The night of our first date after meeting at the Loft, Victor drove all the way to my condo on Lake Washington to pick me up, only to turn around and take us back to a Thai place he loved in his own West Seattle neighborhood.
“I have to warn you,” he said as we crossed over the high rise of the West Seattle Bridge. “The restaurant is called All Thai’d Up, but I don’t want you to think that I’m dropping hints I’m into bondage or anything creepy like that. They just have really excellent curry.” I laughed and reassured him I wouldn’t make suppositions about his sexual preferences based on his restaurant of choice.
We entered the tiny establishment a few minutes later. The lights were low, the air hinted at luscious notes of garlic and lemongrass, and the walls were curtained in plush red tapestries. The hostess led us to a small table in the corner, where I confirmed by candlelight that Victor was just as handsome as I initially surmised—tonight he wore charcoal slacks and a dark blue sweater that definitely set off his warmer skin tone and gray eyes.
We spent the first part of dinner going over our backgrounds, and I learned that Victor was an only child. “Are your parents still together?” I asked, and he shook his head.
“My father took off when I was five,” he said. “And didn’t come back. Not cut out to be a dad, I guess.”
I nodded, realizing this was something else Victor and I had in common. Only my mother had asked my dad to leave, and not until I’d already moved out myself. “And your mom?”
A shadow of grief flashed across his face. “She had a stroke just after Ava was born. She was only fifty-three.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, reaching out to briefly touch the back of his hand.
“Thanks,” he said. “I still pick up the phone to call her, you know? When something important happens?” He paused. “I’m always a little shocked when I remember she’s gone.” He shook his head. “Weird, huh?”
“Not at all,” I said, and he smiled.
“Wow,” he said, puffing out a breath. “Light topic we’ve chosen, here. Maybe we should start over?” I chuckled, nodded, and he continued. “So, tell me. How is it that a woman as accomplished and beautiful as you hasn’t been snapped up yet?”
I laughed. “Well, I’ve stayed pretty focused on my career, and I’m getting old and stuck in my ways.” I shrugged. “I don’t want to settle for anything less than wonderful.”
It was his turn to nod. “I can relate to that.”
“My best friend and I joke that we just need to find our perfect hat trick,” I told him, only to be answered with a confused look, so I clarified. “The exact right balance of physical, emotional, and mental connection with someone.”
“Okay.” Victor cocked his head to one side and scrunched his eyebrows together, clearly still baffled. “Why is that called a ‘hat trick,’ exactly?”
I set my wineglass down and waved my hand in the air a little. “In hockey or whatever, when the same player shoots three points in a game, they call it a hat trick. So if we hit it off with a man on all three levels—mental, physical, emotional—one after the other, he’s a hat trick.”
“Ah,” he said, understanding finally blossoming on his face. “You lost me with the sports analogy. I might have to give up my man card for admitting this, but I really couldn’t care less about that stuff.” His brow furrowed, and he continued hurriedly. “Not about being a ‘hat trick.’ That’s an intriguing concept. But sports. They’re not my thing.”
“Mine either. I only know the term because of my brother. He played basketball in high school. I was more the studious type.” I didn’t explain how there was no way I could have been anything but studious. My mother’s need for me to help take care of my brother precluded any interest I might have had in sports—or anything else that might have taken me away from the house.
Victor sat back in his seat and gave me a long, slow smile that made me wonder what else he could do with his mouth. “So, tell me, Grace. How do you figure out if someone is your hat trick?”
“Well,” I said, “it’s highly scientific. They have to meet all three criteria. In the past, I’d date a smart guy who was maybe great in bed but as emotionally available as a rock, so I’d know he wasn’t the one. Or one who could debate relevant social issues and express his undying affection for me but was a terrible lover.”
At this, Victor laughed out loud, and the other diners paused and glanced over at us. “Sorry,” he sputtered. “I guess I’m not used to a woman being so honest about how she picks her men apart.”
