“It’s crazy isn’t it?” I said quietly. “After five years, you’d think it’d get easier.”
She looked up at me, and for a moment, it felt like we were connected again, just like we’d been the first time we’d met. It felt as if she had reached out and plugged into me, as if she knew how I was feeling without me having to say it. As if she knew how hard this was for me, and yet how much I wanted to do it anyway.
“I don’t know if it gets easier or not,” she said gently. “I think that maybe you just get used to carrying it around with you, like extra weight. It doesn’t get easier, so much as it gets familiar.”
That sounded like experience talking. Had she lost someone, too – is that what we had in common? Was that the thing that had drawn us together? It seemed logical to me. Kindred spirits, united by the common thread of grief. It would explain a hell of a lot.
“I can’t get rid of it,” I said finally. “I mean, she’s been gone five years and I can’t make myself get rid of anything of hers. Clothes, make-up, shoes – none of it. It’s all still here. Throwing it away just feels…” I shrugged helplessly, the words just beyond my reach. “I think the worst part is not knowing. If she were dead, we’d be able to grieve, have a funeral, get on with our lives. But just not knowing, that’s the really tough part – the questions, the second-guessing, the endless speculation… ”
Maia reached over and laid her hand on top of mine. I looked up and her eyes seemed larger, deeper, fuller. I knew then that I was right. It leaves a scar on your soul when you lose someone you love. You’re branded. It changes you in ways you never imagined it would. You can’t prepare for it, you can’t anticipate it or how you will react to it. I think that’s because you’re too scared to think about it, in case you will it into being. Instead, you try to make it through your life oblivious, living day to day, constantly moving forward.
But when the unthinkable finally happens, it forces you to stop. To feel. To lose a part of yourself to the horror. And you’re never really the same.
“I used to feel her, all around me,” I admitted, shocking myself. I’d never said that to anyone before, not even Vinnie. “It was like she was watching me. But lately… I don’t know. It’s different.”
I wanted to explain how different, but I didn’t know how. When it came right down to it, I’m not sure it was something I was capable of understanding, much less explaining.
“She’s so lucky,” Maia said, tears gathering in her eyes. “To have so many people who love her, who miss her.”
If only loving her, missing her, could bring her back to me. If it could, she’d have been home long ago.
I moved my hand to enclose hers. I wanted her to know how much it meant to me, that she could let me talk about Em like this, but I couldn’t find the words. Instead, I just sat there, holding her hand on the table.
Like everyone kept telling me, it was time to move on. I couldn’t dwell anymore – literally. It hurt too much. I glanced down at the plate in front of her and summoned up a smile from somewhere.
“You better eat up before it gets cold and I have to re-heat it again. That’s if I haven’t completely destroyed your appetite already?”
Her smile softened. “No, I’m still hungry. And you can talk about Emily any time you want to. She was a big part of your life – it’d be weird if you didn’t talk about her.”
The more time I spent with her, the more I was starting to believe in fate, karma, destiny and all that stuff. How else could I explain this? She seemed to be exactly what I needed, when I needed it.
I squeezed her hand. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
I gave her some space to eat, and then we did the dishes together. She was still a little fragile from the migraine, but she said she felt a lot better, which was good news. There was something we needed to talk about and I wanted her full attention when we did. We sat down on the couch together, the TV still turned down low, the lights even lower.
“I need to ask you something,” I said, turning to her.
She looked a little nervous. “Okay.”
I was nervous myself. I didn’t want to offend her.
“This sleeping in your car thing,” I began carefully. “It makes me really uncomfortable, knowing you’re out there, God knows where, each night. It just doesn’t seem right to me.”
She sat back on the couch, her knees pulled up, chin resting on them as if she was barricading herself against me. I reached over and rubbed her leg gently.
“I’m not judging you,” I murmured. “I just want to help. I have a spare room, and it’s yours if you want it, for however long you want it. No expectations, no conditions.”
She looked like she might burst into tears and I didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.