Unsevered (6 page)

“Wow, that was fast. The editor already sent it over to you?”

“Yes, he said there were very minor changes that had to be made. You’re a pro at this now, dear. We are putting it through one more round of editing and then we’ll get it to the printer and let you know a release date. Be in touch soon, darling.”

I walk downstairs in search of strong coffee. I feel a little cramp in my stomach and think I might be getting my
monthly unwanted visitor,
but it turns out to be a false alarm.
It’s probably just my nerves.
I make breakfast for myself and walk to the patio to relax. The motion of the waves makes me a little queasy, so I step back inside after a few minutes.

It’s a beautiful day, so I get dressed to go for a walk on the beach and get some fresh air. I do that a lot these days. It’s relaxing and I do my best brainstorming sitting on the sand just watching the tide come and go. The majestic force of the sea makes my problems seem smaller somehow.

As I pass the front door to head to the beach, I detect a strong scent of Eternity cologne and I know Harley is near. For once, I’m not afraid. I embrace his presence, in whatever form I can get it.

I smile as my feet meet with the warm sand, and the breeze massages my face. Sometimes I wish this wasn’t such a private beach, and I would almost welcome a nosy neighbor at this point. I feel as if I’m going crazy in that house. It’s the kind of home that I’ve dreamed of having since I was a little girl, but I never expected to have to enjoy it alone. My heart yearns to have Harley by my side again. Why did he have to go so soon? Our life together was so unfinished.

* * *       * * *      * * *

F
or the next few weeks, I anxiously wait to hear back from Betty. Finally, I get the call. ‘Unsevered’ will be released in two weeks.

CHAPTER SIX

E
verything speeds up in my world once the book is released. It’s practically an overnight success. I always expect to be busy when I release a new book, but this is much more than usual.

Betty calls and asks me to meet her in New York for some press interviews and talk-show guest spots. Over the next few weeks, I appear on
The Rachel Ray Show, The View, and Letterman
. America is fascinated with my story—perhaps because my husband was a soldier and they want a political plug for their ratings. Whatever the reason, my cell phone is flooded with voicemails from local radio and television stations requesting interviews. Somehow I get through a few without breaking down while talking about my book. The words just seemed to come to me from somewhere. I know it’s Harley communicating with me.

I cry when I have to answer questions about our life together, and especially when I tell the story of how he died. I talk about the sign that hangs above our door and how it inspired my book because of what it meant to Harley and I. But I don’t dare mention his apparitional visits. I visit several military bases and am met with the tears and ‘thank-yous’ of many grieving, and some still-waiting, spouses. Thankfully, I also begin to heal with each interview. Reliving the memories is bittersweet; but no matter how much it hurts to remember, I never want to forget him.

* * *       * * *      * * *

I
t’s about 9 on a Saturday evening and I’m returning from an out-of-town trip to promote my book. I walk through my front door and I’m greeted with a surprise party hosted by my friends and family. Chelsea, Gretchen, my parents, and some of the military wives are smiling back at me as I enter the door. It’s difficult to see them and be brought back to the reality that Harley is really gone, but I know I have to be strong and not cause them to worry about their own soldiers who are still on duty.

I spend the next four hours making small talk about how I’ve been “holding up” and how I seem to be moving on and doing well with my book. All the while, I’m dying inside, remembering the little things, like how Harley used to fill up my gas tank every time he saw it low, or how he always slept closest to our bedroom door in case of an intrusion. That little gesture always made me feel safe.

Tonight I feel alone, even surrounded by my closest friends and family.

The party ends and I’m exhausted and ready to crash. My mom and girlfriends stay behind for a while cleaning up. Finally, everyone says goodbye and I’m left alone with my thoughts once again. They are always of Harley. Only this time, they are sweet and nostalgic. As I’m drifting off to sleep in his t-shirt that still contains a faint trace of him, I hear his voice again. I’m too tired to even look around for him.

“You did good tonight, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

“Harley?” My voice is slow and tired, but I’m desperate to talk to him.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“So did I fulfill my destiny? Are you able to move on yet?” I yawn through my words, not intending to sound uncaring or disrespectful, but I’m exhausted.

“Not yet. You did well on your novel, but this is just the beginning. And you still haven’t let me go.”

