Page 128 of Every Good Thing
Then, I considered my relationship with Lena a delicate operation that needed care and precision. I showed up, built her trust, and eased us together slowly. She was my heart’s mission. Merging our lives together marked that mission successful.
Only my commitment came with limits. I helped her through her anxiety, uncertainty, and grief without showing her my own, making me a hypocrite from day one.
I hate that I was never truly all in with her like I wanted. Like she was with me.
Lena’s right. I’ve fire-bombed my marriage to escape my fears and self-loathing, to get small and minimize my pain. But it’s done the opposite. I’m Godzilla, bulldozing over what we’ve built, the monster in me taking over.
From the sidewalk, I called Dr. Reese for an emergency session. I talked her through everything that had happened. And during the ten-mile walk back to Becca’s, she guided me through my self-hatred toward the truth.
That day in Afghanistan and its aftermath.
Almost missing Adam.
The return of the Rileys.
Lena’s accident.
I distorted these events into one singular, crippling fear—that luck runs out. And when it does, it takes every good thing with it.
I subconsciously set out on a mission of preemptive destruction. And I succeeded. There is no coming back from this.
Now, still staring at the screen as it goes dark, that reality hits me even harder. She gave me her heart, and I blew it up. And it’s too late to save it.
Forty
LENA
Dot’s voice cuts through a strange haze between nightmare and reality. “Lena, I can’t wake her.”
“What?”
“Aunt Barb. I can’t wake her.”
I sit up, pushing the throw blanket off me. I’m on the couch in their living room. Cherry sleeps in the recliner beside me, curled in another throw. The dogs cuddle by the unlit fireplace. Jaye’s probably in the guest room. Grayness seeps in through the curtained windows. It takes me a minute to remember that it’s Sunday morning, Ruthie’s with Ben, and I crashed here last night.
Mrs. Moore went to bed around nine. “Too tired for any more fun,” she said with a laugh. “But you girls carry on for me.”
Now, I stare down at her in the dim light of her bedroom. She wears a floral print nightgown, her crocheted duvet tucked up over her chest where her hands rest, knotted together. She’s as peaceful as I’ve ever seen her.
I reach for her pulse—her hand is cold. I feel nothing beneath her soft skin. Dot awaits my verdict in anguish. All I can do is pull her to me with one hand and call nine-one-one with the other.
The next call I make when I’m able is Ben. He answers on the first ring. “Lena, everything okay?”
“It’s Mrs. Moore.” My voice cracks and sounds childlike. “She… passed away in her sleep last night.”
“Lena… I’m sorry,” he says with a ragged sigh. “Are you okay? What can I do?”
“Keep Ruthie until I can come pick her up? Dot needs help with the arrangements, and I don’t know how long that’ll take.”
“Of course. Want me to tell Ruthie?”
More tears. “Um, no. Have you told her about us yet?”
“No.”
“Don’t, please. It’s too much. Not with this…” My voice trails off as tears take over, imagining how sad Ruthie will be about her Aunt Barb. “I shouldn’t have put that on you, anyway. When the time comes, we’ll talk to her together.”
“Lena—”
