A Widow Redefined

by Kim Cano

“It is not easy writing about grief even for seasoned writers. Kim Cano handles the subject with insight and compassion…“

Great read!
“…a poignant look into the…intricacies of marriage and the conflicting emotions that come with losing a loved one.”

an excerpt from

A Widow Redefined

by Kim Cano

Standing in the snow in front of my husband’s grave, I came to an unexpected realization. What used to be a romantic tribute had become something disconcerting.

As I kneeled down to lay a pink rose at the base of Justin’s headstone, I noticed a bouquet of yellow daffodils in the spot where I planned to place my flower. Daffodils? From whom? I tried to wrap my mind around why they were there, to solve a mystery I hadn’t anticipated.

Then a strong gust of Chicago wind slapped across my face. And with it came a new level of comprehension. Today was Valentine’s Day. These flowers were fresh.

Confused, I began to look around. I scanned the cemetery for others and saw a lone groundskeeper cleaning near the entrance. I dropped my rose and began running in his direction.

Arriving short of breath, I asked, “Have you been here long? Have you seen anyone else here recently?”

“No,” he said, eyeing me with caution. “I just come from break.”

Out of frustration I grasped for anything. “Okay, well is there a log of some kind? Of the people who come and go each day?”

My visitations had never been recorded. I knew this.

The man could see its importance to me, so he gave it some thought before responding.

“No,” he said. “No records.”

Disappointed, I stood there, staring at him. He gazed back at me, with a polite smile on his face. Then, after an awkwardly long pause, the groundskeeper’s look changed from pleasant to irritated. He mumbled something about being busy and walked away.

My mind began racing and I felt the pulse of a headache starting in the back of my skull. When I left work earlier, I’d been happy to find it wasn’t cold and gray. Driving into the cemetery, I had been captured by the particularly brilliant sunset; the sky blazed with pink and purple streaks.

Now, as I stood alone, the sky was dark.

Suddenly, I couldn’t leave fast enough. I began running toward my car, somehow managing to not trip or fall, then hopped in and slammed the door shut. A little flustered, I dropped my keys as I went to start the engine. I felt around and finally discovered them jammed between the front seat and center console. I pulled them free, started the car, then peeled out of the parking spot like a teenage drag racer.

As I turned left onto the main road to head home, I considered the possibilities. Maybe Justin’s parents were in town and had gone to the cemetery. They popped in from time to time, not always stopping by to say hello. The rare trip to see their grandson was the only reason they ever seemed to bother with me.

I knew it wasn’t my mom. After the funeral she never went back, although she was respectful of my visits, which were many over the last two years. Since the funeral, my routine—coming on holidays and his birthday—had always been the same. Only the seasons changed. But today my world tipped slightly off its axis, and I couldn’t help but recall what my older co-worker Barb had once told me, that the only constant in life is change.

Something in the pit of my stomach didn’t like it.

As I got closer to home, I tried to forget the flowers. I wanted to seem normal to my son, Tyler, and my mom. He’s only seven, and believed I was out visiting a friend. Mom, on the other hand, is quite perceptive. Nothing gets past her. Stressed out and feeling a migraine coming on, I turned right onto the street where I live.

“Hey honey, I’ve got your plate in the microwave,” Mom called out, after she heard me come in.

I set my keys and purse on the sofa, took off my coat and hung it up. Then I walked into the kitchen.

“Amy,” Mom said, “You look terrible. Are you okay? You have sweat beads on your forehead.”

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “Oh,” I replied, “I’m fine, just a little cold.”

She gave me a funny look and put my food on the table. I sat down to eat right away, hoping she wouldn’t ask more questions. Then Tyler ran in.

“Mom. Grandma and I went to the library. I got a DVD on bugs of the desert southwest. You wanna watch it with me?”

“Sure honey.” I somehow managed to eat dinner and hold a coherent conversation, but the whole time I felt like I was sinking in quicksand. Luckily, no one seemed to notice. Afterward, Mom returned to her novel, and Tyler and I watched the bug program; at least it appeared like I did. Mostly I just stared at the TV while thinking about the daffodils.

“Scorpions are so cool. Don’t you think?” Tyler asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I despised bugs, but I didn’t want to disappoint my son. “Yeah, I guess they’re pretty neat,” I agreed. “You know, it’s almost time for bed soon. I’m going to take a bath, and then I’ll come and tuck you in.”

Tyler frowned but didn’t put up a fight. He was well-behaved that way. He put the disc back in its case while I left to go to the bathroom. Once inside, I dimmed the lights and locked the door. I turned the tub faucet on to as hot as I could stand it, added some aromatherapy salts, undressed and climbed in. As the water level grew, I sunk deeper into its protective womb. I closed my eyes and let the warmth slowly relax me. As so often happened when I relaxed, an old memory surfaced—one I try not to remember—of the day my dad moved away, leaving my mom and me for another woman. I was just a kid.

Tears began flowing down my cheeks and into the water. It was a silent sobbing so as not to disturb anyone else. Then my mind began to race again. Daffodils! Soon my head throbbed with unbearable pain. I couldn’t allow myself to think about any of it a moment longer, so I released the drain, grabbed a towel and climbed out.

I must have lost track of time, because when I went to tuck Tyler in, he was already in bed, asleep. I leaned over and kissed him on top of his head, then gently closed his door. When I got to my room, I noticed a bottle of Excedrin lying on the dresser, so I took two, without water, and collapsed into bed.

While lying in the dark, I decided to think of something happy. A good memory. A previous Valentine’s Day. Justin always took me to Francesca’s, our favorite Italian restaurant. I could almost see us sitting at a candlelit table, drinking wine and eating pasta.

Justin raised his glass, “Someday I’m going to take my kitten to Paris.”

I flushed. Even after years together, he still had that effect on me.

“We’ll eat at the Eiffel Tower restaurant for your birthday. Then we’ll go on one of those Seine river cruises. What do you think?”

