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Maggie tiptoes across the room and turns on her most saccharine, please-don’t-say-no voice. “Yes,” I relent, “but make it quick.”
My eyes follow Maggie out the door as she takes off in search of her beloved feral cat. It can’t move with us, so it will stay here. Maggie will have to come visit.
“That girl and her cat,” Claire chuckles. “I keep telling her she needs to give it a name. Guess what she said?”
“No clue. I don’t have a creative bone in my body. She got her imagination from Hannah.”
My mind leaves the room momentarily as I wistfully reflect on all the things that made Hannah special. The dull hollowness I’ve felt since her last breath settles back into my chest and recasts itself as a stabbing pain, bringing me back to my place near Claire.
“She said, ‘I can’t just name her. I have to pray about it.’”
“That sounds just like her.” I inhale deeply and will the pain to go away. This ache never disappears, though. It just transforms into new miseries. Eight months later, the unexpected loss of my wife still devastates me.
“It’s okay, you know,” Claire says suddenly, causing my head to jerk up. “Missing Hannah isn’t something that will go away.”
“Aunt Claire . . .” I caution, “I don’t think . . .”
She interrupts me and continues. “You’ll carry this loss with you for the rest of your life, but it changes with time.” She wrings her wrinkly, sun spotted hands, reminding me of her own grief. “You won’t believe me now, but it gets . . . easier? The emptiness becomes part of you, like your hair or your skin. Someday you’ll look up and realize you don’t think about the loss every moment of every day, but you keep it tucked away for later. When you least expect it, usually at the most inopportune moment, it’ll slip out. Grief is good, Logan. It reminds us we had something special and irreplaceable that forever altered our lives.”
It doesn’t feel good. Looking at Claire will unleash the tears burgeoning behind my eyes, so I trace the pattern on the kitchen linoleum over and over. A future without this pain in the pit of my stomach and the hole in my heart can’t be comfortable. I don’t want it to be, because that would mean my life moved on without Hannah.
“I’m sorry to get sentimental. I just want you to be happy. Even if it’s not today, I know you’ll be one day. Hannah would want that for you and Maggie.”
My aunt’s last words gut me, and hot tears stream down my face as I turn away. They drip into my mouth, and I smear them across my stubble with the back of my hand. I’ve never subscribed to the idea of ‘real men don’t cry,’ but Maggie will be back any minute and I won’t subject her to another breakdown. She’s witnessed enough tears and pain to last her a lifetime.
In the months after her mother died, I holed us up in our California rental and hid away from the world. If I ignored the nightmare long enough, I prayed it would end, and I’d be pulling Hannah into me while we fell asleep.
I regain my composure and face Claire. “I know you mean well, but I’ll never get over Hannah.”
“Honey, that’s not what I meant. Hannah will forever be yours. You don’t need to get over her. It just doesn’t mean you should shut out happiness now or in the future.” Claire pulls me in for a long, warm hug. “You know I love you, right? I never want to hurt you. Just had that in my heart and thought you may need to hear it.”
I nod in agreement. “I better get ready for dinner. Uncle Rufus waits for no one when it’s time to eat.” She laughs and gives me a last squeeze before allowing me to pull away.
There’s nothing but a mirror and my thoughts in the bathroom. The palpable loss of Hannah fuses with the dread of the unknown future facing me and Maggie, and I slump over the sink. The thought of tomorrow’s playdate drifts in, bringing the slightest twinge of hope, but guilt washes it away and settles like an anchor in my gut.
It makes no sense to me why a woman I’ve met twice disorients me. Her demeanor is kind and intriguing. She’s beautiful and impossible to not stare at. But, she could be married for all I know.
Between chews of the chicken and dumplings he’s shoveling into his mouth, Rufus inquires about how our day went. Maggie recounts her afternoon library adventure for a second time before surprising us all by standing in her chair in the middle of dinner.
“I have an announcement.” She has the floor and all eyes are glued on her.
“My cat has a name.”
My cat.Moving and helping Maggie understand why we can’t take the cat will be rough, but that’s a tomorrow problem.
“What did you decide on?” I playfully nudge her leg, spurring her on.
“Hope.”
A hush falls over the table as we absorb the enormity of the name Maggie selected.Hope. Can she possibly understand how appropriate the name might be? Maggie looks at us, ignorant of the sentiments floating through the room, and a giggle rises from her belly, escaping her throat and cutting through the silence. She climbs down from the chair and slaps her hand over her mouth. Her laughter causes her belly to jiggle.
What was so funny? Claire, Rufus, and I exchange glances, searching for what we’re missing that’s causing Maggie’s feverish outburst.
“You guys look so funny,” Maggie says as a tear born from laughter rolls down her rosy cheek.
Her contagious giggles pry a smile loose from me, and I join in. This prompts Rufus and Claire to follow. The tension I carried since returning home evaporates with each chuckle. How am I going to deny her the cat?
Several hours and many lost games ofSorry!later, I’ve settled Maggie in for the night. It’s been a long day, and I’m looking forward to crawling in next to her after I finish cleaning up the kitchen. Every ache in my heart and body points to an early bedtime.