“Oh, wow,” I said, wanting to backtrack immediately. “I don’t have a checklist or anything like that.” I felt flustered, oddly vulnerable. I paused, wondering if my next question was a loaded one for a first date but wanting to ask it anyway. “What about your ex-wife? Was she your hat trick?”
He leaned forward and rested his forearms across the table, grasping the crooks of his elbows with long fingers. “Well, I’m new to the idea, but I’d have to say no. She definitely was not.” His tone indicated he wasn’t ready to elaborate, and part of me was glad for it. Men who spoke excessively about ex-girlfriends or wives on a first date never came across well. Nor, for that matter, did women who chattered on about their exes. I don’t think I was testing him, exactly—I was honestly curious to know more about their relationship. But if it was a test, he passed.
Later, he walked me to my door and kissed me softly on the lips. The clean but heady musk of his skin dizzied my senses and turned my joints to mush. “Can I see you again?” he whispered, and I nodded eagerly, thrilled by our immediate, easy sense of connection.
After a few weeks, I slept over for the first time at his house. I woke up to the smell of coffee and bacon in the air, my body pleasurably achy from the night before. Hat trick. No doubt. Mental, emotional, and physical. And he cooks! When I opened my eyes, he stood over me with a grin on his handsome face. His dark hair was pressed flat on one side, and his gray eyes twinkled, giving him the look of a mischievous little boy who’d just successfully sneaked several cookies from the jar. “Damn,” he said. “You’re even beautiful when you wake up.”
I crossed my eyes at him and stuck out my tongue, and he laughed. “Let me start the shower for you.” He paused. “Or do you want coffee, first?”
“Coffee always comes first,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows and smiling at him.
“Duly noted,” he said, pretending to pull a pencil from behind his ear and write on an invisible notepad.
My smile widened at his silliness, and I felt that incredibly rare emotional spark in my belly. The spark that said, Oh wow . . . this one’s a keeper. I’d dated my fair share of men over the years, but things tended to end after a certain point, and I suspected it might have something to do with my focus on my career rather than getting married and having children. I found that most men who weren’t anxious to be fathers weren’t anxious for a long-term, committed relationship, either. There might have been exceptions, but I didn’t meet many. This left me with a limited eligible pool of partners from which to choose. Victor appeared to genuinely respect my lifestyle, but I didn’t know how to trust that he wouldn’t end up expecting me to change somehow, too.
“What if he decides he really wants us to have a baby?” I asked Melody not long after I’d spent the night with him. She and I were working together at the Second Chances thrift shop, standing in the back room, sorting through boxes of donated clothes.
“He already told you he doesn’t want any more kids,” Melody said. “You’re such a scaredy-cat.”
“I’m not scared!” I protested as I pulled out a lovely blue Calvin Klein blouse and laid it carefully on the “keep” pile. These were the clothes in good enough condition that women in the program could pick them out and wear them to job interviews. The “sell” pile consisted of more casual outfits and would be steam-cleaned, then priced to sell in the shop.
“Oh please,” Melody said. “You’re totally scared.” I looked at her fondly. She was tall and thin with long, honey-blond hair, brown eyes, and a wide, easy smile. Clad in black leggings and a sage linen tunic, her body moved with a lithe ease as she worked. She also knew me better than anyone—maybe even better than I knew myself. We’d met in our midtwenties when she had just graduated from massage school. In order to make ends meet while she built up a client list, she temped at the same advertising firm where I worked as a recruiter. One afternoon, we ended up sharing a table at a coffee shop near the office and immediately clicked over a mutual fondness for white chocolate mochas and the cute barista behind the counter.
“What do you think?” she had asked me as we sat down together, nodding toward the hunky employee and lifting a single suggestive eyebrow. “Does he look like a single- or double-shot kind of guy?” A decade and countless mochas later, she was my closest friend.
