by Marie Force
“That’s great. Patrick’s was good, too. It helps not to have to think about that.”
“Indeed. Not everyone in our group is so fortunate.” She hangs my coat on a hook by the door and then takes my hand. “Come in. Let me introduce you to everyone.”
In the living room, I recognize Brielle from her profile and return the warm hug she gives me. She’s curvy and pretty with dark hair and eyes and a smile emboldened by bright red lipstick.
“So nice to meet you in person,” she says.
“You, too.”
I meet several other people in the living room before I follow Iris into the kitchen and nearly stop breathing when I see Derek there.
“No way,” he says with a small grin. “This officially counts as stalking.”
10
Roni
“I didn’t know you’d be here!”
His laughter makes his already handsome face even more so.
“I take it you’ve met Derek,” Iris says, smiling.
“She’s stalking me,” he says.
“I am not! Well, not anymore.”
“I sense a story here,” Iris says, offering me a drink.
I hand her the wine I brought, which I suddenly want to drink straight from the bottle. “I’ll just have ice water, please.” That’s when I notice the spread of food and desserts on her kitchen table that spills over onto a counter. “You forgot to tell me to bring food.”
“Next time.” She hands me a glass of water. “We never ask new people to bring food, but help yourself.”
Since I’m actually hungry for once, I fix a plate of two kinds of salad, some pasta and a chicken dish that smells delicious.
Derek makes room for me to stand next to him as I eat.
“I swear I didn’t know you’d be here,” I tell him between bites.
“Sure you didn’t,” he says with a teasing grin. “I’m glad you heard about this group, though. It’s been a godsend to me. I hope it will be for you, too.”
“How long have you been coming?”
“More than a year, I guess. Since shortly after I lost my wife. A friend of my mom’s through yoga was a member. She reached out to me about it. At first, I resisted it, thinking I didn’t need something like this, but after a rough few months, I was desperate enough for some relief that I decided to come to a meeting. I’ve made some great friends in this group.”
Several of the women he was talking to when I came in are still hovering close by, as if maybe they’re hoping for the chance to talk to him some more. One of them eyes me with a hint of hostility that has me focusing on my food. I’ll bet he’s prime property in widow circles—young, hot, successful and the single dad to a gorgeous daughter. I no sooner have that thought than I feel small and petty for even thinking it.
What do I care if he’s catnip to the other widows? It’s not like I have any space in my life to be interested in him or any other man. They can have him.
Except… I don’t like that either.
Jesus, Roni, eat your dinner and shut the hell up already.
“How’s the new job treating you?” Derek asks.
“I love it so far. Everyone in our office is so nice and helpful, and of course, working for Sam is just awesome.” I glance at him. “It is okay to call her Sam, right?”
“Hell yes. I call him Nick when I’m alone with him. He insists on it. With everyone calling him Mr. President these days, he’s desperate to keep it real. I’m sure she is, too.”
“They seem pretty great.”
“They are, and they’re an incredible couple. He’s never been happier since they got together two years ago.”
“They’re the ultimate power couple, but with such a sweet way about them with each other. It’s such an honor to be part of their administration.”
“Yes, it is. I worked for Nelson, so when he died, I was worried about what I was going to do, but then Nick asked me to stay on in the same role in his administration, which was a huge relief. Single fatherhood isn’t easy, so having a schedule I can count on is key.”
“Derek, are you going to introduce us to your friend?” asks one of the women, a cool blonde with gorgeous blue eyes and large breasts I would’ve killed for before my sweet husband told me less is more.
That memory takes my breath away for a second, but thankfully, Derek is busy introducing me to her, so no one notices.
“Roni, this is Aurora, Naomi and Kinsley. Ladies, this is Roni. Let’s make her feel welcome.”
He gives Aurora, the blonde, a meaningful look as he says that last part, which has me wondering if he might have some sort of history with her. Naomi has red hair and a bubbly personality, while Kinsley, who has light brown, shoulder-length hair and light blue eyes, is more reserved but still friendly.
“How do you two know each other?” Aurora asks.
“We work together,” Derek says.
“Oh, so you work at the White House, too?”
“Yes, I work for the first lady.”
“She’s so cool,” Naomi says. “And her husband is just…” She fans her face. “Smoking hot.”
I laugh at the face Naomi makes.
“Sorry, it’s been a while,” she says with a sheepish grin. “A girl has to have her fantasies, and he makes for a good one.”
“Ew,” Derek says in a teasing tone. “That’s my friend you’re talking about.”
“I know,” Naomi says, “and yet I have no shame. Your friend is hot.”
I immediately like her and have immediate reservations about Aurora, who’s gone quiet since she heard I work for Sam.
“Come on, everyone,” Iris calls from the living room. “Let’s get this party started.”
When I follow the others into the living room, I see that chairs have been arranged in a big circle. I take the seat next to Derek’s because that’s the closest one to me, not because I feel the need to sit with him.
You’re being weird again, Roni. Knock it off.
This time, my inner thoughts come to me in Patrick’s voice rather than my own. He was so good at redirecting me when my thoughts got out of control or went in counterproductive directions. He could bring me back with a few well-chosen words that always returned me to an even keel. To hear his voice, even if it’s only in my head, is such a gift.
