Page 30 of Someone to Remember
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt anything. He’s sick of me hovering over him. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all, if you can keep an eye on Daphne and Drake.”
She hands me the keys to her car. “I’ve got them.”
I grab the football. “Be right back.”
“Hey, Brad?”
I turn back to her.
“I’m sorry in advance if he’s rude to you.”
“Don’t be. He’s grieving. He gets all the passes.”
“For now. Not forever.”
“Let’s just deal with today. We can worry about forever another day.”
I like to make her laugh. It changes her entire disposition, giving me a glimpse of what she might be like when she’s not dealing with overwhelming sadness. We’ve both been surprised and disappointed to discover that year two is rougher than year one in many ways. The gritty early grief has given way to a reality that seems to get harder rather than easier.
I jog across the grass to where she parked.
Jack is sitting on the passenger side, looking out the window. The tablet on his lap has gone dark.
I tap lightly on the window, so I won’t scare him.
He looks over at me.
I hold up the football and raise a brow. Tipping my head, I ask if he wants to come out and throw the ball.
For a long moment, he has no reaction.
As I wait for him to decide, I toss the ball from one hand to the other. When I miss and have to bend to retrieve it, I stand up to find him smiling. I unlock the car and pull the handle to open the sliding door. “Clearly, I could use some practice. What do you say?”
“Did my mom send you over?”
“Actually, I asked if I could come. Drake still can’t throw a decent spiral. I bet you can, though, right?”
“Uh, yeah. I could do that when I was four.”
“I don’t believe it. Come show me.”
His deep sigh breaks my heart. He doesn’t want to throw the football with me. He wants his dad, and I’d do anything to be able to give him that. But since I’m all there is right now, I’m elated when he releases his seat belt and climbs across to get out of the other side of the car.
I toss him the football. “Show me what you’ve got,hot stuff.”
“Go long.”
As I jog across the open expanse of grass, I glance over to see Angela watching, hand on her heart, when Jack throws a perfect spiral my way.
Taylor
The day isan endless parade of people, food, sympathy and tears. My older sister, Laura, has driven up from North Carolina and takes command of grief central, recording each delivery and who brought it for the eventual thank-you notes we’ll send. We’ve done this before. We know the drill all too well. Maybe I should start a business called Widows ’R’ Us or something like that to help people through these first horrendous days after loss since I’m so good at it.
Flowers arrive along with fruit platters and more food than we can eat in a month. Thankfully, we’re also overrun with friends and family, so I ask Laura and Amanda to put out the food for the visitors.
I’m on the sofa in the family room with my feet up, hoping to alleviate the swelling in my ankles. After hearing about Will’s death on the news, my midwife made a house call to check on me. She expressed concern about my swollen ankles and plans to return tomorrow to see if it’s gotten any better. If not, we may be looking at an earlier-than-planned delivery for the baby. I really hope that doesn’t happen. I’m not sure I can deal with a new baby right now on top of everything else, but of course, I want to keep myself and the baby healthy, so I’ll do what I have to.
