It was later that morning when I received the knock on my door which altered my world forever. Nate had been in a car accident on the way to the office. An older gentleman had run a red light and hit Nate’s car, driver’s side. The impact killing him instantly.
I wish I could stay in our last perfect moment. Instead, I’m pulled back to the hell that is now my life. No longer able to ignore the blubbering and sniffling, I look to my left and see my mum holding a handkerchief to her nose, tears running down her cheeks, her eyes pinched shut with pain.
For a fleeting moment I wonder what she has to be so sad about. I know my parents loved Nate; they welcomed him into our family with no reservations. This surprised me at the time, being that I’m their only child, and a girl at that. I thought my dad was going to be a bit tougher to conquer, but really I should’ve known: Nate could charm anyone. Not in a used-car salesman type of way, but in the way which was just Nate. He was honest and sincere with everyone he met. Respectful of his clients, fair to his employees and loving and loyal to anyone who was special and meant something to him.
So yeah, I knew my mum was upset, knew she would feel the loss of her only son, but what had she really lost? She had Dad to go home with. When she felt sad or lost, Dad would hold her and comfort her. Who did I have? What would I do tonight when the pain became so overwhelming that I was throwing up in the bathroom? When I couldn’t think of living another day without him and struggled to breathe remembering Nate wouldn’t be the first thing I see in the morning?
The guilt settles in and I give Mum a light comforting tap on her knee. Mum’s eyes pop open and meet mine for a brief moment before I turn my face back towards the wooden box my soul-mate lies in.
The heat of Mum’s stare burns the side of my face while searching, looking, and wishing to see something. I could save her the time and tell her there’s nothing left. Anything I had lies in that coffin, and I am broken beyond all repair.
Normally, I’m an emotional person. Nate would laugh at me all the time when I would cry at silly advertisements on the TV, like the one with the war heroes returning home to loved ones, or the one where the cutest dog ever rolls around in the toilet paper. Don’t ask me why. Or the one about funeral insurance where the old couple are walking down the street holding hands, and suddenly the man disappears leaving the woman walking alone. I wonder if our reactions would’ve been different if we knew then it would soon be us.
Nate wouldn’t recognise me sitting here today: eyes dry of tears, face blank, and body numb. I don’t know why I’m having this reaction. Part of me thinks it’s because deep down I don’t want everyone to watch me fall apart, the other part of me thinks it’s because during the last week I have cried myself out of tears, but most of me thinks it’s because I’m broken.
No longer the Brooke I once was. The happy Brooke, the vibrant Brooke, easy-going, laid-back, and positive Brooke. I’m missing something, and I know exactly what that is: my partner, my conscience, my brainstormer, my handyman, my therapist, my negotiator, my cheer squad, my best friend, my other half … my soul mate.
The pastor calls the pallbearers, and I watch as Saxon leads Nate’s father, Mark, along with Logan and Jake, who are Saxon and Nate’s other best friends from college. It means a lot to me that they flew in on such short notice. I know they’re both busy in their own careers as well, Nate being the only one of the four who has settled down … or had settled down.
I guess I’ll need to get used to talking about Nate in the past tense, as he was instead of as he is. In thinking that notion, a lump forms in my throat and a tightness pulls in my chest.
I watch as they carry my husband out. This will be the last time I see him, walk with him. Standing to follow, there is relief as both my hands are released. Rachel gets to her feet and wraps her arm tightly around my waist, as if she thinks she may have to lead me, help me walk, or carry me even.
My knees weaken, and I think perhaps she may be right. My dad rushes to my side and grabs a hold of me by my elbows. I lean back into him and let him hold my weight. He may be the only man left in my life to support me. The only man left who I can lean on, rely on … depend on.
I decided to have the wake here at the funeral home since I hadn’t determined exactly what I wanted to do with Nate’s ashes yet. I was pretty sure I was going to purchase a memorial plot at the cemetery, but I knew whatever I decided it would be something I would do alone.
