A Widow Redefined (2 page)

As I drove home from work, I thought about the flowers again. Knowing for certain that Justin’s parents hadn’t left them stirred an uncomfortable sensation in my gut.

Tyler greeted me at the front door. “Grandma says we’re going out tonight. Mexican food.” Then he held up a drawing of an eerily realistic tarantula.

“Sounds good.” I eyed his work and nodded approval. “Beautiful picture. I’m afraid it’s not gonna make it to the front of the refrigerator, though. It’s a bit of an appetite killer.”

Tyler giggled, rolled his eyes and took off down the hallway.

The three of us piled into the car and headed to the restaurant. Once seated, the waiter approached us, asking if we would like drinks before ordering our meals.

“I’ll have a margarita. On the rocks with salt,” I said.

Mom glanced my way, raising an eyebrow. “Letting your hair down?”

I gave a half smile back. “Trying.”

I wished the drink were for fun, instead of an attempt to settle my frantic nerves. I no longer knew how to have fun. I had always been the most serious person in the room. It was Justin who had taught me how to laugh. His humor kept us all in stitches.

After he got too sick to work and Mom sold her house and moved in with us, she continued to remark about how funny he was. The complete opposite of my dad.

The drinks arrived and I took a sip. The salt stung an open cut I didn’t realize I had on the inside of my mouth. I watched Mom drink her soda and remembered what she always used to say to me: “You’re so lucky, Amy. You and Justin have the perfect marriage.”

I ignored the brief stab of heartache and took a bigger gulp. Then I turned my attention to Tyler. “How was school today? You have any homework?”

He munched on a chip dipped with salsa. “It was fine. I finished my assignments before you got home.”

Of course he had done it. He always did. His teacher had recently spoken with me about the possibility of moving him up a grade. I didn’t want to cause him additional stress, so I decided against it.

Soon the waiter showed up with our meals. I took a bite of my chicken enchiladas. “This is delicious.”

Mom and Tyler—both with food in their mouths—nodded their agreement. It was nice being out together. We used to do it once a week with Justin. Sometimes Mom would join us; sometimes she’d babysit so we could have a date night.

As I reminisced about Justin, my mind wandered to the daffodils again. I needed to solve that mystery. Alone.

“Hey Mom. Remember that gym membership I never use?”

She looked up from her meal. “Yeah.”

“Well I was just thinking. I’d like to go swimming. I never do that anymore. They’re offering an aqua aerobics class this Sunday and I can bring a guest. Do you wanna come?”

My mom hadn’t been seen in public in a swimsuit in over a decade. She said she felt too old and out of shape; that her days of hitting the beach were over. I thought she was incredibly silly. But I knew she’d decline. The cemetery was on the way to the health club. I still intended to work out, but I also was making secret plans to investigate the mystery of the flowers.

“No. I’d rather not,” she said. “I can watch Tyler for you while you’re gone though.”

Just the response I had hoped for. A big part of me felt terrible for being so manipulative. Another part of me thought, “How could I tell you something might be wrong with my once perfect marriage?”

I’d have to deal with the guilt in order to find out more.

For the rest of the evening, Mom chatted about her lady friend, Tyler discussed his new teacher, and I weaved in and out of the conversation, listening and responding as appropriate. But a portion of my brain continued to work on solving the problem at hand. Who could have left those damn flowers?

After we left the restaurant, we stopped at the art supply store.

“Gauguin,” Mom said, addressing Tyler. “Which colored pencils do you want?”

Tyler loved being called that name ever since he’d seen a program about the South Pacific with Justin and me. We used to sit together watching the Travel Channel, planning future trips we’d hope to take. Tahiti was number one on our list. And once Tyler found out a famous artist had lived there and seen his paintings in a library book, Gauguin became his idol. He wanted to be just like him.

With a serious expression on his face, Tyler replied, “I think these would work best,” then handed my mom his selection.

He cracked me up, but I didn’t laugh out loud. He was like an old man sometimes. Now and then my mom and I would be discussing a topic, and he’d interject, saying something oddly profound. It never ceased to amaze us.

