I shoved the door open with my shoulder a little too hard. Wincing, I locked the car with a click of a button. If only everything were that easy.
Scents of almost burned coffee and floor polish hit me the moment I arrived in the church basement. Folding chairs were arranged in a loose circle, maybe a dozen of them, and several were already filled. A woman with graying hair, wearing a dress that looked hand woven, rose to meet me. She introduced herself as Ellen but didn’t make a fuss. Just said welcome and to sitwherever I liked, then pointed me toward a card table with a coffee urn and a plate of store-bought cookies. The thought of either made my stomach churn, so I sat in the chair closest to the door. Just in case.
In case of what? Fire? Flood? My chest actually splitting open in front of everyone?
Dorian came in, glancing at me before taking a chair closest to the cookies. He gave me a small nod. That was it. No wave, no smile, no attempt to come over. Thank God. If he’d taken the chair next to me and said something kind and encouraging, I might have bolted.
A few more people drifted in and took seats. There was a man about my age in a pressed suit, wedding ring catching the light, who sat with his spine very straight, like posture was the last thing holding him together. A woman in her thirties with short dark hair and tired eyes sat next to him. A younger man in a ball cap pulled low chose a chair near the door, same as me. An older woman sat next to Dorian, pulling out a wad of yarn and knitting needles.
Ellen started a few minutes past six. She explained the agreements. “What’s said here stays here. You’re welcome to share, you’re welcome to pass. We don’t compare losses. We don’t try to fix one another. We listen. We make room.”
Easy enough. Right?
“We have someone new tonight,” Ellen said, her eyes settling gently on me, “so let’s go around with names. If you’d like, you can say who you lost and how long it’s been. If that’s too much, just your name is plenty.”
The knitting woman went first. Lorrie. Her son, Daniel, had died eight years ago, when he was thirty. The man in the suit was Everett. He’d lost his wife.
The dark-haired woman spoke next. “I’m June. My husband, Scott, died three years ago. I’ve got two girls who are my whole world.” Her smile wobbled.
The man in the cap was Mateo. His sister, Elena, had died two years ago at age twenty while he was overseas at school.
Dorian went next. “I’m Dorian. My best friend, Nate, died after a long career in the Navy.”
Ellen turned to me. “How about you?”
My mouth went dry. I clasped my hands together, wishing I could run.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Ellen said.
“No, it’s okay. I’m Delphine.” Okay, name was out. That was good. “My husband. Six years ago.” I left it at that.
“Thank you, Delphine,” Ellen said. “Does anyone have anything they’d like to share?”
June raised her hand. “I have something. I made a dating profile. Kept it up for twenty-four hours and then took it down.”
“Do you want to talk about why?” Ellen asked.
“Why I put it up?” June asked.
“That and why you took it down,” Ellen said.
“I put it up there because I’m lonely and I’d really like to meet someone. I took it down because … I don’t feel like I deserve to find someone new.”
“I get that,” Everett said. “The last night … before the end, I made a romantic overture. Like an idiot.” He folded his hands, shaking his head. “The last thing I did was to try and get her into bed because that’s whatIwanted. When she said no, I actually pouted about it. Slept in the guest room. Way to be supportive, right? Who would want a man who would do that to his sick wife?”
I closed my eyes as waves of grief and guilt washed over me, trying to pull me out with the riptide, as a memory surfaced. I’d insisted Jon go to Seraphina’s book launch party with me.I’d said to him,Take a shower, for heaven’s sake. Put on real clothes. And don’t embarrass me by sitting at Seraphina’s table without saying a word. No one wants a sad sack at a celebration. Even if you have to fake it. Now, I cringed, thinking about how cruel I’d been.
To my surprise, I felt an urge to share. “Right before the end, I bullied my husband into going to a friend’s party with me. I shamed him instead of offering compassion. That’s something I can’t forgive myself for.” I’d been carrying that around for six years like it was a necklace from a bag of stones. Saying it out loud made me feel remarkably lighter. Maybe there was something to this support meeting thing after all.
“But you were tired of it,” Everett said. “Tired of doing everything alone. Resentful that the marriage wasn’t what you’d imagined it to be.”
“I was, yeah.” I looked directly at Everett. “For one night, I just wanted him to be … okay. Just okay enough to go to the stupid party with me.”
“That’s it exactly,” Everett said. “You can hate yourself for it, but, the truth is, you were doing your best in an impossible situation.”
“Thank you for saying that,” I said.
Everyone was quiet for a moment, until Dorian spoke up. “Nate and I had been in the Navy together, and, when we came home, he wasn’t right. I didn’t know how to reach him. It was like the real Nate had disappeared into this seething angry man I didn’t recognize. We saw some stuff, you know. Stuff you can’t forget. When we were deployed, his wife and little girls had been all he talked about. How he couldn’t wait to get home and spend time with them before it was too late. But when he finally got there, he was distant even with them. Becca would call crying—asking me what to do—how to get him to talk to her. Of course I had no idea what she should do. He wouldn’t talk to me either.And now he’s gone.” He paused for a moment, but no one spoke, perhaps sensing he wasn’t done. “I make it a priority to make sure Becca and the girls are okay. Taking them out for meals. Buying groceries before I come over. Showing up for school functions. But I’m not who they want. And I can’t get my head around why the story had to end this way.”
