When I'm Gone: A Novel (2 page)

First day of chemo tomorrow. I’m so nervous. No, it’s not about the hair thing even though I know I whine about it enough. I’m less worried about losing hair and more worried I’m going to lose myself, become one of those hollow chemo patients I see sitting in Saunders’s waiting room, skin and bones. Today there was a girl who threw up right there in the waiting room after her treatment. It was probably one of her first times because she still had her hair, or maybe it was an awesome wig. Note to self, ask where she got her wig.

You want to know the worst part? The nurses acted like it was no big deal, like cleaning up vomit off the waiting room floor (and walls and chairs) was normal in an oncologist’s office. Come to think of it, there’s no carpet in Saunders’s offices at all. Maybe they had to hire steam cleaners one too many times so they decided linoleum was more cost-efficient?

Anyway, enough about that. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow. Tonight I hope you give our kids an extra hug and kiss from their mother. I don’t think you should tell them about this yet. It can be quite scary to think your mom is writing you from heaven . . . or wherever I am. I know when Tangerine went belly-up in the fishbowl, you told the kids, “When you die, you die.” I’ll be honest—I thought it was a bit cruel. I wonder if you think I’m gone forever now? Worm food, fertilizer, pushing up daisies, taking the big nap. Well, wherever I am, I love you. I miss you. I’ll write again tomorrow.

Love,

Natalie

Luke smoothed the creases in the page against his thigh. He didn’t know what to think. Reading the note, he heard her voice in his head, just like she was sitting next to him. He thought it would make him sad, but somehow, it didn’t. The letter made him feel warm in his midsection. It made him want to hang up the suit instead of burn it.

He folded the paper carefully along the already-formed creases, put it back in the envelope, and placed it on his pillow. It looked like it belonged there. Natalie was always doing thoughtful things like that. Once she even wrote him a love note in black ink on the banana she put in his lunch. At the time Luke had thought a love note via banana was the strangest message delivery method ever. Until today. Writing letters from beyond the grave was far stranger but also—wonderful. Could there really be another one tomorrow? The idea almost made him smile.

Maybe he’d revisit the suit issue another day. He finished changing into his holey sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, wondering if he’d get any sleep tonight. Grief seemed to chase away the comfort of sleep, and he longed for a night where he could drift off into a blissfully unaware dreamworld, where life was potentially weird but definitely less paralyzing. His doctor had prescribed him a sleep aid, but Luke was almost used to the insomnia by now.

He finished hanging his dress pants and suit coat on the oversize wooden hangers they came on and worked the garment bag over them until it zipped closed. He eyed the spot where he usually hung it, toward the front of the closet right before his short-sleeved work shirts. If he was going to keep the suit, it couldn’t stay there at the front of the closet, where he’d see it every time he got dressed or grabbed a pair of shoes. It would have to go to the back, where, after some time, he might even forget about it. He rushed boldly to the back of the walk-in closet, his back to Natalie’s side, where her dresses and blouses hung undisturbed, unaware they no longer had an owner to wear them.

Currently, the last item in his closet was a black, oversize Hawaiian shirt with bold red flowers plastered across the chest. Luke prodded the shirt forward to make room and placed his suit in the resulting gap. When the metal hook hit the rod with a clank, a white piece of fringe from the notebook paper fluttered to the carpet like snow. Luke watched it fall in awe, like it was the first snow of the season. But as soon as it hit the carpet, he snatched it up quickly as though it would melt. Holding the stray scrap of paper in his palm, Luke settled to the floor and leaned against the pliable wall of Natalie’s clothes. Her familiar scent of fabric softener and lotion engulfed him as he studied the piece of fringe.

The letter didn’t take away the hollow place inside him that burned like an essential internal organ had been removed, but it did do something else. For the first time in months, he didn’t dread the sun coming up in the morning because there might be more. Isn’t that what she said? She’d write more?

