This Is Not How It Ends(45)

I leaned back into the chair and marveled at the stars, holes in the dark sky that reminded us of light and dreams. Ben broke the trickle of thoughts. “I heard you talking to Jimmy earlier,” he said. “You have to be careful. None of this makes sense to him.”

I tried to respond, but he cut me off.

“You don’t really know what he’s going through.”

“I lost my mother, Ben. And I lost my father, too. I know about loss.” My voice shook as I continued. “I watched my mother slowly die, shrivel into nothingness. I bargained with God. And then, I begged him to take her. No one should have to see a loved one suffer like that. No one.”

He was taking it in, and I felt a small victory. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I was only trying to help.”

“But you can’t tell Jimmy she’s with him.” His voice was flat. “You can’t tell him she’s all around him when she’s not. You don’t know if that’s true.”

“Just because you don’t believe it doesn’t make it untrue. I feel my mom. All the time. Through clouds, through coincidences, through anything that makes sense of what doesn’t make sense.” I also felt my father, though it was an altogether different feeling.

“It’s not fair to him, Charlotte. She’s gone.” Sunny backed away from the sound of his trembling voice. “There’s nothing that can change that.”

“I know how hard today must be for you.”

He looked out toward the pitch-black water, and if I could see his eyes, I’d find them clouded with sorrow. “He told you.”

“He did. He needs you.” He played with the collar on his shirt. “Ben,” I began.

The wind picked up and took my words with it. When he looked up again, the moon hit his face, and the pain there physically hurt.

“When I was a little girl, I had a lot of trouble going to sleep. My dad had left by then . . . It wasn’t death, but it may as well have been. All the emotions were the same, but worse, I thought, because he had a choice. Mom would tuck me in, and I’d make her stay with me until I fell asleep.” He was watching me, and I didn’t know where the words were coming from. Words I hadn’t even shared with Philip. Philip, who was fun and light and magic. Philip, who had always managed to keep me from these sorts of feelings.

“Go on,” he said.

Which was all I needed to uncover the pain, to reveal my younger, vulnerable self. “I had this theory that sleep was the closest we came to death. If I drifted off to sleep, what if I didn’t wake up?” My fingernails jutted into my palms as I went on, remembering the fear. “I later learned it wasn’t death, but the fear of separation, from my mother, from the wakefulness of life. A different form of loss and suffering. It’s no surprise Jimmy has trouble at bedtime. He’s saying good night, but it’s also, goodbye, for now.”

Ben remained quiet, my words latching on inside and squeezing.

I leaned in closer. “I understand, Ben.”

The night was turning stale and humid. A line of sweat slipped down my back. When he began to speak, it sounded as though the sea quieted and the trees stood still.

“Three days after her birthday, we were walking home from the restaurant. It was this perfect day in the City. We’d spent the afternoon in the park with Jimmy. He was seven and just . . . he laughed so hard that day. I don’t think I’ve heard him laugh since. Not like that.

“We tucked him in and the babysitter arrived. Sari and I went to the restaurant. We were going to have a quick drink. Just the two of us.” He was shaking his head back and forth. “God, she looked beautiful that night. So beautiful. She washed her hair and left it to dry in the warm summer air . . . the smell . . .”

He swallowed more wine, and the pain painted his cheeks. “We were walking home. It was summer . . . New York clears out on the weekends. We didn’t have a care in the world. The restaurant was at the top of its game. We were up for a James Beard Award. We were ready to have another baby . . . She stepped off the street corner . . . It happened so fast—”

My hand came over my mouth.

The tears rolled from his eyes, and he didn’t make a sound, grief sliding down his face. “Jimmy woke up and she was gone. He closed his eyes unaware that when they opened again, his life would never be the same.” Mute sorrow crossed his face, quickly turning to anguish. “There’s no explanation. No reason why Jimmy would have to lose his mother. She’s the person who was supposed to love him all his life. How is he supposed to live without her?”

I didn’t even attempt to explain it away. “I wish I had an answer . . .”

“I shouldn’t be burdening you with this,” he said, wiping his face.

“It’s okay,” I said, extending my hand so he would know I cared. “I’ve spent so many years avoiding my pain . . . it’s good to talk about it. We need to talk about it. It’s the only way to move through it.”

“It hurts,” he whispered.

“I know.”

He dropped his hand behind his head, and I was ashamed at how I wanted to hug him, this man I barely knew.

“You’re lucky to have love, Charlotte. Philip’s a good man.”

“Philip and I care about you, Ben. We’re here for you. You know that.”