Page 92 of Never Better
Then suddenly she was crying. No, not just crying—she was sobbing, in the middle of his apartment. And of course, it only got worse when she found other things. A copy ofThe Flyand a tattered menu from that shitty diner. All his romance novels and the things that made him smell like cinnamon and films that starred fucking Robert Duvall.
Because she knew then, she knew.
He’d shared all the things that really mattered with her.
And now he was gone. He was gone. She knew he was gone before she even saw the news, at the end of that third day.Local businessman with ties to organized crime found dead, it said.Several warehouse fires reported in connection with his murder, it said. Then in her cheeriest voice, the news reporter confirmed what she already felt in her heart:
Unfortunately, nobody got out alive.
Epilogue
She tried not to think about him too often, in the days that followed. Partly because doing it was like falling down a rabbit hole of questions she’d never now get the answers to. But mostly because it hurt. It hurt so bad, it sometimes winded her.
Though he was right about one thing:
Shedidgo on living. She went on living for herself.
And sometimes, she went on living because of him.
He’d given her back her life a thousand times over, and she knew to waste it would be a sin. So, she went to classes and parties and places she’d never been before. She spent time with Letty, and called her mom.
And gradually, it started to get better.
She told herself that it was getting better.
Perhaps part of her even believed it.
Until the postcard. It was just in amongst the mail that Letty had left on the kitchen table, so cheery and incongruous looking she almost thought it was junk. Just one of those things that got sent to you to advertise vacations.
And sure enough, on the front:
Visit Sunny Miami Beach!
Though it was the back that interested her. It was the back that made her breath catch in her throat, before she’d even started reading. She had to stop before she’d gotten past the first line, because a big part of her knew, she knew. But a little part was still unsure. The tone was too friendly—and it had beenweeks, he would never have left her for weeks.
He was dead.
He had to be dead.
In life, you just didn’t get happy endings.
And anyway, hadn’t her ending been happy enough?
She was alive. She was living. She was safe, he had made sure she was safe, and given his life to do it.
It wasn’t cool to ask for more beyond that.
She was sure it wasn’t cool—and then, she read the rest.
Just thought I’d send you a postcard to let you know how I’m doing. Last time we met you seemed so concerned—but honestly I’m fine. Never better, in fact. The weather is beautiful here, and everyone is so friendly. Honestly, I can’t help feeling that you should see it for yourself. There’s still time, before winter sets in.
Or, at least, I hope there is. I hope.
However, I completely understand if you haven’t forgiven me for going three weeks without so much as a word. Work just made it impossible—I got so swamped, that for a while, I could barely function. And then my old boss started yapping at my heels. You know how he is—always wanting me to do things I believe aren’t necessary, then trying to punish me for things that definitely are. But I’m okay now. It’s all done with, now.
You can rest easy on that score.
I hope you’re resting easy, anyway.
It’s the only thing I ever wanted for you.
All my love—
She stopped there. She had to.
Partly because she was crying.
And partly because she saw the last two words, and laughed. She laughed harder than she ever had in her whole life—joyously, boldly, with all of her body.
He’d signed itMartin Blank.
