“We’re going to be all right,” Paul said, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of his chair. “There were days I wondered but now, for the first time since the funeral, I believe it.”
“Me, too.”
Paul sighed, straightened, then took a sip of his coffee. After a moment he stared blankly at the television screen.
“I miss Diane most right about now,” he said, his voice low. “We used to sit and talk every night after the boys were asleep. She’d tell me about her day, and I’d talk to her about mine. I’d hold her in my arms and we’d relax together, on that sofa you’re sitting on now.” He shook his head. “I’ve tried a hundred times to remember the things we said, to resurrect the good feelings I had holding her in my arms. But you know, I can’t remember a single word of our conversations.”
“It was just having her there, listening, that was important.”
Paul nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” But he didn’t sound convinced.
They didn’t often talk about Diane. She guessed it was natural that it would happen tonight, her first night in his home.
“You know what I miss about her most?” Leah asked.
“No.”
“Shopping at the mall.”
Paul chuckled. “I should’ve guessed. I’ve never been able to understand what it is about shopping that intrigues you women.”
“Diane had an incredible knack for finding a bargain.”
“You mean she had an incredible knack for spending money, don’t you?”
Leah folded her legs under her and smiled. “It wasn’t so much the shopping, but the time we spent laughing when we tried on clothes and ordered cheesecake for lunch and then, because we felt guilty, salad for dessert.”
Leah’s stomach tensed at the pain that came into Paul’s eyes. A look that was reflected in her own.
It was supposed to get easier, but she’d never missed her sister more than she did at that moment. Missing Diane hurt so much. For months, Leah had kept the ache of loneliness to herself, not daring to discuss it with Paul, knowing that he, too, was overwhelmed by pain. It was oddly freeing to release some of her own anguish now. To reveal it to the one person who’d completely understand.
“We’re going to be all right,” Paul said again.
“Yes, I think we will,” she murmured.
In their own ways they were coping. How well remained to be seen.
For a long while Paul said nothing.
Neither did Leah.
* * *
Paul finished his coffee, then set aside his mug, closing his eyes, visibly relaxed.
Leah finished her coffee too, knowing that if she didn’t go to bed immediately, she’d fall asleep right there on the couch.
The day had been even more tiring than she’d realized. Her bones ached from the exertion of moving. From the fatigue of dealing with the unending demands of two preschoolers and an infant.
“Good night, Paul,” she said, unfolding her legs and standing awkwardly. Her feet didn’t seem to want to cooperate.
“’Night, Diane.”
Three
Diane.
Paul’s eyes shot open. For a moment it had almost seemed as if Diane was in the living room with him. As if he were chuckling over Ryan’s mischievous nature with his much-loved wife. Then…a slip of the tongue had nearly crippled him with grief.
For an agonizing moment he was at a loss for words. It had been a natural mistake, he supposed. Under the circumstances an understandable mistake. Certainly a forgivable one.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking at Leah, hoping he hadn’t offended her.
“No problem,” she reassured him with a smile. She headed toward her bedroom.
Paul reached for his coffee and saw that his hand was shaking as he raised the mug to his lips.
Diane.
Sometimes he wondered if the ache of her loss would ever ease. She’d been gone half a year, yet his grief was as powerful now as it had been that night, the night of her death.
In the time since her funeral, Paul had experienced the full range of emotions. Unleashed fear. Burning anger. Intense sadness. And occasionally a sort of acceptance. Just when he felt he’d moved beyond the pain, something else would happen, and he’d have to deal with each series of emotions all over again, as if facing them for the first time.
He was grateful to Leah, although he hadn’t been nearly as gracious as he should’ve been when she’d offered to move in. He liked Diane’s older sister. She was a generous woman, and he’d always be grateful to her for the commitment she’d made to him and the children. Frankly Paul didn’t know what he would’ve done without her.
He recalled the first time he’d met Leah, and how surprised he’d been. He’d expected another Diane. Someone so full of life and laughter that her smile rivaled the brilliance of the sun. He’d imagined she’d be as blond and pretty as his young wife.
Leah was none of those things.
She wasn’t unattractive; he wouldn’t even describe her as plain. As a writer he should be able to find the right words, yet each one that came to him, he ended up discarding. At one time he’d thought of her as nondescript.
He’d since changed his mind.
There was a subdued radiance to her, a joy that broke through her restraint every so often when he wasn’t expecting to see it. It never failed to charm him.
She’d always been Ryan and Ronnie’s favorite relative. It had been Leah who’d comforted them when they learned about their mother. It had been Leah who’d encouraged them when Paul had no encouragement to give. It had been Leah who’d cheered them when he didn’t know if he’d ever have the strength to laugh again.
That afternoon had been a good example. He’d returned from the office to find her in her bedroom, with the boys gathered around. When he’d walked in, she’d looked up and smiled…and for a moment, the briefest of moments, Paul had felt whole again.
Over coffee that evening he’d experienced that same sense of wholeness, as though the crushing weight he’d been carrying since Diane’s death had been eased. Not by much, but enough for some of the numbness to leave his heart.
