The Optimist's Guide to Letting Go

by Amy E. Reichert

  But down the row full of tires, the last one, she finally found him. He lay on the ground, eyes closed and arms at an awkward angle.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she said as she walked toward him. “Get up. You know scaring me never goes well.”

  He didn’t move, not even a smile or a twitch to let her know he had heard her. He was really committed. She knew how to break him.

  “I have your favorite underwear on.” She stepped over his body, a foot on either side of his waist. He only needed to crack open an eye and take a peek up her skirt to confirm. But he didn’t.

  “Drew, knock it off. You’re taking the fun out of it.” She nudged him with her foot, but it was like trying to move a sandbag. Her mouth went dry as she dropped to her knees, putting her hands on his face. Still warm. His chest rose up and down—not a lot, but he was still alive. Her own breath raced, more than making up for his lack.

  “Drew.” She slapped his face a little. Nothing. She did it harder, then harder. “Drew!” Nothing. He wasn’t playing.

  911. She needed to call 911.

  A blur of sirens and paramedics, then glaring hospital lights. She couldn’t process what was happening. They were supposed to be making love in his office, not roaring into an emergency room. She overheard words like “heart attack” and “nonresponsive.” Those weren’t words for a forty-three-year-old. He just needed to get up. No one was stronger or healthier than Drew. Why wasn’t he getting up? Why weren’t his eyes open? His beautiful, laughing blue eyes. Gina moved to get closer to where he lay but was grabbed by someone in scrubs and pushed out of the room. She pushed back, and more people came to deny her. He needed her. Why wouldn’t they let her go to him? He would wake up if she was there. She knew it.

  “No.” Her voice roared above the emergency room din. “Drew! I need to be with him!”

  An overstrong nurse in green scrubs pushed her to the waiting room, Gina’s feet sliding on the shiny floors as she tried to get around the woman. “Mrs. Zoberski.” She held her firm. An NFL linebacker wouldn’t get past this woman. “We’ll come get you when we’re done, but we need you out here so we can work.” The doors behind her swung shut, and she could no longer see the room where Drew was. He wouldn’t know she was here. How much she needed him.

  A low moan of defeat came from her lips. The effort of resisting had been too much and now the adrenaline was gone, leaving limp muscles behind. Instead of holding her back, now the burly nurse had to hold her up.

  “Is there someone I can call for you?” She waited for Gina to answer the question.

  Gina covered her mouth with her hands. This was serious. Like he might not make it serious. Her mind whirled like a carnival ride as she tried to contemplate a world without Drew’s smile and warm feet and warmer heart. Another person in scrubs came to sit next to her, helping her call Vicky. She couldn’t speak, so the woman did. She stared at the hospital floor tiles, matte so they didn’t reflect the bad lighting.

  Time stopped. Her mind detached. Would she be here long? She should get back to the shop so Drew’s customers could get their bikes. She should have grabbed his schedule while she was there. She should write this down on a list, but she didn’t have any paper or pens with her. Why wasn’t she more prepared?

  Then her mother arrived. She didn’t have flowers. She replaced the faceless person in scrubs. Vicky must have called her. She didn’t speak either. Gina could only get one word out from her clenched jaw.

  “May?”

  “Vicky is picking her up from school right now and bringing her here.”

  A woman with short red hair in a white coat finally came out from where they’d taken Drew. The red hair stood out against the hospital’s bland colors and a bright blue and yellow Tweety Bird bandage was wrapped around her index finger. The edges were peeling back. She wanted to get the woman a new bandage and help her put it on. The red-haired doctor was followed by a person in green scrubs. Gina didn’t know if it was the same person who had pulled her away from Drew. They were all concerned brows and folded hands. She hated them.

  “Mrs. Zoberski.”

  Gina shifted her weight to her feet to stand. She didn’t want to have to look up at them when they said aloud what their faces had already told her. But the floor seemed to alter, turning to ice, and any strength in her legs fled. She couldn’t find her footing and melted to the ground, the cold floor numbing her body. Crumbs of dirt bit into the palms of her hand and a goldfish cracker stared at her from underneath a nearby chair. They should sweep more.

