CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Diane went home a week after Ian died. Kate had convinced her mother she’d be okay on her own, not that she actually believed it. But she couldn’t keep using her mother as a buffer, a crutch. It was time to see if she would sink or swim.
“I can come back in a few weeks,” Diane said.
“We’ll see,” Kate said. “I love you, Mom. Thank you so much for being there for me.”
After Diane left, Kate continued with the routine Diane had set for her: sleep, shower, dress, try to eat. Now she added work, and walking through the door of the food pantry on her first day back was the most difficult thing she’d had to do since losing Ian.
She owed it to her clients not to look like she was at death’s door and to try to function like a real human. But her eyes were constantly swollen and red-rimmed, surrounded by dark circles. She kept a bottle of eyedrops in her desk drawer, and she stopped wearing eye makeup. Her complexion, normally so healthy and bright, looked dull and ashen. Styling her hair in anything other than a ponytail seemed like a waste of time. Acting as if nothing was wrong took a monumental amount of energy, and she felt physically drained by the end of the day, a brittle shell of her former self.
Her smiles were forced and she could only maintain them for so long, but she tried her best, especially for new clients. She didn’t want them to think there was something wrong with her although many probably wondered if there was. When Samantha came in with the kids, Kate held Georgie on her lap and tried not to cry. Only Helena knew what had happened to Ian, and she treated Kate like one of her own daughters, fussing over her, hugging her, doing whatever she could to help.
Two weeks after Ian died, Kate was having a particularly hard day and had been hiding out in the back room so no one would see her cry. That morning, she’d found a note Ian had once left for her and that she’d shoved into a drawer in the kitchen and forgotten about. But then her smoke alarm had started to chirp while she was getting ready for work—the relentless, grating noise almost sending Kate over the edge—and the note was in the drawer where she kept the batteries.
Picking up dinner. Back soon, baby. xoxo
She’d put the note in her pocket and had reached for it throughout the morning. It had the same effect as Ian’s voice mail message, which she listened to constantly. It only heightened her sorrow, but Kate couldn’t stop reading his words, couldn’t stop rubbing her fingers across the paper. She promised herself that tomorrow she’d leave the note at home.
Helena stuck her head into the back room. “Kate?” Her tone was gentle, the way it always was with Kate now.
She looked up. “Yes?” Her voice sounded raspy and hoarse.
“A client is asking for you.”
“I’ll be right out.”
Everyone at the food pantry had been picking up her slack, Helena especially. Feeling like she wasn’t pulling her weight only contributed to Kate’s sadness and general unhappiness. She needed to work harder on pulling herself together, and she promised herself that she would. It was just that getting through the day felt like wading through quicksand.
There wasn’t time for eyedrops, but Kate smoothed her hands over her hair and tightened her ponytail. Zach Nielsen, the young man who’d been so worried about his younger brother, was waiting for her by her desk.
“Hi, Zach,” she said.
“Hey. My mom wanted me to stop by and say thank you. She’s been so worried about my brother, and she said you really saved us.”
“Please tell her it was my pleasure. We’re happy to help.”
He looked at her curiously, and Kate became painfully aware of her appearance. “Um, are you okay?”
She felt the tears forming again and blinked rapidly as heat flooded her face. Many of Kate’s clients had shed their own tears at the food pantry. They would come to her hungry and destitute, but when they left they would be smiling. They deserved an executive director who was strong and mentally healthy and would take away their troubles and save them from their dire circumstances.
Not a broken woman who looked like she was the one who needed saving most of all.
Mustering a weak smile, she attempted to convince him he was in good hands. “I’m fine,” she said, fooling no one.
“Okay,” he said, looking embarrassed to have caught her in such a personal display of emotion. “I guess I’ll see you in a few weeks.”
“Take care, Zach.”
Kate’s shoes kicked up plumes of muddy water as she marched through the puddles left behind by the melting snow. Spring in St. Anthony Main was a dirty, sodden affair, as if Mother Nature’s brushstrokes had come from a palette of gray, black, and white. The pastel colors of spring would not arrive for another month at least, and that’s only if the season arrived on time in Minnesota.
Kate had been staring at the ground and didn’t notice the man until she was halfway up the steps to her building’s front door. Stopping suddenly when she sensed him, she swerved to the left, her arm brushing the fabric of his suit coat. He was leaning against the metal handrail, the same one Ian had once leaned against while waiting for his cab. He looked like he was in his early fifties. His hair was light brown with a sprinkle of gray, and his eyes were blue.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“No problem,” he said, and his smile was kind. “My name is Don Murray. I’m your neighbor, by the way. I’ve seen you in the hallway a couple of times. I dropped off a business card when I moved in. I gave it to the woman who answered your door.”
“You did?” Kate didn’t remember that. He must have come by when her mother was there because Kate rarely received unannounced visitors and hadn’t opened her door to anyone since Ian died. The man fished a card out of his pocket and handed it to her.
