Thought I Knew You(59)

Mom, Dad, Sarah, and Drew came back to the house, and everyone went out of their way to be overtly happy, laughing and joking, playing with the kids. Sarah and Drew were happy to see each other again. They talked about city life, dating, and their lives, sharing war stories. I watched the scene unfold before me as though it took place in a Macy’s window display at Christmas. Death of a Husband.



Later, Drew left to go back to the city, and Sarah went upstairs to take a nap. She thankfully planned to stay for the week. Under her tutelage, I hoped my drugged haze would go away. The memorial service had triggered a change in my mood, from anger and resolve to the true sadness of a mourning woman whose husband has tragically died, compounded by guilt that accompanied my morning insight into our marriage.

That evening, I went through the motions of the evening, dinner, bath, and bed. Sarah waited for me in the dimly lit living room. A glass of wine stood on the coffee table.

I sat next to her and put my head on her shoulder. “Thank you for coming today. Without you and Drew, I really don’t know where I’d be. All I do is thank you two.”

“That’s because we’re such great people.” She smirked, swirling the wine in her glass. I smiled thinly. No, she wasn’t going to let me wallow very long.

“Let’s talk about Drew,” she blurted.

“What about him?” I asked warily.

“What’s going on there? With you two?”

“Sarah, really? Today was Greg’s memorial service. Nothing about that question seems inappropriate to you?”

“Claire, come off it. You’ve been in mourning for a year now. You’ve run the whole gamut of emotions, some of which landed you in someone else’s bed on the other side of the country. So let’s not act like you just buried the man.”

I sulked for a minute, then I caved. I knew Sarah. We could sit in silence all night; she always won.

“I don’t know. I’m all over the map with Drew.” I recounted the beach story. “I didn’t want him to leave when he did. And then when I called him back and he sprang the Olivia thing on me, I was caught completely unaware.”



“I think you’re both afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Of being anything more than friends. Your whole lives, you’ve had each other. If it doesn’t work, you won’t have anything anymore. You’re both terrified.”

“I think it’s more complicated than that. Frankly, I’m scared of dating anyone right now. Drew would feel like the safest bet, I would think.”

“What are you going to do when you have to meet his girlfriend?” she asked.

“The same thing he’s been doing for the last ten years, I guess. Pretend.” I didn’t relish the thought. “I’m sure she’s beautiful.”

Sarah put her hand over her mouth and giggled. “Remember that one girlfriend in college? She was Austrian or something? What was her name?”

“Inga!” we said in unison. Yes, I remembered Inga, the Austrian model. Dumb as a Box of Rocks Inga. Yoga Instructor Inga. I hated her. Drew’s guy friends made continuous infuriating comments about her bedroom prowess.

“What did you do to her again?” Sarah was looking upward, searching for the memory.

“I drew a mustache on her face at a party. She was half-passed out in the bathroom, and I used eyeliner.”

Sarah dissolved into laughter. I could barely think about it. My face burned, not from guilt, but from humiliation. I never wanted to admit the effect Drew’s love life had on me. He slowed down quite a bit in his old age, but his college years had been filled with women. Girls, really. Almost all of them were blondes, with a cumulative IQ significantly less than their nightly take at the Luscious Ladies gentleman’s club. Yes, I was fairly sure that Olivia was beautiful. I hoped that I could manage to keep my eyeliner in my purse.





Chapter 25



September brought two major milestones. One should have been huge: Hannah’s first day of kindergarten. But that event was usurped by the looming one-year anniversary at the end of the month. One full year without Greg.

When I put Hannah on the bus on the second of September and waved to her with one hand while blotting my eyes with a tissue with the other, I thought for the millionth time in the past year, Her daddy should be here to see this. I was quite used to the sentiment, sure that a milestone wouldn’t pass when I wouldn’t acknowledge Greg in some way.

I felt sentimental about the one-year mark. It was the anniversary of a horrific tragedy, but somehow, guiltily, I felt accomplished. I thought it was terrible, in a way, to feel any benefit from Greg’s death, but I felt stronger, more sure of myself. I could clean a gutter! I could repair plumbing! I had learned a lot in the last year. I am going to be okay. Should Greg be there? Yes, without question. Did I wish things were different? Absolutely. But somehow, life went on. And I had come a long way from the sorrowful wreck of a woman who could barely get herself and her children dressed. I hadn’t even sworn at a stranger in almost six months. So for that at least, I found a very small reason to celebrate.