They all stared at me.
“Seeing her? Do you mean you have a relationship with Molly?” Dr. Andelin asked.
“I mean, she’s dead, and I know she’s dead because for the last five months I’ve been able to see her,” I repeated patiently.
Tag’s face was almost comical in its fury.
“See her how?” Dr. Andelin’s voice was flat and his eyes were cold.
I matched his tone and leveled my own flat gaze in his direction. “The same way I can see your dead wife, Doctor. She keeps showing me a car visor and snow and pebbles at the bottom of a river. I don’t know why. But you can probably tell me.”
Dr. Andelin’s jaw went slack and his complexion greyed.
“What are you talking about?” he gasped. I’d been waiting to use this on him. Now was as good a time as any. Maybe his wife would go away and I could focus on getting rid of Molly once and for all.
“She follows you around the joint. You miss her too much. And she worries about you. She’s fine . . . but you’re not. I know she’s your wife because she shows you waiting for her at the end of the aisle. Your wedding day. Your tuxedo is a little too short in the sleeves.”
I tried to be flippant, to force him out of his role as psychologist. I dug around in his life to keep him from digging around in my head. But the savage grief that slammed across his face slowed me down and softened my voice. I couldn’t maintain my attitude against his pain. I felt momentarily shamed and looked down at my hands. For several heartbeats, the room was as still as a morgue. Appropriately so. The dead were everywhere. Then Dr. Andelin spoke.
“My wife, Cora, was driving home from work. They think she was blinded—temporarily—by the sun reflecting off the snow. It’s like that sometimes up here on the bench, you know. She drifted into the guardrail. Her car landed upside down in the creek bed. She . . . drowned.”
He supplied the information so matter-of-factly, but his hands shook as he stroked his beard.
Somewhere during the tragic recount, Tag lost his fury. He stared from me to Dr. Andelin in confusion and compassion. But Cora Andelin wasn’t done—it was like she knew I had the doctor’s attention and she wasn’t wasting any time.
“Peanut butter, Downey fabric softener, Harry Connick, Jr., umbrellas . . .” I paused because the next image was so intimate. But then I said it anyway. “Your beard. She loved the way it felt, when you . . .” I had to stop. They were making love and I didn’t want to see this man’s wife naked. I didn’t want to see him naked. And I could see him through her eyes. I stood up abruptly, needing desperately to move. Way too much information, Cora Andelin. Way too much.
The orderly got nervous and immediately shoved my shoulders, urging me to sit back down. I considered swinging on him and then sighed. The moment had passed, and no one wanted to tussle anymore. Not even Tag, who looked as though his brain had been wiped clean. He was looking at me with a dazed expression.
But Dr. Andelin was dialed in, his blue eyes intense and full of his own memories, and something else too. Gratitude. His eyes were full of gratitude.
“Those were some of her favorite things. She walked down the aisle on our wedding day to a Harry Connick song. And yeah. My tux was a smidge too short. She always laughed about that and said it was just like me. And her umbrella collection was out of control.” His voice broke, and he looked down at his hands.
The room was so heavy with compassion and thick with intimacy, that if the five others present were able to see what I could see, they would have looked away to give the lovers a moment alone. But I was the only one to witness Noah Andelin’s wife reach out and run a hand over her husband’s bowed head before the soft lines of her inconsistent form melded into the flickering light of the fading afternoon. The room had windows that faced west, and though I had my complaints about Utah, the sunsets weren’t one of them. Cora Andelin became part of the sunset. I didn’t think I would see her again. And I hadn’t even needed to draw.
“If you know all that—about Dr. Andelin’s wife—then I want you to tell me about Molly,” Tag whispered, straightening in his chair and swinging his gaze from Dr. Andelin back to me.
Noah Andelin rose to his feet. I didn’t look at his face. I didn’t want to see if I’d destroyed him. I’d disappointed myself a little. Where was the badass I had decided to be?
“Tag. I promise we’ll revisit this. But not now. Not now.” And with a nod to the orderlies, who seemed as shaken as he was, we were all ushered out of the room.
Georgia
IT WAS WEIRD, the things I missed. I missed his mouth and his green eyes and the way he could be sweet without knowing he was being sweet. I missed the smooth length of his throat, the place my nose would settle when I was close to him. I missed the paint brush twirling through his fingers and the way one side of his mouth curled slightly higher when he smiled. I missed the flash of white teeth and the sparkle of the “devil in his eye.” That’s what his grandmother had called it. And she was right. He had a naughty twinkle in his eyes when he was relaxed or laughing or teasing me back. I missed those things desperately.