Trespassing(34)

“I don’t know.” But I’d rather not think about it.

“So much life ahead of him,” Shell says. “So many years ahead for you, for Bella. You were trying to have another baby!”

“He was a good father,” I say.

“Good, period. He had plans. For you. For your family.”

“I know. I can’t believe it,” I say. “I don’t want to believe it.”

Until I’m holding the death certificate or until I see his dead body, I won’t believe he’s gone. Nothing adds up. Short of his flying a plane for some secret government agency, no two pieces of this puzzle fit together.

“But what happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Surely, they’ve told you what they think—”

“If I knew, I’d tell you. They said they’d share the report, but—”

“What will you do?” Her tears rattle through the phone, which only leaves me falling apart into even smaller fragments. “With Bella . . . how will you . . . how will you manage?”

Just as Micah would’ve wanted me to. But I know what Shell means. Being a single parent—especially to a handful like Bella—is going to be hard. But even if I’d known eventually I’d be doing it all on my own, I still would have fought to have her.

“I’ll be there for you, for both of you.”

“I’ll never be the same,” I whisper. I’ll never be able to hold him again, to kiss his lips, to tell him I love him. I’ll never see Bella climb into his lap again. And that terrible truth keeps playing on repeat in my head. I keep seeing her climb into his arms. I keep seeing her eat ice cream off the spoon he held out for her.

For the last time.

And it hurts to know I wasted those last few hours with him. Bitching about preschool, about Nini, about how his life was so easy compared to mine. I feel cold inside, as if someone is taking an ice pick to my heart, carving out the places reserved for my husband, the father of my only child. And to think that Shell lost her only son . . .

“Not the natural order of things,” Shell says. “A son shouldn’t go before his parents.”

They say sharing grief helps, but I can’t believe anything helps now. As a mother, I see Micah’s death as doubly unfair. Take a father from his daughter. Take a husband from his wife. But how must it feel to have a child taken from his mother? How would I feel to have Elizabella taken from me?

“I’m . . . God, Shell, I’m lost. I can’t believe it.”

“The service will help.”

“I suppose.” My only experience with memorials—my mother’s—didn’t provide closure, and the prospect of holding one for Micah feels as if I’m spiraling down into nothingness.

“We’ll do it right,” she says. “Something special to honor him.”

No anniversary parties are on the horizon. No graduations. No giving Bella away with her father on her wedding day.

Will anything be special enough?

“When will it be?” Shell asks. “The memorial.”

“The crematorium is supposed to call when he arrives. But I thought I’d wait for you,” I say, although I haven’t wanted to think about anything of the sort. “To plan the memorial. To find the right time.”

“Our flight is tomorrow. I can’t get on an earlier flight, with the holiday next week, but, honey, come to the lake. We’ll plan the memorial together.”

At first, the prospect of being with Shell is like a warm blanket on a cold night. But a heartbeat later, the chill seeps back into my skin. “Is Mick all right with that?”

“He’ll have to be. I’ll talk with him. We should be getting there sometime Saturday.”

We cry together and talk for a while. But eventually, she has to go. She has to tell Mick that their only son, with whom he hadn’t spoken in years, is dead.

“Love you,” she says.

“Love you, too.”

Maybe I will find closure if I plan a memorial. Micah and I had planned for this sort of thing, only we’d figured we would be in our seventies or eighties or even nineties when it happened.

I’m an island, drifting in a horrific sea.

Thanksgivings of my youth flit in and out of my mind. Mama and me. Just the two of us, alone. I never wanted to repeat that pattern. Would Mick object to two more for Thanksgiving at the lake? Might he learn to consider us family even if he couldn’t mend fences with his son? If this year goes well, I hope we can count on holidays with Shell and Mick from here on. I can’t bear the thought of celebrating at a table for two.

I look to Elizabella, who’s struggling with the zipper on her coat. I wanted so much more for her. I wanted a big family, so we’d have each other when tragedy struck. I never wanted to leave my daughter alone, never wanted her to endure the hell that I went through.

“Where are we going?” Bella attempts again to zip her coat.

I take over and zip it up for her. “Warm and cozy?”

“Nini doesn’t want to go to school.”

I haven’t sent her to the Westlake School since it all happened. I don’t know why she’d assume I’d send her now. Come to think of it, preschool was Micah’s idea, and it made sense because we assumed I’d need some Bella-free time once IVF worked its magic and I was pregnant again. Now that another baby isn’t in the plan, and now that Micah isn’t here to persuade me otherwise, there’s no reason to rush Bella out the door to a school she obviously hates.