“Say the word and I’m packed,” I said.

We spent the night talking, sharing tiramisu. Justin glowed with health and his blue eyes sparkled as he described plans to expand his carpentry business. Soon we’d be financially set. We’d be able to afford to travel the world together, like we always talked about. I don’t think I’d ever seen him more excited about anything as he was about this.

People shouldn’t die of cancer at thirty.

Every good memory eventually ended up there… in reality. There was no escaping it, no matter how hard I tried. And now there was the mystery of the daffodils. I didn’t know what to think, but I desperately needed rest if I wanted to make it to work in the morning, so I shut my eyes and willed my mind to stop racing.

I dreamt of Justin. We floated peacefully together on a lake in a rowboat. The sky was clear and the sun shone bright. He said something funny that made me laugh, causing me to lean over and clutch my belly. When I regained composure and tossed my head back up, still smiling, clouds had filled the sky. They had an ominous look about them, angry. Lightning sparked followed by loud claps of thunder. I looked at Justin, wondering what we should do, but his expression was blank. Then the waves grew choppy. All at once, swells the size of skyscrapers surrounded us. One moment we were in their trough, the next we ascended their foamy crest. Terrified, I looked over at Justin, seeking some kind of help. He remained blank-faced and unresponsive. Then, as we began descending back into the dark cavern of the wave, the boat tipped over, and I woke up, choking.

Chapter 2

The next morning I woke up late. Disoriented, I jumped out of bed and scrambled to check on Tyler before getting ready for work. I found him in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal.

“There you are,” I said, relieved. “Thank God you’re up and ready to go.”

“Did you oversleep?”

“Yeah. But I’ll be ready in ten minutes, and then I’ll take you to school.”

I rushed through my morning routine quicker than I ever had. On the drive to school, I remembered promising my son I would take him shopping for colored pencils and paper. Drawing was one of his favorite things.

“We’ll stop after dinner to get you those art supplies,” I told him, smiling.

He smiled back, then I kissed him goodbye before he got out of the car. I felt so happy, seeing him excited about a hobby and enjoying life again. It had taken a long time–too long, I’d thought, but he was almost back to himself.

I managed to make it to the office, clock in and be at my desk just before my boss, Dave, walked past. He had some new clients scheduled today, so it was important we looked organized. It was a busy time of year for tax accountants, and, even though we did well, Dave never stopped drumming up new business. He was a real hustler.

Luckily, Dave never gave me any trouble. He told me once that I accomplished the work of two people. Although I appreciated the compliment, what I really needed was a raise. Things had become pretty tight with only one income.

Fatima walked up to my desk and stood silently for a moment, the way she did when she was about to ask a question. “Did you happen to see Dancing with the Stars last night?”

“No,” I said. “I went to the cemetery.”

The words were out before I could stop them. I had over-shared. Again.

Fatima opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. She shifted her weight—all ninety pounds of it—then finally said “It was a pretty good episode,” and continued on to her seat behind me, next to Barb, the third member of our accounting trio.

“Everything okay?” asked Barb. I thought I detected a tiny bit of exasperation in her voice. I knew they both wished I’d stop reminding them how much I miss Justin. They’d never say it, of course, because even though they were pretty much opposites—Fatima, a just out of college, stick thin beauty, and Barb, a woman who embodied the dictionary definition of “matronly”—they both were much too kind to complain. But they were probably right. Two years is a long time to grieve out loud.

I mumbled, “I’m fine,” pressing the words through a forced smile.

“I think this morning needs some music,” Barb said. She patted my shoulder as she walked past me to the ancient radio that was balanced on the tallest filing cabinet. She turned the knob in search of a static-free station, but the reception predictably faded in and out. We could only count on two channels: Oldies and a Spanish station. Today she chose the former. On the way back to her desk, Barb smiled warmly at me. Her sweet round face and closely-cropped hairstyle reminded me of a garden gnome. She was the kind of person it felt comfortable and safe to be around.

As the day went on I cranked out one document after another, working like a machine, but my mind still managed to wander. I decided to take a break and email Justin’s mom in Phoenix. I had stopped trying to reach her by phone when she started replying to my voicemail messages with an email. I got the hint that it was her preferred form of communication… at least with me.

I sent her a message asking if she had been in town, and telling her I had been thinking of her recently. I didn’t mention the flowers. Since Justin died and they retired and moved away, we hadn’t managed to stay close.

Later in the day I read her reply. She hadn’t been in, but would let me know if they planned on coming up to Chicago. No “miss you,” no “how’ve you been?” She was an odd bird that way. Always somewhat distant with me, she was a bundle of sunshine and laughs with her son. A split personality, I thought, but I’d never shared that opinion with my husband. I liked Justin’s dad, though. He was sweet. Unfortunately, he never made calls or went on the computer much. He was more of an “in person” charmer. Once you were out of his sight, it was like you didn’t exist.

As I drove home from work, I thought about the flowers again. Knowing for certain that Justin’s parents hadn’t left them stirred an uncomfortable sensation in my gut.

Tyler greeted me at the front door. “Grandma says we’re going out tonight. Mexican food.” Then he held up a drawing of an eerily realistic tarantula.

“Sounds good.” I eyed his work and nodded approval. “Beautiful picture. I’m afraid it’s not gonna make it to the front of the refrigerator, though. It’s a bit of an appetite killer.”

Tyler giggled, rolled his eyes and took off down the hallway.

The three of us piled into the car and headed to the restaurant. Once seated, the waiter approached us, asking if we would like drinks before ordering our meals.

“I’ll have a margarita. On the rocks with salt,” I said.

Mom glanced my way, raising an eyebrow. “Letting your hair down?”

I gave a half smile back. “Trying.”

I wished the drink were for fun, instead of an attempt to settle my frantic nerves. I no longer knew how to have fun. I had always been the most serious person in the room. It was Justin who had taught me how to laugh. His humor kept us all in stitches.

