One Spring Night

Chapter Nine

"I don't really talk much about it. This'll help," she explained as she set the empty glass on the bar in a clank.

"My husband—Josh, that's his name—he was an amazing man. We met in high school, got married not long after graduation. He was my best friend. We did everything together, absolutely everything. Then we joined my family's business of running dry cleaning shops. We had three of them that we ran and we worked really well together. Some people say that's bad for a relationship, working together, but it was great for us. Not that we didn't argue or differ in opinions on how to run things, but working through those things made us stronger, closer."

She looked at Ben. "You sure you want to hear this?"

"Positive. Keep going."

"Okay. Well, I guess to answer your question of what it felt like to be married... It felt like I had a permanent friend. I had a built-in buddy for life, to go through life with. Someone who would always be there and always have my back." She reached for the empty glass, turned it in her hands, looking at the way the lights from above reflected in a dance of sparkling lights and fractured shadows.

"Turns out that's not how it works," she continued. "First came the news about my brother, William, and the battle he was facing. I went to the hospital to be with him and, that day, Josh stayed home to finish cleaning out the gutters. We had a crisp blue sky overhead, with warmth at the edges, but we also had five straight days of rain forecasted for Boston. That's where we lived," she told him, frowning. "Can't remember if I've told you that before."

"You have," he said calmly, listening.

"So I went to the hospital, Josh stayed home, and my mind was wandering as it does while I drive. And then all of a sudden I remember feeling like the sun was spotlighting my car, warming me through the windshield of the car as I drove. You know what I mean? That warmth through the glass that penetrates? I remember that so vividly for some reason. I remember being so warm as I drove to the hospital that day. I was scared out of my mind for William, but I just felt such a safe heat. Like a blanket. And even though I had fear running through me, I remember being overcome with this sense of happiness. Not giddy happiness, but deep, vital happiness."

The rest of her story clogged in her throat along with a well of tears. She grabbed Ben's beer and took a sip, determined to finish her story without weeping. She'd had one good weep for the day and that was enough.

He wanted to go to her, wanted to go behind the bar, grab her and hold her close. But he saw the determination on her face, so he gave her that space. That she was sharing something difficult meant more to him than his own need to hold her, protect her, and not let go.

"And I found out later that he—Josh—fell off the roof and died at about the time I was driving to the hospital. I think in some way he came to me. He loved me and wanted me to know he was with me." Her eyes filled, tears spilled over and she palmed them away. "Honestly, it's what got me through those first days, weeks, months. Knowing that he was still with me in some way. Keeping me warm. Reminding me of that happiness."

"That's beyond amazing," Ben said, reaching over the bar and intertwining his fingers with hers. "To feel that, to know that."

"He was amazing like that. I guess that's how I kept putting one foot in front of the other. I knew I had to walk through the shock, walk through the grief. And I had to do it on my own, otherwise I would've felt weak."

"And you're anything but weak."

She stared at him a moment, feeling her heart thrum. She prided herself on diving into the heart of her characters, but Ben...he was better at it in real life than she was. He knew her heart, didn't he? she realized.