“In case you can’t find the other one,” he said. “Let me know if you ever need anything. I’m right down the hall from you.”
“Sure. Thanks” A quick glance at the card revealed his name and phone number, but there was no business listed, no occupation. Kate shoved the card into her pocket. “Sorry, I’m Kate. Kate Watts.” She held out her hand and he shook it.
“Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” She didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t have the energy for small talk and her head was pounding. “Well. I’ll see you around.”
“Have a nice day, Kate.”
She made her way up the steps and disappeared into the building.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Stuart stopped by the food pantry on what would have been Ian’s thirty-third birthday. Kate was hiding in the back room again, this time under the pretense of doing inventory after experiencing a particularly intense and sudden crying jag, which she feared might recur at any moment. She was momentarily confused when she looked up from the cans she’d been rearranging and noticed him standing there.
“Hi,” he said. Stuart had once spent a considerable amount of time at the food pantry helping to unload food, build shelves, and carry in desks and office equipment. Whatever Kate had needed in the early days of the food pantry, Stuart had been there to lend a hand.
“Hi.”
He approached her slowly, as if she were a wounded animal that might strike out at him, and hugged her. Stuart might not have been the most stimulating man she’d ever known, but she’d once found safety and comfort in his arms and she found it again now.
“I was walking by and thought I’d stop in and see if you were okay. I ran into Paige and she told me you were dating that guy who crashed into the river, except she said his last name was Smith and I don’t really understand that. Anyway, I wanted to tell you I was sorry about what happened to him. If you ever want to get together, for a drink or dinner or whatever, just let me know, okay?”
“Thanks, Stuart. That’s really nice of you.”
Kate had wanted excitement. She had wanted an adventure.
But maybe safe was better.
Maybe sa
fe wasn’t so boring after all.
He’d almost reached the door when Kate spoke. “Stuart? Maybe I’ll give you a call sometime.”
He smiled and said, “I would really like that.”
Kate went for a walk after she locked up the food pantry. She’d been doing that a lot lately because her apartment seemed too quiet and empty now that it was just her again. She set off toward the pedestrian walkway of the Stone Arch Bridge that spanned the Mississippi River below the St. Anthony Falls.
Once she reached the bridge, she pulled out her phone and listened to Ian’s voice mail message. “Hey, sweetness. Just left my place. I’ve been thinking about you all day. Be there soon. Love you.”
She knew that listening to his message so often wasn’t healthy.
She knew it was preventing her from starting the healing process.
She thought she might be losing her mind because of her attachment to it, and that scared her a little.
Instead of playing the message again, she chose the only contact in the phone and dialed. The call went to voice mail as she knew it would. His cell was either resting at the bottom of the river or had been carried downstream. Even if it had stayed in his pocket, it would have been damaged beyond repair, the corrosion starting immediately upon the phone making contact with the water.
Kate listened to the generic outgoing message that had come with the phone and began to speak after the beep. “Today is your birthday, and I’m having a really hard time. I miss you, Ian. I loved you so much, and I don’t know what to do. I listen to your voice mail message every day, multiple times. I listen to it at night when I’m lying in bed, and I cry because you’re not there. I found a note you left me, and I keep it in my pocket and I can’t stop touching it.”
She was crying hard, wedging the words in and around her sobs. A man walking his dog gave her a concerned look, but she ignored him.
“You were supposed to be the one I would spend the rest of my life with. I’m so mad at you for taking that car out. I will never get over the loss of you, and all I have are the things you left behind. Sometimes I wear your clothes, and I know that’s weird, but they smell like you and when I’m wearing them I feel close to you. I will never love anyone the way I loved you, and I will never stop loving you. My heart hurts so much and I’m trying to be strong, but it’s so hard. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and it’s not fair that I didn’t get more time with you.”
A beep sounded in her ear when she ran out of time and the recording cut her off. She rested her head on the railing of the bridge, her shoulders shaking as she cried.
When she was all cried out, she looked up and hesitated only for a moment before heaving the phone into the Mississippi River.
That night, Kate reached into the cupboard for one of the glasses she’d given Ian for Christmas. She filled it halfway with bourbon and sat in the chair by the window where she had waited for Ian to come home. But he would never come home again no matter how long she sat there.
She took a drink and winced at the taste. She would never truly be a whiskey girl, but since Ian wasn’t there to celebrate his birthday she’d decided she’d drink it for him. The second mouthful went down a little easier, and the alcohol warmed her, which she welcomed because she felt cold all the time.
When the glass was empty, she poured another. Her tears flowed freely because at home she didn’t have to hide them or pretend everything was okay. She drank and she cried, and her longing for him was as bottomless as her glass.
