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Five-year-old Sophia is in tears as she clings to her mother. The poor girl has probably fretted all weekend about her mother’s safety, the way kids do when life teaches them that a beloved parent can be ripped from their lives without notice. She’s almost five, so she probably has only faint memories of Mike, but she’s certainly aware of his loss and how it permeates their daily lives. According to Iris, Sophia is Mike’s mini-me right down to her light brown hair and blue eyes.
“Who’s hungry for dinner?” Iris asks.
The kids raise their hands.
“I’m thinking pizza,” she says. “Who agrees?”
All three kids chime in with agreement.
“Can you stay?” Iris asks Rob and me.
“Love to,” Rob says.
“I can’t.” I hand the truck back to Tyler. “I’ve got some work to get done before tomorrow.”
I say goodbye to the kids and tell them I’ll see them soon.
Rob stands to shake my hand. “Good to meet you.”
“You, too.”
Iris walks me to the door. “Are you sure you can’t stay for pizza?”
“I’m sure, but thanks for the invite.”
Laney runs after Iris, wrapping her chubby little arms around Iris’s leg. “Don’t go, Mama!”
“I’m not going, sweet pea. I’m just saying goodbye to Mr. Gage.”
Laney continues to cling to her mom.
“Talk to you soon,” I say, uncertain of how to end this weekend that went in directions I never saw coming when I left home on Friday, especially with an audience looking on.
“Yes, for sure.” She picks up Laney, who lays her head on her mother’s shoulder and eyes me with trepidation, as if she’s afraid I might take off with her mom.
“Be good for Mama,” I say to the little girl, who gives me a faint smile.
5
GAGE
I head out into the cold, aware of Iris watching me as I go. She stands in the doorway to wave me off as I drive away. What the hell is wrong with me that I feel so gutted to be going home alone? So we had sex. Big deal.
Except…
It was a big deal. I felt part of something special with her, something I haven’t been part of in years, and I liked how that felt. Even when we were surrounded by our friends, we were still caught up in the thing only we knew about. Well, I’m sure Iris told Roni, because those two tell each other everything.
I don’t mind if Roni knows what happened with Iris. I’m confident she won’t tell anyone else, except for Derek, and that’s fine, too.
Honestly, I wouldn’t care if all the Wild Widows knew that Iris and I got busy at the beach, but I’m not going to be the one to tell them. That’s another oddity that comes with widow life. Something that would’ve been totally private in the past is now picked apart for meaning and significance by the other widows in your life.
We talk abouteverything, even things that should probably be kept to ourselves. I’ve often wondered why it took widowhood for me—and others—to become so open about our feelings. Natasha used to accuse me of being remote and closed off emotionally at times. If she could see me now, she’d never recognize the man I’ve become without her.
And yes, it pains me to realize she had to die for me to become the man she hoped I’d be. Don’t get me wrong, we were solid, and she’d say so, too. Her complaint was about my moodiness, and how I’d withdraw into myself for days on end. In hindsight, I don’t even recall why I did that. It seems so stupid to me now, but then again, I didn’t know then that our time together would end far too soon.
Thirty minutes after leaving Iris’s house, I pull into the driveway of the craftsman-style house I bought a year after I lost Natasha and the girls. I still own the house we lived in together, but it’s rented to another family now. I did the requisite year of no big decisions, and the minute that was up, my first impulse was to get the hell out of the house where I could see them everywhere I looked. It was a good move. Holding on to the place where we were a family while not having to live there anymore made it bearable to leave.
I’ve been lucky to own a successful cybersecurity business that didn’t crash and burn while I was out of my mind with grief, which is thanks to the amazing team that supports me. They kept things going when I couldn’t function for months after the crash that stole my family from me. Even now, I’m not back to working at the same level I was before, because I can’t make myself care the way I used to.
