut off my phone, strip out of my wet clothes, and crawl into bed.

I’m still there when the cloud-shrouded sun sinks into the ocean, turning the room from gray to black.

Black as his hair. Black as his eyes. Black as the shriveled-up husk of my heart.

The thing about depression is its weight. It’s so damn heavy. Every breath is a fight. Every step takes so much effort. It’s like trying to move through wet sand. It’s so much easier to lie down and let the sand fill your mouth and ears and eyes, to let it seep into your soul and obliterate all the nothingness.

As I lie in darkness, sinking into that sweet relief of letting go, I keep hearing Coop’s words.

The thing that breaks you is the only thing that can put you back together.

When the clock reads 12:02 a.m., I rise from bed, get my laptop, and compose an email.

To: Theo@hillrise.com

From: Bowie4Evah@yahoo.com

Subject: Broken pieces





Dear Theo,



When I was six years old, I fell in love with a boy. He was smart and sweet and the best person I’ve ever known. He was my best friend. I married him when I was twenty-four. Three years later, he died, and so did I, in all the ways that matter.



I don’t know who I am without him. He was all the best parts of me. The person you met is a ghost, a ghost walking around in the guise of a woman who has a beating heart and blood running through her veins. But my heart is a stone and there’s nothing but dust in my veins. Everything inside me is ashes.



Don’t let a ghost drive you away from your home. If that’s even what happened. I find it hard to believe I could be the cause of such a thing, but what do I know? As it turns out, absolutely nothing.



There are people here who love you. Coop does, you know. He’s a good friend. He’ll help you through whatever hell you’re dealing with. My husband used to say, “If you’re going through hell, keep on going.” I think he meant keep going until you see the light on the other side. I’d like to believe there’s a light, but I’m finding that almost impossible. Hell is so damn big.



I’m sorry I make all your broken parts bleed. If it makes you feel any better…ditto.



A confession: I’m the coward, not you. If I had any courage at all, I’d put an end to the wasteland of misery that is my life, but I don’t have the strength. I hate myself for my weakness. To be or not to be. That’s not a question. Stupid Shakespeare.



I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m just tired. I’m so tired of trying to make sense of all this confusion. My point—and I do have one—is this.



You’re the first thing that has made me feel alive in years.



My terror about what that means is huge. My therapist says my attraction to you triggers my guilt, like maybe I’m betraying the memory of my husband, but honestly, I think my therapist is full of shit. I’ve tried and tried to believe that nothing means anything at all, that life is just one big shit show of chaos, that belief in fate and God and a benevolent universe is for suckers, but wow. Meeting you sure changed all that.



There’s also the distinct possibility that I’m crazy, so take the compliment with a grain of salt.



I’ll make you a deal. You don’t ask about my crazy, and I won’t ask about yours. Don’t ask, don’t tell. It worked fine for the military for years, it should work for two nut jobs like us.



I saw a sticker on the back of a stop sign today that read, “Sometimes following your heart means losing your mind.” It made me smile, right before it made me cry.



Come back, Theo. If I’m the reason you left, come back. A wise man recently told me that the thing that breaks you is the only thing that can put you back together. If we’re each other’s hammers, maybe we’re also each other’s glue.



Megan





After I hit Send, I feel a strange and overwhelming sense of relief. I fall asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow, and I don’t dream.

I wake with a jolt sometime in the still black hours before dawn, my skin prickling with the recognition that I’m no longer alone.

I sit up in bed, listening hard into the darkness. My body floods with adrenaline. My heart starts pounding, and my hands begin to shake. I hear nothing but the gentle patter of raindrops against the windows and the restless sigh of the surf.

And then…

That familiar crackle of electricity skitters over my skin.