by Amy Marie
“Time to pull out the big guns and fix the ginger and lemon tea?” Alex’s disembodied voice calls from the kitchen.
I make a muffled sound of agreement from my spot on the couch. My legs are propped up on the arm, and my arms are flung over my face.
A few minutes later, the smell of ginger and lemon rouses me from my stupor, so apparently Alex understood me. “I’ll set this on the coffee table so you can drink it when you sit up,” he says softly. I fling one arm in the direction of his voice, and he pulls me up to sitting with a chuckle.
We sip our tea in silence for a bit, and I slowly feel the warmth spreading through me. The scent soothes me as much as whatever healing properties are in the ginger. Alex’s eyes keep darting to mine, assessing me. It’s a bit unnerving, and I finally have enough. “What is it, Alex?”
He startles, but he nods in acknowledgment. “I was waiting until the tea kicked in a bit. I had a text from Bryant earlier. His dad has been drinking pretty heavily in the wake of his mother’s death, and he finally said he was going to get some help. Bryant asked if you might have any suggestions about who to see.”
I ponder for a moment. “I don’t actually know anyone who specializes in addictions, although I could find out. But it sounds like the underlying issue is grief. Evan Black does individual and group therapy in Bowling Green, and so does Adam Steinborn. I’ll get the contact information, and he can see if they take his insurance or are accepting new patients.”
“Thanks, Mom. It was a really good day.”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be a while before I can move.”
Alex chuckles as he swallows the last of his tea. Putting down his cup, he leans back in the recliner. “I may sleep here.”
New Year’s Eve night
I reach for the last piece of the Christmas village and wrap it, tucking it safely in the box with the others. As I close the box, I glance around the room. All the peripheral decorations are packed up—the mantel, the windowsills, the coffee table. I’ll work on the bigger stuff later. As for my prep for tomorrow, the black-eyed peas are soaking overnight, and I’ll cook them for lunch along with a big country ham, turnip greens, and cornbread.
The phone jars me out of me reverie. I glance at the display, and of course, it’s Alex. Who else would be calling me outside of business hours? No one.
“Hey, sweetheart. What’s up?”
His deep chuckle fills the line. “Since we both know you’re not going to make it till midnight, I called to wish you an early Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year to you. You know me well.”
“I’ll be there around 10 am tomorrow. You’re leaving the tree and outside stuff that needs a ladder for me, right?”
“I am. I’ve been slowly de-Christmasing the rest of the house today and yesterday. I should have the ornaments and lights off the tree by the time you arrive. I’ll even let you help me put the boxes away.”
“Good. I’ll be driving myself instead of carpooling this time, so I’ll have my truck to haul off the tree.”
“Sounds good.” I pause for a moment, debating exactly how to ask this without breaking any confidentiality. “So how is Bryant’s dad doing? Do you know if he contacted one of the referrals I sent for him?”
“You know, Bryant mentioned that things were completely different at Christmas. No details, though. They don’t talk things out as much as we do.”
“Hazards of the job, I’m afraid,” I chuckle.
“True. Anyway, he said he just wrote the info on a note and left it for his dad when he went back to school after Thanksgiving. He came back to a big improvement at Christmas. His dad didn’t mention what had changed, but Bryant didn’t see any alcohol or empties in the house at all, and his dad looked better than he had in a few years. He said it was like getting his dad back. They even had a family outing with his older brother, Grant. Ring shopping for his girlfriend.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.” How do I lead the conversation without seeming too curious? “I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you mention Mr. Crawford’s first name.”
“I think it’s Clint? Big guy—well, you know how tall Bryant is. He got it from his dad.”
“Makes sense.” I close my eyes for a moment, and I can definitely see the family resemblance. Then I remember the dimples. Yep, the silver fox is definitely Bryant’s dad.
This could get awkward.
Chapter 2
Clint
New Year’s Day
I smell the coffee brewing and smile even before I open my eyes. Grant’s girl, Kathleen, is all about coffee. She got me a coffee pot for Christmas that I can set to go off in the mornings.
Helluva great way to wake up.
I stretch, hearing more noise from my joints and feeling more protests from my muscles as the years go by. Maybe I need to talk to Grant about what I can do to keep from feeling like such an old man.
My finger still feels naked without my ring. I took it off on the anniversary—the one-year mark. I put it in Amelia’s jewelry box, already packed away. Was I ready? I don’t know. Probably not, since I went off the rails right after that. It just felt like something I needed to check off a list.
Wife’s been dead one year? Happy anniversary. Take off the ring.
Check.
How did I get here? It feels like just yesterday that I was young and helping with midnight feedings. How in the hell am I fifty-eight years old already, and alone?
The coffee maker gives its last gurgle and beeps, so I reluctantly slide out of bed as the cold hits me. I pull on some lounge pants and a sweatshirt, slide my feet into my slippers, and head to the kitchen.
I reach into the freezer and grab the last piece of the pumpkin walnut bread Kat’s mother sent at Thanksgiving. I pop it into the toaster oven to warm and grab some butter to spread on it. I’m absently scratching my beard and bringing everything to the table when my phone beeps. I reach for my coffee and sip it, still scratching, as I pull up the notification. A text from Bryant.
