I have to go for now, but another letter will be coming, I hope.
I love you, Joshua Park.
Lauren
He’d waited a month for this? This was more like a list of chores than a love letter from his dead wife. She may have been sick when she wrote it, of course. Maybe she’d been tired, or even in the hospital. Maybe he was being a petty asshole.
But still. He needed those letters.
He looked at the couch where Pebbles was lying on her back, legs in the air. Got up and went into the unused master bedroom. He had made the bed the way Lauren had liked it, the pillows plumped, two rows of decorative pillows perfectly in place.
If he got rid of the bed, he could sleep in here again, next to her tree. Maybe. He sat down and picked up her pillow, hugged it to his chest and inhaled.
For a second, he couldn’t smell her, and panic flashed through his joints. No! He couldn’t lose that! He buried his face in deeper, and there it was, her shampoo and moisturizer, the faintest smell of Vicks and perfume. His heart rate slowed, and tears pricked his eyes.
Her smell would fade away. He knew that. And even though he could sniff her soap and shampoo and perfume and Vicks VapoRub, he’d never be able to smell her again.
Death was such a selfish bastard.
The dogwood tree was doing well, fertilized by her ashes. Creepy? Today, absolutely. He almost hated the tree right now; the last bits of Lauren, giving life to something other than her.
“You need to get out more,” he said to himself.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he texted Jen, Sarah, Asmaa and Donna.
I’m cleaning out Sarah’s closet this weekend. Whatever you don’t want, I’ll donate. It’s what she asked me to do.
They were all free Saturday afternoon. It would really happen, then.
He opened her closet door and ran his hand over her dresses and sweaters, blouses and skirts. He picked up the sleeve of a sweater she’d particularly liked and sniffed the collar, then the armhole. There it was—the faint smell of her sweat. Of her.
He’d keep something. A pair of her pajamas.
Someday, he imagined, he might remarry and even become a father. What would he say about that rogue woman’s garment he had tucked away? These are the pj’s my first wife wore. Sometimes I smell them to try to remember her. I loved her more than I ever loved anyone, including you, punkin. Sorry!
Maybe these letters were bad for him. Maybe Lauren had been right, that it was maudlin and keeping him stuck.
But being stuck here, in his grief, his solitude . . . this was his world now.
* * *
ON SATURDAY, JEN, Sarah and Donna were all in his bedroom, pawing through Lauren’s things while Joshua held Octavia. Asmaa had to cancel; her mother needed her for something, but she asked for a blue scarf of Lauren’s to remember her by. The previously pristine room now looked garish and crowded. It was violated. Every drawer was open, her closet doors splayed, shoes littering the floor as the women did what women do—talked about clothes.
“This dress is so pretty!” Jen said. “Too bad it won’t fit me. Sarah, you take it.”
Sarah held it up, a gauzy, breezy outfit with flowers embroidered on the hem. “I’d look like a fairy in it.”
“Perfect. You could wear it to a wedding or, I don’t know, high tea.” They giggled. “Oh, this dress! She wore it all the time on the Cape.” It was a long, light pink dress, and Jen was right—Lauren had loved its comfort and color. It had tiny roses stitched along the neckline.
“I’d like to keep that,” he said, swallowing.
“Of course, hon.” Jen looked at him, her mouth wobbling.
“How’s your boyfriend?” he asked Donna, desperate to change the subject.
“He’s lovely, Josh. You’ll have to meet him. Oh, I remember this shirt! I bought this for her when she was interviewing! She looked so grown up!” Donna smiled despite the tears in her eyes. Josh smiled back, or tried to.
“Oh, my God, she kept this! Jen, do you remember?” Sarah exclaimed, holding up a long black lace dress Josh had never seen his wife wear. “Halloween, when you had that party and she fell into the copper tub?”
“Yes! It was hilarious! Mom, we were bobbing for apples, and she was trying to impress that cute guy Darius knew? She just dove in and pinned an apple against the bottom. With her teeth! She came up with it in her mouth, and drenched all the way to her waist, and her makeup was streaming, and her hair was sopping wet, and she looked absolutely terrifying, like some kind of evil Eve. Oh, my God, we laughed so hard!”
Josh didn’t want to hear stories of her trying to impress some other guy. Having a good time without him. Interested in a man who wasn’t him. He didn’t want to remember that had he not been a stuck-up asshole, he might have been at that party, too.
Their memories of her made her feel too . . . alive. He could just about hear her laugh. The familiar pain stabbed his heart, the blade ragged and sharp. “I’m gonna put Octavia down for a nap,” he said as the tot conveniently yawned. “I might doze off with her, if that’s okay.”
“Sure thing,” Jen said. “We’ll quiet down.” She kissed the baby on her head and said, “Uncle Josh will put you down for a nap, baby girl.”
“Nigh-night,” she said. She was an early talker, though she showed no interest in walking yet. Josh didn’t mind. He got to carry her more that way.
Donna kissed the baby, too, then Sarah did the same, and finally Josh was free.
He took the baby into the guest room. “Time for us to sleep, little one,” he said, laying her down.
“No seep,” she said, rubbing her eyes.
“Uncle Josh will sleep with you.”
“Okay.” She was such an agreeable baby.
He lay on the bed and tucked her against him. She put her thumb in her mouth and stared up at him, brown eyes solemn, lashes so long and silky.
“Your aunt loved you,” he said, tapping her nose with his forefinger.
“Hi,” Octavia answered around her thumb. She snuggled against him, and he put his arm around her. She was the first person to be this close to him since the day Lauren died, and she smelled so good—peanut butter and baby shampoo and sweet breath.
“Nigh-night,” she said.
“Night-night,” he answered.
“Yuvoo.”
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“Yuvoo.”
“Oh.” He swallowed. “I love you, too, Octavia.”