In the Distance There Is Light (8 page)

Dolores’ fingers dig a little deeper into my flesh. I’m interpreting it as her way of saying she understands too. “I’ve seen you change over the years. You’ve become so much more comfortable in your skin. You’ve blossomed.”

I chuckle. “That’s only because when Ian first introduced us you intimidated the hell out of me.”

“Oh, please. Me? I’m a pussycat.”

“You were very courteous, but also a little scary. A bit like a mother hen protecting her young.”

“I
was
protective of him. His previous girlfriend, Mandy, ditched him so cold-heartedly weeks before Angela died. If I could help it, no one would have ever hurt him again. But life is not a fairy-tale. Ian learned that soon enough.” Dolores shakes her head. “I couldn’t believe it when Mandy showed up at the funeral. She wasn’t there for Angela’s funeral. I guess she didn’t love him enough to go through that with him. She knew it was inevitable and she bolted. He tried to hide it, said things like ‘good riddance’, but I could easily tell her leaving had crushed him. Angela was dying, so he had a way of displacing his pain about Mandy. He didn’t date for a long time after that happened. Then he met you. If I was in any way unpleasant to you when we met, you can blame Mandy. I was sizing you up, trying to gauge if you too would leave him when times got tough and break his heart.”

“I know I hurt him sometimes. I think it’s inevitable when you love someone.”

“That’s so true.” Dolores lets her head fall onto the pillow. Her hand doesn’t move. “But you made him happy, Sophie, and for that I will always be grateful. He died a happy, loved man, which makes it all much more unbearable in a way. Sometimes I can see it as a small comfort, you know? One second he was just happily pedaling away on his bike, on his way to a job he was passionate about, having kissed his girlfriend good-bye, and the next, he was gone. He wouldn’t have had time to even consider it was the end, to take into account our grief, because in a split second, his consciousness went.” Her thumb strokes my shoulder. “Am I being too morbid?”

I shake my head even though I haven’t been able to see it that way. I just miss him. Every second of every minute of every day. I miss how we would talk like this in bed at night because in the morning there was no time for chats. Ian was always running late, always pushing the snooze button one more time.

“Do you want to watch some TV?” I ask, not sure if I want this conversation to continue.

“I’m exhausted,” Dolores says.

“Me too.” Fatigue suddenly washes over me. All the emotions of the day, heightened by my visit home and this conversation with Dolores, catch up with me.

“No more Ambien for you?” Dolores asks.

She must know she’s my sleeping aid now. Her presence, proximity, and touch knock me out better than any pill could.

“Nope. Good night, Dolores.”

“Night.” She switches off the light and this time, when darkness falls in the room, she doesn’t just throw an arm over my upper body, but presses her entire body against the back of mine.

At first, it startles me, until I relax against her generous touch, and I let all the tension of the day drain from my muscles.

Within minutes, I fall asleep totally wrapped up in Dolores.

Chapter Thirteen

“Still sleeping in the big old lesbo bed?” Jeremy asks.

Lips pursed, I nod, while remembering how, this morning, I woke up with the front of my body pressed against Dolores. I must have turned in the middle of the night and, in my sleep, searched for more comfort, my sleeping body believing I was throwing my arms around Ian.

“I agree that it’s marginally better than sleeping pills, Sophie, but before you know it, it will be a thing you can no longer do without. You can’t sleep in Dolores’ bed forever.”

“Is that advice or judgment?”

Jeremy cocks his head. “Have you ever known me to judge?”

“It’s basically how you make a living.” My reply is snippier than I want it to be.

“I may judge others, but never you, my dear, cranky friend.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been feeling so restless the past few days.”

“Of course you have. You’re bored, sweetie. You need to do something with all this time you have on your hands.”

“You might be right, old wise man.” I nod. “A lady of leisure, I am not.” I must have written Ian twenty letters by now, all written by hand, then copied onto my computer, stored in a folder named
Letters to my dead boyfriend
.

“I know for a fact that Jackie O. is ready to be pitched to, Soph. She’ll go for any subject.
The Post
needs you.”

“I’ve gone over my notebook with possible topics many times, but I just haven’t felt that spark. Any project I undertake is a big commitment and I’m not sure I have it in me.”

“Then write something shorter, a subject that doesn’t require weeks of research. It’s just an idea, but you could interview me, for instance. Didn’t they ask you to write more frivolous pieces?” Jeremy bats his lashes. “I’m as frivolous as they come, honey.”

I burst out laughing. “That should definitely entertain me, though I wouldn’t find out anything new, because I already know everything there is to know about you, down to all the sleazy details.”

Jeremy waves me off. “Maybe you should ghostwrite my memoir. Or we could do it together. Your journalistic gravitas combined with my effortless wit and fascinating life. It would be a hit for sure.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“There’s frivolous and then there’s so airy it’s almost weightless,” I joke. “It would barely take my mind off things.”

“You have to know what you want, Soph.” Jeremy scans my face with his gray eyes. Familiarity between us grew so instantly after we met that I never took the time to consider if he’s handsome or not. He doesn’t have the most symmetrical face and he always looks a little tired, but he’s got bags of charisma and can charm the pants off anyone.

I plant my elbows on the table between us in despair. “I know. I’m a journalist and writing is what I do, but it would feel like going back to how I was before. As much as I want to work, I just can’t face doing the same exact thing I did before he died. It doesn’t feel right. I want to make a change. Do something different.”

