The rain was befitting of the day and a man hurried to cover me with an umbrella while I walked across the soggy ground to take a seat under the tent. I sat staring at the empty hole in the ground, feeling an odd likeness to my own sentiment. Several men soon replaced the empty space with the casket and the pastor offered a prayer.
When they started lowering him, I suddenly felt an overwhelming need for them to stop. My husband was actually gone and I don’t think it had really hit me until I watched him being lowered into the ground. A deep, pained noise escaped me as I leapt to my feet and reached out for the casket. I knew that when he was in the ground, it was over. He would forever just be a memory to me and I wasn’t ready to let him go.
My hand touched the cold oak and I lost all control then. Someone pulled me away and I tried to breathe in air that I couldn’t find as I watched the casket descending out of sight. My knees gave and whoever was behind me was supporting my weight while I really mourned my lost husband for the first time. There was so much going on that had kept me distracted from the harsh truth that Carson was gone, dead. But all of those distractions vanished, making all the grief hit me at once and I felt like I too, was dying.
The arms holding me started shaking and we both fell to the ground. I listened to a man sobbing behind me and didn’t even care that I had no idea whose arms were around me. I can’t say how long we sat on the grass of that cemetery but when I looked up, the only people around were two younger boys, probably teenagers, filling the grave. The cars were all gone and the chairs had been cleared. I turned to look at the man behind me, relieved to see that it was Brian.
He was just as grief stricken as me and I pulled him into me, resting my cheek on his head as he cried. There was something about his vulnerability that made me want to comfort him even in my own misery. I felt his body fall in to mine and I stared ahead at the dirt falling into the hole in the ground and thought of Carson lying completely alone beneath it. Sitting there next to his grave, I couldn’t accept the fact that there was nothing more for him. Imagining his end to be just that, an end, is not something I can do. And then I saw him.
“Carson!” I cried out, scrambling to my feet. The gravediggers stopped and stared at me while I ran passed them to the tree line. “Carson!”
“Chloe, what are you doing?” Brian asked as he pulled me back to him.
“Brian, I saw him! I saw Carson,” I cried, frantically trying to break free from Brian’s hold.
His eyes filled with pity and I knew that he didn’t believe me. I stuttered to tell him I wasn’t crazy, that I had just seen him standing in the trees, but I knew that nothing I said would make sense because it wasn’t possible. After several moments, I finally diagnosed myself with sleep deprivation and turned to see the two teenage boys whispering about my certifiable behavior and back to Brian. “I’m sorry, I must be delirious,” I offered, feeling embarrassed by the look in his eyes.
He gently took me by the shoulders and we turned to walk away. But as we stepped back toward the grave, there was a loud crack of a branch and heavy footprints running through the woods. We both jumped, turning back to stare into the brush in front of us. “Brian?” I asked, suddenly feeling frightened at the reality of the man I had seen being real.
Brian’s face was just as shocked as mine but he hurried to settle it and smiled back down at me. “Must have been a deer.”
I didn’t argue but we both knew that was not the sound of any animal. He was just doing the natural ease of discomfort by trying to convince me it was nothing. But I couldn’t tell him what I had already decided in my head. Carson was beginning to haunt me and not in the romantic Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore kind of way. Never speak ill of the dead. I shouldn’t have called him a scumbag…
We both stared at the grave one last time, the fresh dirt was heavily piled above Carson and I closed my eyes, attempting to imagine how dark it would be for him beneath it. The boys were loading their truck with the equipment, stealing glances back at me, no doubt waiting for another outburst. I ignored the attention and leaned down to rest my hand on the dirt, fascinated with how easily my hand printed into the mound of damp soil. A small metal plate, courtesy of the funeral home, was stuck into the mud marking this mound to be the resting place of Carson R. Damichi.
“These things are never easy,” a voice said behind me and I turned to see Detective Burns. “I apologize for not making the service but I wanted to pay my respects,” she said as she knelt beside me to lay a bouquet of lilies atop the mound.
“Thank you,” I said, admiring the simplicity of the white lilies.
Her head bowed and I imagined her to be praying and I watched her, curiously debating whether she showed this much personal interest in all her cases. But then again, paying respects could be standard for detectives on murder cases. She silently stood and walked back to her car without saying anything else.
“That was strange,” Brian said as I stood to wipe the mud from knees. I let him lead me to my car and when he went to shut my door, I reached out and caught it before he could, “Wait!” He studied my face while I worked out in my mind exactly what it was that I wanted him to wait for. “Brian, could you…” I tried and broke out into tears again.
I had no one. I had lost my husband and my best friend. My mother-in-law blames me for not keeping my husband satisfied and the thought of staying in that house alone tonight was terrifying. Not because of shadows I had seen or mirages in tree lines, but because I wasn’t ready to face the fact that quiet nights and lonely mornings were going to be my life now.
He knew what I was trying to ask without me even finding the words to do so and I think he was thinking the same about having to go to his empty house. “I will follow you there,” he said, interrupting the silence. I took in a deep breath and watched him walk away.