After he got too sick to work and Mom sold her house and moved in with us, she continued to remark about how funny he was. The complete opposite of my dad.

The drinks arrived and I took a sip. The salt stung an open cut I didn’t realize I had on the inside of my mouth. I watched Mom drink her soda and remembered what she always used to say to me: “You’re so lucky, Amy. You and Justin have the perfect marriage.”

I ignored the brief stab of heartache and took a bigger gulp. Then I turned my attention to Tyler. “How was school today? You have any homework?”

He munched on a chip dipped with salsa. “It was fine. I finished my assignments before you got home.”

Of course he had done it. He always did. His teacher had recently spoken with me about the possibility of moving him up a grade. I didn’t want to cause him additional stress, so I decided against it.

Soon the waiter showed up with our meals. I took a bite of my chicken enchiladas. “This is delicious.”

Mom and Tyler—both with food in their mouths—nodded their agreement. It was nice being out together. We used to do it once a week with Justin. Sometimes Mom would join us; sometimes she’d babysit so we could have a date night.

As I reminisced about Justin, my mind wandered to the daffodils again. I needed to solve that mystery. Alone.

“Hey Mom. Remember that gym membership I never use?”

She looked up from her meal. “Yeah.”

“Well I was just thinking. I’d like to go swimming. I never do that anymore. They’re offering an aqua aerobics class this Sunday and I can bring a guest. Do you wanna come?”

My mom hadn’t been seen in public in a swimsuit in over a decade. She said she felt too old and out of shape; that her days of hitting the beach were over. I thought she was incredibly silly. But I knew she’d decline. The cemetery was on the way to the health club. I still intended to work out, but I also was making secret plans to investigate the mystery of the flowers.

“No. I’d rather not,” she said. “I can watch Tyler for you while you’re gone though.”

Just the response I had hoped for. A big part of me felt terrible for being so manipulative. Another part of me thought, “How could I tell you something might be wrong with my once perfect marriage?”

I’d have to deal with the guilt in order to find out more.

For the rest of the evening, Mom chatted about her lady friend, Tyler discussed his new teacher, and I weaved in and out of the conversation, listening and responding as appropriate. But a portion of my brain continued to work on solving the problem at hand. Who could have left those damn flowers?

After we left the restaurant, we stopped at the art supply store.

“Gauguin,” Mom said, addressing Tyler. “Which colored pencils do you want?”

Tyler loved being called that name ever since he’d seen a program about the South Pacific with Justin and me. We used to sit together watching the Travel Channel, planning future trips we’d hope to take. Tahiti was number one on our list. And once Tyler found out a famous artist had lived there and seen his paintings in a library book, Gauguin became his idol. He wanted to be just like him.

With a serious expression on his face, Tyler replied, “I think these would work best,” then handed my mom his selection.

He cracked me up, but I didn’t laugh out loud. He was like an old man sometimes. Now and then my mom and I would be discussing a topic, and he’d interject, saying something oddly profound. It never ceased to amaze us.

*****

Saturday night, after our monotonous weekly routine of chores and grocery shopping, we all sat down to play a board game. We chose Monopoly Junior, a simplified version of the regular game. Within an hour my son had kicked our butts. Mom ran out of money, which is technically when the game is supposed to end, but we fight until the last man is standing. Since I only had a few dollars left, I threw in the towel.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “We should go to bed.”

Tyler frowned. He didn’t want to sleep, but was up past his bedtime and he knew it.

“What a wonderful idea,” Mom agreed. “Let’s put an end to this embarrassing defeat.”

Once validation came, Tyler stood up and stretched, a proud smirk crossing his face. I wondered if maybe it was time to upgrade to the adult version of Monopoly, to give us half a chance at winning.

“Better luck next time,” he joked.

I was surprised I fell right asleep Saturday night. Sunday morning was when the dread set in. I took a shower, dried off and brushed my teeth. While staring at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed something: I looked different. But I didn’t know how.

As I blow-dried my hair I began drifting off, thinking of Justin. I still missed him so much. It hadn’t gotten easier with time. But it was something I lived with, something I understood. The flowers, though, they were something new. Their appearance unsettled me. In spite of my fears, I had to find out. I had to know who left them. And why.

I went into my room and stuffed my swimsuit and towel into my gym bag. I was probably overreacting. The flowers could have simply been left by the wrong grave. I decided I was being dramatic and silly over all of this. I’d just go to the health club, workout and come back home.

After eating a small breakfast, I said goodbye to Mom and Tyler.

“Enjoy yourself. Work those muscles,” she said to me.

I gave Tyler a quick kiss goodbye, then found myself driving toward the cemetery anyway. No matter how much I tried to pretend it was nothing, I couldn’t deny my curiosity… and concern.

On my way there my sense of awareness was heightened. I noticed details I hadn’t paid attention to before: a for sale sign adorning a neighbor’s yard; a new Korean restaurant on the street corner. This wasn’t a typical day, grocery shopping in a half hour or less or droning through punching a stack of documents, working on auto-pilot. This was a genuine mystery that needed solving.

And I didn’t look forward to it.

When I pulled into the parking lot and got out, I realized I hadn’t worn boots. I wore gym shoes. Cursing myself, I stepped into the dirty slush and looked around. Apart from a grieving family gathered on the far side of the cemetery, I was alone.

I began walking around, reading the headstones. There was an equal number of older men and women who had lived a long life. Mixed in were a few middle-aged folks and sadly, some children. And then, of course, there was me, the idiot hanging around with them on my day off. I shook my head, realizing how foolish I was. Then I walked over to Justin’s grave.

As I got closer, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A fresh bouquet of yellow daffodils lay in front of my husband’s headstone. I began shaking. From the cold, but also from fear. Anger rose in me. “What’s going on here?”

I expected some kind of answer from Justin, in the form of telepathic communication, perhaps, but there was nothing. The only sound was sniffles from my runny nose. I wiped it and inhaled an icy breath. Then I quickly glanced around.

