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“Of course. I’m on the way for emotional support. I’ll remain in the truck. Just let me know if you need me, okay?”
“Okay,” I whispered before hanging up.
I left the comforting warmth of the Expedition and trekked toward the back of the graveyard, where the more affordable plots were. The frigid wind whipped, slapping me in the face and scattering leaves and cards left by loved ones across the concrete footpath. Unlike before, I pressed on. I couldn’t run away like I did the last time I attempted to visit him. The pain had been too fresh, and the reality that the man I believed to be my soul mate only existed in spirit and memories was suffocating.
My booted feet paused in front of his black granite headstone. It was etched with two motorcycles, Rory’s name, birthday, date of death, and the saying, “He lived how he loved.”
I knelt down and picked up the Christmas stocking that Kiyah had made for him. The white fuzz across the top of the red velvet stocking spelled Rory’s name in red glitter. I peeked inside the stocking when I realized there was a little weight to it. I pulled out a toy motorcycle that Kiyah loved and held it in the palm of my hand.
“You’re right, Rory. He is a fucking boy scout,” I said, laughing through the pain. I sighed a few seconds later when I finally got myself together. “I remember the day I received the call that changed my life forever. It was 4:11 in the morning, and I’d accidentally knocked my cell phone off the nightstandwhen I was rooting around for it. I pulled it into bed by the cord and answered, knowing you were the only person who’d dare call that early. Eyes still closed, I said, ‘Morning, babe.’ My eyes snapped open when I heard a man’s voice on the phone asking if I was Mrs. Kierra Houston. He told me there’d been an accident and you didn’t make it. I glared at the phone as if it shitted in my ear or something. At first, I told myself it must be one of your stupid pranks you’d play on me sometimes. The man was telling me shit like identifying your body and receiving your personal effects, and I still expected to hear you snicker and brag about how you got me good. But you never came on the line.
“Seeing you on that fucking slab nearly did me in. You didn’t even look like yourself anymore. The less sane part of myself tried rationalizing that they had the wrong man. I even told the coroner it wasn’t you.
I swallowed around the tightness in my throat and replaced the toy in the stocking. “I told him it wasn’t you. The man on the table was too pale, his nose a little too perfect, and his mouth too small. He showed me the two Ks tattooed on the inside of your wrist, and I told him the calligraphy was off. I said all of this while staring at the birthmark on the underside of your jaw that resembled New Jersey. It was the same mark I’d affectionately kiss and bite when we were in bed. It was so uniquely you that even I realized I had to stop lying to myself.
“Vance Oil sent your belongings to me in a box with your employee number written on the side. They couldn’t even dignify you by writing your full name. They reduced you to a number, and that’s why I fought so hard because you were more than Employee 18005. I didn’t give a damn if the accident was your fault and that I was fighting a losing battle. They needed to know that there were people who loved you—a wife who loved you more than words could express and a daughter who’d growup without a loving father. Well…things have certainly changed in the last several months.
“I’ve found love again, and I must’ve been a fucking saint in my past life because I’ve managed to find a man who is a repackaged form of you. Leather isn’t his style—boat shoes and silk ties are more his thing, but despite the difference in swagger, the two of you love me the same. I’m always provided for. Not only financially but emotionally, intellectually, and physically. I never regretted sneaking out of my bedroom window and climbing on the back of your bike. Never. And I never blamed you for any financially dire circumstances we found ourselves in. You couldn’t convince me that a four-for-four wasn’t as satisfying as a four-course steak dinner. Because if there’s one thing I know, money doesn’t make the man.
“I’m pregnant. But don’t worry, I got the ring before he found out I was pregnant.”
I wiped my snotty nose on the back of my hand before continuing.
“Kiyah was upset about the baby because she wanted to make sure that she stayed my baby and because she didn’t want to be the only kid in the house calling Jonathan Mr. Jonathan. She wants to call him dad, and I won’t stop her. From day one, Jonathan has treated Kiyah like his own. He told me from the jump that Kiyah would have the same as his children and would never be excluded. Before we moved in, he decorated her bedroom with a motorcycle theme. You’d get a kick out of the ‘Kiyah Street’ street sign. Jonathan lived up to his promise, and I think he earned the title. He works tirelessly to ensure that you’re always celebrated in the Baker household, and I think that says a lot about him and his respect for you, me, and our daughter.
“Jonathan picked up where you left off and brought my parents here. They showed me the letter you sent, and theyforgave you. I want you to know that I love you, I miss you, and the only number you’ll ever be is number one in my heart.”
I was a blubbering mess by the time I returned to the parking lot and collapsed in Jonathan’s arms. He didn’t say anything—just held me until I was done soaking his shirt. “Thank you for being here,” I mumbled, sniffling occasionally between words.
“There’s nowhere else I rather be right now.”
“That was so sweet of you to leave the stocking and car for him. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my love. Did you get everything off your chest?”
“I did.”
“Good. It’s a little chilly out here. How about I take you to Denny’s for a hot chocolate?”
I sighed. “You never cease to amaze me.”
“You’re giving me too much credit,” he said, leading me to my SUV. “I learned an interesting fact about you.”
“What did you learn?” I asked curiously.
“How you earned your nickname Snow.”
“Oh, God. My father couldn’t wait to tell that story.”
“I thought it was hilarious. I couldn’t imagine the look on his face when he found you on the porch eating a bowl of snow covered in fudge sauce and sprinkles.”
“Cut me some slack. I was six and I wanted an ice cream sundae and didn’t want to wait until the weekend to get one.”
“Was it good?”
“Why don’t I make you one and you tell me?” I suggested.
“Good luck finding the snow here.”
