The coffee percolates. Shadow shuffles into the kitchen, sniffs the air. Ruth leans down and pats his head. His tongue lolls to the side in appreciation.
First dollops of batter hit the pan, sizzle. Eden wanders into the kitchen, absent her usual morning crankiness. She takes in the new stools without comment, then walks to Sam and slips her arms around his waist, lingers. He kisses the top of her head. She shuffles over to Ruth, dips her finger in the batter and sticks her finger in her mouth. Smiles at her aunt.
Eden goes to the cupboard and pulls out plates, sets them on the counter. One, two, three, four, along the L. Adds napkins and forks. She fetches maple syrup from the fridge as Ruth flips the pancakes.
Twelve golden, steaming disks aligned on a serving tray. Sam sits on one of the stools, on the far end of the L. Ruth sits opposite him on the other side of the L. Eden takes the stool next to Ruth. Sam and Eden fork pancakes onto their plates. Ruth follows suit.
The three of them sit for a long time, not eating, pancakes cooling on their plates.
They glance at one another. A silent agreement is made. Forks rise simultaneously.
Then lower simultaneously as Rachel appears at the archway of the kitchen. Showered. Hair combed. Clean shirt, stretch Levi’s, black sneakers. Clear eyes.
She allows Shadow to lick her hand, scratches him under the chin, calls him a good boy. Then glances at her family, first at Eden, then at Ruth, and finally at Sam. She looks at the bar stools, her gaze landing on the empty seat beside her husband. She slowly makes her way toward the empty stool. She stops at Ruth, lays her hand on Ruth’s shoulder, squeezes gently. Ruth smiles at her. She moves to Eden and cups her daughter’s chin in her hand, kisses her forehead, her nose, her lips, wipes a tear from Eden’s face with a fingertip.
She lets go of Eden and stares at the empty stool, looks up at Sam. Sam pulls the stool out and Rachel perches upon it. She reaches out and touches the spot between her husband’s eyebrows, perhaps wondering at the smoothness of the skin, the softening of the crevasse.
She holds up her index finger and presses it to the tip of her nose. She knows that Jonah has moved on, that he’s no longer here to see their secret gesture. And she isn’t fine, not yet. But for the first time since his death, she knows she will be.
She lowers her hand to Sam’s and interlocks her fingers with his.
“Good morning,” Rachel says softly. She clears her throat and takes a deep breath. “Something smells good.”
EPILOGUE
MADDIE
I’ve been seeing the Davenports for six months. After two months, I reduced our sessions to bimonthly, although they are free to come in more often should the need arise. So far, it hasn’t.
Ruth Glass has returned to her own therapist, although she checks in with me from time to time. She is doing well. Apparently she is seeing someone, her neighbor. They are taking it slow, according to her, but she smiles when she speaks of him, and her demeanor has transformed from bleak and resigned to confident and hopeful.
Eden is in the sixth grade now and is taking middle school by storm. She has a new group of friends who are supportive and loyal. They know about Jonah, but they see the tragedy only as a part of their friend, not the whole person. She likes a boy named Kevin, although she refuses to admit it to me. But a girl can tell. She still brings Shadow to our sessions, and I have grown very fond of him, so much so that I’ve given serious consideration to getting Cleopatra a canine sibling if I can work out the logistics.
Sam’s business is thriving. He and his partner expanded and have turned over a lot of their work to the junior partners, freeing up more time for Sam. His new assistant is male. His old assistant is working for another firm. He wrote her a glowing recommendation and hasn’t had contact with her since.
Rachel is completely off her meds and is facing her life with a renewed sense of clarity and purpose. She grieves. She admits to drinking occasionally. But she monitors herself closely, and I see no warning signs at this point. She has resumed her blog and is active in the parent-teacher association at Eden’s school.
Rachel and Sam are working through their marital issues. Much of our counseling focuses on their relationship, both as it pertains to the loss of their son, and independent of that. I offered to refer them to a marriage counselor, but they opted to work with me, as I have gained their trust and am privy to the entire picture. I see them together and individually.
That they love each other is not in question. Whether their marriage will survive? They are beginning to see themselves as more than grieving parents. Their grief will always be a part of them, but like Eden, it is not the whole. As to their personal interaction, they are rediscovering each other as people, as a man and a woman, rather than as husband and wife and mother and father. I give them trust exercises. I give them journaling assignments. Along with family dinners, I prescribed a date night for them once a week. They both enjoy date night. Sam likes the trust exercises while Rachel is less enthusiastic about them. Rachel has taken to journaling, Sam not so much. But they are both working hard, and the rewards are already evident. If they make it, and I honestly believe they will, their relationship will be even stronger than it was before Jonah’s death.
I am but a facilitator. You can lead a horse to water, right? But I also know that things began to change drastically for the family after I urged each of them to talk about that day. It was like a switch was flipped. As if by finally talking about it they had opened a floodgate of healing. Suddenly, they were all able to let go of their guilt and allow for the fact that bad things happen to good people, to good children, and more often than not, no one is to blame.
I’d like to take credit for their dramatic turn, but I’m not certain it belongs to me. I think the credit belongs to Jonah. I don’t know why. I just do.
That night, after Ruth and Eden and Sam and Rachel unburdened themselves, I dreamed of Jonah. I couldn’t remember the dream the next morning, although I tried desperately to reconstruct it. All I remember is awaking with a sense of rightness, serenity. And an overwhelming feeling of love.
Jonah has not returned to my dreams since. But whenever I see a katydid, for some reason I think of him and smile.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS