When I'm Gone: A Novel (3 page)

He shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. “It came in with the daily mail.”

“But it says day two,” Annie said, her voice getting squeaky and high-pitched. “Where is day one?” Her forehead wrinkled, her eyebrows furrowed, and her breathing grew rapid.

Luke could see Annie’s pulse pounding on her neck from across the room, but he didn’t want to answer any questions. Usually a rational-minded engineer, he was avoiding the inevitable questions that would follow. Who? Why? How? Right now he just wanted the letter back in his pocket.

“I have the first one.” It only took two giant steps to close the space between them. “But these are private, Annie; I’m sorry. I know you two shared everything, but I need this to be my thing with Natalie.” He put his shaking hand out. “It’s all I have left.”

Standing this close to Annie, he noticed her red-rimmed eyes had dark circles smudged underneath. She hadn’t slept in a few days, he was certain. Natalie had always said her best friend was an expert at appearing to be okay. He’d never understood what she meant until today. The letters might help her too, but he didn’t even hesitate. Though it might be selfish, this was nonnegotiable. Natalie’s letters were for him and him alone. His hand remained open between them.

“I’m sorry. You’re right.” Annie passed him the letter with a deep, quivering breath. She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. But she didn’t actually cry, which was a relief to Luke. He didn’t know how to comfort any more people. Hell, he was doing a lousy job comforting his own children. Annie wasn’t missing out on anything.

He considered patting her on the shoulder until he noticed how close they were standing, foreheads almost touching, Annie’s breath rustling the hair over his ears. He stepped back across the invisible line married people wear around them when spending time with the opposite sex, folded the letter protectively, and put it back in his robe pocket.

“I . . . I’m sorry,” Luke said gently, stumbling over his words. “It’s just . . .”

Annie’s lips turned up in a half smile as she brushed invisible tears out of the corner of her eyes.

“No worries.” She took a deep breath and wiped at her nose with the paper towel fragments, then glanced around the kitchen. “Let’s get these pancakes cooking, shall we?”

Luke let out the breath he’d been holding. “All right. Let’s do this thing.”

When Annie turned her back to look for an appropriate pan, Luke pushed the letters down deeper into his pocket.
To keep them safe,
he thought. But really all he wanted was a reason to touch them again because when they were in his hands, he could forget she was gone. Forever.

Within minutes they were pumping out stacks of almost Natalie-quality pancakes. When the speckled blue platter was full of golden circles, Annie set the table with some paper plates and plastic utensils.

“May, could you go get Will, please?” Luke asked, but when May tried to stand, she clutched her stomach.

“Sorry, Dad, my tummy hurts. I’m so hungry.”

“Sit down. I can get your brother.” Poor thing was starving.

“It’s okay.” Annie helped May climb on the long bench closest to the edge of the tile. “I’ve got it covered. You get those pancakes onto plates and cut up before the kids pass out.” She pushed in May’s chair and grabbed her phone off the golden granite countertop. Luke watched her type and pause several times before she replaced it, smiling. “Will says he’s on his way.”

“Wait, you texted him and he’s actually coming?” He flipped May’s pancake, the one with the chocolate chip smile. Will never did anything the first time he was asked, not even for his mother. “I’ll believe it when I . . .” Footsteps on the stairs echoed through the main floor.

Annie raised her eyebrows with a little smirk. “I can’t believe a man who engineers cell phones for a living still uses a flip phone and never learned to text.”

“Well, engineers also make airplanes but you wouldn’t expect them to own one, would you?” He poked at the pancake, feeling a little guilty he could make jokes at all. Wasn’t he supposed to be curled up in the fetal position in his bed right now?

“But look how well it works.” Annie pointed at Will as he tromped into the kitchen in baggy jeans and Luke’s old Metallica T-shirt.

“So, the food is actually ready? Or am I so hungry I’m hallucinating?”

“You sure are a funny one, aren’t you?” Annie ruffled Will’s hair after he sat down, and miraculously he let her. She was impressive with teenagers. Her son and only child, Matt, was a freshman at Georgetown University in DC. He’d only come home once since orientation, and it was obvious how much she missed him. Brian once confided that he’d tried to bribe Matt into going to the University of Michigan so he could come home on weekends to do laundry and see his mom. But he wanted to go into political science, so Georgetown was the right place for him.

Laundry. Luke glanced down at his robe and ratty old slippers. If Annie hadn’t shown up he probably would’ve stayed in them all day, but there’s something motivating about having a non-family member in your house. And it wasn’t just the clothes. His reflection in the microwave revealed what a wild mess his hair was—sticking up in uneven peaks and leaning to one side like the Tower of Pisa. He turned off the flame on the stovetop and added the last few pancakes to the pile.