Lately Luke had given up on hope, finding it an utterly useless exercise that left him with nothing but bitterness. But tonight, as he imagined another blue envelope slipping mysteriously through the mail slot on his front door, something like hope stirred inside him again. Luke picked up the fringe between his thumb and index finger, rubbed it gently, and whispered, “Thank you.”

CHAPTER 2

Clayton was up before the sun. Luke brought him in his bed and clicked on a show. That quiet time lasted only about twenty minutes. Then the demands started.

“Daddy, milk.”

Luke sighed. “Milk, please?” Natalie had a thing about politeness with the kids. Guess he should try to keep things up to her standard.

“Okay. Daddy, milk please?” Clayton lisped, his pleading three-year-old eyes taking up half of his face. How could he say no now?

By his third trip to the kitchen, there was still no noise from the two closed doors in the upstairs hall. It was nearing 11:00 a.m., and Luke was starting to wonder how long he should let them veg today. All day sounded like an excellent idea.

He dragged his feet down another set of stairs. As he peered over the railing, something blue caught his eye and left a lump in his throat. He slipped his hand into his robe pocket, fingering the letter he’d found on the wood floor last night. It was still there, the frayed edges of the notebook paper his constant comfort for the past twelve hours. One letter would’ve been enough, or so he’d thought until he saw the newest blue rectangle, half-hidden by the bills and condolence cards from the daily mail delivery. Now all he thought about was more, more of Natalie and her comfort. When Luke thought about it that way, he was sure he could never have enough.

He raced down the stairs, jumping off the last two, his bare feet hitting the wood with a slap. The sun, reflecting off a new powdery coating of snow outside, poured in through the tall, skinny windows framing the door. Luke rubbed his eyes with one hand as he shoved all the other letters aside and snatched Natalie’s envelope with the other.

His name was scrawled on the front, this time with their address and a stamp. No return address. Postmarked: Farmington Hills, MI. Luke flipped the letter over; “DAY 2” was written in bold letters on the back. Without any attempt at neatness, he poked a finger under the flap and ripped. Peeking past the jagged opening, he peered inside. Another piece of folded notebook paper with the fringe sticking up like it was beckoning him to take a look. Luke unfolded the letter greedily.

The front of the page and half of the back was filled with her handwriting. Stumbling to the stairs, he collapsed on the second to bottom step, shifting back and forth to fit on the narrow seat. There was no time to savor this letter. He had to read fast, before Clayton noticed him missing and before May and Will showed their faces.

Natalie was right; it wasn’t a good idea to share the letters with the kids now. It was the wrong time for them, but also the wrong time for Luke. He wasn’t ready to show anyone the letters yet, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because some of his favorite times with Natalie were the ones they’d spent talking, just the two of them, processing the day and life and the kids. He didn’t know how to do it alone. The paper crinkled in his hand as he began to read.

DAY 2

Dear Luke,

Okay, so chemo officially stinks. I can’t write much today; I feel like I have the stomach flu, got hit by a car, and was secretly drugged with sleeping pills, all at the same time. And unless all those things happened without my knowledge, it must be the chemo. It makes sense because chemo literally
is
poison. Dr. Saunders keeps saying it’s good poison. Now that’s an oxymoron if I’ve ever heard one.

I need to sleep, but I hope you get this letter in time to do something today. I know I’m dead and all, but that doesn’t stop me from asking you to do crap for me. It only stops me from nagging you about it until you get it done.

Would you make the kids pancakes? I know breakfast is not your thing, but trust me, some mornings (like the morning after your mother’s funeral) nothing tastes as good as hot pancakes made by someone you love. Not the cardboard box kind though. You’ve got to use
my
special recipe pancakes. I’ll write it out on the back since it’s all in my head.
Oh!
Don’t forget, May likes hers with a chocolate chip smiley face. She won’t eat them without it.

Here’s a crazy idea—maybe you could try one for once.

Kiss the kids. I love you and miss you.