When everyone is settled, Iris calls the meeting to order. “Before we introduce ourselves, I want to welcome our new member, Roni Connolly, to the club no one ever wants to join.”
“Thank you so much for having me.”
“We don’t like to put new members on the spot,” Iris says, “but if you want to say anything, you’re more than welcome to.”
I sort of expected that I’d have to introduce myself, so I’m somewhat prepared for this. “I lost my husband, Patrick, in October when he was out for lunch and was killed by a stray bullet on 12th Street in the District. We’d been together for almost ten years, but only married for three and a half months.”
“Oh Lord,” one of the women I haven’t met yet says. “That’s so sad. I’m sorry for your loss.”
As the others pass along their sympathies, I feel comforted to be in a room full of people who understand this particular loss.
“I want to thank Iris for inviting me to come tonight and Brielle for reaching out to me ahead of the meeting. I’ve enjoyed your Instagram account and have gotten to know a few of you through that. I’m looking forward to the chance to get to know you better and to soak up the support and friendship you’ve so generously offered me.”
“We’re happy to have you, Roni,” Brielle says, “although we wish you didn’t need what we have to offer.”
I return her warm smile. “Me, too. I’m still pretty new to all this, so go easy on me.”
The others laugh, and I breathe a little easier after having gotten the introduction out of the way.
“Let’s introduce ourselves to Roni and go from there,” Iris says, gesturing for Derek to go first.
�
��I’m Derek. My wife, Victoria, was murdered as part of a sinister plot you’ve all read about, so I won’t expound upon it. I have a two-year-old daughter, Maeve, who is my sunshine, and I just survived my second Christmas without Vic. Life has gone on, but it’s a very different and less exciting life than it was with her. But Maeve and I are muddling through, and this group has been great. I’m very thankful for you guys.”
“We’re thankful for you, too, Derek, and your darling Maeve,” Iris says. “You already know me, Roni. My husband, Mike, was killed in a plane crash almost nineteen months ago. I have three kids who are six, four and two. Thankfully, they’re with my parents tonight so I can have some time off to wallow with my widows.” She holds up her wineglass. “Cheers to nights off and to wallowing.”
“Cheers to both,” Brielle says. “My husband, Mark, died in a skiing accident nine months ago, which was two months before our son, Charlie, was born. It’s been rough. Really, really rough, but I’m doing better than I was and getting used to single parenthood.”
“You’re doing great, Bri,” Naomi says. For my sake, she adds, “I lost my fiancé, David, to lymphoma two years ago after a brutal battle and have the distinction of not being an actual widow. Yes, people have actually said that to me, but I still lost the love of my life, the person I expected to be with forever, so damn it, I’m a fucking widow.”
“Absolutely,” Iris says. “You sure as hell are.”
“Why do people have to say stupid things to people going through such an awful loss?” one of the men asks. He’s Black, muscular and handsome, but with an aura of sadness about him that I can certainly understand. “Oh, sorry, I’m Adrian, and I lost my wife, Sadie, when she hemorrhaged after giving birth to our son six months ago.”
Oh my God. I know that can happen, but I’ve never heard of it happening to anyone I know, and it’s the last thing I need to hear after seeing my baby for the first time today. My entire body goes cold with fear and anxiety.
“Needless to say, my life has been a bit of a mess since then, but I’m starting to get my shit together and figuring out how to care for a newborn. It’s just so hard doing it without her. She would’ve been such a wonderful mother, and it kills me that she never got the chance to hold him.”
My eyes flood with tears that I desperately try to contain.
Derek hands me a tissue that I press to my eyes. He surprises me when he pats me on the back.
That small gesture means so much to me, which is silly. He’s just being nice, but still… He’s being nice to me.
I catch Aurora giving me a hateful look that makes me want to shrivel up and make myself invisible.
“We’re all so proud of you, Adrian,” another woman says. She’s probably in her mid-thirties with shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes. “You’re such a great dad to Xavier.” For my benefit, she adds, “I’m Christy. My husband, Wes, suffered an aortic dissection, which means his aorta basically broke open. He was dead before I realized something was wrong. He’s been gone three years, and I’m doing much better than I was, but my kids, who are ten and twelve, have had a rough time since we lost him. They witnessed it, and managing their trauma and grief on top of my own has been a struggle.”
“Christy is our patron saint,” Iris says. “She’s been at this the longest and is such a tremendous source of support to the rest of us.”
“Aw, thanks,” Christy says. “It helps me to help others. I’m glad you found us, Roni.”
“Me, too. Thank you.”
“I’m Aurora, but you already know that. I’m not technically a widow, but I lost my husband when he was arrested for rape.”
Even though I’ve heard about that, I still struggle to hold back the gasp that is at the tip of my tongue over the blunt way she puts it right out there.
“At first, I didn’t believe that was possible, but the evidence is irrefutable, so I’ve had to accept that the man I lived with and loved and slept next to for five years is actually a vicious monster. The only blessing is that we didn’t have kids who would grow up knowing what their father is. My loss is not the same as the rest of yours—”
“It is, though,” I say. “You lost the life you expected to live with him, and you have every right to grieve that.”