Walking down the aisle, I glance around in amazement at how many people are here, considering Nate doesn’t have a huge family. He only has the one sibling, his younger sister Molly, and his parents’ families all live out of state. I shouldn’t be so amazed. I knew the perfectness of Nate better than anyone. He never met anyone who didn’t like him.
I always wondered why he had chosen me, chosen me to love and to cherish, to spend forever with, and to make a home and a family with. Tears build in my eyes as I place my hand protectively over my belly.
Once we reach the foyer I pull out of Rachel’s grasp and head for the bathroom. I look up, willing the wetness in my eyes to dry and not fall. The sedation and numbness begins wearing off as the tightness in my chest expands. I can’t go on like this.
Entering the bathroom, I quickly check the stalls and then proceed to lock myself in one. Using some toilet paper I push the seat lid down, dropping myself onto it as I lean forward with my head between my legs.
I know it won’t be long before they come looking for me, never leaving me alone for more than five minutes to even shower or use the bathroom. I know they think they are being helpful and looking out for me, but I feel like I can’t catch a breath. I haven’t been able to feel the air in my lungs for nearly a week. Will I ever be able to breathe properly again?
Trying to pull myself together, I stand, brush off, and straighten my semi-fitting simple black dress and head towards the kitchen. Feeling somewhat maintained and put together, I push open the kitchen door and stop mid-step. The small amount of breath I was holding leaves me; the ominous lump in my throat and the tears in my eyes return.
I meet his eyes and stare as he looks so deeply into mine. His eyes are like a mirror, a reflection of my own. Loss, anguish, affliction, and sorrow pour out of them. He gives me a small, sad smile, which causes my stomach to coil in a tight knot.
Before I even have time to think, I’m running to him. Throwing my arms around his waist I hold on for dear life, letting everything I feel leak onto his dress shirt. Saxon tenses before he slowly wraps his arms around my back. Being that I only stand at five-foot-three, and he is at least six-foot-four, I am cuddling his waist like a small child.
Saxon bends his knees as he leans lower to meet my gaze and places two hands on my cheeks. Wiping my tears with his thumbs, he whispers, “Oh, baby girl.”
Looking into his eyes, I know why I’ve broken down. Why I’ve let him see me at my most vulnerable. Saxon is the only one who truly understands … the only other person here who has lost their other half … their best friend … their soul mate.
He breaks our stare like he can’t possibly stand to see anymore and stands up straight. He wraps his arms around me again somehow even tighter than before, like this time he is the one holding on for dear life. I let him, placing my face back against his chest.
We stand like this for what feels like hours, but is probably only minutes. His pain and heartache seep out of him and flow over me. It’s strangely comforting, and not at all unsettling.
Eventually my tears settle, and I’m finally able to take a deep breath. I have been waiting all week for some break from the crushing pain, and for a small moment, I have it.
The kitchen door opens and there are mumbled voices, but I am too disconnected to discern them. Suddenly the heat of Saxon leaves me as he hands me over to my father, who hugs me tightly. Someone kisses the top of my head and mumbles something, but I’m not sure whether it’s my dad or Saxon.
All I see is white. Stark white ceiling. Softnes
s and silk wrapped around me, and I register I’m lying in my bed with the funeral running over and over in my head.
The photo montage, which was shown with Faith Hill’s “There You’ll Be” playing in the background. Nate’s first pictures as a newborn, getting up to mischief with Saxon as a child, football photos from high school, college shots of us together, us with all our friends, our wedding, and most recently, the trips we had taken over the years.
Over time Nate’s face matured, but his perfect smile never changed and never failed to be in every single shot. A smile which used to bring me only happiness, now brings nothing but pain.
I think of all the words that were spoken, the flowers that decorated the church, and the faces I saw. I remember my breakdown with Saxon, my dad holding me, whispering soft encouraging words, but I don’t remember anything else. I don’t remember leaving the wake. I don’t remember how I got home or how I made it into my bed.