  But the doctor still knelt beside Gina.

  “Mrs. Zoberski, your husband had a myocardial infarction, what you would call a heart attack. He survived the first one but had another in the hospital. We couldn’t save him. I’m so sorry for your loss.” She said more words, explanations for why this had happened, but all Gina could understand was the “we couldn’t save him” part. They couldn’t save him. Drew had never needed saving, not once. He was the saver, the knight in white armor.

  A wail poured from her throat as she fought to remain whole, but lost. She wanted to curl into a ball to preserve what she could, but the truth pulled at her, demanding its payment. Her heart tore into two. People talked about a broken heart, a metaphor for sadness. But at that moment, Gina knew it was no metaphor. A ragged cut slowly pulled her apart, like a piece of paper being ripped in two. She would never be whole again. No amount of ointment or bandages would heal it. Arms, not her own, wrapped around her shoulders, doing their best to contain the damage, but it was too late.

  “When you’re ready, we can take you back to him,” a voice said.

  She nodded. She’d see him if it meant crawling to him on her hands and knees, but her mom, with strength she drew from somewhere unknown in her modest frame, pulled Gina up and looped her arm around her waist. They followed the doctor together, through heavy doors that closed with a whisper behind them. Past rooms where people waited with small children, past a room where several people surrounded a patient, past a gangly teen boy with his arm in a sling. Machines beeped and people spoke in urgent tones. The hallway went on forever. A part of her wished the hallway would keep going, because she knew what waited for her at the end.

  And then there was Drew. A nurse finished coiling a tube and pushing a machine out of the way. He wasn’t connected to anything—there was nothing left to track. He looked exactly the same as he had that morning. Same silver-flecked gold hair, same big strong arms, same tattoo trailing down, marking her way home. But everything was different, too. Motionless, he may as well have been wax.

  His chest was bare, so she could see her and May’s names, still over his heart, still with him. May’s childlike writing etched on his skin. Forever. She touched her hand to the spot, begging for a miracle, a flutter, one more second to tell him how much she needed him and loved him and couldn’t live a life without him. How May needed him. Her heart stuttered at the thought. She had been so focused on herself and Drew, she had forgotten May. This fresh agony cut even deeper, making it impossible to breathe. What should have doubled her grief instead multiplied it by ten, twenty, a hundred, like some horrific grief calculus. Drew would never see May graduate high school, fall in love, get married. He wouldn’t be able to teach her how to drive or move her into her first apartment. The loss pushed down on her like a mountain. She wished she could let it crush her to dust. Anything to make it stop.

  How could he be gone? Couldn’t they start today over? She swore if she could wake up again, she’d pack him in the car and take him to the hospital to find the problem. Just back it up a few hours.

  He was already cool to the touch. She lay her head on his chest, then regretted it instantly. There was no heartbeat, only the husk of the man he had been hours before. She leaned over to kiss his lips, her hand held his stubbly chin for the last time.

  “I’d still jump in a river for you.”

  Her voice cracked.

  Her mom took her hand, and they stared toge
ther at his body, Gina wondering where the spirit of him had gone. The noise in the hallway continued just like before, and Gina didn’t understand. How could life go on without Drew? How could she go on?

  “May will be here soon. You need to pull yourself together and move forward. You need to be there for her like I was there for you and Victoria.”

  Gina yanked her hand away and stepped back.

  “No.” The anger felt good, giving her a place to funnel all the rawness. “I’m not you, Mom. I’m not going to just get over Drew and get back to my life like you did when Dad died.” Lorraine sucked in a breath. “I don’t want to move forward. I can still feel his kisses on my lips, smell his aftershave on my shirt. We were supposed to be having lunch at his shop right now. I will not pretend that this isn’t destroying me.”