“Hey, would you mind getting the kids started on these so I can go throw on some real clothes?” He placed a plastic bottle of store-brand syrup on the table.

“No problem at all,” she said, arranging plastic utensils next to each paper plate.

“Thank you. I’ll be fast.” He handed her the full metal tray. “Remember, the smiley one is May’s.”

“No problem.” She shooed him away with a flap of her hands before laying the tray on the table and grabbing Clayton from his spot on the couch in front of the TV. Luke would have to get his act together, or the three-year-old would soon leave a permanent divot.

As he made his way up the stairs, Luke enjoyed the gentle murmur of voices from the kitchen. He’d always loved coming home from work and eavesdropping until someone finally realized he was home. Today he couldn’t hear the majority of what was being said, but the tone was so different than when Natalie’s mom was there; calm and happy instead of Terry’s anxiety-inducing silence and occasional episodes of uncontrolled wailing.

If Natalie’s dad had been there, things would’ve been different. He was always the strong one in that relationship. When he died of a sudden heart attack five years ago, Natalie wasn’t sure if Terry would make it on her own.
Why do the strong ones always seem to go first?

When his feet touched the flat off-color carpet at the top of the stairs, a scream cut through the fraction of peace. It was May, screaming like a monster was chasing her. Adrenaline shot through Luke’s veins, and without hesitation, he ran down the stairs, slipping down the last two until he reached the kitchen, winded and worried.

“May!” His slippered feet slid on the slick polished floor. Will sat in his seat, slowly munching on buttered pancakes, dipping each bite in a pool of syrup. Clayton waved and shoved a fistful of cut-up squares in his mouth, but May was gone and so was Annie. The bathroom door slammed.

“She’s not in there,” May shouted from the hall. “Maybe she’s upstairs. Come on, Annie, let’s find her.”

Luke met the pair at the foot of the stairs. “What was that scream about, May? Are you okay?”

“Yes, Daddy. I was screaming because I’m
so
happy.” She wagged her hands at her sides like a girl waiting to see a boy band.

“You almost gave me a heart attack.” Luke crouched down to look his daughter straight in her deep blue eyes. “What made you so happy?”

May shifted back and forth on her bare feet, wrapping a damp strand of hair around her finger. She leaned in and whispered, “She’s back.”

Luke glanced up at Annie, whose face was a flat stone, unreadable. “Who’s back, baby?”

“Mommy.”

Luke clamped a hand over his mouth, his stubble scratching his palm, tears collecting in his lower lids. “Mommy is dead, baby. She’s not coming back.” He tucked the wild wet hair behind her ear, tracing the soft curve of her cheek.

“Where did my smiley-face pancake come from?” She took a step back, bumping into Annie’s long legs. “Only Mommy makes them like that. I know it was her. I know it.”

“It was me, honey. Mommy told me you like them that way. I thought it would make you happy. I’m so sorry.” Luke reached out to pull May into his arms, to cuddle her, nuzzle her cheek, and make everything okay like he did when she was learning to walk and bumped her head or when she fell off her bike and skinned her knee. But May wasn’t two anymore, and this wasn’t a flesh wound. She pushed him away, shaking her head.

“No, no. It has to be her. She wouldn’t leave me. She loves me. She said she’d see me again.”

“She meant in heaven, May,” Will’s jaded voice called from the kitchen. “She meant she’d see you in heaven.” He walked into the front hall carrying a sticky Clayton, syrup in his curly blond mop. “And Dad doesn’t believe in heaven, so you’re wasting your time.”

“You think she’s gone forever?” May glared at her father. “Oh, Daddy, no. How could you?” She looked at her father like she’d found out he was a murderer. Her face crumpled, and she ran up the stairs, leaving Luke stunned, still kneeling on the floor.

“I’ll go talk to her.” Annie wiped at her face and followed May up the stairs. Maybe she’d know the right thing to say. Luke put his hand in his robe pocket and rubbed the smooth envelopes between his fingers.

“Don’t worry.” Will stomped past. “I’ll get Clayton out of these sticky clothes.”

As Will ascended the stairs, Luke thought he should stand and take Clayton himself, give Will a fatherly lecture about family and bucking up and how losing your mother is hard enough without pushing your family away too. Or at least say
something
, but he didn’t.

Instead, he shifted on the bottom step, dropping his head into his hands. How did he think he could do this alone? Couldn’t they go back one year, start over, find a way to save Natalie, because this wasn’t how things were supposed to turn out?

Annie came silently down the stairs and flopped down next to him.

“She’s going to take a bath. I told her I’d ask if it was okay.”

Luke didn’t look up, hoping she’d take his silence as permission and return to give May the news. But she didn’t leave. Without saying a word, her hand found its way on the broad space between his shoulder blades, where she rubbed large circles on his back and let the companionable silence cover them like a blanket.

Luke’s muscles unclenched, and the relief brought the tears he’d been avoiding all day. A deep sob forced its way out and through his fingers, coming out so fast and hard it almost hurt. When he tried to take a breath, it hitched in his throat, making a series of staccato gasps. Why did it have to hurt so badly? He’d had months—months of anticipation. He should’ve been ready. He should’ve been bulletproof.

Then he remembered—the letters. If he had those little blue rectangles filled with her words, her voice, he might be able to breathe again. To survive.

The tears stopped, receding to whatever corner of his heart they’d been hiding in. He dropped his hands and used the midnight blue shoulder of the robe to dry his face. Annie, sensing the shift in his mood, dragged her hand across his back, giving one last pat before returning it to her lap.

“Why don’t you go shower and change?” she whispered. “I’ll take care of May and the kitchen.”

He still couldn’t look at her, sure his face was swollen and ugly from crying. Staring at an off-color dent in the wood floor, he thought about refusing her offer, showing how strong he was by going into the kitchen and doing all the cleaning on his own. But he wasn’t strong. He couldn’t even get through one breakfast without his family falling apart, and if he was going to let someone help, it might as well be Annie.

“Sure. Thanks,” he muttered. She used her hands to push herself to standing, her footsteps disappearing as she ascended the stairs. Once the door to May’s room opened and shut, he forced himself to stand. A shower would help, new clothes, but all he really wanted to do was to sit down and reread the letters and live for a little longer in a world where Natalie was still alive.

CHAPTER 3

It had been ten days since Natalie slipped away in her sleep while Luke dozed on the couch beside her, seven days since the funeral, and three more letters since the first two, all robin’s egg blue, with spiral notebook pages neatly folded inside. Luke couldn’t seem to make out a pattern to their arrival. Every time the flash of blue was missing from his mail delivery, Luke was sure he’d never get another letter. Then in a day . . . or maybe two . . . an envelope would show up with the same postmark and no return address. He’d given up trying to figure out Natalie’s plan. Honestly, he’d never completely figured Natalie out in real life; no way was he going to break that code now that she was reduced to nothing but memories and a few random letters.

At least the next few letters were less dramatic than the first two. Mostly talking about her day, her lingering nausea, the way her hair was falling out slowly enough she couldn’t bring herself to shave it like most patients did.

Then there was the letter filled with panic when a clump of hair fell out into her cereal one day and she’d ended up with a mouthful of chemo hair instead of shredded wheat. She said it didn’t taste much different, only it got mushy a lot slower. After that, she got a wig.

Luke remembered that—the hair falling out, the wig buying, but it was different reading it again in her own words. It made it seem like they’d had fun using clippers and a razor to shave her head smooth. Like they’d had a blast trying on different wigs and pretending they were secret agents instead of sad people who knew what was growing inside her was more likely to kill her than to be cured.

Yesterday’s letter was a little different. It was the first time since the pancake fiasco that Natalie made an actual request in her letter, instead of narration with wishes of kisses and cuddles to the kids at the end.

DAY 6

Luke,

If I actually decided to give you these letters, then I’ve only been gone for a week or so. I’ve never been through this losing a parent thing, at least not as a child. You know more about that kind of grief than I do. But remember, our kids have something you didn’t—a caring father.

With that said, here’s the thing I’ve been pondering today: I think it’s time for you to go back to work. Okay. Take a moment to freak out and be annoyed that I’m telling you to get back to work just days after your wife died. Maybe you won’t miss me as much if you remember what a control freak I could be. Take your time. I’ll wait.

Long enough?

Listen, work’s always been an outlet for you; the numbers and simulators, that’s your haven. At work they understand how your mind works in a way I sometimes struggled with. I’m hoping when immersed in your work you can get a respite from all the reminders of me haunting our house. So, when you’re done reading this, go pick out your clothes for tomorrow, but don’t forget me completely. Here’s an idea: you should wear something blue—for me.

And as long as I’m being bossy, let’s get those kids back to school. During this whole cancer drama, I’ve noticed routine is the antidote for this chaos in our lives. Breakfast together, making those lame-ass lunches every day, homework, piano lesson, baseball practice, dinner, bed. Those routines hold our kids up during the week now, and they will for you. It’s the quiet times I fear, when those dark thoughts of leaving you creep in and I can’t sleep at night. Perhaps keeping busy with work and school can save you from sleepless nights too.

