had always meant the most to me. “Damn you!” I cried.
I tore and cursed, throwing the pieces into the room, the shredded pages drifting down like confetti at a ticker-tape parade in lower Manhattan’s Canyon of Heroes. But Sandy wasn’t a hero, not to himself, not to me either, I realized, no matter how much he had wanted to be one. And with that thought, the anger shifted to something else.
I crumpled over onto the floor, the side of my face pressed against the worn wool rug. “I believed in you,” I whispered. “I believed in us.”
I stared without seeing, the shock and denial I had been living with since Sandy’s accident finally ripped away. Finding the journals forced me to face what I hadn’t wanted to admit. My husband was dead. He wasn’t going to burst through the front door. But the truth was, my denial had been about more than my husband’s death. The pages forced me to admit what deep down I had already known but had refused to see, what I had wanted most to deny. In the months before the accident, things between us had been falling apart.
How was it possible I hadn’t been willing to admit that fact, even to myself? How had I, Emily Barlow, refused to accept a truth that had been staring me in the face?
But right then none of that mattered. What left me weak with defeat was that if Sandy was dead, not coming back, then I would never get the chance to fix what was wrong.
Call me foolish, call me an embarrassment to everything my mother stood for, but during the months before Sandy died, I hadn’t been able to let go of the image of the man who had made love to me as if he were afraid when he opened his eyes I wouldn’t be there. It was that man I loved, that man I hadn’t wanted to accept was gone.
Even before he died.
einstein
chapter ten
Just so we’re clear, it’s not my fault that Emily Barlow, tiny warrior with a heart of gold, finally fell apart.
And even if I might possibly have played a minor role in her unfortunate communing with the Persian carpet in my private study, isn’t it shallow, not to mention uncharitable, to pass out blame like single malt scotch and Cuban cigars at a private men’s club?
Frustrated, I shook, my dog tags jangling. Not that Emily noticed. Gingerly, I stepped through the journals and shredded pages to get a better look at my wife who lay in a mess on the floor. She wasn’t dead, I determined, but I had to admit this couldn’t be good.
“Old man!”
I didn’t actually expect him to show up, so when a bolt of electricity shot through me and suddenly I wasn’t alone, I woofed in surprise.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I said, despite the fact that I wasn’t Catholic. “You scared me to death.”
The old man snorted at me. Yes, snorted.
His longish white hair was the same, but this time he wore a vest of delicately linked chain mail over a snowy white shirt with high ruffled collar and buckskin trousers. I looked him up and down then snorted right back at him. I can’t swear to it, but he might have blushed.
Grumbling something under his breath, he got down on his hands and knees in front of Emily to get a better look. She stirred, her eyes opening, but I could tell she didn’t see him.
“She’s a wreck,” he said.
“Just so we’re clear, it isn’t my fault.”
“So you’ve been telling yourself.”
My little body shuddered when I huffed, irritation racing down my wiry little back. “It’s rude to read someone else’s thoughts.”
“Consider it a downside of the job.”
Hmmm. “Speaking of which, what exactly is your job?”
“Think of me as … a triage specialist.”
“Interesting. I take it you think I’m worth saving. Though really, as a dog?”
“You were a dog of a man. I thought it might do you good to reverse the situation.”
I was indignant. And quite frankly, a little hurt. I knew plenty of people far more selfish than me. I dealt with them every day, and as far as I knew, none of them had
I tore and cursed, throwing the pieces into the room, the shredded pages drifting down like confetti at a ticker-tape parade in lower Manhattan’s Canyon of Heroes. But Sandy wasn’t a hero, not to himself, not to me either, I realized, no matter how much he had wanted to be one. And with that thought, the anger shifted to something else.
I crumpled over onto the floor, the side of my face pressed against the worn wool rug. “I believed in you,” I whispered. “I believed in us.”
I stared without seeing, the shock and denial I had been living with since Sandy’s accident finally ripped away. Finding the journals forced me to face what I hadn’t wanted to admit. My husband was dead. He wasn’t going to burst through the front door. But the truth was, my denial had been about more than my husband’s death. The pages forced me to admit what deep down I had already known but had refused to see, what I had wanted most to deny. In the months before the accident, things between us had been falling apart.
How was it possible I hadn’t been willing to admit that fact, even to myself? How had I, Emily Barlow, refused to accept a truth that had been staring me in the face?
But right then none of that mattered. What left me weak with defeat was that if Sandy was dead, not coming back, then I would never get the chance to fix what was wrong.
Call me foolish, call me an embarrassment to everything my mother stood for, but during the months before Sandy died, I hadn’t been able to let go of the image of the man who had made love to me as if he were afraid when he opened his eyes I wouldn’t be there. It was that man I loved, that man I hadn’t wanted to accept was gone.
Even before he died.
einstein
chapter ten
Just so we’re clear, it’s not my fault that Emily Barlow, tiny warrior with a heart of gold, finally fell apart.
And even if I might possibly have played a minor role in her unfortunate communing with the Persian carpet in my private study, isn’t it shallow, not to mention uncharitable, to pass out blame like single malt scotch and Cuban cigars at a private men’s club?
Frustrated, I shook, my dog tags jangling. Not that Emily noticed. Gingerly, I stepped through the journals and shredded pages to get a better look at my wife who lay in a mess on the floor. She wasn’t dead, I determined, but I had to admit this couldn’t be good.
“Old man!”
I didn’t actually expect him to show up, so when a bolt of electricity shot through me and suddenly I wasn’t alone, I woofed in surprise.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I said, despite the fact that I wasn’t Catholic. “You scared me to death.”
The old man snorted at me. Yes, snorted.
His longish white hair was the same, but this time he wore a vest of delicately linked chain mail over a snowy white shirt with high ruffled collar and buckskin trousers. I looked him up and down then snorted right back at him. I can’t swear to it, but he might have blushed.
Grumbling something under his breath, he got down on his hands and knees in front of Emily to get a better look. She stirred, her eyes opening, but I could tell she didn’t see him.
“She’s a wreck,” he said.
“Just so we’re clear, it isn’t my fault.”
“So you’ve been telling yourself.”
My little body shuddered when I huffed, irritation racing down my wiry little back. “It’s rude to read someone else’s thoughts.”
“Consider it a downside of the job.”
Hmmm. “Speaking of which, what exactly is your job?”
“Think of me as … a triage specialist.”
“Interesting. I take it you think I’m worth saving. Though really, as a dog?”
“You were a dog of a man. I thought it might do you good to reverse the situation.”
I was indignant. And quite frankly, a little hurt. I knew plenty of people far more selfish than me. I dealt with them every day, and as far as I knew, none of them had
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