slipped out, and as the door clicked shut behind her, Dan leaned his head back. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. But suddenly he felt as though a lead blanket lay over him, making it hard to move, to breathe, to think. His eyes drifted shut. “Sarah …”
As though in response to his whispered plea, images swam through his mind, pictures of their life together … Sarah floating down the aisle, the most beautiful bride he’d ever seen … Sarah holding their newborn babies, tears in her eyes … the way her lips tipped when she teased him … On and on they came, one after another, each one ripping an ever larger hole in his heart.
Dan let them come. For here, immersed in memories, he could, for a brief moment in time, be where he most wanted to be.
Where he would never in this life be again.
With Sarah.
A knock at the door sent a stab of shock through Dan. He bolted out of his chair. “Sarah?”
Another knock, this one a little louder and followed by a worried voice. “Avidan? Are you all right?”
Not Sarah. Kyla.
He closed his eyes. Sarah was gone.
Sucking in a ragged breath, he looked down at his watch. Two hours since Annie and the kids left the room. So much for promises.
Dan went to pull the door open. “Kyla, I’m so sorry—”
She stopped him with a gentle hand on his face. Her green eyes softened, and there was a catch in her voice when she spoke. “Oh, Avidan. You’ve been crying.”
He brushed his cheek. She was right. His skin was more than damp. “I was … dreaming, or something. I was in the woods again. With Sarah.”
Kyla wrapped her arms around him, patting his back, the action as gentle and soothing as her voice. “I wish I could make it better.”
Oh, that a sister’s wishes could be granted. “So do I.” But nothing was going to make this better. Not for a very, very long time.
FIVE
“The only cure for grief is action.”
G EORGE H ENRY L EWES
“The L ORD will work out his plans for my life.”
P SALM 138:8
“I CAN DO THIS.”
Dan stood in the doorway, steeling himself. “Come on, Justice. You’re an adult. A cop, for cryin’ out loud. Nothin’ scares you, right?”
Right. Except, of course, the empty room before him. And the thought of sleeping in that empty bed by himself.
He sagged against the doorjamb. Six months. How could that much time have passed already? Six months since the funeral. Six months of living in a house and town where everything reminded him of Sarah. Of all they’d lost.
All they’d never have again.
Six months of putting the kids to bed, then heading for his room with grim determination. Of standing here, in the doorway of his bedroom, telling himself to stop being a fool and get some sleep. Of staring at the quilt Sarah had pulled in place asshe made their bed the morning they headed for their hike. Of walking to the bed, lifting the pillow that had cushioned his wife’s head, and pressing his face into it, drawing every last bit of her fragrance from it.
Six months of carrying that pillow to the living room. Amazing how accustomed one could become to sleeping in a recliner.
As Dan headed for the recliner one more time, he sighed. At least he seemed to be the only one struggling with the memories at night. The kids had their moments during the day. Like yesterday.
Oh, yeah. That was a doozy.
On Saturdays Sarah always got up early and fixed them all a special breakfast. Pancakes. Waffles. Crepes. Apple-dumpling oatmeal. They never knew what they’d find waiting for them at the breakfast table. But it was always delicious.
Yesterday Dan came to the kitchen for breakfast and found the room in a shambles and Shannon in tears. She’d gotten up early, determined to make a special Saturday breakfast. But nothing went right.
Dan comforted her, saying they could do it together. Aaron had been less than thrilled, but he joined in. Until Shannon turned too quick and knocked a dozen eggs from the counter, sending them
As though in response to his whispered plea, images swam through his mind, pictures of their life together … Sarah floating down the aisle, the most beautiful bride he’d ever seen … Sarah holding their newborn babies, tears in her eyes … the way her lips tipped when she teased him … On and on they came, one after another, each one ripping an ever larger hole in his heart.
Dan let them come. For here, immersed in memories, he could, for a brief moment in time, be where he most wanted to be.
Where he would never in this life be again.
With Sarah.
A knock at the door sent a stab of shock through Dan. He bolted out of his chair. “Sarah?”
Another knock, this one a little louder and followed by a worried voice. “Avidan? Are you all right?”
Not Sarah. Kyla.
He closed his eyes. Sarah was gone.
Sucking in a ragged breath, he looked down at his watch. Two hours since Annie and the kids left the room. So much for promises.
Dan went to pull the door open. “Kyla, I’m so sorry—”
She stopped him with a gentle hand on his face. Her green eyes softened, and there was a catch in her voice when she spoke. “Oh, Avidan. You’ve been crying.”
He brushed his cheek. She was right. His skin was more than damp. “I was … dreaming, or something. I was in the woods again. With Sarah.”
Kyla wrapped her arms around him, patting his back, the action as gentle and soothing as her voice. “I wish I could make it better.”
Oh, that a sister’s wishes could be granted. “So do I.” But nothing was going to make this better. Not for a very, very long time.
FIVE
“The only cure for grief is action.”
G EORGE H ENRY L EWES
“The L ORD will work out his plans for my life.”
P SALM 138:8
“I CAN DO THIS.”
Dan stood in the doorway, steeling himself. “Come on, Justice. You’re an adult. A cop, for cryin’ out loud. Nothin’ scares you, right?”
Right. Except, of course, the empty room before him. And the thought of sleeping in that empty bed by himself.
He sagged against the doorjamb. Six months. How could that much time have passed already? Six months since the funeral. Six months of living in a house and town where everything reminded him of Sarah. Of all they’d lost.
All they’d never have again.
Six months of putting the kids to bed, then heading for his room with grim determination. Of standing here, in the doorway of his bedroom, telling himself to stop being a fool and get some sleep. Of staring at the quilt Sarah had pulled in place asshe made their bed the morning they headed for their hike. Of walking to the bed, lifting the pillow that had cushioned his wife’s head, and pressing his face into it, drawing every last bit of her fragrance from it.
Six months of carrying that pillow to the living room. Amazing how accustomed one could become to sleeping in a recliner.
As Dan headed for the recliner one more time, he sighed. At least he seemed to be the only one struggling with the memories at night. The kids had their moments during the day. Like yesterday.
Oh, yeah. That was a doozy.
On Saturdays Sarah always got up early and fixed them all a special breakfast. Pancakes. Waffles. Crepes. Apple-dumpling oatmeal. They never knew what they’d find waiting for them at the breakfast table. But it was always delicious.
Yesterday Dan came to the kitchen for breakfast and found the room in a shambles and Shannon in tears. She’d gotten up early, determined to make a special Saturday breakfast. But nothing went right.
Dan comforted her, saying they could do it together. Aaron had been less than thrilled, but he joined in. Until Shannon turned too quick and knocked a dozen eggs from the counter, sending them
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