Page 81 of Lost in Love

“I don’t know anymore.” Her voice isn’t loud, she’s not shouting, but it’s a demand that makes my heart jump in my chest. “Do you want me to?”

My chest expands. There’s no bark to my words, no bite, but my answer is final. “No.”

I didn’t want to go back to Austin. For many reasons. Ever. But we buried Mara there, and I knew we’d always find our way back eventually. I just didn’t think it’d be at a time in our lives when I didn’t know the fate of our marriage.

I glance over at Kelly. She’s crying, and though I know I should reach over and comfort her, I can’t.

Twenty-Four

He Never Knew What Hit Him. Literally

(Poor Journal. He never saw it coming.)

Journal,I’m so pissed. No. I’m beyond pissed. Is there a word for that?

Noah doesn’t want to visit Mara’s grave. How come? Why would he not want to visit her grave? I just don’t understand and can’t even process his logic behind this one. To be honest, Journal, when I started writing to you, I thought you could heal me. I thought you could heal this brokenness inside me. I thought, maybe through the memories, I could find myself again and discover when we lost the connection. I knew it happened when Mara died, I just thought with time we’d be able to find us again. I thought with time he’d let me in and we could find a new normal. But how can we do that if he’s constantly pushing me away and not opening up to me? I fear we’re at the end again because every time he shuts me out, my heart lets go a little more. Eventually, I’m not sure there will be enough to survive.

We stopin Tucson for the night at the only hotel with a vacancy. There are literally two beds, so we have three people in each bed. Oliver, Sevi, and Hazel in one and Noah, Fin, and I in the other.

Noah and I barely talk. He faces the wall. I face the window. The only sounds in the room are Sevi’s snoring and the distant drone of a buzzing light outside the room.

The entire night is spent like this, and I don’t know how or if I should say anything. Part of me doesn’t want to because if he wants to forget, maybe I should let him.

The day is spent much like yesterday. The kids drive Noah crazy, and I try to tame the little monsters, all the while I feel like he’s looking at me like this trip was the worst idea ever.

We pull into Austin around three in the afternoon, and as I expected, Hazel’s first request is, “Let’s go see Mara.”

I look to Noah knowing he’s not going to tell her no because we’re literally five minutes from the cemetery and it’s on the way to his parents’ house.

Noah immediately tenses and turns left, down the road to the cemetery. I can see it on his face; he doesn’t like this. Since Mara’s death, he’s been to her grave once. The one-year mark. While we celebrated with unicorn cupcakes and pink and silver balloons, Noah kept his distance and said nothing to her. I feared today would be the same.

In the parking lot, Noah shifts the car into Park, his chest expanding with a deep breath. Once I have the kids out, I look back at him with Fin on my hip. “Are you coming?”

He shakes his head. “You go ahead.”

I slam the door shut and don’t look back. Fuck him. If he can’t at least come to see his daughter’s grave, I refuse to keep doing this with him.

Walking beside me, Oliver glances over his shoulder. “Dad’s not coming?”

I wrap my arm around his shoulders, Hazel and Sevi running ahead of us. “I think he just needs some quiet time.”

Oliver walks a little slower the closer we get to the oak tree Mara’s buried near. I hate the feeling rooting itself in my chest with each step knowing I won’t get to see her face, or even feel her presence because in some ways, Noah’s right. It’s just her body here. I want it to be more, but that’s because I want my baby back. I don’t want to be visiting her here. I want to be holding her. But I had to visit her, if that makes sense. Yes, this is just her bones, a decomposing body of a child who wasn’t supposed to die before me. A body I failed to protect.

As her mother, it feels like it’s my responsibility to be here. And no matter how many times you want to tell a grieving parent the death of their child isn’t their fault, they cannot believe you.

Surrounding her grave are wildflowers that come up every spring and fade by summer. It’s fall, so we don’t get to see the brighter flowers, but someone has been keeping up with the maintenance surrounding it. There’s a bunch of fresh cut flowers in a vase next to her headstone on each side and a glass unicorn sitting next to it.

“Grandpa Fisher made it pretty!” Hazel gleams, smiling at the flowers.

My dad has always kept up with Mara’s grave site. I think he finds peace in knowing he can do something for her still, or for us. Her name on the headstone catches my attention. It’s lined in glitter.

Mara Rae Beckett.

My stomach hurts, a pain so deep it always takes me days to get rid of it after I visit her grave. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away and watch the kids tape the drawings they made her to the headstone.

We don’t stay long because the kids are excited to get to Nana and Papa’s. Noah’s parents live on Lake Travis.

My throat’s tight as we’re leaving, feeling like I need to say something to her, but not knowing what. I whisper, “I miss you,” under my breath, knowing somewhere, somehow, she hears me.

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