•••••

Saturday night, after our monotonous weekly routine of chores and grocery shopping, we all sat down to play a board game. We chose Monopoly Junior, a simplified version of the regular game. Within an hour my son had kicked our butts. Mom ran out of money, which is technically when the game is supposed to end, but we fight until the last man is standing. Since I only had a few dollars left, I threw in the towel.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “We should go to bed.”

Tyler frowned. He didn’t want to sleep, but was up past his bedtime and he knew it.

“What a wonderful idea,” Mom agreed. “Let’s put an end to this embarrassing defeat.”

Once validation came, Tyler stood up and stretched, a proud smirk crossing his face. I wondered if maybe it was time to upgrade to the adult version of Monopoly, to give us half a chance at winning.

“Better luck next time,” he joked.

I was surprised I fell right asleep Saturday night. Sunday morning was when the dread set in. I took a shower, dried off and brushed my teeth. While staring at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed something: I looked different. But I didn’t know how.

As I blow-dried my hair I began drifting off, thinking of Justin. I still missed him so much. It hadn’t gotten easier with time. But it was something I lived with, something I understood. The flowers, though, they were something new. Their appearance unsettled me. In spite of my fears, I had to find out. I had to know who left them. And why.

I went into my room and stuffed my swimsuit and towel into my gym bag. I was probably overreacting. The flowers could have simply been left by the wrong grave. I decided I was being dramatic and silly over all of this. I’d just go to the health club, workout and come back home.

After eating a small breakfast, I said goodbye to Mom and Tyler.

“Enjoy yourself. Work those muscles,” she said to me.

I gave Tyler a quick kiss goodbye, then found myself driving toward the cemetery anyway. No matter how much I tried to pretend it was nothing, I couldn’t deny my curiosity… and concern.

On my way there my sense of awareness was heightened. I noticed details I hadn’t paid attention to before: a for sale sign adorning a neighbor’s yard; a new Korean restaurant on the street corner. This wasn’t a typical day, grocery shopping in a half hour or less or droning through punching a stack of documents, working on auto-pilot. This was a genuine mystery that needed solving.

And I didn’t look forward to it.

When I pulled into the parking lot and got out, I realized I hadn’t worn boots. I wore gym shoes. Cursing myself, I stepped into the dirty slush and looked around. Apart from a grieving family gathered on the far side of the cemetery, I was alone.

I began walking around, reading the headstones. There was an equal number of older men and women who had lived a long life. Mixed in were a few middle-aged folks and sadly, some children. And then, of course, there was me, the idiot hanging around with them on my day off. I shook my head, realizing how foolish I was. Then I walked over to Justin’s grave.

As I got closer, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A fresh bouquet of yellow daffodils lay in front of my husband’s headstone. I began shaking. From the cold, but also from fear. Anger rose in me. “What’s going on here?”

I expected some kind of answer from Justin, in the form of telepathic communication, perhaps, but there was nothing. The only sound was sniffles from my runny nose. I wiped it and inhaled an icy breath. Then I quickly glanced around.

Whoever brought these flowers was gone. But they had shown me one thing; it wasn’t a mistake. Someone was putting flowers on my husband’s grave. And if I came often enough, accompanied by my good friend—Irish luck, I would find them.

“M
om. How was swimming?” Tyler asked as I walked in the front door.

I was so upset I’d never gone. But I had to say something. “It was good, honey. I’m on my way to getting into shape.” I inwardly cringed as I spoke the words.

White lie upon white lie. They began to compound so quickly, I feared they’d bring some kind of return.

After dinner, Tyler had me critique some of his drawings. He was really getting good. And I had a thought, one that I blurted out before analyzing the affordability factor.

“What would you think of taking a weekly art class? From a private instructor?” I asked.

My son shot me a look filled with wild excitement. I hadn’t expected such an intense reaction.

“Can I really take one? Can we afford it?”

The worried look in his eyes broke my heart. He shouldn’t know these things. Mom and I would have to take better care to discuss finances in private.

Not sure how it could be done, I responded, “Sure honey, we’ll just find someone who’s offering a special deal for new students.”

