Page 24 of This Is How It Started
Part 3
After Josh Dies
Chapter 11
The What-Ifs and the Whys
They say Josh died instantly, that the impact from the Tesla that T-boned us snapped his neck. Even still, the paramedics rushed him to San Francisco General. I think they did it for my sake, as I stood in the middle of the wreckage, keening like a wild animal, begging them to bring Josh back from the dead.
I walked away with a few cuts and bruises from the glass and the airbags, wishing it was me instead of him.
Even weeks later, there are so many what-ifs running through my head. What if I hadn’t told him to avoid Van Ness? What if I’d insisted he get off his call and leave a few minutes earlier? Or inversely, what if I hadn’t rushed him and we’d left a few minutes later? What if he’d forgotten the wine and we’d gone back home to get it? What if I’d been driving instead of Josh? What if Campbell hadn’t gotten engaged? What if I’d given Josh the free pass he’d really wanted to miss the party?
But mostly it’s the whys that haunt me. Why hadn’t I told him I loved him that morning. Why hadn’t I told him how much he made my world a better place? Why was he taken from me so early?
Why? Why? Why?
I vacillate between denial and fury. And my mind is constantly swirling with questions that have no answers. My family wants me to go to grief counseling, but I’m not ready yet. I’m too busy staying in bed, making up excuses for why I can’t get out. Yesterday, I was positive ticks from the cemetery gave me Lyme disease. Adam of all people has convinced me that I’m crazy.
“Rach, this isn’t healthy.” Hannah stands at the foot of my bed in one of her power suits. “I’m not saying you can’t be sad, but you can’t continue to hole up in this apartment. When was the last time you ate? Or showered, for God’s sake?” She opens a window, and a blast of cool air rushes in, bringing with it the briny smell of the bay.
“Don’t you have to be in court?” I say, desperately wanting her to leave. It’s bad enough that my mother was just here a few hours ago to stock my fridge with foods I hate. You would think that after thirty-four years she would know that I don’t drink milk and peas give me hives.
Hannah’s phone pings with a text, and she is momentarily lost in her screen.
“What’s that about?” I swing my legs over the bed in hopes that I might catch a peek of the message. But she quickly stashes the phone in her suit jacket and regains her resting lawyer face composure.
“Nothing. I have to go. But Rachel you really need to get dressed, maybe go out for a walk. Mom said she left you food. Eat!”
I nod just to get her off my back. As soon as I hear the snick of the front door lock, I crawl back under the covers. I only have six hours before Adam shows up. He’s apparently drawn the night shift and has been coming every day for a week, often sleeping over on my couch. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the Golds have me on suicide watch.
The Ackermanns call every day since they went back to Chicago. I probably should be the one calling them. Outliving your own child is unfathomable. A good daughter-in-law would be the one to see to their well-being. But I just don’t have the bandwidth.
I’m about to nod off when the intercom jolts me upright, and Josie’s muffled voice wafts its way into the bedroom.
“I know you’re up there, Rachel. Let me in.”
I consider ignoring her, rolling over, and pulling my pillow over my head. The Golds have obviously sent reinforcements. More than likely it was Hannah who dropped the dime. I must really be pathetic. Guilty, I drag myself to the front door and buzz her up.
Five minutes later, she breezes in looking like a fashion plate in a creamy shift dress and a chunky coral necklace she got at Gumps at its so-called closing sale. Last I looked, the department store was still open.
I gaze down at my coffee-stained T-shirt but can’t muster any shame. Not even a modicum of disgust.
She takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom. “Take a shower, get dressed, and fix your hair.”
“Why?” But I have a feeling I know the reason, and I don’t like where it’s going.
“We’re stepping out for a little while.”
“Not today, Josie. I don’t feel well.”
“Of course you don’t feel well. You haven’t had fresh air in days, and you probably have bed sores. Come on, Rach, a walk will do you some good.”
Ultimately, I agree on the corner café for a cup of coffee with her. It’s a tiny restaurant with only a few tables and counter service. The only reason I’m able to tolerate the place is because Josh and I never came here. We preferred the café two blocks down because it had booths, and Josh loved booths. He used to joke that we should open a restaurant that only had banquette seating and call it “Booth.” My response: “You mean a diner?”
“Did you hear that Ashley Birnbaum is getting divorced?” Josie asks, and I give her credit for pretending that this is like our millions of other coffee dates pre–car crash.
“No.” Ashley is part of our Jew camp clique. There’s six of us in total, and we’re spread across the country. We try to get together twice a year to relive our childhood glory days, which looking back on it weren’t all that glorious. But it was a rite of passage, and despite having very little in common, we still enjoy one another’s company. “I can’t believe she didn’t say anything at Josh’s funeral.”
