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“You hear that?” I say once she leaves. “She’ll be back here.” I nudge his shoulder as I sit back down on my stool.
“Yeah, yeah. Trust me, the last thing on my mind right now is some woman. The ranch takes up so much of my energy, I barely have time to sleep and eat, let alone try to cultivate a relationship. You know how it is.”
“I do. Actually, I wanted to show you something.” I reach into my pocket, glancing around to make sure nobody is watching, and pull out a small black box. I open it, revealing the ring I bought a few weeks ago.
“Holy shit.” He grabs the box out of my hand. “I knew you would propose soon, but it’s just so real holding it. Damn.” He pulls the ring from the box, admiring it. It’s a single solitaire surrounded by a gold band that’s encrusted with tiny diamonds.
“Think she’ll like it?” I ask nervously.
“You serious? She’ll love this, man. It’s classy and delicate, just like Doll. When are you doing it?”
I take the ring back and slide it into my pocket. “Haven’t decided for sure yet, but soon. This thing is burning a hole in my pocket. Can’t believe I’ve waited this long.”
“You nervous she’ll say no?”
“Nah, not worried about that.”
“Still struggling with the Dean thing?”
I nod. “A little. I just don’t want it to ruin things for us. I know I’ve gotta get over it. I will.”
We finish our beers and I head home to enjoy the delicious lasagna Dolly made.
“So, mine or your mom’s?” she asks with a laugh, knowing I can’t answer.
“Tell you what: When you ask, it’s yours. When my mom asks, it’s hers.”
“Hey,” she says after we clear the table and settle back in for the dessert she also made, “when I was cleaning out my house the other day, I found a few of Dean’s things. I’d put his stuff in the attic after he died, because I just couldn’t bring myself to deal with it, and honestly, over the years, I just forgot about it. Anyway, I found this smaller box I don’t remember putting up there. I think maybe my dad found it and left it with the rest of the boxes. It had some baseball cards and his wedding ring. I donated all his clothes, because it was time to let all that go, but I wanted you to know I kept his ring. I wanted to keep that reminder of him. I hope that’s okay?” She looks at me cautiously. “There are no lingering feelings of the kind of love I once had for him. It’s different now. I’ll always love Dean, but it’s a different kind of love. This ring symbolizes that for me. It’s a memory—a physical one.”
“Hey,” I reach out and take both of her hands, turning in my chair to face her. “Of course that’s okay. I appreciate you telling me, but please don’t feel like you had to. He was your husband, you loved him, and he was tragically taken from you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to remember him and keeping his ring. I’m not worried about that, sweetheart. Honestly,” I look into her eyes, “there’s no jealousy there.”
“Thank you.” Her shoulders drop in relief, her eyes softening. “There was one other thing. Let me grab it really quick.” She stands up and walks over to where she hangs her bag, reaching inside and pulling out a small black notebook. She walks back over and takes a seat, placing the book on the table and sliding it toward me.
“What is this?” I ask, picking it up.
“It’s Dean’s journal.”
“Oh!” I drop it back on the table, almost as if it might burn me.
“I didn’t even know he kept one.”
“Did you read it?”
She nods. “Some of it. I actually think you should, too. The last entry specifically.”
“I—why?”
“Just read it. You don’t have to right now, but I think it would help you.”
I stare at the notebook, my stomach in my throat. For the rest of the night, the notebook sits in my head, burning a hole. I try to relax and attempt to focus on my conversations with Dolly and the movie she’s watching.
* * *
The moon shinesthrough our bedroom window, making my insomnia worse. I roll over again before giving up on sleep and sliding silently out of bed. I know if I stay here, I’ll keep tossing and turning, waking Dolly.
I trudge down the stairs, rubbing my weary eyes that feel like they’re on fire. I glance at the clock on the microwave, and it’s already after 2 a.m. I know I’m going to feel like shit tomorrow. I grab a glass of water and stare out the back door. When I turn around, my eyes land on the notebook that’s still sitting on the table where I left it. I take a seat, picking it up and sliding the band off to open it.
“No,” I mutter, tossing it back onto the table, but a minute later, I pick it up and flip through it, recognizing his messy handwriting instantly. I turn to the last entry, the one Dolly told me to read.