Glancing down, I see I’m not really in my bed, but sprawled across the top of it with my quilt wrapped over me like a sleeping bag. My body is numb, heavy and weighted into the mattress like I’m sinking in quicksand and have no strength to fight it.
I wiggle my toes to see if I can feel them and assume Mum must have removed my high heels. Slightly shifting my arms, I pat my body to feel what’s going on. I’m still fully clothed, not only in my dress, but stockings and cardigan as well. I drop my arms back to my sides, feeling as if weight and gravity are pulling them down. Closing my eyes again, I pray for more blackness.
“Brooke. Brooke, darling, you need to have something to eat,” my mum’s soft voice whispers into the dark room as she sits on the edge of the bed and rubs her hand over my back.
I roll over onto my side, bury my face into the pillow, and groan. “Please, Mum. Please just go away. Please. Just leave me alone.”
My mum lets out a sob as the bed shifts and her high heels clack down the hallway. Silence doesn’t remain long as heavy footsteps enter. My dad. He moves around to my side of the bed and sits in front of me so I’m unable to turn away from him.
“Your mother and I will go now. She has left some soup and salad in the fridge if you want to try something light. I think you should. We’ll come back tomorrow to check on you.”
I acknowledge my dad with a barely there nod, and he heaves a heavy sigh, kissing my forehead before standing up and walking out. The front door clicks behind them, and I hear their engine start down the driveway.
The guilt for making them feel this way eats at me, for making them feel useless and defeated. This must be hard on them, watching their only daughter crumble right before their eyes. Their once strong, independent, and confident daughter.
I just need some time, some time to grieve and feel broken. I can only truly do that on my own. I want to be able to lie in bed all day feeling sorry for myself without feeling any pressure to get up and move on. Move on. Move on with what? Life? What kind of life will I have now? I don’t have a life that didn’t involve Nate.
I volunteer three days a week at the local art gallery, because I decided to major in one of those creative careers which aren’t actually needed; and someone has to die before any kind of position, in anything remotely related to that area, is available. I help Nate’s mum, Jeanie, one to two days a week with all the charities she supports and sponsors.
I know how lucky I was, not having to work and being able to volunteer doing the things I loved rather than having to go to work doing something I hated because the mortgage needed to be paid, but what will I do now?
There is still no need for me to work as Nate’s business has me more than covered for the rest of my life. Hell, probably for fifty years after I’ve gone.
I lie here and silently hope I have someone to pass it all on to, someone with blond hair and beautiful baby-blue eyes.
Three days later, this is exactly how my parents find me. Still fully clothed, still lying on my bed and still feeling like I’m weighted down with the grief. My mum and dad are calling my name as they walk through the house, but I don’t even have the strength to answer them. My bedroom door is thrown open, and all I hear is a loud gasp and my mother calling out. “David! David … oh my God, David, come quick!”
Mum rushes around to my side of the bed and begins shaking me. Not like the gentle shake of last time but shaking me as if she thinks I’m dead. Shit, she thinks I’m dead.
My eyes fly open and search for hers. When she notices, she pushes me down onto the bed and releases a deep breath. I just lie there, staring at her and willing her to go away. She must read it in my eyes because before I can blink she is running out the room with huge wracking sobs.
She meets my dad in the hall. “She’s not even trying, Dave. I thought she was dead. I thought she had left to be with him.” Her voice is thick with unshed tears. “She hasn’t moved since the funeral, and she even has the same clothes on. Has she gotten up at all?”
A deep breath leaves me and more guilt consumes me. What they must be going through, how hard it must be for them to watch me like this… I carefully roll over and crawl off the bed. Placing my feet on the hard surface of the floor, my head light with the movement. It’s been days since I’ve felt anything except a soft mattress under me.
I walk to the bedroom door and poke my head into the hallway. My dad is holding my mum like she can barely stand on her own. My lips part to say something but nothing comes out. I swallow to wet my mouth, but it’s dry and painful. How long has it been since I’ve had anything to drink? I remember having some Tylenol, or was it Advil, sometime yesterday. Yesterday? Or was that the day before?
