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I sit forward when Alex throws the shovel to the side, clambers out of the hole, and disappears into the barn. Another half hour passes before he finally comes out, dragging a huge wooden box.
My breath catches and my eyes well with fresh tears.
A coffin. He made her a coffin.
I watch as he lays Cherry’s body in the box as gently as if she were made of fine crystal. Suddenly, I jump off the table and crawl under it, grabbing one of Cherry’s old favorite tennis balls. Without putting a coat on, I run outside. The screen door bangs closed behind me.
“Alex, wait!” I yell.
He’s covered in snow when I reach him. It’s clinging to his eyebrows, melting in his hair. “This should go with her,” I say, holding the ball out.
Lips pressed together, he silently takes it. The two cardinals and I watch as he places it next to Cherry’s body, then covers her snugly with the blanket.
“Go back inside,” he says again.
“Please let me help you. You’re freezing out here.”
“I don’t feel a fucking thing.” The despondency in his voice makes my heart feel like it’s breaking all over again.
Ignoring me, he positions the lid on the box and starts to nail it on. Every hit of the hammer feels like it’s slamming through my chest. I’m sure he must feel the same.
“Didn’t I tell you to go inside?”
I stare at him defiantly. My lips are quivering from the cold. He shouldn’t be doing this alone, in the middle of a snowstorm, with his heart breaking. It’s not right.
“Go. In. Side.” Emotional and physical exhaustion deepen his voice.
“I want to help you. I loved her, too.”
His voice softens. “I know you did. That’s why I want you to wait inside. I don’t want you to have to remember her like this.” He finally lifts his head to meet my eyes. “Those memories don’t go away. Trust me.”
I had never seen so much pain in someone’s face before or heard it flooding through their voice as I’m witnessing in him. These are also memories that will never go away.
Swallowing hard, I nod. Then I do as he asks and wait for him in the house, watching him from the window, with my fingertips pressed against the frosted glass—wishing so badly that I could take all his sorrow away and fill his life with love again.
I watch, unblinking, as Alex carefully lowers the plywood box into the deep hole. He stands over it for a long time, his frame a blur amid the snowflakes, before he begins shoveling dirt on top.
My chest spasms with emotion. For the sweetest dog in the world. And for Alex, who can’t seem to escape the talons of grief.
I can’t watch anymore.
Shivering, I step away from the window. There’s no way I’m going to go back up to my room and resume writing my school paper as if this is just an ordinary day when, in fact, it’s one of the worst of my life. Instead, I move to the living room and start a fire, hoping the warmth will give Alex some comfort when he comes inside.
I’ve never experienced death before. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, say, or even feel. All I know is that a huge hole has been carved into my heart, and it feels like it’s never going to heal. It seems impossible to envision a tomorrow, a next month, a next year, without Cherry being right there.
If I can barely accept the loss of a dog, how do people ever move on from the loss of an actual person?
Mesmerized by the dancing flames, I realize this is the pain that Alex has been living with for eighteen years. Eighteen years of living with some variation of this persistent ache, hollowness, and hopelessness. And now another layer has been added.
Lily’s worry about her father might very well be valid. It’s a real possibility that Alex may not be able to cope with this. The weight of it all might be too much for him to carry.
I can’t let that happen.
The back door opens and Alex enters with a gust of wind. He stomps his feet on the mat, then remains by the door, not moving farther into the house.
He’s seeing everything I saw—all the little signs that a dog lived and was loved in this house for eighteen years and will never be here again.
I get up off the couch and go to him. Without saying a word, I take his hand and lead him to the living room, gently guiding him to sit in the chair near the fire. He falls back into it, his breath coming in deep, ragged breaths.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” he says hoarsely.
“I know.”
He’s shivering uncontrollably from standing in the freezing air, wet, while working up a sweat digging. I’m worried he’s going to get sick. Without protest, he lets me carefully pull his flannel jacket off and the shirt beneath. Both are soaked through, heavy from the snow. Grabbing the throw blanket from the couch, I gently cover his bare torso with it, tucking it behind his shoulders.