He owed Leah a debt he couldn’t repay in several lifetimes. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he was glad she was there with him and the children. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t take advantage of her generosity. He’d make sure she had time to herself, time to get away, socialize—do whatever she needed to do to keep her sanity during the next two years.
Her sanity, after all, was essential to his.
* * *
A month passed, the easiest weeks for Paul since Diane’s death. Each day he felt less embittered, less confused, less depressed. He’d even started thinking about working on his novel again. The anticipation cheered him.
The transition from college professor to housekeeper–mother must’ve been hard for Leah, but she was managing exceptionally well. Paul was proud of her, proud of the progress she’d made. Her efforts around the house had made a tremendous difference. She’d begun some of the yard work, too, and with Ryan and Ronnie’s “help” was planting a garden.
All three children were thriving under her attention and care. Paul couldn’t believe the difference in his sons. Ryan actually forgot his blankie sometimes. He was watching cartoons without it one afternoon when Paul had arrived home from work. Ronnie was beside him, and for the first time in recent memory, his son’s thumb wasn’t in his mouth.
Paul had praised Leah, but she’d quickly dismissed his compliments, claiming the changes in the boys’ behavior weren’t due solely to her. Although the boys were more secure now that she was there to take care of them, attending the preschool with their neighborhood friends had helped, too. And the summer sunshine, she said, had also contributed.
Although Paul didn’t really agree with her, he’d let it pass. He definitely attributed the boys’ improvement to Leah, but he knew she wasn’t comfortable with his appreciation.
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He used to think of her as quiet and unassuming. But in the past few weeks he’d realized she was more than that. She was sensitive and loving, and her gentleness was a balm that was healing them all.
The phone on his desk rang, and Paul reached for it.
“Hi there, big brother,” a deep voice greeted him.
“Rich, hello.” Paul hadn’t heard from his brothers much lately. Mostly it was his fault. He’d rejected their efforts to draw him out after Diane’s death. Both Rich and Jason were on a softball team and they’d wanted him to join them in a summer league. Paul had nearly laughed out loud. There wasn’t time for sports in his life. And the thought of playing softball had seemed ludicrous, considering the loss he’d endured. Paul understood that Rich and Jason were only trying to help, but he hadn’t been ready.
“Rich, it’s good to hear from you,” Paul said, meaning it.
“You might have called me,” his brother responded. “I’ve left you enough messages.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re fortunate I’m willing to let you make it up to me.”
“I figured you would.”
“I’m calling to ask sort of a favor.” Some of the teasing left Rich’s voice.
“Oh?”
“One of the guys on the softball team, John Duncan—you remember John, don’t you? The mechanic from the garage off Seventy-sixth?”
“Yeah.” Paul vaguely recalled meeting the guy. “What about him?”
“He has to miss the next two or three games. Jason and I were talking it over and we thought…since Leah’s taking care of the kids now, maybe you could get away for a couple of Saturday mornings. If you have to bring the twins, that’d be okay, too. Jamie always comes to the games and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind looking after them.”
Despite himself, Paul chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“Richard, Richard, haven’t you learned yet?”
“Learned what?”
“Not to volunteer your wife for something until you’ve checked with her first.”
“Oh…right. Listen, the team’s desperate. John’s a good shortstop, but not as good as you.”
“Do you suppose buttering me up’s going to help?”
“I was hoping it would,” Rich admitted honestly. “Can you do it?”
“Let me get back to you.”
“When?”
“This evening,” Paul promised.
He was tempted. Leah would encourage him to do it; he knew that without asking.
Maybe he would, Paul decided. Maybe he would.
* * *
“You’re positive you don’t mind?” Paul asked for the third time the following Saturday morning. He couldn’t help feeling guilty about abandoning Leah with the kids while he went off to play softball.
“Paul,” she chided, smiling up at him. “Go, before I push you out the door. Don’t worry about us. The boys and I will have lots of fun.”
“Planting a garden sounds more like work to me.” A half dozen egg cartons cluttered the kitchen counter. Leah and the boys had been enthusiastically working on this project for weeks.
Somehow they’d gotten him involved. Two weekends before, he’d found himself spading up a section of the yard for them to use. When he’d finished, Leah and the boys had dumped topsoil and fertilizer on the rough earth, spreading it out as evenly as they could.
Then the eggshells started turning up. One afternoon the three of them had been engrossed in filling halves of eggshells with potting soil and then inserting a single seed. Now the tiny zucchini, cucumber, radish and lettuce sprouts poked out of the shells.
The seedlings, Leah declared that morning, were now strong enough to be planted outside.
Paul’s sons had been delighted with the idea. More than once he’d seen the two of them peering over the kitchen counter, as if they were hoping to catch the seeds bursting instantly into full-grown plants.
“I could bring Kelsey with me,” he offered.
“Then she’ll go down late for her nap and be crabby. You don’t need that.” She carried the boys’ empty cereal bowls to the sink. “Now, hurry or you’ll be late.”
Paul drank the last of his coffee. As she strolled past, Leah grabbed the bill of his baseball cap and pushed it down, past his eyes. “Have fun, Mickey Mantle,” she teased.