My reply was casual, dismissive of the ins and outs of how it would all come together, but it brought the mood back to where it was supposed to be: positive. And for the rest of the evening I scoured the internet, searching for art teachers.

I found an ad for a local woman and clicked to her website. She looked like just a kid. She offered one-on-one classes out of her home, which conveniently happened to be less than a mile away. Her rates were reasonable too. I didn’t know how good she would be; no reviews had been posted. But after looking over her qualifications, I noticed she had recently graduated from a prestigious art college in Savannah, Georgia. She’ll do, I decided.

•••••

Monday morning I woke up on time, showered, and then dropped Tyler off at school.

“I’ll give that art teacher a call tonight. See when you can start,” I said, winking at my son.

He smiled. “Thanks Mom,” then gave me a peck goodbye.

After punching in at the office and sitting at my desk, Fatima approached me. I could tell she was upset about something.

“What’s up?” I asked. “You look angry.”

Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed and her wavy, jet-black hair swished as she shook her head. “Angry is an understatement. You wouldn’t believe what I had to deal with this weekend.”

Usually, when young people ramble, I zone out, but with Fatima it was different. Her exotic beauty captivated me, and her slight accent made me pay closer attention when she spoke. I listened for a full ten minutes without interrupting to the story of how her supposed best friend was trying to destroy the relationship between Fatima and her boyfriend of two months.

I had just planned to respond when Dave opened the office door. Fatima and I nodded to each other. This would have to wait until later.

As I began working, I noticed Barb wasn’t in yet. I worried about her sometimes. She was a senior citizen without any retirement savings. She came back every Monday because she was broke and had no choice; a fate I feared would be my own someday.

At 9:15 a.m., Barb finally walked in. After she sat down and opened her computer, Dave walked past.

“Everything all right?” he asked her.

Noticeably embarrassed, she responded, “Yes, thank you. I just got stuck in traffic.”

“I know how that feels,” he said, letting it go.

We were lucky to have a boss like Dave. He was easygoing. All that mattered to him was efficiency.

During our lunch hour, the three of us sat in the cafeteria, chatting and eating. Fatima recapped her whole story while Barb and I listened.

“I’m sure you’ll get it all straightened out,” Barb told her.

If I had made that generic comment it wouldn’t have been helpful. But when Barb said it, with that soothing tone she used, the simple words took on real meaning. When she told you something would be fine, you believed it.

“I hope so,” Fatima sighed. Then she turned to me. “So what about you? What did you do this weekend?”

They both stared at me, waiting for an answer. I felt like a game show contestant, clueless and wondering what to say. I had to respond, so I told them about my rediscovered love of swimming. I don’t know if this lie was white or pathological, but I was thankful they both agreed exercise was a good thing to do in our spare time.

After lunch, I kept busy at work, trying to stop my mind from wandering. Detail-oriented and precise, it wasn’t like me to make a lot of punching errors. Today, though, it seemed nothing wanted to balance to zero. I had to pay closer attention. I was losing it. My mind wanted to use its capacity not for work, but for putting pieces together in a puzzle. The only problem being I had too few pieces to work with. I’d have to get more.

In the evening, I called the art teacher. I liked the sound of her voice right away; it had a musical quality to it. She said Tyler could begin this Wednesday. All we needed to do was bring some current drawings so she could assess his education level. Then she’d put together a teaching plan.

Later on, when night fell, I couldn’t sleep. I ruminated over the past with Justin, wondering if I had missed anything, maybe not paid attention to some important detail. I thought I had gotten things right. We were happy. I know we were.

Could there have been another woman?

I didn’t think Justin would ever disappoint me like that.

I remember him talking about my dad’s affair. “He’s just a dick,” he’d said, while shaking his head in disgust. “Only a fool would leave his beautiful wife and family.”

He’d made his opinions on the matter quite clear: I’d never relive my mother’s life.

The phrase “history repeats itself” echoed in my mind. And I worried if I didn’t find out what was going on soon I’d go mad. I didn’t like secrets. I recognized the irony of that truth–considering the little lies I’d started to tell. But I was in control of my world at all times. At least until God took my husband from me.