by Megan Green
“Look, I don’t know what you—”
“Is Felicity Dempsey your sister?” she interrupts.
“Yes,” I spit.
“I’m Aarabelle Gilcher. My brother is Shane Dempsey, Felicity’s husband.”
Now I’m even more confused. Why is my sister’s sister-in-law calling me?
“Okay,” I reply, drawing out the last syllable of the word a few seconds to let her know I have no clue what that’s supposed to mean to me.
“Five days ago your sister was involved in a car accident. I’m sorry to tell you she didn’t survive.”
My grip on the phone loosens, the handset clattering to the desk below as all the air evacuates my lungs.
Felic—Felicity is dead?
My mind starts spinning at a million miles an hour, trying to make sense of those three little words. But no matter how I say them, no matter which order I put them in, no matter how many times I repeat them over and over in my head, I just can’t seem to fathom their meaning.
The sound of a tinny voice cuts through my haze, and I realize I still haven’t picked up the phone from where it dropped on my desk. My hands clamor to reach for it, my fingers fumbling it a few times before securing their grip. I press it to my ear, hoping like hell I misunderstood.
“I’m sorry, I think I must’ve had a bad connection. Can you repeat that?”
Please let the next words out of her mouth be anything other than what I thought they were.
Aarabelle blows out a sympathetic breath. “Look, I know this must come as a shock to you. From what my brother told me, the two of you weren’t close. But I didn’t think it was fair to keep it from you. Felicity passed away five days ago, and she’ll be laid to rest this Saturday at Rosewood Cemetery. The service will begin at four o’clock, if you’d like to attend.”
Somehow I manage to stammer out a response, thanking the woman for her call, all my irritation from only moments ago gone in an instant.
Because if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t know.
If it weren’t for this stranger, I’d have no clue that my only sister died five. Days. Ago.
How could my parents not have called me?
And then the last part of the phone call runs through my head.
I didn’t think it was fair to keep it from you.
They didn’t want me to know. My parents had made the conscious decision to not tell me about my sister’s passing.
They didn’t want me at her funeral. They didn’t want me to be able to say goodbye.
After all these years, and even in death, they still refused to see my side.
Well, fuck them.
I may not have been able to fix things with Felicity while she was still living. But I’ll be damned if I let anybody stand in the way of me saying goodbye to the person I loved most in the world.
Even if she hadn’t loved me back.
Grabbing my bag, I make my way back to Izzy’s office, my head in a daze as I try to process the last ten minutes.
My sister is gone.
My parents don’t want me at the funeral.
Some woman I’ve never even met is my only ally when it comes to my family.
And apparently, I’m on my way back to Virginia.
Good thing I have a shitload of vacation days banked, I think as I push open Izzy’s door.
Chapter Three
Shane
I’ve always hated the saying he or she is in a better place.
Like, if this other place we supposedly go when we die is so damn good, why the hell do we spend our entire lives fighting to stay away from it?
I’ll tell you why. It’s because nobody really knows what the fuck happens after we die, but pretending to act like there’s some grand kingdom just waiting to take us in is easier than admitting you’re scared shitless.
I’ve lived through my fair share of hell. I’ve seen the bowels of the earth and know what it’s like to think you’re never going to see the dawn of another day. I know what it feels like to have your body so battered, so broken, that even sinking into the abyss sounds preferable to drawing your next breath.
But I can tell you one thing. Every brush of death, every close encounter I’ve experienced… there’s never once been a chorus of angels waiting to sweep me up in their wings.
There was nothing but blackness.
So as the hundredth person shakes my hand, tells me they’re sorry for my loss—don’t even get me started on that phrase—and tries to reassure me that my wife is now in a better place, I grit my teeth, hoping the fake smile I have plastered on my lips is convincing enough to fool them into thinking I don’t want to deck them in the face.
Their platitudes are killing me. As I look around the room, I realize I don’t know even a quarter of these people. Most of them, I’m assuming, are Felicity’s friends and colleagues from the high school where she taught twelfth grade English. And judging by the number of young people filling the space, I’m going to go out on a limb and say a fair amount of her students have shown up, too.
And all any of them want to talk about is what an amazing person Felicity was. As if I didn’t spend more than ten years of my life with her. As if I didn’t know her better than these people could’ve ever hoped to.
Well, considering she blindsided me with news of her affair… I guess I didn’t know her as well as I’d thought.
All I can say is thank God for Aara. If it weren’t for her, I’m not sure I’d be able to hold myself together. Because if there’s one thing I’ve heard more than how lovely Felicity was and how tragic it is that we’ve lost her, it’s that she loved me and my girls more than anything in the world.
You and your daughters were the light of her life.
You could tell how much she loved you just by the way she spoke of you.
I’ve never seen a more dedicated wife and mother.
That last one had nearly caused me to, quite literally, laugh out loud. I’d bitten my tongue so hard, I could still taste the bitter remnants of blood in my mouth, the flesh still tender from the mark of my teeth.