  Lorraine straightened her spine and pinched her lips.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “No, you’re the one who has no idea, Mom.”

  Her mother’s lips grew thinner.

  “Daddy? Daddy?” May’s voice rang down the hall and Gina stepped out to meet her, pulling her into a hug, her body blocking May’s view. Vicky followed a few steps behind. Gina didn’t want May to see her dad like this, so still and cold. She should remember him vibrant and boisterous. “I want to see Daddy. Is he okay?”

  Gina shook her head and looked into Vicky’s eyes over her daughter’s dark hair. Vicky covered her mouth as her eyes welled.

  “No, baby. But you don’t need . . .”

  Lorraine joined Gina in the hallway, gently setting her hand on Gina’s shoulder.

  “She does.”

  “No . . .”

  Lorraine’s voice grew firmer and she unwrapped Gina’s arms from around May, freeing her.

  “You can’t protect her from this. It’s important for her to say her goodbyes herself.” Her mom grabbed Gina’s hand. “There is a healing in farewells that she is going to need.”

  May shrieked when she ran into the room, a sound Gina had never heard come from her daughter before. She stopped inside the door and took a step back. Vicky, a step behind her, set her hands on May’s shoulders. As she watched May take in the truth, Gina’s heart broke in half again for her daughter, leaving her only a quarter to live on. May and Drew had been two peas in a pod. She even knew how to take an engine apart and put it back together, just like her father had taught her. Last year, she’d repaired the stand mixer with his help. Who would help her now?

  Lorraine had been right about one thing. She needed to pull herself together for May. She’d keep her mourning private or with Vicky. May needed to be her focus. That one thought, and her quarter of a heart, would get her through the next moment, and then the next, and maybe even the next.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Erin, the therapist, pointed at a picture of an apple, asking Lorraine to make the A sound. She opened her mouth, and a completely different sound came out. Lorraine tried not to get frustrated, but her mouth refused to make the sounds her brain wanted them to make. Gah! She knew the sound she wanted, but her mouth wouldn’t cooperate. She huffed, and Regina looked up from where she still sat on the couch after getting Lorraine’s things packed for the move to the rehab facility. Was that girl ever going to go home? What was she avoiding?

  “I know. It’s frustrating. It will get easier,” Erin said. Lorraine liked how she spoke slowly. Over the last few days, it had proven difficult to keep up with quick-moving conversations. This one was young and patient. “Would you like me to freshen your water?”

  She waited a moment, and Lorraine nodded.

  “Try to say ‘yes.’ Ya-ya-es.” Lorraine scowled, but Erin waited on her chair like she had all the time in the world.

  Lorraine thought about how the sound would come out of her mouth.

  “Yaa.”

  “Good. That is good progress. I’ll be right back with your water.”

  Erin left the room with Lorraine’s Styrofoam cup, and Regina walked next to her bed.

  “You’re doing really well, Mom.”

  Lorraine scowled up at her. She didn’t need to be patronized.

  “And who says you need words, anyway? You’ve been communicating with your glares all my life.”

  Regina smiled at her, her eyes wrinkling at the corners, and Lorraine saw it. Her Regina had Joe’s easy smile, and her eyes were the same shade of warm brown as his. She’d never allowed herself to think about it, shoving the thought away at the slightest nudge, but as she looked at her daughter’s face, she saw more and more of him. Lorraine gave a crooked smile back.

  Lorraine and her dad were there to buy her a car so she could get to her outings at the club, visit her friends, and get to the local food bank where she volunteered—on her mother’s insistence. Every well-bred woman found a way to give back to the community. At twenty-three, she needed her independence, and besides, her mother shouldn’t have to be at her beck and call. So there they were at the Houser Used Car Lot on a sunny, Tuesday afternoon in April. The wind still had a bite to it as it fluttered her pastel yellow pleated skirt against her legs. Lorraine crossed her arms as she followed her dad through the maze of cars, trying to hold in body heat through her thin sweater.

  “Hi, may I show you something specific, sir?”