I sighed as I looked away from her in the back room of the thrift store, reaching to pull another handful of clothes out of the box next to me. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right,” she said with an impish smirk. “You’ve got this quiet, orderly life, and inviting in an emotionally available man like Victor, who has two possibly noisy children in his, is totally freaking you out.” She paused, taking a moment to shake out the floral skirt she was in the process of putting on a hanger. “Come on. What are you really afraid of? Being happy?”
“No,” I said. “That’s not it.”
“Okay. Then what is it?”
“God, you’re pushy!” I exclaimed, throwing a sweater at her. It missed, and she grinned. I sighed again. “I don’t know. I guess I’m worried I won’t be any good at it. Being around the kids, I mean.”
“You were good with Sam,” she said.
“That’s different. He’s my brother. And I only had to help take care of him until he was ten and then I moved out. I might do okay with Max, but Ava is thirteen. I have no idea if I could relate to her at all.”
“Oh, right. Because you’ve never been a thirteen-year-old girl.” I gave her an exasperated look, and she adopted a softer tone. “You won’t know until you try. What is it you’re always telling me? And what do you tell your clients when they tell you how afraid they are to start their lives over again?”
She looked at me expectantly, her brown eyes open wide, and I laughed, shaking my head at her uncanny ability to use my own words against me. “No risk, no reward,” I said.
“Exactly. So I think you should quit your bitching and be grateful that you met a man who clearly seems to adore you. Let the details take care of themselves.”
It was good, solid advice, but still, in a weird panic, I canceled on Victor for our date that night. “I’m sorry,” I said when I called him. I was supposed to meet him in a few hours for dinner at the Loft. “I’m totally swamped with work.”
“It’s okay,” Victor said. “Can I help?”
I laughed, a little nervously. I wasn’t sure if he could tell that I was lying. “That’s sweet, but probably not. I have to build a spreadsheet of all the corporate donations Second Chances has received so far this year for our accountant. I’m getting carpal tunnel just thinking about it.” I did have to build the spreadsheet, but it wasn’t something I had to have done that night. Victor said he understood and would call me the next day.
After we hung up, I dropped to my couch, my gaze moving over the sandy earth tones I’d picked for my tiny living room. I loved this space when I bought it. With its coved ceilings and the huge square windows that looked directly out to the lake, it somehow managed to feel both cozy and spacious at the same time. I had decorated with small dishes of shells and smooth stones and hung my favorite black and white photograph of waves crashing against the beach over the fireplace. There were two luxurious cream-colored blankets thrown over the back of my couch and plush goose-down pillows thrown in the corners of it, as well. Everything about the room invited silence and calm. It was safe. Melody was right—I assumed Victor’s life was chaotic simply because he had children. But I didn’t really know this was true. I hadn’t even met his children. Backing away from him that night wasn’t about him—it was about me and my own fears. It wasn’t fair to either of us.
I reached for my cell phone and he picked up on the first ring. “If you need help writing a formula, you have called the wrong man.”
“I lied to you.” I blurted the words before I could lose my nerve. “I didn’t really have to work tonight. I’m just scared. I’m so sorry.”
He was silent for a moment, and I could feel my pulse pounding inside my head as I waited for him to speak. “What are you scared about?” he finally asked.
“That I’ll be terrible with your kids. That I’ll have to change everything about my life if this amazing thing we seem to have together goes much further.” I paused, trying to steady my pulse. “I’m being stupid. I panicked.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Victor said gently. “And I don’t want you to change. I want you to stay exactly who you are.”
“You do?” The muscles that had been taut beneath my skin relaxed the tiniest bit. I thought men just said things like that in the movies. I hope he’s not feeding me a line.
“I do.” I could hear his smile through the phone. “And I’ll tell you something else. I really like who you are. Most women I’ve dated since my divorce were way too anxious to give Max and Ava a baby brother or sister, which is definitely not part of my plan.” He paused. “And I understand that kids weren’t part of yours. But I think we could find a way to balance things.” When I didn’t respond, he continued. “It’s not like you’d be their mother. That’s Kelli’s job.”
“What would my job be?” I asked in a quiet voice. This felt like a pivotal question, and I held my breath waiting for his answer.
“To be yourself, I hope. Maybe a positive role model for Ava, and a friend to Max, when they’re with us.” He took a breath. “I don’t actually know how it would all work, because I’ve never been in the situation before, but I think as long as we keep talking and stay honest with each other, we could figure it out. Don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think so.” I waited a moment before apologizing again. “I’m really, really sorry I lied to you. That’s not the kind of person I am. I don’t know what came over me.”
“Don’t worry. I get it. We just won’t make it a habit. Deal?”
“Deal.” I hesitated again, playing with the fringe on a pillow. “Do you still want to see me tonight?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a teasing edge. “Will you be naked?”
I laughed, feeling relieved. “Possibly. Are you going to feed me?”
“Absolutely. I’ll see you at seven.”
We began seeing each other almost every day, me coming over to his place more often than he came to mine, not because he didn’t like my condo but because my schedule was more flexible than his and I could miss rush-hour traffic over the West Seattle Bridge. He cooked me amazing meals, though he confessed that he was much better at managing a restaurant than being a chef.
“Are you kidding?” I said, trying to keep myself from licking the plate clean of a creamy lemon butter sauce he’d prepared and served over grilled chipotle-spiced halibut. “This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!”
“The best, huh?” he said with a sly, suggestive smile. “That’s unfortunate.” I laughed, and he continued. “I started working in restaurants as a line cook when I was a teenager, so I know my way around the kitchen. But I like what I do now more.”
“You like to be in charge, then,” I said, teasing him. “Control issues, maybe?”
“I prefer to think of it as teamwork-challenged,” he quipped, and I laughed again. I knew this was untrue—Victor ran a tight ship at the Loft, but the few times I waited at the bar for him to be done with his day, I saw how he interacted with his staff. He expected everyone to work hard, but he was always right there with them, ready to pitch in, covering for servers and dishwashers alike in a moment of need. I’d seen enough horrible bosses over the years to know that Victor was a great one.
He also turned out to be a really wonderful boyfriend. When I landed a huge corporate donation for Second Chances, he sent me the most beautiful arrangement of orchids I’d ever seen with a card that read: “You inspire me to be a better person.” He called when he said he would and lingered when it was time for us to part in the mornings. He made me feel important but didn’t smother me. He understood that I sometimes had to take midnight trips to the ER to help a client in crisis. He supported me when I struggled watching yet another woman go back to her abuser, feeling powerless to do anything to stop her. “All you can do is provide the resources,” he said. “Whether or not she chooses to use them is about her, not you.” I knew this already, of course, but it still helped to hear it from someone other than my own voice inside my head. I was usually the one issuing reassurances to my staff; having someone to do the same for me was new territory.
As we spent more time together, I began to feel better about his status as a father. I still had moments of apprehension, but I quieted them by reasoning that his kids were only with him a couple of weekends a month, so really, more times than not, Victor and I would be on our own. And it wasn’t like he was rushing me into meeting them; we both felt we should wait on that until we were more sure of each other. But by then, I was about as sure as I could get.
* * *
Kelli is dead. The phrase pulsed through my mind as I drove over to Max and Ava’s school. My hands shook and my breaths were shallow and quick. I tried to imagine what Victor might feel in this moment. The ragged grief in his voice over the phone had sparked my own. I couldn’t believe she was gone. What could have happened? How is someone there one moment and just . . . absent the next? I tried to fight it, but anxiety bubbled up inside me. I didn’t know how to get through this moment. I tried to focus on the road, to keep my eyes on the brake lights on the car in front of me, but tears blurred my vision. Not wanting to cause an accident, I pulled to the side of the road and called my mother, overwhelmed by the desire to talk with her. The phone rang and rang. “Come on, Mom,” I whispered. “Please pick up.” When she didn’t answer, I left her a brief message, then quickly called my brother, Sam, next.
“What’s up, sis?” he said. I could see him sitting behind his desk at the AIDS Support Center, where he worked as a client counselor, his wiry red hair cropped close to his head, his green eyes bright and smiling. As a child, he’d been called “Opie” by his playmates; today, he still possessed that same nerdy, endearing quality. When he’d come out to me as a teenager, I worried about the difficult road he might face, but as far as I knew, he hadn’t experienced any kind of blatant prejudice because of his sexuality and, at twenty-four, was actually in a very happy partnership with a slightly older man named Wade.
My voice rattled in my throat as I told him about Kelli. He let out a low whistle. “Oh my god, honey,” he said. “That’s so awful.”
“I know. I’m just . . . blown away.” I sniffed and swallowed hard. “And now I’m on my way to pick up the kids and I don’t know what to tell them. I’ve never been in a situation like this. I don’t know how to act.”
“I don’t think there’s any specific way you should act, sweetie.” He paused. “You don’t have any idea how she died?”
“No,” I said, then pushed my lips together to fight a sob I felt building in my throat. “Victor didn’t have any details yet and he’s the one who should talk to them, but I’m going to see them.” I paused again. “They’re not stupid, you know? They’re going to sense something’s wrong. I never pick them up from school.”
“Can you play dumb?” Sam asked.
“Maybe.” My throat began to close up again, and I couldn’t stop it. The sobs I’d been fighting came hard and fast, filling my chest with sharp, painful edges in every breath. “Sorry,” I finally managed to gasp. “I don’t know why this is hitting me so hard. It’s not like we were friends. But I just . . . I just . . .” I trailed off, unable to find the words to describe how I felt.
“Oh, Gracie,” Sam said. “Don’t apologize, honey. It’s tragic, what’s happened. Of course you’re upset. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t. And you love Victor and the kids. You’re feeling their pain.”
I shook my head, as though he could see me, then took a deep breath, only to exhale it slowly. “I’m scared,” I whispered. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“Sweetie,” he said, his voice swelling with concern. “Think about what you do every day. Everything you handle for your clients. You’ll be fine, I know it.”
I smiled weakly. He was an old soul, my brother. “Thanks, Sammy. I love you.”
“Love you too,” he said. “Call me when you can.”
I hung up, then scavenged for a tissue in my purse to blow my nose. It suddenly struck me that telling the kids about our engagement the same weekend they’d learn their mother had died was not exactly perfect timing. I knew this much about having kids in your life—their needs came first, no matter what. I quickly took the ring off my finger, staring at it again for a moment before slipping it into the zippered compartment in my wallet, suffering a sharp pang of sadness with the act. I prayed it wouldn’t get lost.
After another deep breath, I shot a quick text off to Melody asking her to call me. She didn’t respond right away, so I knew she was in the middle of an appointment with a massage client and couldn’t answer her phone. Then I pulled back into traffic and drove the rest of the way to Seattle Academy. On the way there, I attempted to give myself a pep talk. Sam was right. I could do this. I could maintain whatever front I needed to with the kids. I was the adult; they would trust me. I’d adopt the same demeanor I’d learned to use when first talking with a domestic-abuse victim—I’d be calm and collected. I’d listen more than I’d speak.
The office was on my left as I entered and I approached the front desk, letting the secretary know who I was and why I was there. She was a plump, older woman with bluish-gray hair the same airy texture as cotton candy. “Mr. Hansen said to expect you,” she said, frowning. “It’s just so sad. I can barely believe it. Kelli was the best mother.”
I nodded, suddenly feeling impossibly inferior. Of course she was the best. Of course I could never live up to her.
“Can I see your driver’s license, please?” the secretary asked. “It’s our routine security check.”
I pulled out my ID and showed it to her, thinking how my license broke me down into such simple parameters: age, height, weight, and eye color. I wondered if this was how the doctors who took care of Kelli defined her when she came in. Thirty-three-year-old woman, approximately five-one, one hundred pounds, blue eyes. I flashed on what she might look like laid out on a gurney. Her skin pale and cold. Those blue eyes shut. Not moving. Not breathing anymore.
“Thank you,” the secretary said, placing my license back in my hand and snapping me back to the moment. I blinked and tried to erase Kelli’s image from my mind.
“Are they still in class?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’ll buzz their teachers and let them know to send them to the office.” She glanced at the clock above the door. “We weren’t sure exactly when you’d get here. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Again, I nodded, and I plopped myself into a hard, black plastic chair, anxiously gnawing on my fingernails, a childhood habit that only returned when I was nervous. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and the secretary’s powdery perfume. A few minutes later, Max entered the office, and I stood to greet him.
“Hey there, Maximilian.” I used the familiar nickname his father used, then suddenly wished I hadn’t. It was theirs, not ours.
He stopped short in his tracks and stared at me with his mother’s eyes. “Why are you here? Where’s Mom?”
I smiled. “Your dad asked me to pick you guys up. We’re going back to our house, okay?” It still felt a little strange to call it “our” house, even though I’d lived with Victor for several months now. The kids were only there on the weekends and I wasn’t sure they were all that happy to have me be there for breakfast when they woke up. I reached out and put what I hoped was a reassuring hand on Max’s shoulder. “He’ll be there soon.”
“But where’s Mom?” Max asked, dropping his backpack to the ground. His brown hair was mussed and a curious expression quickly etched itself across his freckled face. He was small for seven, his frame delicate—almost birdlike—and the top of his head barely reached my chest. “When am I going to get my growth spurt?” he often asked Victor, who was just over six feet tall. “Next Wednesday, three A.M.,” Victor always joked in return, and Max would giggle—a bubbly, guttural sound.
“She couldn’t be here to pick you up today,” I said carefully. “Your dad will talk with you about it when he gets home, okay?” I forced a smile, feeling the stiffness of the motion in the muscles of my cheeks. “Look, there’s Ava.”
Max’s sister entered the office and stared at me, too. “Grace.” Her tone was flat. “Where’s my mom?” She wore slim-fit jeans, a purple fleece jacket, and knee-high black boots that appeared too big and too grown-up for her skinny legs. I wondered if they were Kelli’s. Ava was petite and pretty like her mother, but I could definitely see the shadow of her father in her dark brown hair and the almond shape of her eyes.
I sighed internally, keeping that fake smile on my face, and told her the exact same thing I’d just told her brother. “We can make cookies this afternoon, if you want,” I said, desperate to find some way to get them out of this school and into an environment with which I was at least familiar.
“You don’t bake,” Ava said quietly. Man, I thought. Too perceptive for her own good. Still, they both picked up their bags and followed me out to my car.
We arrived at our house after a silent car ride, and the kids trudged inside, eyeing me. “When is Dad going to be here?” Max asked. “Doesn’t he have to be at the restaurant tonight?” Victor usually worked at the Loft on Friday nights, then picked up the kids from Kelli’s place first thing Saturday morning. I knew from taking care of my brother that kids do best when they know what to expect, so both were clearly thrown off by this deviation from their normal routine.
“And why aren’t you working?” Ava said before I could respond to Max. “You’re always working. Mom says so.”
I’ll bet she does, I mused silently, then immediately chided myself for thinking ill of the dead. “I’m my own boss, so I gave myself the afternoon off,” I said, each of my words feeling precariously forced. “What do you guys feel like doing?”
“I’ll be in my room,” Ava said, and she walked slowly down the hallway. I heard her bedroom door click softly shut. She definitely sensed something wasn’t right.
“What about you, Max?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Dunno. Can I watch TV?”
“Sure,” I said. I knew he was supposed to read before he plopped in front of Phineas and Ferb, but I figured if any day should be one for breaking the rules, it was today. My cell phone vibrated in my purse, and I grabbed for it, thinking it might be Victor.
