Page 16 of From the Embers
She stared at me for a long second, her cheeks still damp, but the tiniest flicker of light hit her sparkling green eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, using her other hand to cover mine on her forearm. “I needed to hear that.”
“Good. Then I’ll write it down for future use because I feel like I might have just peaked.”
She shook her head, the corner of her mouth rising almost imperceptibly. “Probably.”
“At least we’re in agreement.”
That time, she laughed. It was quiet and sad, but on the darkest of days imaginable, a laugh was a laugh any way it came.
Rob’s funeral was a far cry from Jessica’s quaint affair. The cathedral downtown was packed, standing room only. I wasn’t surprised. Everyone who had ever crossed Rob’s path considered him a friend.
But nobody had known him like I had.
Nobody had failed him like I had, either.
In a black skinny tie, I never left Bree’s side. She’d highly underestimated herself that morning. Bree was a rock star during the funeral. I waded in and redirected conversations when it looked like she was waning, but for the most part, she was the epitome of grace and strength. I even played a few sneaky games of Rock, Paper, Scissors with Asher when it looked like he needed a distraction. But make no mistake about it, the agonizing guilt was still there, rotting the very core of my existence from the inside out.
Just as I deserved.
EASON
“Open up,” I said with the spoon catapult poised in front of my face.
Asher giggled, his mouth so wide it was a wonder his jaw didn’t come unhinged.
“You ready?”
“Ha ray uh tow et,” he said in a language only dentists could understand, but I assumed he meant yes.
Ever competitive, I spread my legs and bent at the knees to center my balance. The shot could be make or break, and there was no way I was going to be the weak link. “Okay. Okay. Here we go. One, two, three!”
The waffle sailed through the air with nearly perfect aim, but of course, just like the last four pieces I’d flung, it bounced off his nose before landing on the floor.
“No!” he yelled, pounding his fists on the white marble bar. “I was so close.”
I went back to cutting up tiny bites of Bree’s famous sweet-potato-and-spinach waffles. Trust me, I used the word famous lightly. My tastebuds had all but declared mutiny the first time I’d tried one, but she made them in bulk and kept them in the freezer for the kids to eat throughout the week. When it came to juggling breakfast for three children, I was never one to complain about quick and easy.
Over the last month, life had moved at lightspeed yet also in slow motion. Bree and I were still emotional zombies, going through the movements for the sake of the kids, no closer to peace or acceptance, but pretending had gotten easier.
The fire still haunted me. Obsessing over all the things I could have done differently became a nightly staple in my routine. “If I had just…” followed by a fill-in-the-blank with whatever ludicrous and impossible superhero act of the day my mind had conjured up was how I passed the time until my brain finally gave up and allowed me to slip into what could only loosely be described as sleep.
Sometimes I raged. Sometimes I dropped to my knees and cried. Sometimes I just stared into space, resigning myself to a life lost in sorrow.
But each morning, I put one foot in front of the other for my daughter. That little girl, with her honey brown eyes and wispy hair, was my reason for existence.
I’d started therapy—for Luna.
Diligently taken the antidepressants my doctor had prescribed me—for Luna.
And I was currently reading my second parenting book for widowers—for Luna.
People told me to take care of myself, and I guessed in a way I was, but only because Jessica would have wanted our daughter to have the very best in life. Unfortunately, I doubted Jessica, wherever she was, would agree that the “best” was me.
But I’d try anyway.
I wasn’t a big believer in the old adage that everything happened for a reason. I’d never be able to accept there was a purpose in Jessica and Rob being stolen from us. But you’d never be able to convince me it wasn’t a miracle Luna hadn’t been in the house that night. Whether it had been because of habit or circumstance, Jessica and I hadn’t gone out much. And since the day she’d come home from the hospital, Luna had never slept anywhere other than her crib. In her room. In her house.
Until that night. That tragic, horrific night.
So, yeah, I was still struggling to breathe most days, but at night, when I fell asleep staring at my daughter in a portable crib next to my bed, I had a reason to wake up. I clung to that even in my darkest hours.