  Lorraine turned to see a man not much older than she was, with dark hair combed off his face, cropped short around the ears and neck. His big brown eyes and five o’clock shadow caught her attention, tracing his angular jaw and framing full lips that smiled at her. He wore a white collared shirt and a dark blue corduroy jacket over matching pants with a little flair at the ankle. He was dreamy. Lorraine smiled back at him, her teeth chattering from the breeze, then looked at her feet before her dad could notice her attraction.

  “We need a car for my daughter. Something manageable and reliable.”

  The young man held out his hand and shook her father’s. “I’m Joe. Joe Sandowski and I’d be happy to help you.”

  Her father eyed Joe up and down, then nodded.

  “You can try.”

  Lorraine rolled her eyes at her dad’s attempt to intimidate poor Joe. Then poor Joe handed Lorraine a thin plaid blanket he’d been holding in his left hand. “It’s a bit cold, so I thought this might take the edge off.”

  She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. Her father could be so rude with people he thought were beneath him. Joe didn’t seem bothered by the attitude. And was it her imagination, or did her eye roll feel like a joke she and Joe shared?

  “Tell me more about what you’re looking for and the price range.”

  “It needs to start, even in the winter. She doesn’t need some big boat, either. Price isn’t a problem.”

  Her daddy would never admit that cost was a factor, but she also knew he’d nickel-and-dime this salesman so he’d barely get any commission at all.

  “Does your daughter have a favorite color?”

  Joe looked at her for an answer, but her dad and she spoke at the same time.

  “Color doesn’t matter,” her father said.

  “Blue,” Lorraine said. She realized he was wearing the color from head to toe and blushed. She really did like blue, but maybe now she liked it a bit more.

  “I have one that might be perfect.” Joe led them to a powder-blue Volkswagen Beetle. Compared to the long lines and flat edges of the other cars, it seemed to be made from balloons, liable to float away into the clear sky it matched. Lorraine loved it on sight.

  “You expect me to buy a foreign car? A German one, no less?”

  “I understand your reservations, but let me tell you a bit more about the engineering.” He continued talking about safety and cylinders and parts that meant nothing to her, but she hoped he wouldn’t ever stop talking because then she would lose her excuse to stare at him. She held the corner of the blanket to her nose, pretending she was brushing some hair away from her face. Then she wrapped it tighter around her shoulders, hoping
some of the scent, like campfire and pipe smoke, would rub off onto her sweater.

  As he spoke to her father, he maintained eye contact, answered with good humor, and stood with confidence, not intimidated by this man twice his age—and her father loved to intimidate people.

  “Would you like to take it for a test drive?”

  Joe directed the question at her, but again, her father answered.

  “I’ll drive it. Lorraine, you can wait in the car.”

  She nodded and walked back to her father’s shiny black Cadillac, glancing once over her shoulder toward Joe, unable to take her eyes off of him. She waited in the car for an hour while her dad drove around with Joe, then they went home. She assumed that was it, but even though her dad never said a word over breakfast, that morning someone from the dealership delivered the car to their house while she and her mom were out running errands. She found the car in their driveway, with the keys waiting in the ignition for her. With a clap of joy and after calling her father at work from the kitchen phone to thank him, Lorraine sat in the car alone and in awe. It was hers. It was freedom.

  The seats were a beige leather and creaked when she sat in the driver’s seat. She ran her hands over the large black steering wheel, warm from sitting in the sun. She flipped down the visor, and a piece of paper floated onto her lap. It was a note.

  You stole my blanket. I’d like it back. Joe

  Lorraine held the note to her chest and looked around, worried someone—her mother, a neighbor, anyone who could tell her father—had seen. Joe had guts, she’d have to give him that. Her father could have found the note, and surely Joe had noticed her father’s distaste for anyone he viewed as beneath him—which was nearly everyone.

  It would be a few hours before her mom emerged from her afternoon nap, where she’d retired after expressing her concern over the Beetle’s safety.