Whoever brought these flowers was gone. But they had shown me one thing; it wasn’t a mistake. Someone was putting flowers on my husband’s grave. And if I came often enough, accompanied by my good friend—Irish luck, I would find them.

Chapter 3

“Mom. How was swimming?” Tyler asked as I walked in the front door.

I was so upset I’d never gone. But I had to say something. “It was good, honey. I’m on my way to getting into shape.” I inwardly cringed as I spoke the words.

White lie upon white lie. They began to compound so quickly, I feared they’d bring some kind of return.

After dinner, Tyler had me critique some of his drawings. He was really getting good. And I had a thought, one that I blurted out before analyzing the affordability factor.

“What would you think of taking a weekly art class? From a private instructor?” I asked.

My son shot me a look filled with wild excitement. I hadn’t expected such an intense reaction.

“Can I really take one? Can we afford it?”

The worried look in his eyes broke my heart. He shouldn’t know these things. Mom and I would have to take better care to discuss finances in private.

Not sure how it could be done, I responded, “Sure honey, we’ll just find someone who’s offering a special deal for new students.”

My reply was casual, dismissive of the ins and outs of how it would all come together, but it brought the mood back to where it was supposed to be: positive. And for the rest of the evening I scoured the internet, searching for art teachers.

I found an ad for a local woman and clicked to her website. She looked like just a kid. She offered one-on-one classes out of her home, which conveniently happened to be less than a mile away. Her rates were reasonable too. I didn’t know how good she would be; no reviews had been posted. But after looking over her qualifications, I noticed she had recently graduated from a prestigious art college in Savannah, Georgia. She’ll do, I decided.

*****

Monday morning I woke up on time, showered, and then dropped Tyler off at school.

“I’ll give that art teacher a call tonight. See when you can start,” I said, winking at my son.

He smiled. “Thanks Mom,” then gave me a peck goodbye.

After punching in at the office and sitting at my desk, Fatima approached me. I could tell she was upset about something.

“What’s up?” I asked. “You look angry.”

Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed and her wavy, jet-black hair swished as she shook her head. “Angry is an understatement. You wouldn’t believe what I had to deal with this weekend.”

Usually, when young people ramble, I zone out, but with Fatima it was different. Her exotic beauty captivated me, and her slight accent made me pay closer attention when she spoke. I listened for a full ten minutes without interrupting to the story of how her supposed best friend was trying to destroy the relationship between Fatima and her boyfriend of two months.

I had just planned to respond when Dave opened the office door. Fatima and I nodded to each other. This would have to wait until later.

As I began working, I noticed Barb wasn’t in yet. I worried about her sometimes. She was a senior citizen without any retirement savings. She came back every Monday because she was broke and had no choice; a fate I feared would be my own someday.

At 9:15 a.m., Barb finally walked in. After she sat down and opened her computer, Dave walked past.

“Everything all right?” he asked her.

Noticeably embarrassed, she responded, “Yes, thank you. I just got stuck in traffic.”

“I know how that feels,” he said, letting it go.

We were lucky to have a boss like Dave. He was easygoing. All that mattered to him was efficiency.

During our lunch hour, the three of us sat in the cafeteria, chatting and eating. Fatima recapped her whole story while Barb and I listened.

“I’m sure you’ll get it all straightened out,” Barb told her.

If I had made that generic comment it wouldn’t have been helpful. But when Barb said it, with that soothing tone she used, the simple words took on real meaning. When she told you something would be fine, you believed it.

“I hope so,” Fatima sighed. Then she turned to me. “So what about you? What did you do this weekend?”

They both stared at me, waiting for an answer. I felt like a game show contestant, clueless and wondering what to say. I had to respond, so I told them about my rediscovered love of swimming. I don’t know if this lie was white or pathological, but I was thankful they both agreed exercise was a good thing to do in our spare time.

After lunch, I kept busy at work, trying to stop my mind from wandering. Detail-oriented and precise, it wasn’t like me to make a lot of punching errors. Today, though, it seemed nothing wanted to balance to zero. I had to pay closer attention. I was losing it. My mind wanted to use its capacity not for work, but for putting pieces together in a puzzle. The only problem being I had too few pieces to work with. I’d have to get more.

In the evening, I called the art teacher. I liked the sound of her voice right away; it had a musical quality to it. She said Tyler could begin this Wednesday. All we needed to do was bring some current drawings so she could assess his education level. Then she’d put together a teaching plan.

Later on, when night fell, I couldn’t sleep. I ruminated over the past with Justin, wondering if I had missed anything, maybe not paid attention to some important detail. I thought I had gotten things right. We were happy. I know we were.

Could there have been another woman?

I didn’t think Justin would ever disappoint me like that.

I remember him talking about my dad’s affair. “He’s just a dick,” he’d said, while shaking his head in disgust. “Only a fool would leave his beautiful wife and family.”

He’d made his opinions on the matter quite clear: I’d never relive my mother’s life.

The phrase “history repeats itself” echoed in my mind. And I worried if I didn’t find out what was going on soon I’d go mad. I didn’t like secrets. I recognized the irony of that truth–considering the little lies I’d started to tell. But I was in control of my world at all times. At least until God took my husband from me.

I prayed He wouldn’t take my perfect memories too.

                           *****

The next morning I woke up with bags under my eyes. Not even concealer could cover it up. The evening was more of the same, lying awake, worrying. When I did finally fall asleep, I’d wake up again, thinking some new thought, trying to reinterpret events from the past. I almost preferred the vivid nightmares I struggled with from time to time. At least in them I got some sleep.

Wednesday night, Tyler and I got his drawings together and we headed to his new art class.

“You nervous?” I asked.

He looked at me like I had said the strangest thing. “Nope,” he responded, shrugging his shoulders.

Of course, it was only me that created psychosis around simple events. Instead of enjoying them, I stressed out. Luckily, Tyler was different. He enjoyed the opportunity to learn and looked forward to it, without apprehension.

