“Thank you again.”
“Yeah, yeah. You owe me big for this.”
“Whatever you want.”
Maria is laughing as the connection goes dead. God, I hope she can make this work. If not, I’ve got to come up with something else he can do in the community that would have the same impact.
CHAPTER 7
CARMEN
I put the key in the ignition of my car, an old Honda that Tony and I bought when we were first married. I’m suddenly overcome by an unexpected flood of emotions that take me by surprise. Why am I so invested in Dr. Jason Northrup and his career? Why has his cause become mine? It’s not just because of the money I owe him. I wish it were that simple.
It’s also because of the integrity he’s showing in not wanting to harm his ex-lover’s children. That really gets to me, especially after he shared what he endured growing up with a cheating father.
The scorching South Florida sunshine quickly makes it necessary for me to turn on the car and the AC, but I sit there for a long time, staring out the window, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours.
When I arrived for the first day of my new job this time yesterday, I was still blissfully unaware that Dr. Jason Northrup was about to upset my well-ordered existence in every possible way. While driving a Porsche and my two trips to jail would be banner headlines at any other time in my life, the fact that I feel a genuine connection to a man for the first time in five long years is the truly remarkable development.
I’ve often wondered if it would happen again, if I would meet someone who made me feel something. But until yesterday morning, it hadn’t happened, despite the enthusiastic efforts of everyone who loves me to find me someone new to love. While I was reluctant to be fixed up on more blind dates than any girl should be forced to endure in a lifetime, I made a genuine effort to connect with each of them, only to be disappointed time and again.
After having had the real thing, I know the difference between something and nothing. How many times have I said just that to my grandmothers, parents, cousins, friends and even customers at the restaurant who’ve become invested in the quest to find Carmen a new man?
Abuela told me a year or so ago that all the foolishness and fixups are really about making sure I’m ready when the right one comes along. I hadn’t thought about it that way before, and those words come back to me now, proving once again how wise Abuela really is.
She, too, was widowed young, although she was almost twenty years older than me when it happened to her. My grandfather died of a massive heart attack at forty-two. Abuela was forty then, with three young children still at home and a broken heart that never healed.
“I don’t want you to end up like me, mi amor,” she said when I complained to her that I was getting tired of all the first dates I’d been on. “I refused to even consider another man after my sweet Jorge died. Now, I’m growing old alone, and I wish I’d taken another chance on love.”
“You’re never alone, Abuela.”
“I’m thankful for you and our family all the time. But I don’t have to tell you that the love of a beautiful family and friends isn’t the same as the love you felt for Tony or that I felt for Jorge. It’s just not the same.”
No, it isn’t the same. Nothing is ever the same after you lose the person you love the most. For a long time after Tony died, I wondered if I would survive the loss. The first year was a haze of grief and numbness and nonstop events honoring him and his ultimate sacrifice.
Through it all, my goal was to keep breathing, to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to cope with grief so deep and pervasive I feared it might suffocate me. But it didn’t. To my astonishment, I actually survived losing him and was forced to figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. That’s when I ended up in an undergrad program that later led to a master’s in communications.
Thinking about that time, right after we lost Tony so suddenly, can still bring tears to my eyes, even after five years. I’ve learned that you never really get “used to” being without the one you love. But you do learn to live without him, as preposterous as that seemed at the beginning. My love for Tony is as present to me today as it was the day he died. It’s as much a part of me as the heart that’s beat only for him since I was fourteen.
I grip the steering wheel, caught in the web of grief once again as I acknowledge that yesterday, for the first time ever, I felt something for a man who isn’t Tony. The emotions are complex—confusion, relief, despair, sadness.
Part of me never wanted to move on from him, even if I always knew it would happen eventually. Of course, it probably shouldn’t happen with a colleague, but it’s comforting to know I still have the capacity to be attracted to a man.
In widow circles, they talk about the “Chapter 2,” which is when a widow finds new love. I’ve read a lot of stories of how people move on to their next love while honoring the one they lost and admire the courage it takes to risk everything once again. Especially knowing what can happen. I haven’t given much consideration to whether I would ever have a Chapter 2, or if I even want that.
I snap out of my thoughts sometime later to find that I’m still gripping the steering wheel as I process a fresh wave of the grief and confusion that were my constant companions for so long after that dreadful first day. Not only was I heartbroken for myself and his family, but I was wrecked for him. At twenty-four, he walked into a convenience store, probably to buy gum or Gatorade, and had the rest of his life stolen from him in a random act of violence.
We found out later that the man who shot him had scuffled with police in the past. It was believed that the shooting had nothing to do with Tony and everything to do with the uniform he wore. After two years of court appearances and a trial that reopened the healing wound, the man was convicted of murdering a police officer and sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole.
That was another surreal moment in this never-ending journey, and while we were thankful to see justice done, it was a fresh reminder that nothing would bring Tony back.
My phone rings, and I take the call from Jason. “Hi.”
“Hey. Everything okay?”
“Yes, why?”
“You sound weird.”
“I only said hi.”
“You sound weird.”
It astounds me that one word has tuned him in to the fact that I’m not okay. “I’m, uh . . .”
“Do you need me to come get you?”
“No, I don’t need you to come get me.”
“Why do you sound weird? Did something happen?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“Okay,” he says hesitantly. “I called to tell you I talked to the insurance company and bought the rider I needed to volunteer, so I’m good to go if the clinic approves our plan.”
“That’s great news. I pitched it to my cousin, who works there, and I’m waiting to hear back.”
“Since Mr. Augustino assigned you to me, you can help me look at a couple of condos while we wait to hear from your cousin, right?”
I’m not sure that spending any more time with him than absolutely necessary to do the job is a good idea, but my boss told me to work with him. “Sure, we can do that. Where should we meet?”