I felt wrong for leaving Carson behind, like I was abandoning him in the middle of nowhere and that he wouldn’t want to be left alone there. I had never put much thought into what I would want done when I died, but the way I felt about leaving him made me think that I may want to be cremated. I have spent my life in hopes that I wouldn’t end up engulfed in flames when I die, but now I think that I would rather be kept in a familiar place instead of being laid to rest in unfamiliar ground that is completely solitary.
Brian went straight for the bar when we got back to my house. “Forget the glasses,” I said, grabbing my own bottle of bourbon. He let the cabinet close and followed me to the table.
“I don’t know how to start over,” I said as I fell into the chair.
“Me either, Chloe.”
“Do you think it will ever get easier?” I asked.
He shrugged his shoulders and took a drink.
“I spent so much time being angry with him before this happened. I always felt like he was unfaithful, but I never imagined he would fall in love with someone else. But he must have fallen in love with her though, right?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Does it really matter now?” he asked.
“I guess not. But why would Mila have killed him? It isn’t like she didn’t have other options.”
I regretted asking but he didn’t seem to mind. “Maybe she didn’t want anyone to find out about their affair.”
“Do you think she planned on terminating the pregnancy?” I asked, more of a thought that slipped out into the conversation but I looked anxiously at him to see what he thought anyway.
“I don’t know. I can’t make sense of any of it.”
We didn’t talk much after that, but let our own minds roll out what was happening in our lives and I felt a comfort in just having him there with me. Breathing had been a hard enough task this week and the dress and heels weren’t making it any easier. “I am going to change,” I told him, sliding the chair across the tile and wincing with the high-pitched squeal. “Sorry,” I said, laughing when Brain playfully covered his ears.
I stopped in the doorway, staring at the bed in front of me. Ther
e, perfectly nested in the center of the pillows, a single red rose. I stepped back, my hand shaking against the wall. “Brian? Brian, can you come here?”
“What is it, Chloe?” he asked, pushing passed me in the hall. He stopped briefly in the door arch before he shook his head and snatched it from the bed. “Chloe, who put this here?”
“I…I don’t know, Brian.” My voice was weak and my lip started quivering from my efforts of not breaking into tears.
“Chloe, someone was in your house! Who has a copy of your house key?”
“Rosalie…” I said and suddenly felt foolish for my reaction. “It must have been Rosalie. She just told me a couple weeks ago about her indoor rose bushes. I didn’t realize she was going to come by today.”
“And you think Rosalie is the one who left the rose on your door step? If she was just going to let herself in tonight, why wouldn’t she have left the other one inside as well?” he asked, a clear concern on his face that he wasn’t even trying to hide.
“I don’t know…maybe she was in a hurry.” I was now doing the classic ease of discomfort, but still, I took the rose and threw it in the trash. Even if it were from Rosalie, it gave me a weird vibe. I could brush off the rose to be left by Rosalie, but that doesn’t mean I fully convinced myself that it was. And luckily the bourbon seemed to be a temporary cure all for forgetting everything around me.
I woke up the next morning with my head resting on my arm and my eyes staring down at the kitchen table. I sat up and laughed when I saw Brian passed out the same way across from me. He sat up quickly and looked around, “I think you are a bad influence,” he muttered, wincing at the pain in his head from having to speak.
“I think the same of you,” I told him, showing off my bourbon that still had several shots left in the bottle. “Breakfast?” I asked. I hadn’t eaten for days and needed something to soak up the high amounts of liquor I had been consuming. God, I hope I don’t turn into an alcoholic.
“Yes!”
I watched him rolling up the sleeves on his white button up shirt and I smiled at his loosened tie still hanging around his neck. We cooked side by side and I found myself feeling guilty for taking so much pleasure in his company. Carson and I had never cooked breakfast together. Then again, we also never really talked with each other the way Brian and I had these past several days. When you meet someone with romantic potential, the way Carson and I had met, you are never fully yourself. You are the version of yourself that seems most appropriate to draw that person in. There was no pressure with Brian. There were no standards to live up to, just a connection; a real friendship forming.
Chapter Nine
Blue eyes and an innocent smile can take you a long way when you are trying to get what you want. The middle-aged man working the registration desk at the hotel was quick to give me the key card for the room my dear late husband, Mr. Damichi, and Mila had been spending so many afternoons in. Ideally, he would have taken her to some run-down motel on the outskirts of town where they would have both caught a bad case of crabs from the unclean toilet seats. But as always, Carson’s expensive standards secured them a three-hundred-dollar suite with an ocean view.
I ran my hand along the white duvet and looked at the modernized schematics. I snarled at the bright turquoise and yellow décor, they were too happy for a room that was ground zero for destroying my marriage, and I fell back onto the bed. The drive here was filled with trying to convince myself that I was coming here to feel closer to Carson, to see the place that actually brought him happiness in his last days. But deep down, I was only here to indulge in my own hatred for what he and Mila had done. Love and hate are one in the same on the spectrum of powerful emotions. Having that foundation from a love once shared only allows the hatred to grow much, much stronger. And I could be a classic case study to prove that theory.
