Page 57 of Blackout-

Confused by the question, I narrow my eyes.

“You were shot and you’re askingmeif I’m okay?”

“I’ve been shot before.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “I’m okay,” I assure him. “Do you want me to get you something? The guys stocked the fridge before they left.”

“You look tired. When was the last time you slept?”

“I…I’m not sure,” I answer, looking away. “Do I look that bad?”

“You look beautiful,” he replies, dropping his hand from my wrist. My gaze wanders back to him and I watch as he closes his eyes for a moment. Between the small talk and the avoidance, I wonder how much of the last few days he remembers and if he’s still feeling the effects of the booze.

“Lay down with me, Lacey,” he says gruffly, keeping his eyes closed.

Dragging my lower lip between my teeth, I move to the other side of the bed. Since he’s using both pillows, I lay my head against the mattress.

“I’m sorry I left you,” he whispers, reaching for my hand.

“I’m sorry I made you.”

Silence washes over us and though I know I should let him rest, I can’t stop myself from asking the question that’s been burning through me.

“Where were you?”

When he doesn’t answer right away, I turn my head to see if he’s fallen asleep. Keeping his eyes closed, he squeezes my hand.

“I went to see Christine.”

Another woman might be upset to hear her husband walked out on her and went to visit his late wife’s grave. She might feel insecure or think he never got over her. That she and the love they shared will never match up to her and the love they have. The younger me thought and felt all those things. The younger me envied the woman who came before me. It didn’t matter that she was no longer here on earth, she had his heart first and what they shared can never be replaced.

However, when Blackie was first hospitalized for a drug overdose, I made peace with Christine. He was recovering and not able to bring her flowers on a Saturday. So, without him knowing, I did. I sat at her grave and told her all my truths. That I was jealous of her and at times even hated her. I also told her I loved him and somewhere in between all those visits, I realized there was no crime in loving the same man. She had his past, and I had his future.

Blackie doesn’t know but every now and then I visit her myself. I tell her how he’s doing and assure her I’m doing my part, that I’m loving him for the both of us. It’s strange and yet completely normal for us.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think you’d go see her,” I say finally.

For a long time, she was his person. When the world knocked him down, when he needed an escape from his club, he went to her. I’m sure there are times when he confides in her about me. It’s not like he has a slew of people he can talk to. My father might be an important person in his life and his only confident but he’s stillmyfather. There are things he can’t tell him, and I respect that.

“Does it bother you?”

“No,” I say softly. “I admire you for keeping her memory alive, for keeping what you shared in your heart.”

In a way, it also brings me comfort. If something should happen to me, I know he’d treat me with the same respect. He won’t forget me. He’ll always honor me and our love in some way. That’s a beautiful thing. Now, that I’m pregnant, it’s a gift. I may live a long life, but I may lose my mind. There’s a certain sense of peace knowing he’ll always make sure my child knows me as a mother who loves her child and not the face of someone who is mentally ill.

Blackie sees himself as an addict and a criminal before he sees his heart. As if he can read my mind, he replies and reiterates my thoughts.

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t. Ain’t nothing admirable about getting sloshed at your dead wife’s grave and passing out after swearing you’d honor her life by cherishing yours. Nothing admirable about promising your new bride you’d get straight only to continuously break her heart. I dishonored the both of you.”

My automated response is usually it’s okay or I forgive you, but he’s heard both so many times. Just as many times as I’ve heard his apologies. Words won’t fix our situation and I think its time we both realize that, so I change the subject.

It’s not avoidance, it’s admitting you’ve lost control of one situation. It’s acknowledging what you do have the power to fix and I think that’s something you learn, something you do when you love someone who can’t help themselves.

“I called Dr. Spiegel,” I say softly.

He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling as he replies.

“She agree with you?”

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