by Ellie Wade
I put on the dress and slip on some black flats. Stepping over toward the nightstand on Leo’s side of the bed, I pick up his wedding ring. I find the wooden box Leo made me and run my fingers across the quote he carved into the top. My knees threaten to give out. I hold on to every ounce of strength I have to remain upright.
Opening the lid, I take a necklace from the box and let the Tiffany’s heart pendant slide off the chain, and I replace the heart with Leo’s ring. The funeral director asked me if I wanted Leo to be buried with it, and I told him no. I want that piece of him, of our marriage, on me. Leo wouldn’t mind. He told me once that I could cremate him and flush his ashes in the toilet for all he cared. I remember gasping and smacking his arm when he said that.
He simply stated, “Babe, when I die, my soul will be wherever souls go. My body is just a shell, and when my soul leaves it, it’s useless. I don’t care what you do with it.”
So, I know that he wouldn’t want to be buried with something that held importance to me.
Holding my hand to my chest, I feel his titanium band against my skin, and I sigh before making for the bathroom. The room is mirror free, thanks to my outburst, and now, it’s also glass and blood-free, thanks to Amos. I brush my teeth for at least five minutes. It feels so refreshing. I can’t remember brushing them since … it happened. I run a brush through my wet hair before twisting it into a low bun. Using my compact as a mirror, I apply some tinted moisturizer to my face to aid in covering up the purple bags under my eyes. After a quick layer of waterproof mascara, I deem myself presentable. Though minimal, the effort is daunting.
I find Amos in the kitchen, dressed in his suit.
“Hey.” He smiles sweetly. “You look beautiful.”
I shake my head. “Beautiful, no, but hopefully, I look human … enough.”
“You definitely look human.” He plates a couple of breakfast burritos and sets them down on the table. “You need to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry,” I protest.
“I understand that, but you’ve barely eaten anything in four days. You’re going to pass out at the funeral. Please eat. For me?” he pleads.
“We’re going to be late.”
He sets a large mug of coffee and a tall glass of water on the table above the plate. “That doesn’t matter. They won’t start without you. I’ll call and make sure of it. You need to eat something. It’s going to be a long day.”
“Fine,” I relent with a sigh and take a seat at the table.
I bite into the burrito, and though I know from experience that Amos’s breakfast burritos are delicious, this one tastes like cardboard. I use the glass of water to help me get it down.
Amos rinses off the pan, dries it, and puts it away before walking over to me.
“Besides the obvious, how are you feeling about today? About seeing everyone?” he questions.
“Really nervous. You saw me in the bathroom. That’s me as of late.” I put the burrito down on the plate and take a sip of the coffee, which tastes like ass.
“You’ll be okay. I’ll be by your side the entire time, and if you need to leave, we’ll leave. You don’t have to stay for the luncheon afterward.”
“That’s probably a good idea. I can barely stomach any of this.” I gesture to the half-eaten burrito before me. “We should go.”
“Okay.” Amos doesn’t argue with me, and I’m grateful.
I just want this day to be over.
He retrieves my phone from the bedroom and puts it into my purse. I’m not sure why since I haven’t opened a message from anyone but Amos in four days.
“Phone and purse. Anything else?”
“No.”
He extends a hand toward me, and I place my hand in his palm. He leads me out to his car and gets me buckled up in the passenger seat before closing my door and walking around the front of the car to his door.
As he pulls out of my drive, I can’t help thinking that I have no idea how I’m going to get through this day. I still can’t believe any of this is real. Yet my shattered heart reminds me that it is. I can fall apart when I get home, but somehow, I have to make it through today. For Leo, I must.
FIFTY-ONE
Alma
Pulling into the Hardings’ estate brings a whole new wave of nausea. I hate this place—this glamorous, majestic, lonely, tortured place. In the five years I knew Leo, we were here the same amount. Even once a year was too much. Leo’s nightmares following a visit would last for weeks.
It was important to him though to try to mend the severed bonds between him and his family. Despite everything they had or hadn’t done for him, he wanted to make it better. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to heal. His heart was always too gentle and pure to be attached to the Harding name.
He saw his mother, brother, and Cat more than once a year but always on safe ground—a restaurant or our home—not here.
“He would hate this,” I say as Amos continues down the long driveway.
There are at least a hundred cars parked in the front lawn. Enormous flower displays line the drive. The front yard alone tells me that the Hardings spared no expense for this gathering, and yet I know that the effort is meaningless. This is all their fault.
“He hated extravagant parties. He hated this estate. I can’t believe I agreed to this.” Disappointment in myself cripples me and adds to the suffocating agony that is my existence.
“It doesn’t matter. Leo would be glad that you were spared the heartache of planning his funeral. Who cares what these people do? You can celebrate his life and mourn his loss and honor him in your own way. All he cared about was you anyway,” Amos says.
“I should’ve planned it.” My voice is heavy with tears.
“You’re doing the best you can, Alma. Leo wouldn’t blame you for a second.”
I simply nod because that much is true. I could do no wrong by my husband, but it doesn’t mean that I didn’t want more for his soul’s send-off. I don’t want this circus. He deserves something real. Amos is right; all Leo cared about was me. I’ll find a way to make this better. I’ll say good-bye to him in my own way.
Amos parks in the front circle drive. I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath, willing strength to permeate my every cell as the air fills my lungs.
My door opens, and my friend extends a hand. “You ready?”
“No,” I sigh, but I exit the car anyway.
We walk through the house until we’re in the back of the estate. The lush lawn is so ornately decorated with lovely flowers that it looks like a wedding. There are rows of white metal chairs facing the front altar, where Leo’s titanium-colored casket rests. The casket is draped with a spray of white lilies. Next to Leo’s casket is a huge canvas painting of him. Admittedly, the painting is beautiful and captures his smile and the light in his bright blue eyes.
“Alma.” Cat dabs her eyes with a tissue before wrapping her arms around me.
I return her hug, my tears falling onto her black dress.
She leads me down the aisle between the rows of chairs. People I’ve never met whisper their condolences as I pass. Ethan and his family, Ollie, and Quinn sit in the second row, and their presence brings me a semblance of comfort. They knew and loved Leo at least. Leo’s parents and brother sit in the front row, and on the other side of the aisle are my parents. Their presence throws me off. The Webers don’t participate in something as traditional as funerals. My mom’s teary face smiles sadly toward me, and I have to look behind me to Amos to center myself. He nods in reassurance.
This whole march down the aisle is surreal, and it makes my skin crawl. I swallow the nausea in my throat. The dry burrito threatens to surface. Amos takes the seat next to my mother, and I sit between him and the aisle. Cat squeezes my hand before taking her seat across the space, next to Stephen.
A string quartet starts to play a breathtaking ballad, an enchanting tune full of love and loss. It takes everything in me not to crumble at the sound. I press t
he tissue beneath my eyes as a minister I’ve never seen before stands on the podium and starts a generic monologue about life and grief. A tiny smile tugs at my heart as I imagine what Leo would be saying about this guy if he were sitting next to me. What a joke.
The quartet plays another song, and then Cat walks up to the podium. She looks at me and presses her lips together in a tight smile.
“I’m not going to talk long because Leo would hate it if I did.” She chuckles to herself, and I nod through my tears. “But I have to say something about my brother-in-law and friend. Most people only saw Leo’s rough exterior, but to those of us who were lucky enough to be loved by him, there was so much more. Leo was a kind soul, a loyal friend, and so very loving. He had a tremendous fighting spirit, and I know he fought to the end. Leo loved his wife, Alma, more than anything in the universe. He once told me that she filled his soul with life, and it wasn’t until her that he truly wanted to live. He would still be here if he could, but life has a way of stealing those who are the most precious and the most gentle-hearted.” She looks up to the sky, her hand against her chest. “I love you, Leo, my gentle lion. I will miss you every day. Until we meet again.”