“What’s up?” Melody asked. “Your text was only three words long. Are you okay?”
“Just a sec,” I told her now. I looked at Max. “I’ll just be down the hall, okay, buddy?” He nodded, then headed into the den. I rushed to our bedroom and locked the door behind me, just in case either of the kids came to look for me. I didn’t want them to overhear. “Kelli died,” I said breathlessly.
“What?” Melody exclaimed. “Oh my god. Are you serious? When? How?”
I filled her in on what I knew, which wasn’t much. “And now I’m in the house with the kids and they know something’s up.” I paused, another sob threatening to take me over. “Well, Ava does. Max is watching TV.”
“How long is Victor supposed to take at the hospital?”
“I have no idea. I haven’t heard from him yet. I can’t imagine it would take too long, but I suppose he’ll have to tell them where to take her body and—” My voice broke, as his had earlier, and my pulse suddenly beat in a staccato rhythm. “Mel, I don’t think I can do this.”
“Do what? Tell them? You don’t have to. Victor does. It’s your job to support him, and be there for the kids if they reach out to you. That’s it.” She sighed. “And you guys just got engaged, too. Geez.” I’d called Melody immediately after Victor had proposed last weekend, and she’d squealed into the phone, babbling about wedding-dress shopping and finding the perfect venue for the ceremony, but our schedules had been so busy she hadn’t seen the ring yet. I wasn’t sure I could tell people about the engagement now. Victor’s ex-wife is dead . . . oh, and by the way, we’re getting married.
“That doesn’t seem very important all of a sudden,” I said. The tiniest part of me felt sad my excitement over getting engaged had been eclipsed and I was totally ashamed of this brief, selfish thought.
“Of course it’s important,” Melody said insistently. “It’s just really shitty timing.” She sighed again. “Do you want me to come over and keep you company while you wait? I can cancel my last client.”
“That’s sweet,” I said. “But probably not a good idea. They’d suspect even more if you were here. I’ll call you if I hear anything, okay?” We hung up and I threw myself onto my back on the bed, my gaze traveling the room where Victor and I slept. When I moved in, he insisted I bring everything from my house that I wanted to display and willingly packed away most of his minimal, but clearly masculine, décor.
“This is your house now, too,” he said. “I want you to feel comfortable. If you want to paint, we’ll paint. If you want new furniture, we can do that, too.” The bedroom was the only room where I’d taken him up on his offer, changing his steel-hued color scheme into warmer earthy tones. Together, we picked out a mossy green microsuede comforter set and an additional dresser to accommodate my extensive wardrobe. I didn’t change too much of the rest of the house, since the kids were used to it the way it was. The last thing I wanted was for them to associate losing everything they felt comfortable having in their surroundings with the day I moved in. Since I owned my condo, I decided to lease it for a small profit over selling it outright, telling myself this was a smart fiscal decision instead of a comment on my level of commitment to the man I loved. I put most of my furniture into storage, figuring that we both would eventually sell our individual household possessions and purchase new ones together.
I liked living in Victor’s house—a small 1960s rambler on a hillside overlooking the Puget Sound—but what I liked more was waking up to his warm body next to mine every morning. I liked that he made me lunch while I showered to get ready for the day; I liked that he always cupped my face with his hands when he kissed me good-bye. He worked three evenings a week at the restaurant, so I had plenty of time to indulge my craving for alone time or to spend a few hours with Melody. We had a few squabbles over silly things like where to put the stereo and there was always a bit of tension when the kids came for the weekend, but I told myself it would just take time for us all to adjust to a new routine. Most of the time our world felt balanced and I felt at peace.
And then, just last Sunday, he’d taken me to his favorite spot on Alki Beach. The sun was about to set; the sky was streaked with brilliant shades of pink, and a warm, golden light pushed in long streams through the clouds. Seagulls screamed all around us, and a cool breeze blew off the water. When we kissed, I could taste sea salt on his lips.
