Page 3 of The Wilder Widows

Struggling to keep my jaw from sagging at her assumption, I bit my lip while I felt the weight of three sets of eyes boring into me. Not wanting to be rude but unsure if I wanted any part of this, I nodded my head.

“Wonderful! You’ll need to have treats and coffee for our meetings. Alice will bring her own booze.” Doris gave her the side-eye, and Alice just shrugged.

I kept nodding to avoid hurting their feelings, but now I wished I’d shaken my head instead. Although I did miss having female friends to hang out with, spending four days a week with these women might end up being more than I prepared for.

Already planning the numerous excuses I could use to get out of our meetings, I forced a smile. “I look forward to it, ladies.”

“We Wilder Widows need to stick together!” Doris grinned. Her enthusiasm labeled her the leader of this crew, and it made sense since she’d been the one to hunt down Marge and Alice like a widow-sniffing bloodhound. I wondered if, like myself, they’d originally wanted nothing to do with it, but Doris’s insistence finally wore them down. Whatever the reason they stayed together, it seemed I was one of them... at least for now. If this went the way I imagined it going, I would need to fade out of the group sooner than later.

“I really appreciate you all stopping by, and I look forward to getting to know you more. But I’m exhausted from the past few days, and I think I need to lie down for a bit.”

“Of course.” Alice stood quickly. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

“We completely understand what it’s like to bury a husband.” Marge rose, but at a much slower pace than agile Alice.

“Say no more.” Doris touched my leg again before joining them. “I left our numbers and addresses in the basket with the muffins. Call if you need anything. Since tomorrow is Friday, we meet at Alice’s house at eleven in the morning. It’s the biggest house on the lane at the end of the cul-de-sac. You can’t miss it. We hope you can make it.”

“I look forward to it,” I lied.

They started toward the door, and then Doris stopped and turned back. “Are you sure you’re okay alone? I know I didn’t want to be alone for even a second after Harold died, so I’m happy to stay the night if you need some company.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be all right.”

“Are you sure? We can have a slumber party.” Her eyes lit up. “Maybe the girls could stay too! A widow’s welcome to our newest member!”

Marge grabbed her arm and pulled her forward. “Cripes, Doris! Leave the poor woman in peace.”

Stifling my laugh, I followed behind them. “Really, I’m fine. My daughter stayed the last few nights and flew home yesterday. Last night was my first night alone, but I managed fine. It’s time for me to adjust to my new normal.”

“It takes a little while, but you’ll get used to sleeping alone.” Alice grabbed Doris’s other arm and tugged her toward the door, then paused and peeked over her shoulder. “Unless you don’t want to. I’ve got people for that as well.” She waggled her eyebrows, and I finally let a little laughter escape.

“Thank you for coming by, ladies. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Goodbye!” they echoed while they stepped outside. I closed the door behind them and stood pressing against it for a few moments before exhaling a breath and walking away. When I passed my bay window, I saw the three of them with linked arms walking away down the street. An odd assortment of women, to be sure, and I didn’t know how I fit in yet. But when I turned back to my empty living room, I decided there was no harm in meeting with them a few times. I could always find a way out if it turned out they were intolerable.

Though I’d used the exhaustion excuse to get them out of the house, it wasn’t a lie. Burying your husband was a lot to handle, both emotionally as well as the logistics of planning everything. Rachel and Bruce had never been terribly close, so she’d handled his death without a ton of emotion, and with her job in upper management, she’d jumped right in to help organize everything from flowers to choosing his casket. But now that he was gone and buried, the hospice workers cleared out, and Rachel and my old friends from the city safely back home, I suddenly had nothing to do but rest.

After letting the quiet settle over me once again, I started through the house. Memories of our life met me with each step I took. Photos on the wall of us with Rachel. That trip he and I took to Hawaii. Our wedding photo. His football memorabilia from when he had won that championship in college; the same night we’d met while he celebrated the win in that bar down on Sealy Street. Our forty years of life together were now only frozen moments of time forever encapsulated in the mementos we’d created. Dragging my fingertips across the trophy, I kept moving while I tried to clear away the fog that had settled over my life these last three years. The three years we’d spent battling his cancer.

Everything looked different now. Our home was no longer a makeshift hospital with nurses and machines scattered throughout the living room where Bruce had spent his last few months. It looked like it did before he got cancer and our lives turned upside down. The floral couch I picked out for our thirtieth anniversary was back in place after I’d stored it to make room for his hospice bed. His La-Z-Boy, the one he’d spent the better part of a decade in, sat alone in the corner where I’d condemned it because of its hideous clashing brown upholstered fabric. We’d argued over it for weeks before our armistice when I’d allowed it in the living room, but not within ten feet of my beautiful couch.

While I looked over the room now resembling a more normal space, I noticed the crooked coffee table. I walked over and tugged the edge to straighten it back out. When I stepped back to examine the room, it appeared as if everything else was back in place. Nothing was missing... except Bruce.

I walked over to Bruce’s La-Z-Boy and stood over it, remembering how many times I’d stood right here holding his beer or snacks, sometimes with my hand on my hips demanding he get up and take me for a walk or out to dinner. Usually, he’d waved me aside to get out of the way of the TV, and I’d stormed off in a huff threatening to move us back to the city where I had friends and a career to entertain me. But he’d ignored my pleas, and I’d never made good on my threats. Now he was gone, but that damned ugly chair was still here.

Sliding my hand across the worn corduroy fabric of his recliner, I moved around it then lowered myself into it. Since I hated the sight of it, I’d always refused to sit in it, but while I leaned back against the overstuffed headrest, I realized now why he’d wanted it so badly. Damned if it wasn’t the most comfortable chair I’d ever sat in.

While I sunk into the cushions, I closed my eyes and let the tension from the last few days, and months... and even years since his diagnosis, slip away. Like a gentle hug, the chair eased away the anxiety of being on my own. I reached down and pulled the lever, and the footrest popped up. As I reclined, a little groan escaped my lips. For years I’d promised on the day he died I’d have this hideous thing hauled away, but perhaps I’d keep it after all.

Pulling the afghan blanket over my body, I let the exhaustion take me while I drifted off. Visions of my life with Bruce flashed through my mind while the darkness came, but the last thing I saw before falling asleep were the three faces of the Wilder Widows, and I wondered what tomorrow may bring.

CHAPTER TWO

“And that is how you make a chain edge cast-on.” Doris held her knitted square up like a trophy. “See? Elastic but still firm.”

Alice, Marge, and I sat across from her in my living room, each holding our piles of yarn and knitting needles in our laps. I looked down at my own attempt after trying to keep up with Doris’s tutorial, but it looked nothing like her example. Glancing over to Marge’s work, my eyebrows shot to my hairline. Mine at least resembled the example while Marge appeared to have knit an ugly knot. She caught my expression and furrowed her already sagging brow.

“What? It’s close,” she grumbled, then jutted her chin at mine. “And it’s not like yours is good, either.”