“I don’t know how. I mean, it’s not like I have you anyway. I can’t be with you. I can’t see you and touch you like I want to. So how is it really up to me to let you go?” My eyes are halfway closed and my exhaustion is defeating my desire to keep talking to Harley.

“I don’t have all the answers, babe. I just know I can’t move on yet.”

“Okay, Harley, you can go. I’m ready to …”

As much as I want to stay awake, I fall asleep mid-sentence.

“Sweet dreams, my love,” I hear Harley whisper. “You’re getting there.”

* * *       * * *      * * *

T
he morning sun peeks over the ocean as I open my eyes again, looking around for Harley. I call out his name several times, but he doesn’t answer.

I walk into the closet and see his box sitting right where I left it last. It’s a bittersweet moment and a half-smile paints my face. I’m sad he’s gone but relieved I’m beginning to connect with reality again, even if it’s only for moments at a time.

I get up to dress but can’t seem to find anything that fits. This tends to happen when I work on a novel because of all the time I spend sitting, which is why I make a point to go for my evening walks on the beach. It clears my mind, and hopefully the cellulite on my butt as well.

I call Chelsea and Gretchen to see if they are up for a shopping day. It’s Sunday and luckily they’re both free. We all agree to meet at Bistro on the Bay at 12:30 p.m. and then head over to Chloe’s Closet, a charming thrift store located across the street from the bistro.

As I sit at the table with my seafood platter in front of me, I take one whiff and realize I have no desire to eat anything on it. Nausea and repulsion is so overwhelming that I eventually have to ask the server to take it away. This is perplexing to me, and my friends, judging by the looks on their faces. They know I adore seafood.

“Not hungry, Jules?” Chelsea asks, with raised eyebrows.

“I haven’t had much appetite lately. It’s probably just the stress of everything,” I reply.

“Yeah, could be. But perhaps you should get to a doctor just in case. I read that one of the most commonly overlooked signs of many types of diseases is lack of appetite,” Gretchen says. She takes a bite of Caesar salad. Gretchen abhors seafood and her diet consists mostly of rabbit food, if you ask me.

“That’s strange. You’re the only person I know who enjoys seafood more than me,” Chelsea adds, as she breaks apart a crab leg.

“Yeah, I can’t fit any of my jeans anymore, which is why you girls are here today, to help me shop. Plus, I needed to get out of that house. Everything in it reminds me of Harley.” My tone is a bit sad, but doesn’t sound nearly as depressing as the last time we all got together.

“These things take time, sweetie.” Chelsea places a sympathetic hand over mine and smiles.

“I’ve missed you guys,” I say to them as I grab both of their hands.

Chelsea and Gretchen finish their lunch as I sip on my lemon water then we all get up to head to the thrift store.

Chloe has so many cute things but I try on what seems like a hundred pairs of jeans before finding a few that are comfortable. I share my dissatisfaction of my new physique with the girls. I’ve never been one to do the whole melt-into-your-clothes kind of thing. I don’t force myself into jeans that I know won’t see the light of day past my thighs. Comfort is my main concern, and if they make my butt look good, even better, which is why I thank God that yoga pants were invented. They make up about eighty percent of my wardrobe. They’re like pajama pants that are acceptable to wear in public.

My stomach is churning, though I’m not sure why because I barely ate a thing at lunch. Maybe that’s it; I’m still hungry. Or maybe not. I toss the clothes onto the floor and make a bee line straight out the front door to the parking lot where I empty what little contents remain in my stomach.

Gretchen and Chelsea meet me outside with a wet paper towel and a supportive hand on my back.

“You know, Jules, one sign of pancreatic cancer is unusual bloating and vomiting. You really need to get a checkup, girl. I’m worried.” Gretchen is hypersensitive about all diseases and especially cancer because of her mom’s passing. I know this, so I agree to go get checked out to appease her.

Thankfully, the remainder of the shopping trip is uneventful. Two hours pass and with a few items in my arms and many more in Gretchen’s and Chelsea’s, we make our way to the checkout counter.

We carry our purchases to the parking lot. I’m sad to say goodbye to my girls again, but I know they have to work tomorrow, so I wish them a safe trip back home and we all hug then go our separate ways again. I get back in my car and feel Harley’s dog tags between my fingers for a moment. Then I plant a soft kiss on them and head home.