We walked up to the front door and rang the buzzer. The woman from the picture answered, an old yellow Labrador sat behaved at her feet.

“You must be Amy,” she said, reaching for my hand. “And this must be Tyler, my new student. I’m Josephine.”

Her demeanor was oddly professional for a young girl. It didn’t seem to match her eclectic style, which made her look like a modern, hipper version of Mrs. Roper from Three’s Company. She had long blonde hair and wore barely any make up. She was what they call a natural beauty.

“Hi,” Tyler said. “Nice to meet you.”

Just then her dog barked, almost in complaint at not being introduced.

“Soleil. Quiet please. Be a good boy.”

She waved us both to step in out of the cold. Tyler couldn’t keep his eyes off the dog. He had always wanted one, but we couldn’t get a pet because of Justin’s allergies.

Josephine offered me a seat on a nearby sofa and handed me a magazine. Then she and Tyler went into the next room to get acquainted and begin the lesson. Once seated, I became so comfortable I managed to nod off for a little bit. Luckily, I heard them wrapping up the class and talking about next week’s assignment, so I sat up straight, ready to greet them.

They both walked in, grinning.

“We’re all done for this week. Your son is further along than I expected for his age. And what a creative spark. We’re going to work well together. Seems like the Universe has sent me the perfect student.”

I stood up and smiled back at her. I didn’t how to respond to her last comment, so I reached for her check instead, digging it out of my purse.

“Thanks for the compliment,” I said, handing it to her. “I’m glad we found you as well.”

We said our goodbyes, and Tyler hugged Soleil once before leaving.

“See you next week,” Josephine said, waving.

We drove home and Tyler went right to his grandma, telling her all about his new class. I did the dinner dishes and inwardly smiled.

*****

That night I hoped to get restorative sleep, but no such luck. My mind still raced. And I began to feel angry that I couldn’t have some kind of real control over it.

Hoping to bore myself to sleep, I reached for a fashion magazine Fatima had given me. I thumbed through the pages mindlessly. All I saw were ads upon ads for skin care products, jewelry, purses. Then I got to the main fashion spread. The first outfit was cute. I squinted to read the fine print. Floral printed silk blouse–$800.00, trench coat–$1,500.00, flat-front wool slacks… I didn’t even bother to read on. If I had I would’ve found out what I already knew—just one ensemble costs half as much as my Dodge Neon. Who really wore this stuff?

I woke up in the morning feeling rested. When I rolled over, I realized I had fallen asleep while reading the magazine. It was crumpled between the sheets. I stumbled out of bed, thankful the week was ending soon. I couldn’t wait to sleep in on Saturday.

When I got to work I noticed Barb was already at her desk. She was early. I sat down after saying hi and immediately began working on my own stack of files.

“Amy,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, turning back to face her.

“I don’t know if you’d be interested, but this Sunday we’re having an event at my church. There’s this nice young man who’s right about your age that I’ve gotten to know—”

“Oh, you know what. I can’t. I have that swimming class I signed up for. Thanks for inviting me though.”

Barb smiled her famous warm smile. “I understand.”

Her gaze lingered just long enough for an unspoken conversation to occur between us. Then I broke eye contact, returning to my work.

She had good intentions. They all did. It started after the first year and a half. Fatima had a divorced uncle she thought I might like. My boss had a single buddy from his poker game. And now Barb. It was official. They all had tried. Maybe, I thought, they would finally just give up. No one could ever replace Justin.

I continued working, not giving what she had said any further thought. There were a lot of files to be punched, and accurately. I didn’t have time to dilly dally. Before I knew it, it was time to leave.

On my way home I thought about what I had told Barb, about going to the swimming class. Maybe I would do just that.

Saturday morning I slept in, as I had hoped. When I woke up I found my family still hanging out in their pajamas, too.

“Hey Mom. Did you guys eat?”

“No. Not yet.”

“You want me to make some breakfast?”

My mom smirked. “You mean do we want oatmeal?”

I flashed her a smile. “It’s like you’re psychic.”

“Sure,” she replied. “That sounds good.”

I didn’t know what she had against oatmeal. It tasted great, was proven to lower cholesterol, and you never got sick of it. At least I didn’t.

I poured some water into a pot, and then I stared at it, watching it come to a boil, thinking about our plans for the day. We’d grocery shop, clean, and Tyler would do his homework, both for school and his art class. In the evening, after dinner, we’d play a game or watch a movie. A typical Saturday.

Later on, after Tyler went to bed, I could tell my mom wanted to stay up. She had that anxious look on her face that she sometimes wore. I wasn’t sure if it was hormone changes or if she was being haunted by something. Either way, she’d never discuss it with me. But I knew when she wore that expression she needed me, and didn’t want to be alone.

“Hey Ma. Why don’t you pick a movie. We’ll stay up late and watch it.”

Her faraway look disappeared and she came back to the present. With the excitement of a youngster she said, “How about Scarface?”

We’d seen it I don’t know how many times. I was surprised the DVD hadn’t cracked. But I knew how much she loved Al Pacino, and how she felt he’d been screwed out of an Oscar for the role, so I said. “Sure, why not.”

As I grabbed the disc and took it from its case, I remembered how Justin used to sit with us while we watched it, mimicking the lines in a fake Cuban accent as the scenes unfolded. Somehow it added to the experience.

Mom missed that too. Whenever we watched it now, she also tried to recite some of the better lines along with the actors. I joined in even though my accent stunk. It was fun. Almost like a sport. Plus, I liked making my mom laugh.

*****

The next day was Tyler’s friend Sally’s birthday party.

In the morning, Mom asked, “Are you going to your swimming class today?”

I gave it a moment’s thought. “I’d like to. Since Tyler has that party in the afternoon. I could drop him off beforehand and pick him up on my way back home. You could finally have some time to yourself.”