Love,

Natalie

Luke flipped the page over, hoping to find another message from Natalie, but instead there was a recipe. It looked pretty simple. For the past few weeks someone had been here to make meals for the kids, or folks had dropped prepared dishes off in Tupperware containers. Luke could barely eat them though. Even during those last three months when they knew the end was coming fast, Luke leaned heavily on boxed cereal, mac and cheese, and plenty of bananas and carrot sticks to let Natalie know he was attempting to be healthy. Now the pressure of making sure the kids were fed three at least semihealthy meals a day was all on him.

“Daddy! I need milk!” Clayton shouted from his bedroom, and it echoed through the two-story entry. So much for politeness. A door opened in the upstairs hall.

“Dad, Clayton is yelling. I was trying to sleep.” Will’s voice dragged, and Luke wondered how late his fourteen-year-old had been up last night.

“I’m grabbing him a drink, then I’ll make breakfast. Pancakes sound good?” Luke folded the letter as he spoke, put it back in the envelope, and added to the other one still in his pocket.

Will leaned over the railing, his bed-head hair sticking up in almost stylish brown spikes. He looked like his mother, even had her little lisp that came out when he was tired or distracted. When Will was little, Luke was always a little jealous his son didn’t look more like him, but now he was glad. He wished all the kids took after Natalie because seeing those little parts of her live on in them made Luke miss her a fraction less.

“Dad . . .” Will hesitated. “You don’t make pancakes.”

“Well, I’m going to try.” Luke walked up the stairs to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m an engineer. If I can design cell phones the size of a credit card, I can certainly follow a simple recipe.”

It was almost noon by the time Luke found all the ingredients on Natalie’s list. Will gave up on the hope of pancakes at about eleven thirty and ate a bowl of Cheerios before disappearing back into his room. But May was loyal. Once she heard sounds in the kitchen, she vowed to not take a bite of any food until a pancake stared up at her. Luke was touched by her devotion but also a little concerned the poor child would starve to death before an edible pancake landed on her plate.

He frowned at the lumpy mix of milk, white vinegar, melted butter, and eggs. According to Natalie’s directions he was supposed to pour it into the dry ingredients and stir till still slightly lumpy. He sniffed the mixture; it smelled like Windex and eggs. No way he was doing this right. He was about to dump the semicongealed off-white muck into the flour when the door to the garage opened and closed with a slam.

“Hello, Richardson family. Anyone here?” Annie called. “I waited as long as I could.”

For the past three months, Annie came by every morning at 8:30 a.m. For a while she pretended she’d happened to be in the middle of a run and thought to stop by. When the heavy snows came on in the first week in December, she started showing up in her minivan. Natalie and Luke pretended not to notice. When Natalie couldn’t get out of bed anymore to answer the door, they gave Annie the garage code. Apparently her morning visits hadn’t expired with Natalie.

She came around the corner in an ankle-length winter coat with snow on her shoulders. “Oh my gosh, it’s cold out there.”

Great. A real person. Luke made sure his robe was tied tight enough to hide his “hole in the butt” sweatpants that horrified Natalie’s mom so much. Will and May weren’t in much better shape. Luke wished he’d at least gotten them dressed and had them run combs through their hair. Instead, Clayton lay half-asleep in a sugar coma on the couch from all the “stay quiet” lollipops. Rainbow-colored drips decorated the collar of his airplane pj’s.

“Annie!”
May jumped up from her spot in front of the TV and sprinted toward Annie, nearly running into the half wall separating the kitchen from the family room. She was still wearing an off-white flannel nightgown, her hair frizzed around her head like a dandelion poof. The kids were a mess. Then again, if anyone could understand, it would be Annie.

“Hey, girl.” Annie let out a big
“oooff”
as May threw her boney little arms around her neck. “How’s your morning going?”

“Fine,” she said as Annie lowered her to the ground. “Daddy’s trying to make pancakes.”

“Try is the operative word in that sentence,” Luke mumbled.

