“Liv—”
“Yeah, I don’t really have time for your legacy right now.” Pushing off from the kitchen counter, she gestured at the frying pan. “There’s leftovers, but can you help clean up, please? This isn’t a hotel.” She went into the front office and shut the door.
Was that the moment? The moment her husband of twenty-two years tried to tell her something life-or-death, and she’d unequivocally blown him off?
Over admin. Over nothing.
He was suffering, and she didn’t know about it. He’d died alone in a midprice hotel room in Kentucky. The final thing he saw was probably boring beige blinds or a bathroom light, still on.
The way Eliot had decided to act didn’t exonerate his deception. But it did explain it. It evolved his absence. And she missed him. She missed him in a way she hadn’t in months. She missed his love of dill pickles and sour gummy worms. The way he could tell a story at a dinner party and have everyone in stitches. Even his mood swings. She just missed him.
Sam and Dottie started staying over half the week. Sam moved a bigger television into the den, and the flickering light from the screen reached further into the hallway. Pink socks and frilly girl’s underwear appeared in the laundry. Some mornings, Liv would wake to the smells of stocks and marinades Sam was preparing in the kitchen. Savory but alien.
One night, as Liv chopped carrots for the kids’ school lunches, she pictured Eliot, creeping up to the patio door and peering in. Would he recognize what he saw? Would he be relieved Liv had moved on? Or angry he’d been replaced?
The weather turned from fresh to cold. It was coming. One year without Eliot was coming.
It was the week before Thanksgiving. Sam, Liv, Ben, and Dottie were making homemade pizzas. Outside, it was windy. Cold air whistled under the windowsills.
“Let’s add some pineapple.” Liv rummaged through the pantry. “I know we have some.”
“Yuck,” announced Dottie. “No way.”
Sam laughed, grimacing. “Yeah, I think that’s a veto, love.”
“We like pineapple,” Liv prompted Ben. “Don’t we?”
But her son just shrugged, focused on adding cherry tomatoes. “Sam, is it true these are a fruit, not a vegetable?”
The wind howled. A swell of dark emotion rose in Liv’s throat. “You like it,” she said, louder. “We all—Dad and I—we like pineapple.”
“Okay, okay,” Sam said, surprised. “We’ll put it on half.”
“No,” Liv said. “All of it.”
A crack sounded from outside, followed by a smash. They all jumped, spinning in the direction of the backyard.
One of the limbs of the willow tree had come through the windows next to the patio door, breaking the glass. A gust of wind blew into the kitchen. Dottie screamed.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Sam hugged her. “Just a fallen tree branch. Ben, why don’t you guys watch some TV while your mom and I fix this. Now, please.”
The kids headed off, rattled but thrilled for extra screen time.
Liv was already outside.
A sizable branch of the weeping willow had snapped off. One of its smaller branches had broken the window on the way down. Liv stood by it, dumbly, the wind whipping her hair.
“Don’t worry.” Sam examined where the fallen branch had come down, calling over the wind. “No real harm. I’ll call my tree guy to see what we should do.”
Liv sat down on the branch. It was the size of her torso and accepted her weight with a gentle give. She crossed her legs underneath her. This low to the ground, she felt childlike.
“Honey?” Sam loomed over her. “We should probably get back inside.”
Liv’s eyes grew hot with tears. She folded her arms. Twigs and soil blew around the dark backyard, stinging her cheek. Through the patio doors, the house was lit with warm, yellow light. Liv didn’t move.
“Liv,” Sam tried again.
“Leave me alone.” Liv waved him away, afraid she was really going to start crying. Her skin turned to gooseflesh. She was shaking.
Sam stood perfectly still, his expression neutral; inviting explanation.
“It was our tree.” Her gaze zigzagged from limb to limb, trying to find a place to land. The limbs heaved in the wind, a tumble of shadows far above her head. “Eliot and I planted this tree. And he—he—he was dying too.”
Once Sam had gotten her inside and wrapped in a cardigan, Liv told him everything: the attorney’s email, Eliot’s diagnosis.
“I didn’t know,” Liv said, angry and heartbroken and ashamed. “He didn’t tell me.”
“It’s okay, love,” Sam kept saying, stroking her arm. “It’s all okay.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if…”
“It’s okay, Liv. Whatever you decide, it’s okay.” Sam kept offering reassurances, but all Liv could hear was the wind blowing against the newspaper Sam had taped up over the broken window.
After a long phone call to a local arborist, Sam deemed it safe enough for them to stay the night. “But first thing tomorrow,” he warned gently, and Liv nodded.
She woke before dawn. Sam found her sitting on the back patio. The backyard looked like a war zone. Leaves and splinters of wood covered the overgrown flower beds. The earth was wounded.
Sam draped a wool blanket over her shoulders and sat down beside her. Liv turned to him. “It’s not like I’m still in love with him or anything. But I can’t just erase him. He’s still a part of me. Of us. Of all this,” she said, indicating the house, and everything inside it.
Sam nodded, his large hands clasped in front of him. “I love you, Liv. But I’m still grieving the end of my marriage, too. I don’t require you to be over Eliot in order to be with me.”
“God,” Liv mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter. “You’re so mature.”
Sam’s smile was wry. “Is that code for boring?”
“No.” Liv let out a small laugh. “No, it’s code for… wonderful.”
Sam put his arm around her, and she snuggled closer. The cold morning air smelled like sawdust. Clean and woodsy. It smelled like Sam.
They really should spend more time out here. Reclaim the backyard. Liv pointed at the fallen tree limb. “Maybe, we could make a table out of the wood. Something long and solid that’ll weather a few storms. For dinner parties…”
Sam’s face lightened. “And birthdays.”
Liv pictured Ben and Dottie in caps and gowns. Bright-eyed young adults with hopes and dreams of their own. Her throat tightened with emotion, then relaxed. “Graduations.”
“And anniversaries.” Sam’s eyes had a question in them. If she wanted it.
She did. “Yes,” Liv answered. “And anniversaries.”
There was only one star left above them, brilliant as a diamond in the soft, gray sky.
EPILOGUE: IN LOVE AT HOME
TWO YEARS LATER
Not many brides spend the morning of their wedding at a cemetery. But Liv Goldenhorn was no ordinary bride.
The gravestone had weathered over the past few years, and it looked better for it. A brand-new gravestone was depressing. Now it had some character, some authority. Eliot was finally aging well.