Bryant: Happy New Year! Call when you can talk.
Me: Now okay?
The phone rings a moment later. “Hey, Dad—Happy New Year! You’re up early.”
“Happy New Year to you! I’ve started getting up early again like I used to.”
Bryant pauses for a moment. “Yeah, about that. I noticed you seemed a lot more like your old self at Christmas. After what you said at Thanksgiving…well, I was wondering. You said something about getting help, and it seems like maybe you did?”
“I did. I never did thank you for your help.” I take another sip of coffee to fortify myself for the discussion ahead. I’ve hidden so much, and Dr. Black is always encouraging me to be more open to those close to me.
“I saw the note you left me, and I decided to get right on it. I called the first name, and he had a cancellation that Monday after Thanksgiving. I took the day off work, went to the appointment that morning, and jumped right into what he asked of me.”
I sigh. “The drinking—well, it became a crutch. I really don’t think it was an addiction issue, because I went months drinking very little. But when we hit that one-year mark, and then heading into Thanksgiving?” I drop my head into my hand. “That just pushed me over the edge.”
“I hadn’t really thought about the timing.”
“Yeah, it was pretty rough. Anyway, even though we both felt I wasn’t dealing with addiction, he suggested I give up alcohol while going through therapy. Said it would be good if I were clear-headed and not using bourbon to avoid dealing with my feelings. Since I had been drinking so heavily, he asked me to do an out-patient rehab alongside therapy, just so they could monitor me medically as well. It made sense. There’s no denying I was in bad shape by then.”
“Yeah, Grant and I were really concerned. We were planning an intervention if you hadn’t said you were gonna get help.”
“I love that you two were willing to do that, but I’m glad I saved you from having to.”
“So now I’m in individual and group therapy. He asked me to commit to six months without drinking, so that’s what I’m doing. He doesn’t want me hiding from my feelings.”
“Is it working?”
“Yeah. And it sucks. It sucks a lot.” We laugh, and there’s that damn awkward silence again. “He’s encouraging me to be more open, especially with you and Grant—so here goes. There is one thing he’s talked with me about—I don’t know how I feel about it. I think it might help if I talked it out with someone. You up for it?”
“I think we both know feelings are not either of our strong points, but I’m willing to try.”
“He…well, he’s asked me to think about attraction. And love.”
“Not to sound like every therapist on TV ever, but how does that make you feel?”
“Damn uncomfortable. Wrong.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Like even considering it is cheating on your mother.”
Bryant clears his throat and stutters a few false starts before deciding which direction to go. “So is he actually asking you to start dating again?”
“Well, no,” I say hesitantly. “He just wants me to sort through how I feel about it. To see if I can find a way to be open to love again if I happen to find it.”
“But he’s not asking you to act on anything, right? Just sort through your feelings now, before you run into anyone that you might be interested in?”
“Yeah…”
“Okay, let me start by saying if you have the opportunity to be happy, take it. Whether it’s doing this work to be healthy, or finding a hobby and a group of friends, or finding someone else to love,” he talks over me as I try to disagree. “Choose. To. Be. Happy.”
“Well, when you put it like that, I can hardly object,” I grumble.
“No, you can’t,” he answers snidely. His voice softens, and I hear his mother’s kind heart. “Besides, let’s just pretend we’re at some random point in the future, and you run into someone who interests you.”
My mind immediately goes to the pretty redhead from last night. Roxie. I shake my head to clear those thoughts. I’m not ready. Not sure I ever will be.
“So you meet someone who could make you happy. Someone who wants, or maybe needs, you in their life, too. What if you haven’t dealt with the guilt—guilt that is inevitable for someone who has truly loved someone else? What if you haven’t given yourself permission to be happy, and you screw it up? Not just for you, Dad, but for both of you?”
He might as well have landed a punch right to my solar plexus. He just knocked all the air from my lungs. “I…I never thought of it that way.”
“I know. I watch Doctor Phil.”
I snort. “Little shit.”
“Yeah.” He laughs with me. “Seriously, Dad, he’s just asking you to sort through your feelings, not act on them. But if you don’t sort through them, you aren’t being fair to yourself. Mom would never want us to close ourselves off from love. Do you think she begrudges me getting hugs and being mother-henned when I visit Alex’s mom? No. And I know that’s different from your situation. If Mom were here, this wouldn’t be on your radar at all.”
He hesitates before continuing. “But Dad, she’s not here. And if you never meet someone else worth being with, that’s fine. But if you do... I’m okay with that. And Grant would be, too. She wouldn’t be taking Mom’s place. She’d have her own place. Besides, Grant’s life is centered in Nashville, and frankly, I may be headed that way myself. I’m still sorting out exactly what I want to do, but he and I have talked about spending some time down there and looking at options. I just hate the thought of you being stuck here alone. It seems like you’ve cut everyone else out of your life over the past few years.”
“You’re right. I’m trying to re-establish some friendships, but frankly, some of our couple friends just seem awkward when I’m around. Like widowhood is contagious or something—I don’t know. But I am trying.”
