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“To live in this world
you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it
against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.”
—Mary Oliver
IRIS
There’s something to be said for liquid courage. There’s also something to be said for knowing my three kids are safe at home with their grandparents, and I’m off duty for the next few days. I haven’t often had that kind of freedom since I lost my husband and partner in all things and became a single parent overnight.
As the night around the campfire at Bethany Beach fades into early the next morning, I’m buzzed and fully relaxed for the first time in longer than I can remember. Later, I’ll blame the booze, but I’m not so far gone that I don’t know exactly what I’m doing when I “accidentally” end up in the wrong bed at two o’clock in the morning.
I could also blame the bathroom that connects our two bedrooms for the “mishap” in an unfamiliar weekend rental house.
The truth of the matter is I want this man, and I suspect he might feel the same way about me, but he’ll never do anything about it out of loyalty to his late wife. I understand that kind of loyalty better than most people ever could. I’m extremely loyal to Mike and the memory of the life we had together. But I’m also a strong believer that life is for the living, and we’ve both got a whole lot of living left to do.
Starting right now.
I’m one breath shy of full-on hyperventilation when I creep into Gage’s room and slide into his bed, completely naked.
My greatest fear is losing one of my closest friends in the “after,” as we refer to the period after great loss.
My second greatest fear is that I’ll never again take a risk because I’m too afraid of suffering more loss.
Neither of those things can happen. I won’t allow it.
I can tell by the change in his breathing that Gage is awake and knows someone got into bed with him.
I hold my breath while I wait to see what he’ll do about it.
He turns on the light, temporarily blinding me, which gives me half a second to plan my next move.
I prop myself on my elbows, let the covers slip to my waist and turn toward the light. “What the hell…” I feign shock at seeing him there. “Whoops.” I hiccup for effect. “What’re you doing in my bed?” To my great disappointment, he’s wearing an army-green T-shirt. I was hoping for the bare-chest version, which is quite something. I know this from having seen him swim in my pool.
“Funny,” he says, his gaze dropping to my bare breasts. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”
“I guess I took a wrong turn out of the bathroom. Sorry.” I start to get out of bed while hoping and praying he’ll stop me.
“Iris.”
I turn to him, brow raised, breasts bare.
“What’re you really doing in here?” His gaze drops again to my breasts, which aren’t bad—if I do say so myself—considering they’ve nursed three babies.