If only these people knew the truth. If only they knew exactly what Felicity had been willing to give up for the sake of her newfound love.
The bitterness and resentment I feel churns like a hurricane in my gut, constantly at war with the side of me that is truly sad that I’ll never see my wife again. I hate that she’s put me in this position. I hate that I can’t mourn her properly. And mostly, I hate that she’s left me here alone to pick up the pieces of her mistake.
The funeral director makes his way to the podium, a brief tap on the microphone catching everyone’s attention and signaling that it’s time to take their seats. I breathe a sigh of relief, grateful that we can finally get this show on the road and I can get my daughters back home where they belong.
Excusing myself from the nameless, faceless person standing before me, I stride across the room and take my seat next to my parents. Gracie and Ellie sit somberly on the bench beside me, both of their eyes downcast, their little arms linked as Ellie’s head rests on Gracie’s shoulder.
Strike that. There is something I hate more than having to deal with the aftermath of Felicity’s affair. I’d live through the pain of learning of her indiscretion a thousand times over if it meant not having to see the pain in my girls’ eyes whenever they remember their mommy is never coming home.
Damn you, Felicity, I think for about the thousandth time since receiving the news of her death. Look at what you’ve done.
The director makes a few remarks, thanking everyone for coming out to honor such a fine pillar of our community. I sit silently, wrapping an arm around both of my girls and tucking them into my side as the few people Debbie had asked to speak take the mic. A group of girls from the high school choir gather around the piano to sing a hymn I’ve never heard before. I’d tried to keep the service as secular as possible, considering my own stance on the afterlife and God, but Debbie had insisted this is what Feli
city would’ve wanted.
I begged to differ. I’m fairly certain that if Felicity believed in the hereafter, she wouldn’t have done everything she could to damn her own soul.
But whatever. I could suffer through a few minutes of some bullshit about Jesus if it meant getting my mother-in-law off my back. I had drawn the line at forcing the girls to sing, however. They were going through enough.
Once the song is over, the director retakes the mic, letting everyone know the service is nearly complete. I blow out a shaky breath, knowing the moment I’ve been dreading for the last week is finally here.
“Now, to close out our remembrance of the beloved Felicity Mitchell Dempsey, her husband, Shane, would like to make a few remarks.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to the tops of each of my girls’ heads, giving them another squeeze. “Daddy will be right back, okay?”
Gracie nods her head against my cheek, her grip tightening on her little sister when I move to stand. Ellie’s eyes stay trained on the toes of her shoes, her little legs nowhere near long enough to reach the floor on the funeral home bench.
The sight of them there, huddled together, so clearly lost as to what to do next nearly does me in. Tears spring to my eyes as I approach the podium, and as I take my place before the mic, there’s a hot sting piercing the back of my throat.
With a not-so-subtle clearing of my throat, I position the mic in front of my lips. I see several women in the audience clutch their chests, clearly mistaking my emotion from looking at my daughters as grief over losing my wife.
I can’t bring myself to care, however. If people want to look at me and see a bereaved widower, then so be it. Besides, it doesn’t really matter what they think now, anyway. Nothing will right the wrong that has been done to my girls.
“T-thank you all for coming,” I start, my voice still thick with unshed tears. “I know that Felicity would have appreciated it.”
My eyes once again scan the crowd, nerves taking hold when I realize just how many people are here. How many strangers. How many people I probably should have known but now never would.
When had Felicity and I grown so far apart? When had the shift in our marriage occurred that left us leading two completely different lives?
There was once a time where we’d shared everything. Where neither of us could wait to get home to share the details of our days with the other. There’d been a time where Lissy’s friends had been my friends, and vice versa. There’d been a time when I could’ve looked around this room and named every single person who was important to her.
But if I’m being honest with myself, that time had long since disappeared. It hadn’t happened just because of the affair. Something fundamental in our marriage had shifted after that final tour in Afghanistan.
The one that had nearly killed me.
As if on cue, the scar tissue surrounding the stump of my knee starts to throb, the prosthetic that has become almost a natural part of my body suddenly feeling wrong and cold against my skin. I itch to take it off, to throw the hunk of metal that signified the darkest part of my life against a wall.
I’d done my best to keep my life overseas separate from my life at home. To keep my family life away from my military life.
But after that tour…
Fuck, can I really blame Felicity for falling out of love with me?
All the anger and resentment that’s been coursing through my veins these past few days seems to vanish in an instant. Because if I’m being honest with myself, this entire thing is my fault.
I let my eyes drift back to my girls, to my parents and my in-laws, to my sister. I’ve hurt so many people. So many events were set in motion because of my choices.
“Felicity always loved to laugh,” I say, watching as my mother-in-law’s face crumbles into tears at the sound of her name. My father-in-law’s arm comes around her, and she sinks into his side, her hand coming up to stifle the sound of her sobs.
I can’t take this. I can’t take watching this poor woman break down and knowing it’s all my fault.
My eyes dart to the back of the room, choosing to focus on an object near the door instead of on any one person. I just need to get through the next few minutes, and I can take my girls and go.