“I used to come here when I was a kid,” Victor told me as we settled on a large hunk of driftwood. He tucked his arm around my waist and I snuggled myself into the warmth of his body. “It was my sanctuary,” he continued, “but now you’re my sanctuary.” He stared at me, the evening light glinting off the water and hitting his dark hair, illuminating the sprinkling of silver throughout the scruff of his unshaven beard. After a year together, I had the small, crinkled lines around his eyes memorized; I knew the shape of each tiny fleck of black in his irises, the smattering of freckles that spread out like brown sugar sifted across his nose.
I reached out to touch his cheek. “That’s so sweet. You trying to get laid or something?”
He chuckled softly. “No, I’m asking you to marry me.” He pulled a black box out of his pocket and opened it, revealing a glittering ring. We’d talked about marriage previously—in theory, really—discussing it as an eventual next step after I moved into his house. But still, the timing of his proposal was a surprise—I wished I’d worn something other than sweatpants, that my hair wasn’t whipping around my face like angry Medusa’s snakes. Still, I joyfully accepted and felt the kiss that he gave me to the tips of my toes.
The loud jiggle of the doorknob jolted me out of my thoughts. “Just a second,” I called out, and stumbled to the door to unlock it, thinking it was likely one of the kids. But it was Victor standing before me, looking bereft in a way I’d never seen him. His usually tan skin was ashen and his dark hair stood on end, as though he’d repeatedly raked his hands through it. His broad shoulders slumped forward and his normally cheerful, handsome face appeared crumpled in on itself. He looked broken.
“Oh, sweetie,” I said, pulling him into my arms. He clutched me in a tight embrace, bending down to bury his nose into my neck. His tears wet my skin. “Are you okay?”
He shook his head, then pulled away, staring at me with sad gray eyes. “I just don’t know how I’m going to tell them.” His voice was hoarse and his chin trembled as he spoke. “The counselor at the hospital said to be as straightforward as possible, without giving them too many details.”
I swallowed before speaking again. “Do you know . . . how did she . . . ?” My words were disjointed, trailing off, unsure of the right way to ask what I wanted to know.
Victor sniffed and cleared his throat, looking the tiniest bit more like himself. “They’re not sure what happened yet, other than that her heart stopped. They have to run some blood tests, I guess, and they’ll know more.” He paused. “There was an empty prescription bottle on the nightstand next to her bed.”
“Oh no.” I took a deep breath and I rubbed his back with my open palm. “What kind of pills?”
“Antianxiety. She’s taken them before. Mostly because she has trouble sleeping.”
Hearing these words, dread twisted in my chest. Oh god. Victor said she didn’t take the news of our engagement very well. What if it was worse than he thought? She was fragile to begin with. What if it pushed her over the edge? My eyes filled with tears, terrified that I had contributed in any way to her death. I hesitated a moment before asking the next question that leapt into my mind. “Was there a note?”
For a brief moment, he almost looked angry, but then he shook his head again. “I don’t want the kids to think that, okay? We don’t know anything for sure.” His tone was a little sharp, one he hadn’t used with me before. He was protective of her, still. I knew he’d played the caretaker role in their marriage—a role he became exhausted of after having to do it too long. I needed to be strong for him now. I needed to not crumble.
“What are you going to say?” I asked.
“The truth. That we don’t know what happened. That she lay down in her bed and didn’t wake up. I don’t think they need more information than that. Not now.”
“What do you need me to do?” I caressed his face with my left hand, and he lifted his own up to hold it there. Touching my fingers, he pulled it away from his face.
“Where’s your ring?” he asked.
My eyes filled unexpectedly. “I took it off. The kids are going to have enough to deal with. We can tell them later.” I searched his face, wiping away an errant tear that slipped down my cheek. “Was that right?”
He rested his forehead against mine. “I love you so much, you know that?” I nodded, then kissed his lips. He took a deep breath, grabbed my hand, and we walked down the hall, bracing ourselves to deliver the news that would no doubt change us all.
