She looks into the living room and back to me. “Is Wyatt here?”
It’s been three days since we buried Faith. Three days of Wyatt being barely able to look at me and refusing to say more than a word or two. Sure, he sits on the couch with me, but he’s careful not to be too close. Then, once the awkwardness is thick enough to cut, he’ll head out to the ranch and stay there until I’m asleep.
He’s shattered, and I don’t know how to heal him.
“He’s working,” I explain and shove some pie into my mouth.
Mrs. Kannan nods. “How are y’all holding up?”
I give her the very brief version of how everything is fine. I’m sure she’s not fooled, neither are Presley or Mrs. Hennington, but I don’t want to analyze it. He’s grieving. I’m grieving. There’s no right or wrong way to handle this situation. He seems to need more time alone, and I’m doing my best to respect that.
I’m the opposite, though.
I need people.
I haven’t been alone for more than a half hour. When Presley see’s Wyatt’s truck leave, she rushes over. If she can’t be here, someone else shows up out of nowhere. It’s foreign to me that I’m craving people. I’ve been independent my whole life, but right now being alone leaves me with nothing to do but think. My mind wanders down paths that it doesn’t need to seek. I get caught up in the “what ifs” and “could’ve beens”.
“I know that it gets better with time. It did with my brother.” I play with the fork as I think through how I feel right now. “I know it takes a while before you get back into your groove, but everything feels unsettling.”
Mrs. Kannan takes my hand in hers. “Of course it does, honey. You were preparin’ for a life that isn’t going to be anymore. I know it’s a lot to handle, but you’re doing it. You’re healing in a lot of ways right now. It’ll get better. You and Wyatt love each other, and you’ll work it out.”
“Do we?” I ask. “I mean do we really? I would’ve never been in Bell Buckle if it weren’t for the baby. He would’ve lived his life just fine.”
Her brown eyes widen. “Don’t think like that. I know you’re confused, but don’t you doubt what the two of you share. I saw it with my own eyes.” Her hand slaps against the table. “I’ve been around that boy since he was an infant. I’ve never in all my years seen him look at a girl the way he looks at you. It’s not a test of love when things are good. It’s how you handle things when times are bad.”
If that’s the case . . . we’re failing. Things can’t be much worse for us right now, and he’s withdrawing. “He won’t talk to me.”
“Then you make him talk.”
I’ve been putting off the talk about where we, as a couple, go from here. Part of me is afraid of what words will be spoken. If he doesn’t return my love, can I withstand another devastation? I don’t think I can. Between the healing my body is doing, the hormones that are wreaking havoc on my system, and Wyatt’s mood . . . I can’t.
I would rather suffer in silence than be deafened by the truth.
I WAKE WITH A GASP. Sweat trickles down my skin, my breathing is accelerated, and my heart is pounding. I hate this dream. I look over to the other side of the bed, and once again, Wyatt’s side is empty. It’s the fifth night in a row I’ve had this terrifying dream. The car tumbling, the pain of hitting my head, the haunting sound of the monitors beeping, listening to them telling me I’ve lost my baby. Then, I find that my nightmare is my reality.
My feet hit the cold floor, and I go in search of Wyatt. He’s lying on the couch with the television on.
I stand here for a few minutes, but he doesn’t notice my presence. He doesn’t look like the same man from only a few short weeks ago. Wyatt was always smiling, full of joy and warmth. Now he’s cold and distant, not in a way that was even before the accident though. He was still him, just with something on his mind.
This is a man drowning in grief. I have to pull him out.
I know this. I have to find a way to get him to meet me halfway so we can get past this awful phase. I’ve been here before. I know what it looks like and where it can lead. I won’t let the man I love get lost in the abyss.
I pull my sweater around myself a little tighter and brace for a conversation we need to have.
I can’t live like this anymore. I need my Wyatt back.
“Hey,” I rasp. My throat still dry from sleep.
“Did I wake you?” he asks, sitting straight up.
I shake my head. “No. I had another dream.”