Paul laughed, straightened the cap and grabbed his mitt. It wasn’t until he was outside starting his car that he realized he hadn’t felt so lighthearted in a long time.
Paul’s softball skills were a bit rusty, but he made a diving catch and caught a ground ball that turned the tide of the game. His brothers and temporary teammates slapped him on the back and ran off the field with him.
It felt great to get out like this. To laugh. Strangely, perhaps, he didn’t feel guilty about having fun. It felt right to be with his brothers.
Jamie, Rich’s wife, had packed a picnic lunch for after the game. She invited Paul to join her, Jason and Rich, but he declined, anxious to return home. Jamie and Rich’s little girl, Bethany, was spending the day with Jamie’s mother, so they were free to enjoy an all-adults afternoon.
Jason had eagerly accepted their invitation, and Paul was glad to see it—his two brothers together—his sister-in-law so pleasant and kind. Although Jamie had been part of the family for almost two years, it never ceased to surprise him that his play-the-field brother had married her. Of the three of them, Rich had been blessed with the best looks. His tall, compelling presence had garnered him attention from the opposite sex since high school. In fact, that was where he and Jamie had become friends. Good friends. And their friendship had eventually led to marriage.
Paul liked his sister-in-law a great deal. Compared to Rich’s other girlfriends, she seemed so…unpretentious, even a little ordinary. In many ways she was like Leah.
He sighed as he thought of Diane’s sister. Leah, ordinary? There was nothing ordinary about her! And, to be fair, Jamie was pretty special, too. Maybe it was that still-waters-run-deep thing, but these were self-confident, compassionate women, both of them.
A grateful tenderness took hold of him as he considered the changes Leah had brought to his life in the past month. The changes she’d made in his children’s lives. Her warmth had largely gone unnoticed by him until she’d moved in. Her optimism. Her smile, too.
There was something about her smile that defied description. The way it subtly lifted the corners of her mouth and then made its way into her eyes. He’d always thought Leah’s eyes were plain, an unremarkable hazel. Now he knew better, and he found her eyes, with their changeable color, fascinating. If she wore green, her eyes seemed green. If she had on a blue sweater or shirt, her eyes showed hints of blue. If she wore something dark, the brown highlights revealed themselves.
Her eyes were a lot like Leah herself, Paul decided. Adaptable. Multifaceted.
He’d come to know Leah in the past month. Really know her. Appreciate her and her quiet ways. He’d tried to analyze what had happened to him since her arrival in his home, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. When she’d first arrived, he’d been consumed with his grief, almost afraid to let go of it. What was left for him if he didn’t have his grief? Emptiness? A looming black hole of nothing.
After the first week with Leah, he noticed there’d be periods of time without the harsh pain. He’d feel almost free. Then something would remind him of Diane, of how lonely he was without her, and the pain would return full force. He thought about this new emotional pattern.
Pain.
No pain.
Pain again, but not as intense as before.
Then gone again.
Paul found it curious that Diane’s sister could have brought about so dramatic a difference. More curious still that someone who was practically a stranger to him could ease his misery.
He pulled into the driveway of his home, eager to see Leah and the children. Eager to see their progress with the garden.
He put his softball mitt in the hall closet and grabbed a cold soda from the refrigerator. He was tasting his first swallow when he happened to look out the sliding glass door.
And froze.
The can was poised in front of his mouth as he watched the scene in the garden. Kelsey was sitting in her stroller, small arms stretched upward, attempting to catch a butterfly. The boys were digging with hand shovels, intent on their task, with Leah looking on, laughing at something one of them said.
The sound of her laughter drifted toward him, and Paul swore he’d never heard anything more beautiful in his life.
She was wearing faded jeans and a short-sleeved green shirt. She’d left the last two buttons unfastened and knotted the tails at her waist. Her hair was caught by the breeze, and the sunshine cast an iridescent glow through the fine strands.
Paul’s heart constricted, but not with the pain he was accustomed to feeling. He almost wished it was pain. He knew how to deal with that, how to react. But it wasn’t pain he felt now.
It was desire.
A desire so gut-wrenching it took his breath away. It wasn’t anything as simple as sexual need. He’d never thought of Leah in those terms, never considered making love to anyone other than his wife, who was seven months in the grave. What he was feeling was an emotion totally outside his experience. Bigger than mere desire, bigger than the contentment of companionship or the sharing of grief. Bigger than Leah and him.
Strange as it seemed, he felt an overwhelming urge to sit down and weep. Tears burned for release, tightening his chest, stinging his eyes. With effort he was able to hold them at bay.
Hours later Paul still wasn’t sure what it was about that scene that had struck him so hard. Perhaps simply the beauty of those moments. The sky had been bright blue, the sunshine beaming down like God’s smile on those he cherished most. His children, who were quietly happy as they scrabbled in the dirt or grasped at butterflies. And Leah…
It came to Paul then, as he sat at his desk, looking over some bills and bank statements. He understood now. What had affected him so strongly was…life. How glorious life could be. How beautiful. How precious.