“I know, Dad. And I’m proud of you.”
My eyes burn, and I dig my fingers into the corners, futilely trying to prevent tears from falling. “Proud of you, too, son.”
Then he can’t help himself. “Just you wait and see, Dad. One of these days, you’ll have to tell me I was right.”
“And just like that, our Hallmark moment is gone, you little shit,” I chuckle.
Week of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day
Dr. Black looks tired—and so, so happy. I smile to myself, remembering those early days. He jumps in as soon as the group starts gathering. “It’s been a while since I saw everyone! Just to keep down the disruption factor, I brought some pictures on my iPad and a digital frame, and those will be on the snack table afterward. But now, I cannot tell you how much I need adult interaction. No new faces, so introductions aren’t necessary tonight. So please, someone—anyone—start us off!”
Chuckling, I raise my hand. “I think I’d like to talk some things out. I talked with one of my sons about something you brought up. You wanted me to sort through my feelings about being attracted to someone, and even the possibility of opening myself up to love again.” I lean forward on my knees, looking down as I decide how to continue.
“And I gotta say, I’m struggling. I’ve spent decades in love with one woman, and everyone else was off limits. Not because she wouldn’t allow it, but because they were…” I wave my hand, searching for the right word. “Superfluous. No one else even registered as attractive. As in attracting me, not as in objectively pretty. Am I making sense?” I get a few nods, so I continue.
“So it just feels like that switch is permanently off as far as anyone else is concerned. But my son made some good points. He said that first of all, you’re not asking me to do anything about this—just to sort through the feelings as part of the grieving process and closure and all that. But then he had to go and add that if I hadn’t resolved all that, and I did meet someone that I could care about, that I could hurt her by trying to work through it all then. And I could potentially screw up something good for me, and for her, as well.” A few murmur their agreement.
“And that’s all well and good. The last thing my Amelia would want is for me to hurt someone else or to be miserable. But I just can’t worry about some hypothetical woman’s feelings quite yet when I’m feeling so damn guilty for even considering that she might exist. I know... ” My voice cracks from emotion, and when I clear my throat and try again, I can barely get any volume out. “I know Amelia is gone. I know I’m not getting her back. And I know she would want me to be happy. But when I put myself in her shoes and imagine her being the one left behind, the idea of her with anyone else rips me to shreds.”
Marcus, the one who probably understands better than anyone else in the room, hands me a tissue for the tears I didn’t realize were running down my face. He clears his throat before speaking hesitantly. “I, uh, met someone.” His eyes look tormented, but hopeful at the same time. “Some mutual friends had a party, and she was there. We talked a little, and nothing came of it. But I finally realized that this could be something.”
He runs his hands through his hair, then looks up at the ceiling as if it contains answers. “We share the same values. Lots in common. She was widowed a few years before I was and has been running the family business. She’s already raised kids—she had them much younger than we did, and the son just graduated with his business degree and is starting to shoulder part of the load of the business. The daughter is a couple of years behind him and has plans to join him.”
He looks at me for a moment and smiles, which means he’s thinking of little Chloe. “And let me tell you, this woman is beautiful. But what actually caught my eye? She was talking to Chloe at the dessert table. Chloe wanted a piece of cake, and Sophia sliced it for her. Not a huge piece like a grandmother would cut, but a small one that a mom would cut, one appropriate for a ten year old
at that time of evening. And she talked to her like she was a normal person, laughing at her jokes. She offered to carry her plate to her seat since she was in a pretty party dress if Chloe would grab dessert forks and napkins for them both. She spared her feelings and still made sure she didn’t ruin the dress she was infatuated with.”
He shakes his head. “And I don’t know. I don’t know if anything else will ever come out of that interaction. Maybe that’s all she is for us—just that moment of possibility. But I realized that there could be room for someone else in our hearts. And it could be good for all of us. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make room for...the possibility. Of more.”
My heart hurts. My body feels numb, and it’s in much better shape than my heart. I don’t know what to do, Amelia. It feels so wrong. Bryant was right—if Amelia were here, this wouldn’t even be an option.
But you left me, Amelia. And I don’t know if I can forgive you for it.
The bitterness shocks me, and I realize I’ve never admitted this to myself. I catch Dr. Black’s eyes, and he smiles. “I recognize that look. Whatever just crossed your mind, make a note of it and start untangling it. We’ll work on it together in your session tomorrow.” I pull out my phone and open the note app—not that this thought is one I’m likely to forget.
The next day, I’m fidgeting in my chair as Dr. Black takes his seat. I catch his eyes, then admit, “I’m a hot mess today. First, all the hypothetical new love stuff, then in the middle of it, I kinda had one of those little mini-conversations with Amelia. Well, me saying what I want to express to her. You know what I mean.”
He nods, so I continue. “Mostly just saying I didn’t know what to do because it felt so wrong, and wishing I had her help.”
My hands squeeze the edge of my seat, knuckles white. “But then it took a turn I wasn’t expecting. I remembered what my son had said: if Amelia were here, none of this would be an option. But she’s not here.”