I could apply my degree to psychoanalyze the way I am feeling. My diagnosis would probably conclude that I was deflecting my pain by holding onto a less traumatic way of coping. That I was focusing my energy on being angry at my husband to avoid the process of grieving his loss. I would probably also tell myself that lying on this hotel bed was not healthy, but that’s all irrelevant. I am angry with Carson and I am holding onto that.
When I realized being in their love nest was not bringing me any closure, I felt an overwhelming need to leave. I sat the room key on the counter and walked out of the hotel feeling no sense of relief whatsoever. Although, I hadn’t exactly had high expectations.
Janet was parked outside the monument manufacturer when I pulled in. I had hoped to beat her there to avoid dealing with her harping for being held up and how valuable her time was but it didn’t come. She stepped out of her car in a track suit that nearly made my jaw drop. Her eyes were resting deep in black pockets on her clearly troubled face and the shaking of her hands caused a tear to build in my eye which I hurried to dismiss. A woman who was always so put together was absolutely in pieces and seeing it was heart wrenching.
We walked in together and a woman about the same age as me was sitting on the counter. Her feet were swinging back and forth and the white cords to her headphones bounced with the bobbing of her head. Janet was annoyed by her lack of acknowledging us, but I was grateful for it. Seeing her so careless was, what is that saying, a breath of fresh air. Janet’s bony finger jabbed into her shoulder and she almost fell off the counter from the surprise.
“I am so sorry,” she said.
“It is okay, we are looking for a headstone for my husband,” I told her while Janet strolled off through the display floor mumbling obvious profanities about the nitwit dancing on the counter. I felt like I should apologize to the girl for Janet’s behavior, but she didn’t seem bothered by it.
“You are Carson Damichi’s wife, aren’t you?” she asked.
I gave my best effort of placing her face, but I had no idea who she was. “Uh, yes. And you are?”
“I am Scarlett,” she said, smiling a big Mila smile that made my nostrils flare in disgust.
“Well, Scarlett, if you hadn’t noticed, my mother in law is not the most patient…” I looked back over my shoulder to see Janet still mumbling under her breath and back to the woman, “or pleasant woman. So, can you help us to get this done as quickly as possible?”
“You got it.”
We walked toward Janet standing in front of a tall, white marble slab and I looked back to the woman, “How did you know my husband?”
“Oh, I didn’t. Not personally. Everyone in Rhode Island knows about what happened to him though. It’s really terrible. That Mila must be like a real-life psychopath, huh?”
Her face was lit up like she was starring in an episode of Forensic Files but still, I wanted to agree with her impression of Mila. I should have been agreeing. But Mila wasn’t a psychopath. She was sick and demented, obviously. But whatever caused her to do it, it wasn’t out of her control. Psychopaths can’t control themselves. She could have. But I didn’t explain that to the woman, I just forced a smile and kept walking to Janet.
I let Janet make all the decisions on his stone, not because I felt sorry for her necessarily, but because I knew it wasn’t my place. She questioned me about the loving husband engraving and I wanted to tell her no, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to take away from her recollection of him so I just smiled and agreed. She already knew about the affair as she so kindly pointed out my responsibility of letting it happen, so I didn’t see any reason to reiterate my anger towards him to his own mother. But I couldn’t let it get too out of control when Scarlett asked if my name should be printed on the stone as well. A casual no was my response and Janet didn’t bother to argue.
After Janet insisted on paying for the stone, I watched her hand shaking as she signed the check. But it wasn’t until I noticed the ink spreading across the thin paper that I realized she was crying. She hurried to push the check across the counter and walked out without saying anything. Scarlett and I shared a quick glance and the
n I followed Janet.
“Do you want to have dinner?” I yelled out before her door closed but it was pointless. Within seconds her taillights were fading down the highway and I was left questioning why I had even tried.
Being home didn’t bring me the usual comfort someone gets from being in the place they call home. The silence in this place, my house, is literally deafening. I opened the patio doors, hoping for anything to take away from the silence. The echoes of the ocean coming through seemed to be singing, he isn’t coming home. But the cool breeze blowing in brought me enough distraction to push those phantom intonations aside.
I was relieved when Brian interrupted the eerie calmness. Being alone had never bothered me before, but now I realize how permanent that isolation is and having Brian here with me eases that reality.
We sat on the balcony passing a bottle of wine. The stars hung above us and I let my head rest against the chair to look up at them pondering my own philosophical cynicism. The sky is an undeniable reminder that we are insignificant in this world. Being nothing more than a microscopic spec in its entirety is a somber truth at best. And no matter how much wine I drank, I couldn’t begin to come up what in the hell the point of it all is.
The breeze chilled with moisture from the ocean and Brian gently wrapped his suit jacket around me. His body heat still warmed the satin lining and the wind swirled the smell of his cologne around my face. It wasn’t a faint essence like the cologne Carson wore, but masculine and sweet at the same time which caused a warming deeper than that of his jacket.
Carson had never offered me his jacket, nor did he ever even bother to take into consideration my discomfort, much less if I was warm or cold. He certainly could have learned some rules of chivalry from Brian which made my mind puzzle into trying to understand what Mila could have seen in Carson that she didn’t see in Brian. The only qualities Carson had that Brian didn’t, that I could note, were certainly not good ones.
The Things We Don't See Page 10