“Sounds good,” she said. “Maybe I’ll do a spa day.”

After we ate breakfast, I showered and got ready to go to the cemetery. It was a numbers game. That was what I’d told myself.

Lost in thought, I realized I hadn’t seen Tyler in a while. I searched the house and found him sitting in his room with a wrapped present on his lap.

“All set,” he said.

“Did Grandma wrap your gift?”

“No,” he replied. “I did.”

I didn’t remember showing him how to do that, but I didn’t ask questions.

On the drive over Tyler seemed unusually quiet.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“No.”

Silence lingered. I could tell this would take more work.

“You’re not saying much,” I noted.

He sat for another minute, unresponsive. Then he blurted out, “Oh… I was just thinking.” But he still didn’t elaborate.

“About what?” I asked.

“Sally’s mom.”

He left me hanging again. I decided to wait for him to go on, only if he chose to.

Luckily, he did. “Sally’s mom came back from the hospital yesterday, just in time for her birthday party.”

I hadn’t known she was ill. “What was wrong with her?”

We pulled up to a stoplight and Tyler looked directly at me. Returning his gaze, I listened as he said, “I don’t know… But she came back.”

His face was filled with a sadness I hadn’t seen in a long time. It broke my heart into a thousand pieces. I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to upset him more than he already was and ruin his party.

“Sometimes people get better,” I replied. “Thank God for that.”

Tyler nodded while holding back tears, determined not to let them spill. Then we walked to the front door and I rang the buzzer. Squeezing his hand in mine I whispered, “Try to have a good time, okay.”

He forced a smile. Then the door opened to a bunch of screaming kids and he went in and waved goodbye.

Just when I thought he was doing so well, he revealed a new level of his pain. And there was nothing I could do to take it away.

Saddened, I got back in the car and began driving to the cemetery. On the way there my mood grew darker. I was glad Sally’s mom had recovered, from whatever her ailment had been. But at the same time I was upset that Justin hadn’t made it. Even being under the care of Dr. Friedman—one of the best cancer doctors in the country—wasn’t enough to save him.

After pulling in to the parking lot, I got out and looked around, and was disappointed to find I was the only visitor. I noticed the original groundskeeper whistling as he worked nearby, the sole moving object in a landscape of gray sky and dirty snow. I ignored him and walked through the frigid air toward Justin’s grave.

The closer I got, the more I filled with overwhelming grief. Maybe it was Tyler’s reminder that we were still broken; that we only pretended to be fixed. Maybe it was the stress of why I was here. I didn’t know.

Once I reached my husband’s grave, I sighed. The ground was bare; no yellow flowers. Unsure what to do next, I decided I might as well hang around and look for clues.

I walked the rows, reading the headstones again. Same people as last time. The hilarity of the thought caused me to laugh out loud. At the same moment, the groundskeeper passed by. Once he saw me giggling by myself, he scurried away, muttering something under his breath in Spanish.

I headed back to Justin’s grave. I stood there, staring down. “I hope you’re not hiding something from me,” I whispered. “Remember… no secrets.”

In my quest to find the flower bearer, I’d forgotten to bring my own pink rose. All of a sudden the area looked desolate. The only items on the ground were a few pebbles, lying next to a golf-ball sized rock. On impulse I kicked it. With unexpected force, it flew through the air and ricocheted off a nearby headstone before smacking back on the ground.

The sound snapped me out of my mood, bringing clarity. I should go. I was destroying the place. Then I glanced back one more time to say goodbye to Justin.

*****

After picking up Tyler from Sally’s birthday party, I noticed his sadness appeared to have lifted. He told me about all the fun games they’d played and what kind of cake they ate and about Sally’s presents. I was glad one of us was in a better mood.

Once home I plopped down in a kitchen chair to look at yesterday’s mail. There were catalogs for stores I couldn’t afford to shop at, credit offers for cards I didn’t need, and one last piece of mail that caught my attention. An envelope from The American Cancer Society.

I ripped the letter open to read its contents. As I did, I felt my stomach drop. They were inviting me to take part in one of their annual programs, something called Daffodil Days.

Chapter 4

Later that night, after everyone had fallen asleep, I dug the envelope out of the kitchen drawer. I’d stashed it away so I could take a closer look at it later, when I was alone. I suspected it had something to do with my dilemma, but couldn’t chance reading it and have my mom walk in. She’d sense something was off and ask about it. And I didn’t want to share anything with her. Not until I knew more.

I sat down and re-read its contents. The Daffodil Days program happened every spring. And in appreciation for one’s donation toward cancer research, daffodils were sent to donors thanking them for their contribution.

I knew this had to be it. A puzzle piece.

I got up and headed to the computer, then sat down and did a search for Daffodil Days. A link popped up for The American Cancer Society, so I clicked on it, and arrived on their home page. It said pretty much the same thing as the mailing I’d received.

I wondered how come I’d never heard of the program before. I’d given money for cancer research in the past. As I continued reading down the page, I discovered there were other opportunities to help, as a volunteer or program coordinator.

A feeling in my gut clicked.

I did a zip code search and tried to find a campaign in my area. But there were no matches within a fifty mile radius. Then I saw a button to search for a coordinator. I punched in my zip code and again, nothing.

I guess I was hoping to find a list of names—of volunteers or coordinators—and recognize one of the people and then everything would make perfect sense. Then I would tell Mom and we’d laugh about this whole silly situation.

Unfortunately, my browsing led nowhere. All I came away with was the knowledge that there was such a group. And that the daffodil flower represents hope.

*****

Monday morning I was surprised to see Barb in such a bubbly mood.

“You’re extra perky today,” I commented.

There was a swagger to her step as she walked past. She wore a silly smirk.

“What gives?” I asked. “You’re not yourself.”

After she sat down at her desk, I turned to face her. She couldn’t hold out on me for too long.

“I went to dinner last night with a man I met at church.”

“And?” Fatima asked, raising both eyebrows.

