Page 138 of The Unpleasant Thing
My heart raced as I remembered the police officer showing up at my workplace, asking me to come down and claim my wife’s remains.
They found Bell way out in the desert, what was left of her anyway. Dental records confirmed it was her.
What did you get yourself into this time, Rebel?
That’s the one secret I told no one. Not Mom, not Dr. Jackson, no one. I even stopped going to see Prez, just so she wouldn’t come up. I couldn’t.
It wasn’t grief that was preventing me from talking about being a widower; it was shame.
I was and am still ashamed of what I did to myself because I let my dick call the shots.
Maybe I’ll be able to talk to Dr. Jackson about Rebel’s death one day. I wonder what she’ll have to say about it, whether she’ll think it’s insane that I blame myself a little.
Marissa, on the other hand, has picked well. Her man is building her a castle, takes care of her and their children, and even treats my boy like his own. Once Dr. Jackson helped me realize what a rare and generous gift that was, I started liking and appreciating Hawk.
After DJ’s things are in the car and he’s buckled in his booster seat, I linger outside with the happy couple, enjoying the warm glow of their loving bubble while trying to think of something profound to say.
Something that would let Marissa know how sorry I am. Something that would remove the bitterness coating the back of my throat.
“Kids, man. One day, they’re these tiny chubby angels sleeping in your bed, and the next, you’re having a full-on philosophical conversation about the nutritional value of boogers,” I say with a small smile, then get into the car.
I feel like a man adrift at sea. Aimless, lost, doomed to forever be alone.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
There’s only forward, Dylan, no yesterday, no going back, Dr. Jackson whispers in my mind.
I open my eyes and smile at my son in the rearview mirror. “Ready?”