Aurora seems surprised by my generosity. Hell, I’m surprised after her thinly veiled hostility toward me simply because I already knew Derek, but her grief is no less painful than mine. Plus, she has to live with the fact that she never really knew the man she married. That has to be its own special form of hell.
“Thank you,” she says in the softest tone I’ve heard yet from her. “There’ve been people in widow circles who refused to welcome me into their ranks, as my husband is, unfortunately, still alive. But this group has been a lifeline. I hope it is for you, too.”
“It already is,” I reply.
“I’m Lexi, and I recently lost my husband to ALS after a four-year battle with the most hideous disease.” She has brown skin and long, curly, dark hair. “I’m still recovering from losing him and reclaiming my life after being a full-time caregiver. Jim didn’t have life insurance, and I was out of the workforce for years while he was sick, so that’s been a real struggle on top of the grief issues. I’ve had to move back in with my parents, which is no one’s idea of a good time at thirty-four.” She takes a deep breath and releases it. “It’s all so difficult, but it was worth the sacrifices to have that time with him and to be there when he needed me. I’m just so sad that we never got to have kids. I’d love to have something of him left now, but I suppose it’s for the best since his illness devastated us financially.”
“You are a warrior, Lex,” Adrian says. “You’re going to get back on your feet and figure out a new life for yourself. I know it.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” she says with a smile. “So far, He’s not hearing my request for a new job with a big enough salary that I can pay off our massive debt and get out of my parents’ basement.”
“We’re all praying for that,” Kinsley says. “Soon enough, He’ll hear us.”
“I hope so, but in the meantime, I continue to play Powerball every week,” she says to laughter.
Lexi’s perspective makes me extra thankful for the baby I’m carrying. If I can put aside all the worries about how hard it will be, I can celebrate that I’ll have part of Patrick with me to carry on his legacy.
“You already know I’m Kinsley. My husband, Rory, had pancreatic cancer and died just over a year ago, forty-two days after his diagnosis. He was thirty-eight, and we’d been together fifteen years. We have two kids—Christian is six and Maisy is four. So it’s been rough, to say the least, but we’re doing okay.” She offers a small, tired smile. “One day at a time.”
“You’re doing great,” Brielle says.
Kinsley smiles at her. “Thanks to all of you.”
“I’m Gage, the group’s elder statesman at forty,” he says, grinning at the others. He’s got dark hair and eyes and a hard edge to him that keeps him from being classically good-looking. “Just over two years ago, I lost my wife, Natasha, and eight-year-old twin daughters in a drunk-driving accident. Only it wasn’t really an accident, because the man who hit them made the choice to drink and drive. He took everything from me, and the rebuilding of my life is an act in progress with a long way to go. Christy brought me into this group, and I’ll be forever thankful to her and the others here who’ve helped to piece me back together.”
The magnitude of his loss is unbearable. His wife and both his daughters… My God.
“You’re our hero, Gage,” Lexi says. “Keep being awesome and inspirational.” To me, she says, “If you’re not following him on Insta, his daily posts are must-reads for those of us on this journey.”
“Aw, thanks,” he says. “I appreciate that.”
“What’s the account name?” I ask.
He recites it for me, and I immediately give his account a follow. “Thank you.”
&nb
sp; “Gage is a hard act to follow,” the next woman says. “I’m Hallie, and I lost my wife, Gwen, to suicide.”
I’ve been fascinated by her colorful sleeve tattoos since we first sat down. Her blonde hair is cut into a bob with a hot-pink streak in the front.
“Being a suicide widow is a strange place to be since my spouse chose to leave our life, or that’s what the ignorant masses think. In reality, she battled her demons for years before she succumbed to their lure. I just never thought she’d actually leave me, so that’s been the hard part. Well, it’s all hard, but that’s what I struggle with along with the memories from the day it happened. I was the one who found her, so…” She shrugs. “I, too, am a work in progress.”
“Aren’t we all?” Iris asks. “We’re all in this boat together, Hallie. Don’t you ever forget that.”
“I won’t.” She takes a tissue from Gage and wipes her eyes. “You all are keeping me going. There’s no one else in my life who understands the way you do.”
“We’re here for you forever, kid,” Gage says. “You can’t get rid of us.”
“Thank God for that,” Hallie says.
The last person must be the youngest of us all. Her jet-black hair is cut in a buzz on one side with the longer side falling over half her face. She’s got piercings up one whole ear and has a ring through her lip. “I’m Wynter. I lost my husband, Jaden, to bone cancer in November. We were only married a week when he died. We knew he was dying because they’d told us there was nothing more they could do for him after years of treatments didn’t work. We had one of those sadly uplifting hospital weddings you read about in People magazine. My mom heard about this group, and she made me come. This is my third time, and I still don’t want to be here, but I’ve decided not to hate you guys, so that’s progress.”
Everyone laughs when she says that.
“None of us want to be here, Wynter,” Iris says gently, “but there’s no sense in going through it alone, is there?”