“Maybe it was an accident,” I say. “Maybe he did die in that gorge. Maybe his body is in the river.”
Jack reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “Maybe,” he says, nodding at last. “Maybe Grand Slam is to blame for all of this.”
The words seem empty, though, just like all of the promises Ledger made me.
Chapter Ten
By the time Emma returns with lunch, I’ve showered and changed and Jack is filling me in on the call he placed with Vance Donovan from Grand Slam.
“They’re investigating the scene right now, trying to figure out if this was an accident or not.” Jack walks into the garage to get some beers from the extra fridge out there.
“It wasn’t,” Emma says bitterly, setting down a bag of sandwiches and salads. She pulls out an envelope from her purse. “Hey, this is for you, Penny,” she says softly, her tone having turned. “Some more photos of Henry, from when he was a kid.”
My hand trembles as I take what she hands me. “Wow, I’ve never seen pictures of him when he was little.”
Emma places a hand on my arm. “I thought that might be the case. Anyways, you don’t need to look at them with me around, I just thought…”
I blink back tears, “No, that was very thoughtful. I’ve never seen Ledger as a child.”
“What’s wrong?” Jack asks, coming into the kitchen with Bud Lights. “What did you say to her?” he says to Emma, raising his voice.
“She didn’t do anything,” I say, tears falling down my cheeks now.
“What happened, Pen?” He rests a hand on my back and I turn to him, crying against his chest.
“He can’t be gone, Jack. He can’t be.” My shoulders shake and he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight.
“I know,” Jack says. “He isn’t.”
I step away, wiping my face. “Sorry,” I gasp. “It’s just all so much to consider.”
Emma clears her throat. “I was hoping to make you feel better, not worse,” she says.
Jack takes her in. “We’re gonna figure out what really happened. Where he is. We’re going to get a firm answer on that one way or another.” I’m sure he’s looking over her glossy hair and white teeth and polished nails. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m just fixated on those things because they are the details that contrast my shoestring budget life so sharply.
“It pisses me off, though,” he continues. “They’re more concerned with whether or not this is their fault because they know if it’s on them, there’s gonna be hell to pay in terms of a lawsuit. They’ll owe you more than a pretty penny if they’ve fucked up here.”
My stomach rolls and I rush to the bathroom, hating the idea of getting a settlement over Ledger’s death. I drop the envelope of photos on the tiled floor and lean over the toilet, sickened with my twisted hope that this was in fact an accident.
That it was Grand Slam’s fault. Because that would mean my husband didn’t run away from our life.
And somehow, as I sit on the cold tiled floor of my bathroom, an accidental death at the hands of his employer seems better than him being alive and simply leaving his family.
I lock the bathroom door, leaning against it, keeping the light off. Closing my eyes. Trying to hide. My thoughts, though, won’t let me be.
“Penny.” Jack’s at the door. “Your neighbor, Bethany, is here.”
“Tell her I’m asleep. That I can’t do this. Can’t do anything.”
“Hey,” she says through the door and I know she heard me. “I just want you to know I love you. I’m here, okay?”
“Okay,” I tell her, massaging my temples. Grateful I don’t have to explain. As far as she knows, my husband is dead and I don’t have to explain that. “Love you too.”
I don’t open the door and let her in. I’m not ready for that — to grieve the loss of Ledger. I hear conversation in the kitchen. And I need to block their words out.
Taking the envelope in my hands, I open it, pulling out the photos of my husband as a little boy. This is a child I never knew, though – Henry James, a boy whose story is one I’ve never heard. I search his eyes in each photo, trying to find a clue, desperate to understand the man I gave my life to.
His eyes are sad, and so are mine. I trace my fingertip over the lines of his childlike face, standing in front of houses I’ve never seen, at a park he’s never mentioned. At the beach in swim trunks and a big smile, running toward the break. In the photo, he is running away — is that how it’s always been?
Eventually, the house goes quiet and I tuck the pictures back in the envelope, feeling less steady than ever. I stand from the bathroom floor and walk into the hallway; the house is still, empty. Jack and Emma must have left, along with Bethany.
I walk to my bedroom, pull the blankets over me, and exhale. It’s hot outside but I’m shivering, like I’ve been plunged in cold water, memories of my life with Ledger covering my body like a dry riverbed filling up after a rainstorm. I let them drown me. Wash me away.
When I was pregnant, Ledger took me to the waterfront. It was a hot day, like it is now. We went to a beach called Point No Point — it felt like the tip of the world. There was so much blue, so much sky, real sand that I could sink my swollen feet into. He brought a kite and it got twisted up in the driftwood and I teased him for not knowing how to fly it properly.
I close my eyes, returning to that day. We spread out on beach towels, my pregnant belly bare in my bikini. I was so brave at twenty, didn’t have stretch marks or insecurities like I do now, five years later. Ledger pressed his palm to my stomach when it began to move, and he laughed, shocked and amazed. Our eyes met and it was love. That moment. So much love. He felt it, I know he did. What we shared wasn’t pretend, it was as real as anything.
He wouldn’t have left me.
We stayed on our towels that day until the tide rolled in.
“I wish we could stay here forever,” he said, tucking my wild hair behind my ear. “Just like this.”
I rested my head in the crook of his arm. “We’d get washed out to sea.”
Now though, I remember how Ledger tensed at that, kissing my forehead. “Would that be the worst thing? To disappear?”
At the time I chalked it up to his childhood in foster care. No family, no friends. Me? I had my coworkers at the diner, my mom who meant the world to me. Before we met, he was a kite, blowing in the wind. I was the string, the tether.
At some point, did I stop paying attention? Did that string snap? It’s too painful to consider.
I fall asleep, and when I jerk awake, I wipe drool from my face. Hearing the kids in the kitchen with my mom and Jack, Emma, I walk to my bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and look at my watch. I slept for five hours. Makes sense considering I tossed and turned all night.
In the kitchen, I find Mom pulling out a casserole of macaroni and cheese. Emma is tossing a Caesar salad. Jack’s on the floor with the kids, playing with Legos. I try not to bristle at the fact my house is full, that Emma, a woman I hardly know, is still here — but then I hate myself for thinking that. She must feel as torn up by the news about my husband as I am.