“Answer the question, you aggravating woman.”
I gave him a dramatic sigh, but admitted, “The house is paid for. We won’t be moving, so rest your weary head. Grady owned a construction company and used his infinite resources to build as economically as he could. He also had a trust from his dad, who died when he was in high school and I had money from my grandfather. We didn’t want to worry about a mortgage on top of business debt, so we paid off the house.”
“And his life insurance is enough for you to stay home full-time?”
I felt a little strange opening up to someone outside of my family, but I didn’t see the harm in answering his questions. “He had a large policy. So do I. With four kids, there’s no other way to do life insurance. There’s more than enough to get me through these next few years while the kids are little. I have an education though. I’d like to go back to work after Jace goes to school.”
“That’s nice how that worked out for you,” he said softly. He must have seen my expression crumble from his words because he quickly added, “Not nice, obviously. But I’m glad for your sake you were prepared.” With a rueful twist of his lips, he added, “I’m glad you’re taken care of, for my sake.”
“Your sake?”
“I get to keep my neighbors. That’s good for me because I like them.”
“Just wait until I start throwing keggers. And Blake and Abby shoot out your windows with their BB guns.”
He walked around the island and stood over me. I could smell his pleasant, masculine cologne and feel the heat of his body. He had completely invaded my personal space and seemed very unapologetic about it.
His thumb rubbed at my upper lip. “Wine,” he explained. “If you start throwing keggers, I hope I’m invited. And if you ever decide to buy Blake and Abby BB guns, send them to me so I can teach them how to use them properly.”
“Grady had a brain tumor! I mean, technically tumors, plural.” The words exploded from my mouth. He was too sweet, too close. Emma’s words screamed in my head and his touch tingled against my skin. I had to do something. Ben took a quick step back and practically fell onto the nearest barstools. “That’s what killed him. Or, um, cardiac arrest actually killed him. But that’s what made him sick. He fought for two years. We went through as many treatments as we could. Surgery wasn’t an option. We tried the regular drugs, experimental drugs, chemo, radiation. We did everything we could, but it didn’t matter. He… he couldn’t…” Tears dripped down my cheeks as I tried to explain my husband’s sickness to this man.
“Liz,” he whispered.
“March,” I croaked. “He’s been gone since March.” I buried my face in my hands, unable to look at Ben anymore.
“Oh, Liz.”
His arms wrapped around my torso, tugging me tightly to him. His warmth completely enveloped me, completely immersed me in him.
His nearness felt more comforting than anything had in a very long time and that confused me. I cried harder, battling within myself whether to let him hold me or pull away and ask him to leave.
Eventually I gave in and sunk into his hug. I kept my hands over my face in a silly attempt to keep my makeup from running all over his gray t-shirt. He held me close to his chest, my ear resting against the heavy beats of his heart.
He whispered soothing words that I couldn’t hear above the roar of my internal war and never moved away from me, not until I had calmed down enough to pull back.
“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed by my outburst. “I didn’t mean to leak all over you.”
He had no patience for my flippant attitude. His hands brushed from my shoulders, up the line of my neck until they cupped my face. He tilted it upwards to look at him and smoothed his thumbs beneath my eyes, wiping away the flood of tears.
“Don’t ever be sorry for that, Liz. You can cry on me anytime you need to.”
“Why are you so nice to me? You barely know me.”
A soft smile played on his lips, “But I like what I know so far. And I am excited for what else there is to find out.” He stepped back to refill our wine while I reeled from his words.
He settled back onto the bar stool and started conversation again about our nosey neighbor, Mrs. Mitchum, who had brought over an olive loaf for him the other day and made him give her a tour of his house.
We talked for another two hours, enjoying the wine and learning more about each other little pieces at a time. By the time I walked him to the front door, it was past my usual bed time and I knew I would be more tired than usual in the morning.
But I fell asleep easily and without tears.
Ben had been a therapy of sorts. And I couldn’t make myself regret the time we’d spent together. I decided to ignore Emma’s words completely. I knew Ben better than she did and I wasn’t ready to give up this new friend I’d only just made.
Stage Three: Bargaining
I survived denial.
I crawled my way through anger.
And now I would battle bargaining.
Before this happened to me and before I became a clinical study on what it’s like to lose someone important, I had always thought of bargaining as the easy stage.
It’s so much easier to wish someone back than admit that they’re gone. It didn’t seem like a difficult process before I had to go through it myself. But I had never known real grief before, so I couldn’t picture myself pleading for my husband’s return or desperately begging God to bring him back to me.
And that is the crux of it right there. Desperate. Desperation. Desperately willing to give up anything if I could just see him one more time, speak to him one more time. Kiss him one last time.