I blushed as if I had been the one on a dinner date, but Barb wasn’t the least bit flustered.

“Oh, it was no big deal,” she said. “I think he’s just looking for a friend. We had a nice time.” And then a big smile trickled out—one that she’d obviously been keeping to herself.

“Good for you,” I said. And I meant it. But somehow it made me feel a little sad.

After I turned and began working, I remembered the story of that other young man she’d mentioned.

I dismissed the thought as soon as I had it.

The rest of the day flew by. The only gossip was when I’d overheard Dave on the phone with his wife. From what I could make out, she wanted him to take time off so they could go somewhere for their anniversary, and he was making the “next year” promise. I felt bad for her. Dave never unplugged from his business. He lived and breathed the place.

Later on, when I got home from work, I found Mom standing in the kitchen. “You know what happened to Sally’s mom?” she asked.

I shook my head no.

“She had a heart attack. That’s why she was in the hospital.”

“My God!” I gasped. “Mrs. Pembroke is so young.”

“Yeah,” Mom replied, nodding her head. “Tyler is taking it very seriously. He spoke to Sally about it at school today. I guess the doctors said she’s got to change her diet and start exercising. I think he took the advice to heart, too, because he’s been asking me what foods are healthy.”

Oh no. This was bad. Not just for Sally’s mom, but for us. I knew my son all too well. Once an idea took hold of him, he’d never let it go. I decided I would try to downplay the whole thing.

As soon as I had the thought, Tyler walked into the kitchen.

“Hey honey. How was your day?”

He reached for an apple and said, “It was fine.” After taking a loud bite, he added, “I’ve been thinking though… ”

Mom and I simultaneously glanced at each other.

“… You know how you’ve been going to the health club, working out and stuff?”

Oh that, I thought. Sure, I remembered it clearly.

“Uh huh,” I nodded, feeling awkward.

“Well I’ve been thinking. I want to come with you and exercise too. Sally said it would be smart to start now.”

I wasn’t working out at the gym because I was hanging around dead people in my free time. But I needed a reasonable response. And fast. Luckily, I remembered they didn’t allow children to exercise there.

“You know what honey. I think that’s a great idea, but the fitness center is only for adults.”

Tyler looked genuinely confused. “Well where am I supposed to get in shape at?”

“I don’t know. I think since you’re a kid you’re supposed to just run and play outside and climb trees and stuff.”

Mom giggled.

Tyler let that soak in, then spun on his heel and pushed the curtain aside, gazing out the window. He didn’t need to make his case. I could see it. It was freezing cold out there.

“In better weather, perhaps,” I told him.

Knowing I’d need to find an alternative, I made a suggestion. “How about we buy some jump ropes and start a routine at home?”

Mom shot me a look that could kill. It was like I had lost my mind.

“Can we Mom? That sounds awesome.”

“Sure,” I replied, with reluctance, knowing I couldn’t take it back. “We’ll stop at the store after we eat and get some ropes.”

Throughout dinner, Mom didn’t look up from her meal. I felt bad, because I knew she despised exercising, but what was I to do? I couldn’t just leave him hanging. This was important to him.

After dishes Tyler and I went to the store and bought three red jump ropes. One for each of us. “Grandma,” Tyler called out as we walked in. “Look what we got you.” He reached into the shopping bag and handed her one of the ropes.

Mom gave me a dirty look, which quickly morphed into a fake smile as she looked down at Tyler. “Thanks honey,” she said in a sugary tone as she accepted his gift.

I think even Tyler knew it was forced, but he didn’t care. He wanted us all to be healthy. He wouldn’t take a chance on losing anyone else.

That night, while doing the new workout routine together, I remembered that Justin’s birthday was right around the corner. As we did sit ups and pushups and skipped rope to all Tyler’s favorite songs, I thought about the mystery person. They’d show up for that. I’d bet money on it.

                           *****

Wednesday night I had a headache, so Mom offered to take Tyler to his art class. I think she wanted to meet Josephine anyway, so I accepted.

While they were gone, I laid in bed, staring at the calendar. Justin’s birthday. He would’ve been thirty-three. We would’ve taken the day off work to do something special, maybe visit the Museum of Science and Industry or check out antique stores. He loved seeing how old furniture was constructed and frequently reminded me they didn’t make it like that anymore.

Justin used to say it was a sin to work on your birthday, so he never did. I didn’t either… until after he died. The last couple of years I just visited him at the cemetery.

This year, his birthday fell on a weekday. I’d have to call in sick. Use a personal day. As I lay there plotting, I heard the front door open.

A few minutes later, Tyler, mindful of my headache, whispered through the bedroom door. “Mom. Can I come in?”

“Sure,” I said.

He opened it and began walking toward me. He had some books under his arm.

“Look what Josephine lent us,” he said, showing me the stack. “She knows all about eating healthy. They’re vegetarian cookbooks.”

I sat up, took the pile from him and began looking at the covers. I could almost hear the verbal lashing I would take from Mom. She was a true red meat lover.

“That’s great honey,” I replied, patting his shoulder. “We’ll give some of the recipes a try.”

Tyler left my room psyched. He couldn’t wait to get started. I forced myself up and out of the covers. I had to go and find my mom.

She sat curled in a wing chair reading her book from the club.

“Hey… thanks for taking Tyler,” I interrupted. I rubbed my scalp and groaned. “My head still hurts.”

She set her book down. “Sorry to hear that.”

“So how was your visit to Josephine’s? Did you like her?”

“I guess she’s nice, for a new-age hippie,” she said, an edge of sarcasm coloring her tone.

I was prepared for her to go on and on complaining, but she didn’t. Maybe she could see that Josephine was only trying to help. And, of course, she was just being herself.

During the week we tried two of the recipes and were surprised to find they were pretty decent. We didn’t plan to alter everything about our lifestyle for Tyler, but we did just enough to make him feel good.