Finally my voice seems to work, but it’s quiet and raw. “I’m just going to jump in the shower. Why don’t you get the coffee going so we can sit down with a cup when I get out?”
My mum’s eyes are wide as she turns to look at me. Shock turns to relief and she gives me a bright yet sad smile. Her small grin makes this all worth it.
I trudge to the en-suite and turn on the hot water, adding only the smallest amount of cold to prevent scalding before stepping in.
The hot water running over my back and loosening all the knots makes me wish I had done this three days ago. I take my time washing and conditioning my hair, lathering my body up and enjoying the heat on all my sore muscles from not moving much the last few days.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap my towel around myself and decide to take my time and delay having to face my parents and see the worry in their eyes.
By the time I’ve moisturised every inch of skin, blow-dried my hair then curled it, added a little makeup and swapped outfits three times, I realise I can’t avoid going out there forever. They won’t leave until they’ve seen me, and the better I am the quicker they’ll go.
The kitchen smells of not only coffee, but bacon, eggs, and something sweet.
“Good, you’re out.” Mum turns around from the counter and glances my way. “Wasn’t sure if I was going to have to come and check up on you.”
“No, Mum, I’m fine. Turns out I needed that more than I thought.” I slide down into one of the dining room chairs.
“I’m glad, sweetie. You look so much better already. Now you need to eat something, I’ve made all your favourites: bacon, French toast, blueberry muffins, and I even did a few chocolate-chip pancakes.”
As guilty as I’m feeling, I know there is no way I can stomach any of that. “Mum, I’m sorry but I haven’t eaten much lately, and I don’t think all that is going to sit well in my stomach.”
Her face drops, and the knot in my belly tightens. “Oh, of course not, Brooke. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think of that when I decided to cook all of this up. Don’t worry, how about I make you some toast with a little butter?”
“That would be great. Thanks, Mum. I feel bad wasting all that food though.”
Mum turns towards the pantry to grab the bread, and I’m not even sure I can stomach that.
“Don’t worry about it, swee
tie. Dad is heading into Argo after here, and he can take it in for Saxon and the staff to pick at for afternoon coffee break.”
My body stills at the mention of Argo. How can she mention Nate’s firm so casually, so relaxed, as if it’s just another day at the office, just another day where he would be there to greet them? Making time to have a coffee and chat with my dad while sitting behind his huge mahogany desk looking out floor-to-ceiling windows of his twenty-fourth floor office.
Then it hits me. “Oh my God. I haven’t even thought of Argo. I guess I should be dealing with that. What am I supposed to do about it?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dad says as he enters the kitchen from the back door. “I spoke to Saxon at the funeral, and he says he has it all under control until you decide what you want to do. He said to take as long as you need and to call him if you need anything regarding figures, client lists, etcetera for selling.”
“Selling?” What? “Why would I sell it? It was Nate’s dream. He built that business from the ground up. I don’t need the money, and I don’t want anyone else having it. There is no way I’m selling it.”
My dad lets out a heavy sigh. “Brooke, darling, how are you going to keep the business running? You know even less about investment banking than I do.”
“I have Saxon to run it,” I state, lifting my chin as if I have just made an unbeatable point in this debate.
“Brooke, Saxon has been Nate’s right-hand guy at Argo for six years. They left college together and built Nate’s dream. Don’t you think Saxon has his own dreams and career ambitions he gave up by working for Nate instead of opening his own business, which he is more than capable of doing? I think it would be best to sell and let everyone have a fresh start.” He explains this to me in a manner as if he is explaining the simplest thing to a child—like this is the obvious and only choice.
I look around frantically in the hope that an answer or solution will pop out in front of me, and then there it is. “Well, I’ll get Saxon to train me, and I’ll take over the business.”
Wherever You Will Go Page 2