I redialed three times and ended the call before it gave me the chance to leave a message. Her voice. It was all I had left of her. When I heard it, the reality of her death didn’t seem possible. I mean … she was right there on the other end of the line.
Happy.
Healthy.
Alive.
After the fourth time calling her, I left a message. “Hi, Mom. Are you tired of my crazy messages? I hope not. Maybe you should be glad that you’re not here to deal with my life right now. It’s so weird … having everything yet feeling like every day is a struggle. I don’t know how to put the pieces of my life together. So I try to focus on the kids. I know that’s what you would have done. It’s what you did. Even when you were sick, you focused on me and Katie. Franz and Anya. Sometimes the only truth I can still feel is that you raised me to be a good mom. I wish I could be to Ronin what I am to the kids. He’s in so much pain. I see it even when he tries to hide it. Maybe it’s Lila, but I don’t see the same pain on her face. Maybe it’s something more … something beyond our control. But I feel like …”
I wiped a few tears. “I feel like I’m losing him a little every day. So I hug my babies, and I tell myself over and over that they are enough. It pains me to imagine a life without Ronin, but I feel so helpless. And if I’m honest, I’m just tired. I’m tired of not knowing what version of my husband will walk through the door. Not knowing where he is or who he’s with. I’m tired of feeling responsible for Graham and Lila. I just … some days I just want to pack up the kids and leave. Maybe go stay with Dad or find a beach where I can cast away my pain into the vast ocean. I don’t know …” I sighed. “Franz is out of school. I’ll figure this out. But I appreciate you being here for me. I feel you. Your smile. Your arms around me. Your voice reminding me to take it one day at a time. I love you, Mom. And I miss you beyond words.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ronin
Lila had cancer.
I had lies. The healthy man’s cancer.
Something had to give. I just feared it would be Evelyn … giving up on me. She gave me my space. Too much space. We worked. Played with the kids. Cooked and cleaned. And at night we crawled into the same bed, but it felt empty. I hoped in a parallel universe we were making love and living our intended life of bliss. Maybe in that other universe I didn’t feel Lila. God … I hoped so.
In spite of her telling me that Lila seemed better when she last saw her, I knew the truth. I felt the truth. Nearly a month had passed since I’d been with Lila, and it showed in my level of enthusiasm for life. I called her twice, but she wasn’t available to see me. Starting her own engineering firm consumed her time. That and trips for treatment. I didn’t know how she did it or why Graham encouraged her when she clearly had no business doing anything but focusing on beating cancer.
“I think I’m taking the kids to California for Thanksgiving. I want to see Katie and my dad.” Evelyn packed Franz’s lunch as I packed my own lunch while Anya slept and Franz brushed his teeth.
“How long are you thinking? I’m not sure how much time I can get off.”
She shrugged without looking up from the two slices of bread on the counter. “I’m not sure. I might let Franz miss a little school so we can stay out there for maybe … two weeks. I’m interviewing someone today to help Sophie at the store, so I should have plenty of coverage.”
“There’s no way I can take two weeks off around Thanksgiving, especially if we get the amount of snow they’re predicting.”
“That’s fine.”
I slid my sandwich and salad into my thermal bag and leaned my hip against the counter. Evie calmly spread peanut butter onto the bread.
“It’s fine that I can’t get time off or fine if I don’t go at all? Come to think of it, you did use the word I instead of we. Do you not want me to go?”
“It’s up to you.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She wrapped his sandwich and packed it in his lunch box before giving me a direct look. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered as Franz barreled down the hall toward the kitchen.
It hurt. Maybe more than Lila’s pain—at least my heart felt a direct hit.
“Let’s go, Daddy!”
“Shh …” I held my finger to my mouth. “I’m coming. Put on your shoes.” I grabbed his lunch box and stuffed it into his backpack.
Evie crossed her arms over her robe-clad chest and stared at her feet. We needed something. I was tired of just existing. But suggesting I spend Thanksgiving away from my family was not the answer. I couldn’t believe she suggested it.
“Will Sophie be at the shop with you today?”
She nodded, giving me a two-second glance.
“Meet me at Grinds at noon.”
Another nod.
The rejection hurt and the suppressed anger I saw in Evie that morning poisoned my blood. I swore my heart stopped beating correctly. My body moved from one task to another, but I couldn’t focus on anything but those words she whispered to me. By the time I made it to Grinds, Evie was already there sitting in our favorite booth, sipping her coffee and picking at a piece of coffee cake. I ordered a drink and wormed my way to the back of the cafe.
“Hey.” I pulled out the chair across from her.
She returned a sad smile, more like a cringe. “Hey.”
“Two kids and close to six years of marriage and I’m already being disinvited from Thanksgiving with your family. Not going to lie, Evie, I didn’t see that coming.”
“I need some space,” she murmured, gaze stuck to her cup of coffee. That made it exponentially worse—she couldn’t look at me for more than a blink, maybe two.
“Space? We’re away from each other for a good eight to ten hours—five, sometimes six, days a week. We take care of the kids and the dog without saying more than a dozen words to each other in the evening. And even on the weekends you find some excuse to run to the shop or take a two-hour hike by yourself. We have space, Evelyn. Maybe too much space. And I’m trying to work my way out of this depression or whatever’s been dragging me down. But I’m not walking away. And I’m sure as hell not doing it on Thanksgiving.”
“I can’t breathe, Ronin. When I’m at work, I hold my breath, wondering if you’ll be better or worse. When I’m at home, I tiptoe around you, putting on this “we’re-okay” act for the kids, all while holding my breath. And I lie in bed at night for hours, just listening to you breathe, wondering if we’ll ever be the same. Still … holding my breath. So maybe it’s not space that I need, maybe it’s distance. And maybe you need some distance too. Maybe part of your depression is the feeling, consciously or subconsciously, that you’re being rushed to feel better, suffocated to act like everything is fine when it’s not.”
I started to speak, but I had nothing to say. Her painful assessment of our current situation wasn’t wrong.
“Fuck …” I rested my elbows on the table and ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry … I’m just so incredibly sorry. Sometimes I think I should have chosen to accept the short life this time around. The pain. As much as I try to contain it, shield you from it, I can’t. I’m cursed and it’s ruining my whole life.”