“If this is going to be one of those follow-my-dreams speeches, I have a suggestion for you.” Jeremy leans over the table conspiratorially. “Maybe it’s time to dust off that novel you’ve been working on for as long as I’ve known you.”

I huff out a breath. “I haven’t thought about that in years.”

“Really? Because you sure talked my ear off about it when we’d just met.”

“Back then I was just one of those beginning journalists with the same dream as every other journalist: write the next great American novel. I was just being a cliché.”

“I’m just saying, Soph. You want a project and it needs to be something different, but something you’re passionate enough about. Maybe now’s your time to do this. You can afford to take time off. Why not lose yourself in an epic plot? I’ll help you. I love making stuff up.”

“It’s not even such a bad idea.” I look Jeremy straight in the eye.

He sits there with his palms facing upward, head slanted, as though wanting to say—without words—that he’s always full of good ideas. “I wouldn’t use what you showed me years ago though. I would start anew.” I can always count on Jeremy to be straightforward.

I nod, my heart beating a little faster, my mind working quicker than it has in weeks.

“Now that we’ve sorted out some occupational therapy for you, I have another question. When will you be ready to attend social functions again? I was thinking about having a small gathering at my place. Nothing fancy, just the usual gang. Your friends want to see more of you, darling. We miss you.”

“You see me all the time,” I say evasively, knowing it’s hardly true.

“Correction: I
used
to see you all the time. Now I’m lucky if I get to see my best buddy once a week. That’s not how we are. We are closer than that.”

“I know.” It’s just been so cozy at Dolores’ house. Whenever I refused an invitation, always carefully crafted and with plenty of options built-in to give me an easy way out, my first thought was always that it would make me miss Dolores too much. Just having her around, staying at her house, my ears perking up when I hear her come home. Maybe Jeremy is right. I’m leaning on Dolores too much. It has been almost two months. I can’t hibernate with my mother-in-law forever. “I’ll come to your party.”

“Oh, it’s not a party at all. Just a bunch of friends hanging out together. You and me. Alex and Bart. Sydney and Ethan. Bo and Cindy, if you want them there. And maybe Brandon… You have complete veto right over the guest list.”

“That sounds fine, Jeremy. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me yet. How about this Saturday? We’ll start early. You can stay the night.”

With a new kind of determination simmering inside of me, I agree.

“Oh, and one of our friends won’t be drinking, if you know what I mean.” He gives me an exaggerated wink.

“I don’t. What
do
you mean?”

“One of them is up the duff, with child, has a bun in the oven.”

“Really? Who?”

Jeremy folds his features into that irresistible apologetic pout he does so well. “I’m not supposed to say. But see what I mean, Soph? You’ve missed all the gossip.”

“Is it Alex?” She and Bart have been trying for a while.

“My lips are sealed, but you’ll find out on Saturday.” While he says this, Jeremy gives a slight downward jerk with his chin. It’s barely a nod, but it says enough.

Alex is one of my best friends and she hasn’t been able to tell me her good news. It really is time to come out of hiding.

Chapter Fourteen

“Come here,” Dolores says, and throws her arms wide.

I step into her embrace and whereas before I’d have just let her hug me, now I hug back firmly, all my intention behind it.

She kisses me on the top of my head, and says, “I’m proud of you for doing this.”

By the way we’re standing in the hallway so dramatically, you’d think I’m leaving on a month-long expedition to the North Pole, while I’m only just going to Jeremy’s house for a party and a sleepover.

We don’t say it out loud, but it hangs in the air between us. We’ll both be sleeping alone tonight. I’ve taken naps on my own. I’ve stayed in bed in the morning on my own after Dolores has gotten up to go to work. But never, in the past two months, have I gone to bed without her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I step out of our embrace, which was lingering and a little unsettling because it makes me wonder whether Dolores will be all right on her own.

“Have fun,” she says. I swear there’s an undertone of sadness in her voice, more than usual, or perhaps it’s just my imagination.

On the way over to Jeremy’s, I clasp my hands around the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are white by the time I arrive. I take a couple of deep breaths, reminding myself that these people are my friends. They’ve known me for years. But, despite having been to Jeremy’s many times since Ian died, walking into his apartment now feels like stepping into a different world entirely.

* * *

After I’ve been hugged extensively and much longer than I would have been
before
, Alex pulls me aside, into the kitchen, where she shoos Jeremy out, and says, “Oh, Soph, I’ve missed you so much.”

I’m glad that Jeremy already spilled the beans about her pregnancy, so I had time to adjust to the idea that for everyone else life goes on. New life is being created. Couples take the next steps that Ian and I will never take. Though he’s not the king of discretion, I suspect that’s the exact reason Jeremy didn’t keep his mouth shut as he was most likely instructed to do.

We go through the motions of her asking me how I’ve been doing and me inquiring about her life. Then she says, “I didn’t know when to tell you, but Bart and I are expecting. We’re going to have a baby.”

I give her a big smile—I don’t have it in me to clasp my hands in front of my mouth in fake surprise. “That’s really wonderful. I’m so happy for you.” I pull her into a hug and when I stand with my arms around my friend, a person whom I wish nothing but well in this world, a pang of jealousy lances through me. Because for her, nothing much has changed, while for me, everything is still as broken as it was two months ago. Even my coming to this
gathering
, which is really a party—but couldn’t possibly be called that—doesn’t alter this situation.