Earlier that day, shortly after Stuart left, Samantha had come into the food pantry alone. She’d pulled Kate aside and whispered, “I got some money. This is the second time it’s happened. The bank traced it to one of those charitable websites where you can ask for help and people can donate anonymously. But I never went to that website, and I never asked for help. I spent it because I needed it so badly. Do you think it’s okay to spend this one too?”
Kate had scared Samantha when she’d grabbed her hands and started crying.
“What is it?” Samantha had asked. “What’s wrong, Kate?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just so happy for you. You should definitely spend the money.”
“If you think it’s okay, then I will.”
Kate finished the second glass of bourbon, head spinning and tears rolling down her face. She didn’t know why some people could have everything and others had to struggle and fight. Why some people lived to one hundred but others would not see thirty-three.
The only thing she knew for sure was that Ian had not been granted enough time on this earth, and she’d give anything to have him back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Ian had been dead for thirty-one days when Kate received the message. She’d been walking home from work in the pouring rain, umbrella turned inside out from the gusty wind that had accompanied the downpour, when her phone sounded an alert to let her know she’d received a new e-mail. She forgot all about it until she went to call her mother an hour later and couldn’t find her phone. After finally tracking it down in the front pocket of the soaked jeans she’d removed immediately upon her arrival at home, she remembered the alert. When she hung up with Diane, she scrolled through the unread e-mails. A message from the dating site she no longer used caught her eye.
The subject line said, You have one new message.
Kate would have to log on to her dating account to read the message, but since she had no desire or interest in doing so, she deleted the e-mail notification.
The next day while sitting at her desk, she received another notification. You have one new message.
At Ian’s request, Kate had not deleted her account. But the thought of dating anyone made her physically ill, and the last thing she wanted was a constant reminder of her single status. She opened a browser on her phone and logged on to her account. Kate had modified her preferences so that she’d no longer receive alerts, but all the notification settings had been turned back on. She jabbed at the drop-down menu to turn them off again. Deciding it was time to remove her profile permanently, she went in search of the delete button.
“Kate? Can you unlock the back door for a delivery?”
“Sure,” she said, setting the phone aside to dig the keys out of her pocket. She walked to the back and forgot about deleting the account until the next day when she received another notification shortly after returning to her apartment after work.
You have one new message.
Once again, she logged on to her dating account.
Once again, all notifications were back on.
Irritated, she clicked over to the actual messages, wondering who was being so persistent. After taking a look, she would delete the account as planned. Kate expected to find dozens of messages, but there were only three, all of which had come in since she’d received the first alert two days ago, and all from the same person.
Someone named Rion Bodoh.
Rion? Kate thought.
She went to his profile, but there was no picture and no bio.
She clicked on the first message:
I would really like to connect with you.
Kate deleted it and the second message filled the screen.
Please, I would really like the chance to get to know you.
Kate deleted that one too.
The final message filled the screen.
All I’m asking is for a simple response to let me know you’re receiving my messages. If you’re not interested in getting to know me, please tell me and I won’t write to you again.
Kate tapped out a short reply, hoping it would end his attempts to engage her in conversation.
Yes, I’ve received your messages. I have no interest in meeting or dating anyone. I am deleting this account.
The sound of the e-mail alert chimed in her hand almost immediately.
You have one new message.
In the interest of being polite, she’d done what he’d asked. But of course “
Ryan” with the weird spelling hadn’t held up his end of the bargain.
They never did.
I can’t tell you how happy I am that you responded. I’d really like to get to know you. I like your glasses. They make you look very smart.
Her glasses?
Kate clicked over to her profile. Her bio was still the one Ian had written, but she inhaled sharply when she noticed the picture, remembering exactly when Ian had taken it.
She’d been lying in bed next to him, hair tousled, eyes half-closed, lips turned up slightly in a satisfied smile, naked under the covers. He’d reached for his phone on the nightstand and snapped the picture. When he showed it to her, he said, “This is my new favorite picture of you. I love it because I’m the one who put that look on your face. God, Kate. You are so beautiful.”
She remembered how after he’d shown her the picture, he’d pulled back the covers and asked if he could take one more. “For my eyes only,” he said.
She’d said yes.
Now the picture had been cropped to show only her face and rotated so it appeared she was sitting upright.
And she was wearing glasses.
Nice, normal glasses.
How long after New Year’s Eve—when her profile photo had still been a picture of her driving the Shelby—had Ian changed it?
It made sense he’d choose his favorite photo of her, especially because he was the only one who knew the circumstances behind it.
But when had he added the glasses?
And why?
Her irritation was replaced by curiosity. She’d never needed glasses in her life, so what significance did they bring to the photo? Ian was the one who wore glasses, not her. She thought back to the first time she’d seen him wearing them.
“Are the glasses a disguise? Because I totally knew it was you.”
“The glasses are real. I often suffer from eyestrain since I spend so much time on the computer, and I was up late last night, working.”