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It’s for the best.
He’s leaving anyway.
We don’t do relationships.
“He’s been very helpful with my work.” I come up with a lame response and Bianca studies me with her hawk eyes. She’s seeing something, but I’m not sure what. What do I need to hide better?
Luckily the nurse comes out, and we go to help Dad into the wheelchair. Walking hasn’t been easy for him lately. I help them get out and into my town car before I take an Uber to my office.
“London, the hospice called. It’s one of the clients.” Ashley puts a to-go cup of tea into my hands and I turn on my heels, forgetting Dad and my neighbor.
“Let my driver know to pick me up there.” I rush back onto the street.
I hail a cab. My stomach twists into a poisonous knot I can never really untie. It’s familiar though.
The first time I experienced this level of dread was when Mom died. Then again with Kyle. It doesn’t get easier. Ever. I cradle the tea in my hands. It’s good, but not good enough to loosen the acid searing my stomach.
As soon as I enter the reception area, I know I’m late. It’s the weird level of silence and determined work that gives it away. Like life continues but everyone feels slightly guilty about it. The air reeks of grief.
I don’t have to ask questions. Somehow, I know. I wish I was wrong. With all my heart and soul, I hope to be wrong. But as soon as I reach the door to Madeleine’s room, I know my instincts didn’t lie.
Her bed is empty. They have moved her already. Irritation coils up my spine, and I want to blame Zelda for not calling me sooner.
“She loved dancing. Did you know?” Ralph coughs behind me.
He’s leaning on his oxygen tank and smiling at me. It’s a knowing smile with a bit of sadness mixed into it. This man knows mourning can have different forms, but we respect the memory of those we lost the best when we don’t forget to live.
I do that for Kyle all the time, while I’m still mad he hid so much from me and robbed me of my opportunity to say goodbye.
“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” I sigh. I’m not talking about Madeleine only, but Ralph doesn’t know.
“Let’s dance for her. She would like that.” Before I can protest, because his suggestion makes no sense, he shuffles closer and puts his arm on my hip, bracing himself as he tries to find his balance.
He is not really leading me into a dance move. Ralph struggles to hold on to me and his tank, but somehow he still pulls me closer to him.
We sway slowly, the only music Ralph’s wheezing breaths and the distant beeping of monitors in other rooms. He smells moldy and sweaty, but I don’t mind. I don’t know what else to do, so I indulge in our silent dance.
Sometimes, comfort is found in nonsensical activities. As we continue the awkward moves, tears start falling freely, and I can’t help but wrap my arms around him gently and allow myself to grieve.
“She loved your voice,” he whispers, and a loud sob escapes me.
“Your jokes annoyed her.” I wipe my tears, but they keep coming.
We go back and forth with insignificant details we know or make up about Madeleine, and soon others join us in the hallway, offering their memories.
Our impromptu memorial comes to an abrupt stop when Ralph catches another of his coughing bouts. I help him back to his room.
“Thank you.” I start toward the door.
“For what?” he rasps. A nurse comes in to check on him.
“For being you.” In the world where I chose anger as a coping mechanism, Ralph somehow stirred me into a dance.
I descend to the first floor and Zelda stops me with two files in her hands.
“Would you like to help me choose the new client?” She puts a hand on my shoulder.
I shrug. “No, I trust you to make the right choice.”
