“I thought it might be a little soon,” Deb replied. “You know, since we just left the service.”
“Well, obviously you should change out of the funeral outfit for your profile picture. I’ve always said you look better in light colors.”
Deb smiled. She couldn’t help it.
“You’re so weird,” Kim told her, but kindly. Deb saw the humor in her eyes.
“We’d be a really good dating team,” Nicole added. “No issues here, fellows!” That last line was said loudly. Customers turned toward them.
Nicole’s husband, Marcus, had died during his military service in Afghanistan, the victim of a helicopter crash. Deb had known Nicole since their first year in college, when they had been randomly assigned as each other’s roommate, and had known Marcus nearly as long. His death had shaken everyone, especially since it happened when they were all in their twenties, a time when death was unusual. Deb remembered how tough it had been for Nicole, remembered coming home to Grant and privately feeling grateful (and guilty because she was grateful) that she wasn’t going through that same brutal grief.
Over the years since Marcus’s death, Nicole had developed a caustic and resilient, if not ill-timed, sense of humor. It could be jarring, even upsetting, for those who didn’t know her. But Deb loved it.
That said, she was far from ready to make jokes about her life without Grant. After her small laugh, sadness shadowed her eyes.
Nicole noticed.
“It’s like an avalanche inside you, right?” Nicole asked, her voice lowered. “The sadness?”
Both Deb and Kim nodded.
“I remember that feeling. And I remember a lot of guilt. Just a shitload of guilt. I still have it sometimes.”
“Why?” Kim asked.
Nicole shrugged loosely, as if guilt was bothering her even now. “Making jokes like I just did about dating. Actually dating. When I started doing anything, really, that felt like I was leaving Marcus behind, like moving to a new apartment.” Her eyes turned distant. “Watching an old movie I suddenly remembered he’d wanted to see; you know he loved those. The first year I forgot our anniversary.”
Nicole allowed herself a faint, sad smile.
“You’re grieving and healing,” she said quietly. “It’s like running with sore legs. You think it’ll feel better to just stop, but you have to learn how. The more you run, the less you eventually notice.”
She paused.
“I’m assuming here,” Nicole said, her voice back to normal. “I don’t run. Or exercise. Obviously.”
“Stop,” Kim told her.
“I hated every moment of the service,” Deb said. “Every moment. I feel shitty about that.”
“Me too,” Kim agreed, surprise coloring her voice. “I thought it was just me.”
“Everyone looks at you the same way,” Nicole put in. “Like they can only look you in the eyes for a few seconds.”
“And you hear people having normal conversations,” Deb said. “Even laughing. Which is okay, I know. But it feels weird.”
“Excuse me, but who died?”
The three women had been so wrapped up in their conversation that they hadn’t noticed the elderly lady standing off to their side.
“I’m sorry?” Deb asked. The question was so direct that she was taken aback.
“Who died?” the woman asked again. “You just came from a funeral, right?”
“That’s really none of your—” Nicole started.
Deb interrupted her. “My husband.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. That must be awful.”
She wore glasses and a sweater with a Christmas tree on it. Something about her seemed familiar, but Deb couldn’t place her.
“I’m sorry,” Deb said. “Do I know you?”
“I don’t think so. How was he taken?”
Someone, maybe Kim, inhaled sharply.
“He was shot. It was a robbery.”
The woman frowned. “In this neighborhood? Was it in the paper?”
“We really don’t want to talk about this,” Nicole said, assuming the role of family spokesperson.
“It was in the news,” Deb said. The police had told Deb they had no idea who had shot Grant. There were no street monitors nearby, no visual witnesses, and the murderer had stayed beyond the reach of the ATM’s cameras. Traffic cameras in the area revealed nothing suspicious. A witness heard but didn’t see the two shots. The bullets and shells were being studied but were unlikely to reveal anything useful.
And, as she’d told Kim, there had been a rash of similar murders recently, but no clue as to who was committing them.
The elderly woman loudly sighed. “So awful.”
“It was. It is.”
“I’ll pray for you.”
Deb nodded.
Once the older woman left, Kim exploded. “What the hell was that?”
“She was just curious,” Deb said.
“She was rude. Who does that shit?”
“Language,” Deb told her mildly.
“Seriously, Mom. What. The. Hell.”
“You’re a lot more patient than I am,” Nicole put in.
“Maybe. I need to pee,” Deb announced tiredly.
That was true, but Deb really just wanted a moment to herself. She headed to the restroom, leaving Kim and Nicole still complaining, and passed small tables near Wegmans restaurant, displays of flowers and meat and snack food. She briefly stopped to stare at some cupcakes. She wasn’t hungry, but thought they would make a nice thank you for Nicole.
And then Deb remembered what Grant’s accountant had told her the other day, something about an issue with Grant’s finances: the payments from his life insurance were going to be delayed. Deb had been too distracted to fully comprehend anything, a distraction the accountant seemed to understand.
“We can talk about this later,” he’d said. “For now, though, keep an eye on your spending.”
The restroom at Wegmans was for individuals—a single toilet and sink. Deb locked the door behind her and leaned against the wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Sadness had been crawling inside of her all day, hoarsening her voice, making the sun too bright. Now it broke loose.
Deb cried helplessly into her hands.
Jesus Christ, those tears. Like all the water in her body was being wrung out.
But of all the tears Deb had ever wept, none felt like this.
None left her so gutted and empty and scared.
It took Deb a few minutes to pull herself together, check herself in the mirror, leave the bathroom. She walked through the crowded grocery store to her daughter and her best friend, and found Kim crying on Nicole’s shoulder.
She touched Kim, pulling her close.
“We’ll be okay,” Deb whispered to her daughter. “We’ll be okay.”
Deb didn’t believe herself, but she was surprised at how honest the words sounded.
CHAPTER
6
THE KNOCKING WOULDN’T stop.
Annoyed, Cessy muted the television, downed the rest of her Guinness, and pulled herself off the couch. Opened her apartment door.
A sudden hand on her chest shoved her inside.