Page 78 of The Heat of the Moment
A tear slides down my cheek, but it feels cleansing rather than devastating. “I’m going to be happy now. We’re going to be fine.”
The penny glints in the sunlight, and I imagine it as Daniel winking at me from wherever he is now.
I take a moment to collect myself and walk out of the cemetery to where Josh and Penny are waiting for me. My daughter skips over, her face brightening.
“Mom, can we have ice cream for dinner?”
I laugh freely; nothing tugs it back down anymore. “Yes, sweetie.”
“Yay!” Penny pumps her fist in victory and hops ahead toward the parking lot, already listing the flavors she plans to order.
Josh wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. “You okay?” he asks, studying my face.
I blossom in the human contact, in the sensation of being hugged, loved, and cherished by this man who chose me above everything else. I cup his cheek. “I love you,” I tell him, and then kiss him, right out of the cemetery, not caring who sees.
When we pull apart, Josh’s eyes are shiny. He glances toward Penny, who’s now impatiently bouncing by the truck, then looks back at me. “I love you too,” he mouths, and the simple certainty in his words fills all the hollow places inside me except the one that’ll always be Daniel’s even if it’s getting smaller.
Penny bounces back to us, grabbing one of each of our hands and tugging. “Come on, you can do kissy stuff later! Ice cream is melting somewhere, and we need to rescue it!”
Josh and I both laugh as she pulls us forward. As we walk down the street toward the truck, hands linked, I feel complete in a way I thought was lost forever. Not because the grief is gone—it will always be there, a muted current beneath everything else—but because I’ve learned that sorrow and joy can coexist. Loving Josh doesn’t diminish what Daniel and I had. My heart, like Penny’s, has room for both the past and the future.
And as the three of us climb into Josh’s truck, heading toward ice cream and the rest of our lives, I realize that I’m not just surviving anymore.
I’m living. A life that’s big and small, messy and uncomplicated, but mostly beautiful, and finally mine again.
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