*****

A few days before Justin’s birthday, I started planting little hints at work. I began coughing and mentioning my throat felt sore. The night before I planned to call in, I checked the next day’s weather forecast. Cold, rainy, gray.

I’d need an umbrella. After everyone went to bed, I rummaged through the closet. While digging, I noticed an old pair of binoculars stashed on top a box of shoes. I pulled them out and dusted them off. I decided it couldn’t hurt to bring them along. I’d add them to my bag, along with lunch.

That evening, I couldn’t sleep. I thought of Tyler drawing in his room, and the three of us laughing and jumping rope, trying to get in shape. Then I thought of my mom. I loved her so much, and it was getting difficult to keep these things from her. I prayed to God if I found out something, that it would be a mistake, a miscommunication of some kind. Then I could write the whole thing off to my own personal craziness, and she’d be immune to it all.

It would be awful for my mom to doubt Justin’s integrity.

I felt awful doubting him too.

*****

The next morning I got ready for work and gathered my lunch, umbrella, and binoculars. After breakfast I waved goodbye to Mom and dropped Tyler off at school.

Before starting on my journey, I called my boss and got voicemail. “Hey Dave. It’s Amy,” I said in a scratchy voice. “I’m not going to be able to make it in today. I’ve got the flu.” Then I hung up, and began driving the familiar route to the cemetery.

On the way there, my senses were heightened again. Only this time there was one I didn’t want to be on high alert. My abdomen began to twist, but I willed myself to ignore it and keep driving. I couldn’t deal with something like that—not today. I whistled to take my mind off the pressure, but I only made it a few more miles, then had to give in and pull into a McDonald’s parking lot. I raced to the restroom, where I lost my breakfast. Shaking with the chills, I gave myself a moment to take some deep breaths and relax before starting out again.

The closer I got to my destination, the more I managed to calm myself. I was focused. Then I pulled into the cemetery, parked the car, and looked around.

I didn’t see anyone.

I put on my hat and gloves, then stepped outside and landed right in a soggy mud puddle, remnants of yesterday’s rain. (This time I was smart enough to wear boots.)

I trekked over to Justin’s grave, looking over my shoulder from time to time on the way there, making sure I was still alone. His space looked even lonelier today. No flowers, just dirty ground.

I stood in front of his headstone and sighed. “Happy Birthday,” I said out loud. It came out sounding forced, awkward.

As I continued standing there, I felt anger slowly brewing inside me. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. Now it was ruined. I almost launched into a whole list of complaints, detailing my aggravation and sleepless nights, but then I realized that was not what I came here for. Paranoid, I looked over my shoulder to make sure I was still alone. Then I headed back to my car.

I had parked it in such a way that I could easily see anyone coming or going. The first hour staring across the parking lot wasn’t bad. I had my iPod and at least managed to listen to some decent songs. Other than that, there was no movement.

The second hour someone pulled in and a man and woman got out. I was crouched down in my seat, hidden from view. As they started to walk away, I slid back up to watch them. They were heading in the other direction, but I decided to watch them anyway. They stood close to each other and talked. Then the man held the woman, who was visibly upset. Within a short time they came back toward their car. I don’t know why, but I slid back down in my seat again so they wouldn’t see me.

After they left, I got out and stretched my legs, moved around a bit. Then it was back in the car for more surveillance. Another hour passed, and I realized the very definition of boredom. Worse still, I felt I might have to go to the bathroom soon. I tried to block it out of my mind, but then it began to drizzle outside. I’d have to focus on forgetting about it.

Another hour passed. I was sick of listening to music, my butt hurt from sitting in one spot for too long, and I really had to pee. Since I’d lost my breakfast, I was also beginning to get really hungry.

Just as I was deciding between eating lunch and heading to the restroom, a car pulled in. I slid back down in my seat and looked out the bottom of the window. It was a limousine or luxury car of some kind. They parked, and then an older, well-dressed man stepped out and opened the rear passenger door. A woman appeared, and before I could get a good look at her, an umbrella popped open, covering her face from view.

I fumbled for my binoculars and adjusted the focus. The woman was tall with long, dark hair, and wore a black coat. Her gait was oddly graceful. As she got closer and closer to Justin’s grave, I felt my stomach clench. Then I saw her bend down and set a bunch of yellow flowers on the ground.

Holy Shit! I thought. This is it!

My car was turned off and the windows had fogged up. I scrambled to wipe the inside of the window with the sleeve of my jacket. Trying to hold the binoculars steady while crouched in my seat, I continued to watch her.

She stood alone, facing his headstone. The old man had returned to the car. With her back to me, I noticed her shoulders moving up and down. She was crying.

Once she turned, I tried to get a good look at her, but I couldn’t because her umbrella again blocked her face. As she walked back to her car, it began to downpour.

Panicked, I wasn’t sure what to do; I hadn’t planned this far. I started my car and turned on the heat and defroster. I watched as the older man stepped out, opened the back door for her, and the woman got back in.

Before I knew it, I was following them.

I tailed them from a respectable distance, but almost lost them as a light changed to red and I had to race though it. My heart pounded as I drove faster through the pouring rain, no longer caring if I was detectable. I made sharp lefts and rights and drove close enough so as not to lose them.

Eventually, we arrived in a wealthy North Shore neighborhood. As they turned onto a residential street, I slowed down so I could follow from further away. Within a few minutes, the car turned into a long driveway that led to a house that couldn’t be seen from the road.

I stopped and turned off the engine. I sat there–stunned–for a full ten minutes, and then I began to cry. I wanted to think the best of Justin, but instead I assumed the worst. I became furious with him. He’d disappointed me. He’d let me down. Dripping with sweat and nearly hysterical, I struggled with what to do next. Then I realized the best thing to do was to confront her.

I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. I looked like a monster. My face was puffy and red with black drippings of mascara running down it. I took a few deep breaths, then cleaned up my face with McDonald’s napkins from the glove box. I brushed my hair, patted on some pressed powder,