“Well, I think you’re pretty lucky to have a daddy who wants to make you pancakes. Even at,” she pulled her phone out of her coat pocket and glanced at the screen, “noon. Breakfast for lunch sounds fun. What can I do to help?”

Annie’s bobbed blonde hair bounced as she pulled off her beret-style hat and tossed it on the counter. Under her massive purple coat, she wore a long-sleeved running shirt and yoga pants. Could she really still be trying to sell the idea she’d stopped by on her run? Natalie would’ve made a joke. It would’ve been funny. Even if he didn’t know exactly what she would’ve said, the idea still made Luke smile and get a choking feeling in his throat. He swallowed and held out the curdled mess he’d been stirring.

“Do you know anything about this?” His lips were pinched together as he remembered the smell.

“Oh my God. Is that Natalie’s secret pancake recipe?” Annie rushed over, taking in the ingredients on the counter. “I’ve begged her for the recipe for years. Did she really leave it for you?”

“Yeah, it’s right there.” He pointed to the letter propped up on the counter. He was trying to keep it far away from the mess of flour and liquids.

“Can I look at it?” she asked as she snatched the paper off the counter. Her light eyebrows pinched together as she scanned the page. Luke watched her soak in the looping lines of Natalie’s handwriting and the tears gathering in her eyes as she read.

He hadn’t really considered how hard this must be on Annie, to mourn for a lost friend. At least when you are a widower, everyone expects you to be sad. Annie had loved Natalie like a sister, yet she was expected to go on with life as though Natalie meant no more to her than the checkout girl at the Wal-Mart.

Though they were as close as sisters, they looked anything but. Natalie had been a short brunette who never let a jeans size get in the way of enjoying brownies or skipping a day of cardio. Besides, she’d always insisted she didn’t have strong enough cheekbones to pull off superskinny. Luke didn’t mind; he thought her curves were plenty sexy and her self-confidence even more so. He’d rather have a woman who wore a size ten but wanted to make love with the lights on, than a size two who hid in the shadows.

Annie, on the other hand, was fair, sinewy, and a head taller than Nat. She liked her morning runs and green drinks but mostly because she sat at a desk all day transcribing medical documents. When Luke and Nat doubled with Annie and her husband, Brian, it always made Luke feel uncomfortable the way men’s eyes would follow Annie around a room. Brian didn’t seem to care; he had a natural self-confidence Luke secretly envied, and Natalie rolled her eyes, so Luke learned to ignore it.

But it didn’t matter to Natalie and Annie what they looked like. The two women meshed from the moment they met at a PTO meeting when Will was in kindergarten and Annie’s son was in fifth grade. Annie’s face was streaked with tears by the time she lifted her gaze from the handwritten recipe.

“She was such a stinker.” Annie sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Luke tried to rip off a paper towel, but it caught on the roll and shredded in his hand. Annie took it anyway and blotted at her eyes. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat with a tearful kind of a chuckle. “Do you realize this is the exact recipe from findyourrecipe.com? Word for word. She always made me think she had some special ingredient.”

Luke snickered, swallowing hard again. “So this bowl of disgustingness makes sense to you?”

“Yes.” She squinted. “If you followed the directions right, you made buttermilk. Congratulations.”

“You’re telling me I could’ve bought the stuff?” He poured it into the flour mixture, where it made a plopping sound.

“Yup, right there in the dairy section.” Annie laughed, crossing the tile floor to the fridge with the note in hand. “I’ll hang this up here if you’re finished with it.” Reaching toward the magnets covering the freezer door, she froze. “Oh my God, Luke, did you see this? On the back?”

Goosebumps developed on Luke’s forearms. He’d forgotten about the letter. That was private. Without thinking, he raked his hands over his dark-blue robe, leaving off-white streaks across his chest.

“Yeah,” was all he could think of to say. He wanted to take it back, to hide it away and make her forget she ever saw the intimate message on the other side of the paper, but it was too late. She was already reading.

“Where did you get this?” She held it up, her voice shaking almost as much as the paper in her hand.