As Cat steps down from the podium, tears streaming down her face, she looks to me for approval, and I nod and blow her a kiss. Her words were perfect, and Leo wouldn’t have hated them … too much.
A stringed melody plays again, and I expect the minister to say something in closing, but instead, Mr. Harding walks up to the podium in his suit that probably cost more than my car, a solemn expression on his face and notecards in his hand.
I turn to Cat, wide-eyed, for only she could understand my trepidation in this moment. She appears as equally bewildered and shrugs, telling me she didn’t know this was happening.
I steeple my hands in front of my face, my eyes shut, and pray. Please don’t do this. Sit down.
Leo’s dad doesn’t have the right to say anything today. He’s not up there because he cares. He’s up there because it looks good, and he has a reputation to uphold.
I can’t sit through this. I squirm in my seat, ready to bolt.
Amos puts his hand atop my leg and whispers, “It’s almost over. You can do this.”
Peering toward my best friend, I shake my head. You don’t know! I want to scream to him.
He nods, oblivious to my rising rage.
The music stops, and my stare darts toward Victor Harding.
Please sit down. Can’t you even be decent now that he’s gone?
Leo’s dad starts talking. My breakfast rolls within my belly, and I clamp my mouth shut.
“Leo was a pistol when he was young. Always running through the house, bumping into irreplaceable art pieces, hiding on the grounds when we had to be somewhere. He sure gave me and his mother a run for our money.” He chuckles, and there are some laughs among the crowd. “You know what they say, all we can do as parents is provide our children with love and a good example. But children are born with their own personalities, and what they choose to do with them is often out of our control. Regardless, we loved our boy, bruises and all.”
I stand from my seat and scream, “No!”
Amos pulls my arm in an attempt to get me to sit. “Alma,” he urges, but I shrug him off and march toward the podium.
My entire body trembles with fury. He is not going to make Leo’s death about him.
“No!” I scream again, tears streaming down my face. “Sit down!”
Mr. Harding stares at me, terrified, and it gives me the strength to go on.
For Leo.
He was silent long enough, and now, he’s gone. I won’t be quiet … never again.
I walk up and snatch the microphone from the podium, and Victor stands there in shock.
I scan the crowd of concerned faces—a few who loved Leo, the rest who didn’t know him at all. “Leo is dead because of him.” I point to Mr. Harding.
Leo’s mom stands from her chair and shouts, “That’s enough.”
“Oh, I’m not even close to finished. Sit down because Leo is dead because of you, too, and you.” I point to Stephen. I ignore the enraged faces of Leo’s family, and I look out into the crowd. “Leo was born perfect. He was a gift. He was perfect,” I say again, my voice quivering with tears. “His family ruined him. They took this amazing gift from God, and they broke him. His dad physically, emotionally, and sexually abused him for years.”
Gasps come from the crowd, and there’s a ruckus behind me, which I think is Mr. Harding tripping and falling.
“Imagine the worst possible things that can be done to a child and know that Leo’s dad did those deplorable acts to him repeatedly … for years. Victor Harding isn’t America’s heartthrob. He’s the devil. A rapist, a molester. And Leo’s mom and brother … they knew it was happening. They heard the cries, but neither of them helped. Neither protected him. His own mother let him fall to abuse over and over again, in her own home. How can anyone do that? How can you bring a child into this world and fail him so miserably?” I exclaim, disgust and sorrow in my voice.
“They took this perfect soul and broke him until he was a shell of a person. His dad eventually stopped torturing him, and his mother and brother went on pretending that it never happened, but Leo lived with it every day. He turned to substance abuse because he needed something to dull the internal hell that he faced daily. He had vicious nightmares all the time. He had to relive his pain over and over again. And through all of this, he remained good and kind down to his core. He loved fiercely and fought even harder. He fought every single fucking day of his life with everything he had!” My words come out on a strangled sob. “He wanted to stay here. He wanted a happy life with me. He hadn’t used in four and a half years. He had one setback, and it killed him. It was an accident. He wanted to be here! He deserved to be loved. He deserved a life. These people robbed him of that. They didn’t love him. I love him!” My chest trembles.