“There wasn’t a sound more infectious than Lissy’s laugh,” I continue. “Those of you who were lucky to have known her know exactly what I’m talking about. She had this way of lighting up a room, of making every place she went a little happier.”
A movement near the rear entrance catches my attention, pulling my eyes from my mark and causing my words to momentarily falter.
A woman stands in the back, away from the mass of people gathered in the pews. She’s dressed all in black, a large black hat tilted in just a way so as to obscure most of her face. Her glove clad hand is raised to her mouth, her fingers pressed into her lips as if she’s also trying to hold in her cries.
Like most of the people here, I have no clue who she is. No clue who she was to Felicity or what the two of them meant to each other. But even from a distance, I can’t shake the feeling that, somehow, I know this person.
Why is she standing all the way in the back? Had she come to the viewing prior to the funeral services?
I don’t recall seeing a woman such as her come through the line, but I suppose it’s possible I just missed her.
My eyes stay trained on the stranger, my mind whirling as I try to place her as I continue my eulogy.
“Lissy would hate the fact that we’re all crying over her. She was a firm believer of living life to the fullest, and I can just imagine her seeing us all here, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks wet. She’d take one look at us all and say ‘don’t be sad. Because sad spelled backward is das. And das no good.’”
Felicity’s favorite phrase to say to the girls whenever they were feeling blue earns me a collective little laugh, and I’m thankful for the break in the tension. The heaviness in my chest eases a little, and I’m able to make it the rest of the way through my eulogy without issue.
Once I’ve said my final remarks, I’m met with a swarm of people as I step down from the podium. I try to accept their well wishes and remorse, but all I really want is to get to my girls.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I find my way back to my family. Ellie throws her arms around my legs as soon as she sees me, her little fingers grabbing onto my clothes and trying to climb their way up into my arms. I lift her up and hold her against my chest, the weight of her tiny body more comforting than any amount of hugs, words, and handshakes from a room full of strangers.
My mother steps up to me then, tugging both me and Ellie against her in a tight hug. “You did such a good job, son. That was a beautiful tribute.” When she pulls back, I can see her blue eyes are rimmed in red, the faint tracks of her mascara still staining her cheeks. She chuckles as she swipes at them. “I should’ve known to wear waterproof eye makeup.”
My parents still have no idea of Felicity’s infidelity. And I have every intention of keeping it that way. I don’t need to sully their memories of her because of one indiscretion.
A throat clears behind me, and I turn to find my father has joined us. At over six feet tall with the same crystal blue eyes he’d bestowed upon me, Liam Dempsey is a handsome man, even at nearly sixty years old. Sure, there is some gray mixed into his walnut hair and the scruff he’s sported my entire life is now a mix of salt and pepper, but it is easy to see where he’d gotten his call sign back in the day.
Dreamboat.
Lucky for me, I’m his spitting image. Not so lucky for me—the guys down at Cole Security, the military-grade security firm dad’s buddies Jackson and Mark own and operate and the only place that had been willing to hire me after my injury—have started calling me DJ.
Dreamboat Jr.
Deej for short.
Let me tell you how much I love being nicknamed after a teenage girl from a nineties sitcom. Once Mark Dixon had made the connection an
d pointed it out to the rest of the guys… well, let’s just say the asshole had a lot of shit to talk for someone whose call sign came from a fucking tween vampire book.
My dad’s hand clamps down on my shoulder, his thumb and forefinger giving me a firm squeeze. “You did good, son. Lissy would’ve loved that.”
Heat stings my throat, the sound of my late wife’s nickname on my father’s lips nearly doing me in. It doesn’t make any sense. I’ve heard him call her Lissy hundreds, maybe thousands of times over the years. But for some reason, hearing it now, after all that’s happened…
My hold on Ellie tightens, my chest aching as another piece of my heart chips away.
I turn my face away from my family, hoping the brief respite will help clear my head. If I have to stand here another second, hearing about how beautiful the service is or how lovely my speech was…
A flash of movement catches my eye from the back of the room.
The woman from before.
My eyes instantly seek her out, all thoughts of impending tears now forgotten, my mind now focused on figuring out just who she is and what she’s doing here.
Her back is to me now, her steps measured as she heads toward the exit, clearly not wanting to call attention to herself. I flick my gaze down to Gracie, finding her glued to my mother’s side. My mother and father-in-law are approaching, and I know that if I don’t move now, I’m going to miss her.
“Mom, can you watch Gracie for a sec?” I call over my shoulder, not bothering to wait for the answer because I know it’ll be yes. I hoist Ellie up on my hip, deciding she’s going to accompany me on my mission. First, because I don’t want to deal with the meltdown that’s sure to come if I try to put her down. And second, because I’m not quite ready to relinquish my hold on her either.
I keep my head down as I cross the room, hoping my quick pace and the fact that I have my daughter in my arms as I head toward an exit will hinder anybody from trying to hold me up. It works, and before I know it, I’m only a few feet behind the woman.