Abby stares off with tears on her cheeks, the lamp warmly lighting her face. Is she realizing what I now know, what I feel in my soul?
He lost his wife.
Abby lost me.
I was meant to bring them together. To help each other do what he said, see the beauty in life again.
Ruefully I whisper, “Abs,” to see if she can hear me yet.
No reaction.
Will she ever hear me again?
I follow Jack out into his main living space and kitchen, the cottage basically a square cut into three rooms. He’s dropping ice into a bucket-glass as I show up, and he passes me again, this time for the whiskey. Can’t blame him after what he just went through, but I watch as he sips and take note of the inner calm I feel. He wouldn’t have been chosen if he were like Barry used to be.
What must the guy think, suddenly feeling he should drive to a bridge he probably hasn’t been to in months, finding his urgent sense of purpose wasn’t a fluke. Discovering Abby there, then saving her life purely by his instinct alone.
What a coincidence, he must be saying to himself. How odd, perfect timing, an accident. All of the things people tell themselves when they’re lucky.
As he flops onto his sofa, a shelf I hadn’t noticed until now, carved into the wall by his front door, pulls my focus. There’s a framed photograph I need to see, and I cross to look at Jack with his arm around a pretty woman with red hair, both of them smiling at me. His late wife kinda looks like my Abby.
“You just had to go and be a good guy.”
Chapter 41
Abby
It’s been two months since I’ve seen Max, and every day I speak to him, but hear nothing. It’s strange, because it doesn’t feel like it used to, before he appeared to me as a ghost.
There’s a sense of calm in my heart now, like maybe he walked into the light so many people have spoken of, those with near-death experiences who came back to tell the tale.
At our cabin, and everywhere else I go, it doesn’t feel as if he’s here anymore, and my grief has shifted, too. It’s tinged with gratitude that I had more time with him, a gift I can’t ever repay.
Jack has been wearing me down, invitations patient and persistent. I haven’t had him to our cabin, it just feels wrong. But I went to dinner with him a few chaste evenings. I spent several afternoons at his farm where I kind of loved watching him with his animals. The goat, Sheba, acts more like a dog, following him around. Chickens run freely in the daytime within a pen. He explained they tuck themselves into their little house at night, and yes, there are fresh eggs. “Cage free,” he laughed, which made me smile.
He’s got the same goofiness that Max had, and his jokes are sometimes so dumb they’re hilarious.
I feel comfortable around him.
Tonight we’re going to P&G’s on Main Street again, the place casual — so casual I won’t notice it’s a date. That’s his strategy, I’ve come to realize. Only this time the invitation came with a warning that he’d like to talk to me about something. Don’t have to reach for what that is.
To make a decision, I’ve driven to the places Max and I went most often, talked to him when I was alone, and sat quietly by myself when hikers passed.
Even though I can’t feel his presence anymore, I had to be sure, try one last time to reach him, before I listened to Jack’s pitch. I’m alive. I chose to be in the game a little longer. And I can’t help but think that Max brought Jack to save me that night. It’s so strange to believe it, but one afternoon at his farm, I was brave enough to bring up the embarrassing subject.
“What were you doing that night?”
He frowned, “What do you mean?”
“Were you just driving down that road?”
Jack blinked, no question of which road, which night. It’s always hung in the air between us. The sunlight shown in his eyes as he removed his baseball hat, rubbed his head and stared out at the horses grazing in the distance. “No, I was at home.”
“What?”
He cleared his throat, put his hat back on, tightened it, and explained, “I was reading a book and felt compelled to go there. So I went.”
We locked eyes as mine became slits under a frowned, “You felt compelled to go to that exact bridge?”
He nodded, “Yeah,” and looked out at the horses again. “Crazy, right?”
“Very,” I whispered, walking to pet Sheba who’d chosen that moment to remember we existed, hooves clomping up from the other direction as Jack’s gaze, with grass in her mouth like she’d been interrupted.
“I felt like I had to go,” Jacks exhaled, the next moment confessing, “It’s been gnawing at me that I almost didn’t listen to my instincts that night. I can’t believe I almost stayed home.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
He looked back and frowned, “Me too.”
It had to be Max. That’s what my instincts are telling me, that he brought Jack and I together to help me live the rest of my life with someone, a man who can hold my hand if I ever fall again.
Chapter 42
Max
Three months since Jack convinced Abby to make it official, and take friendship up a notch. Yet I’m still here.
It’s not fun.
I can tell ya that.
She’s selling our cabin. He’s never been to it, never questioned why. As a widower, he understands.
This cottage where they’re living now, his wife never knew. After Emma died, he sold their house and moved here, holed up in a tiny space on a major piece of land to let nature lend a hand in healing. Kinda bugs me how grounded he is. No, that’s not true. I’m happy he doesn’t have a screw loose.
I’m just pissed off she can’t hear me. Am I going to spend the rest of her life watching her live it with him? I want her happy, I do. It’s just so fucking painful to be cut out.
Spring is here, and Abs is wearing the t-shirt she wore the day she convinced Barry and Lorna I’m real. Only now she’s in shorts, on the lawn outside of the cottage, beside a hill covered in wild flowers. I’m standing here, too, a glutton for punishment. I just don’t want to leave her.
Abs is talking on the phone with her sister, and Barry’s living in Lorna’s Manhattan loft now.
Time moves on, everyone changes.
“I'm taking a gardening class.”
I can hear Lorna say, “Shut up.”
Abby smiles, “No I actually like it. There's something very meditative about getting my fingers dirty with raw earth.”
Jack walks up, “Did I hear dirty and raw?”
“Yeah you did.”
I roll my eyes, and turn my back on the both of them.
Lorna asks, “Is that Jack?”
“Yeah it's him.”
Who else would it be, Lorna, huh?
I hear Barry call out, “Hey, tell that guy I'm still not sure about him.”
“I will not. Ignore Barry, but you can tell Jack that I said he's turned you into a bumpkin. Next thing I know you'll be listening to country.”
Abby lies, teasing her sister, “Oh we're listening to it right now.”