* * *       * * *      * * *

O
nce again, a faint scent of Eternity cologne greets me like an over-excited puppy that’s been cooped up in the house all day. I smile at the sign above the door and carry my clothes up to my bedroom.

When I enter my room, the radio comes on by itself again. “
When a Man Loves a Woman’’
consumes the airwaves and I freeze in place. My body trembles a little, but not as much as before. I close my eyes and let the music wash over me like a warm summer rain for a moment, embracing Harley’s presence.

Looking around my empty house gives me an idea. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my mom, and I don’t have any new stories floating around in my head, so I give her a call.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Oh, hi honey. It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?”

“I’m good. I just need to get away from this house for a while. Do you mind if I come visit you and Dan for a bit?” She and Dan recently eloped on a whim, which is so unlike her. But I’m happy for her and I know she probably didn’t want to upset me with her joyous news right after I’d just lost my husband.

“We’d love to have you!” Her voice goes up an octave with those words. I was worried I’d be intruding on her life with Dan, but she’s excited and I’m relieved.

“Okay, I have a few things to do here first but I’ll head out in a couple of hours. I’ll call you when I’m on the way, okay?”

“Sounds good, dear. Drive safe and I can’t wait to see you!”

I hang up and walk upstairs to pack some clothes for the trip. Everywhere I turn, Harley is there. It’s only been a few months and I still haven’t completely accepted that he’s gone. How can I move on when he is everywhere around me?

I take some time to begin the ‘moving on’ process before my trip, since I figure it would be easier to come back to our empty house without his stuff all around reminding me that he’s never coming back for it.

I call Mom back to inform her I will be arriving a little later than planned. I just have a few loose ends to tie up first. I don’t tell her what I’m doing because I know she will offer to come and help. This is something I need to do alone.

I grab some Tupperware tubs out of the garage that were left over from moving and start with his clothes.

I inhale and search for his scent, but it is replaced with a stale closet odor now. My hands slide across each pair of his pants and every single t-shirt I pick up, at a slow, deliberate pace. I fold them all in a neat manner and place them in the plastic bin with great care and hesitation. I sniff and hot tears paint my cheeks again.

I walk toward the bathroom and my heart thumps out a furious pattern as I fill a separate bin with his toiletries. Such simple things—his toothbrush sitting next to mine, his razor hanging on the shower rack, and even his favorite towel. All things I took for granted. I close my eyes and brush the fabric against my cheek. I can still hear the words we spoke during our first fight when we moved into our apartment together.

* * *       * * *      * * *

S
haring a home with Harley was quite an adjustment for me since I hadn’t ever lived with anyone other than my parents and my college pals. But living with a man is completely different than a female roommate. I walked into the bathroom and saw his towel lying in the floor and blasted into him.

“Uggh, Harley, I’ve asked you a thousand times to please pick up your wet towel. It’s disgusting!”

“Just leave it. I’ll get it later,” he said, but his nonchalant tone annoyed me.

“It belongs in the dirty laundry hamper, not the floor. It’s right here.” My tone was angry and I was speaking to him like a child as I presented the laundry hamper to him.

“Then put it there. You already have it in your hand.” He didn’t even look at me and continued to watch his football game.

“But it’s not my towel, and I shouldn’t have to clean up after you like a child. This is not what I signed up for.”

“Then maybe you should leave because this is my house and I’ll lay my wet towel any damn place I choose.”

He had never spoken to me this way.

Furious and frustrated, I pulled out my suitcase and begab slamming the contents of my drawers into it. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded, watching me.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going to stay with my mother for a while. I can’t live with you anymore. This just isn’t working.”

“You’re going to throw away six great months over a stupid towel?” he asked in a condescending tone that made the hairs on my arm raise.

“Ugghh, you don’t know me at all.”

I pushed him to the side and grabbed my car keys. Just before my fingers touched the front door, his hand was atop mine in a loving caress. It was warm and comforting, and my rage slowed.

“Don’t go,” he begged, his mouth almost touching the back of my head. I felt his warm breath spread throughout my hair. “I apologize for yelling at you. I’ve just had a rough day and we’re still getting used to living together. We can make this work, Jewel. I love you.”

My head lowered and fiery tears painted my cheeks. I turned to him and said.