“And he loved me, and now, he’s gone,” I cry, my voice broken. “Leo didn’t die from an overdose. He died because the people who were supposed to love him the most ruined him so irreversibly that he could never fully recover. His innocent life was stolen from him by monsters. Most of you weren’t lucky enough to know the real Leo, but for the handful of us that were, he was a gift, a treasure.” My voice breaks, and I say softly, “We were truly happy. He was everything to me, my one true love, my soul mate. I loved him, and now, he’s gone.”
I throw the microphone on the ground, and a loud thud echoes from the speakers. Amos is at my side, wrapping his arm around me and leading me away. I cling to his chest.
“He’s gone.” My lips tremble, and the absolute sorrow in my soul cries.
“I know,” Amos whispers. “I know.”
Someone grabs my hand, and I look down to Stephen’s grasp on my wrist. Cat sits beside him, her shoulders quaking in silent sobs.
“I was just a kid, Alma,” Stephen utters, his voice hoarse.
I shake his hand off of me. “So was he.”
Amos and I continue past the crowd. Nervous whispers buzz around me like creepy locusts, and I ignore them.
Screw all of these people. None of them loved Leo.
I loved him.
He was mine.
And now, he’s gone.
FIFTY-TWO
Alma
Leo’s been gone a month. Thirty days. Four weeks. Around seven hundred and thirty hours. And it’s rough.
Every morning when I wake, I instinctually reach for him on the other side of the bed, wanting him to fold me into his embrace. Then, I remember, and my soul shatters all over again. I’ve held a steaming pot of water up to every mirror and window in our home, hoping to find another message from beyond, but I always come up short.
Every minute of every day, I feel sick, my body still in shock at his absence. I have to force myself to eat, and most meals threaten to come up, many succeeding. I’m navigating how to exist in a world where he’s not. Som
etimes, I think I’m failing. The parts of me that hold on to Leo’s existence with every fiber of my being urge me to allow myself some grace. I still feel Leo deep in my heart and soul, and he whispers that I’m doing just fine. I want to believe it, but it’s hard to trust in anything right now.
I’m closed off to the world. I gave the managers at The Lion’s Lair a raise and asked them to take over the place for the foreseeable future. I turned my phone off after the funeral and haven’t powered it up since. I have no desire to talk to those who were absent in Leo’s life. It’s just me, in this big house, alone with his ghost and my memories.
Yesterday, I received a certified letter from the coroner’s office. Turns out, the cocaine that Leo had taken was a bad batch, laced with fentanyl—proof that he hadn’t tried to leave me. He slipped and heartbreakingly purchased a deadly batch. I had known that his death wasn’t intentional. I never doubted that for a second, but it still provided a fragment of closure.
The past month has been spent trying to figure out where I went wrong, where I failed him, and what I missed. Were there signs? If so, I didn’t see them—a fact that makes me hurt even more. Was Leo struggling, and I didn’t notice? He had been meeting with Ollie regularly, so perhaps there was a battle that he was fighting that I wasn’t aware of. There were many stints of time throughout our relationship where he saw Ollie more often than others though. So, I didn’t question that either. That’s a downfall of loving an addict—he had pains and inner struggles that he kept from me. I would’ve taken all of his hurt away if I could. I would’ve shouldered them all, if he’d let me. Did he see something during the home visits that tipped the scales and made him break the sobriety he’d fought for all these years? I’ll never know, and perhaps that’s for the best. What can I do now?
A knock sounds at my door. I mute the bad reality TV I’m watching and make my way to the door. I hesitantly open it. A man I’ve never seen stands in a nice suit, holding a portfolio.