So you know I’m not all talk and no action, I’m starting school today at good old Eastern Michigan University. Since Doc said I couldn’t be around my first graders till the chemo is over, I need something to keep my brain working. Only two more classes to complete my MEd. Wouldn’t it be awesome if I could kick cancer’s butt and graduate school’s butt at the same time? This time I’m walking the stage, even if I have to sew a wig into my hat. Remind me not to throw it at the end. Though that might be hilarious.

Have a great day at work tomorrow! I love you.

Love,

Natalie

Luke carefully refolded the letter, following Natalie’s lines, picturing her carefully pressing in each crease. He held it in front of him. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his house and talk to people. Even in his world of computers and numbers, there were people there. Unavoidable, occasionally annoying, people.

She’s dead. She won’t know. She can’t.
He’d been telling himself the same thing for the past twenty-four hours, but it hadn’t worked. Tugging up the knot on his light-blue tie, Luke pushed off his bed, fully dressed. Clayton played quietly in his bedroom, which was refreshing after two weeks of nonstop zombie TV state. Luke poked his head around the doorjamb into Clayton’s little-boy room.

“It’s time to go to Miss Annie’s house. Let’s get your shoes on.”

“Miss Annie?” He shot up like a missile, a pirate action figure clenched in each fist. “Can I bring my toys?”

“You can bring two,” Luke said, spreading two fingers out in front of him to illustrate. Clayton scanned the room looking like Luke had asked whom he’d save first in a house fire.

Ten minutes and four toys later, Luke had successfully packed Clayton and his things up in the car. At least May and Will had grabbed the bus twenty minutes earlier and were probably already at school. They’d gone back the Monday after the funeral. “Luckily” Natalie had passed away over winter break, or at least that’s what at least half the out-of-state relatives kept saying. “How nice the kids don’t have to miss any school.” Luke had to work really hard to bite his tongue.

As he pulled out of the driveway into the street, with his workbag on the seat beside him, he looked back at the house. It was covered in snow, only a few slivers of green showing through the patches of white on the ground. The last time he did this was over a month ago, Natalie still inside watching him leave from her bed in the front room.

He shook his head. It must be surreal for May and Will. They left school three weeks ago with a terminally ill mother, and returned with a dead one. May said the first day back had gone well. The kids were a little distant, the teachers a little too clingy. Will was less helpful with information. When Luke asked how his day was, Will grumbled, “Fine.” He’d have to ask Annie to text him later to make sure he was okay.

Luke pulled into Annie’s neatly snowblown driveway, Brian’s cruiser parked out front. This was all part of the plan. Annie would watch Clayton during the day and do her medical transcriptions in the evening.

They’d always used a day care for Clayton when Natalie was teaching, so Luke was going to reenroll Clayton in Tiny Tots Day Care down the street until Annie had pulled him aside and asked, more like begged, to help. At first it just seemed like too much change for such a young child, but whenever Annie and Clayton spent time together, Luke could almost see their hearts healing each other. When he considered what Natalie would say to Annie’s offer, he knew there was no way he could refuse.

But Annie couldn’t watch the kids all day. Natalie had been very specific about what should happen with the kids after school. Luke was supposed to contact a college student Natalie had met on campus. Nat was sure she’d be great with the kids, could even tutor Will. A girl named Jessie. But he wasn’t ready to have an unknown college kid in his house every day. For now he’d work half days until—he hoped—he’d just know when it was the right time.

“You ready for your fun day at Annie’s house?” Luke helped Clayton out of his seat and picked up the overstuffed canvas bag that held four changes of clothes, two bouncy balls, six trains, and a whole set of tracks. There might be a dinosaur or two in there somewhere.

Clayton tiptoed carefully up the well-salted front path, and Luke followed behind him, one hand out, ready to catch his arm if he slipped.

“I’m going to miss you today, buddy.” Luke sighed. He’d gotten used to the tiny dramas that filled the days of a three-year-old. He enjoyed a life where getting the wrong color straw or having a sandwich cut the “bad way” was the end of the world.

“Me too, Daddy.” Clayton pulled his hood down over his face as far as it would go, flinching away from the wind. “Come home fast, okay?”

“Okay, little Clayton.” Luke grabbed the boy’s gloved hand and helped him up the front steps. “Love you, kid.”

“I know.” He shrugged and sighed. “Can I push the button?”

“Sure. Only once though.”

Clayton reached up and punched the glowing yellow button like a pro. The bell dinged in a muted double tone. Luke guided Clayton’s hand down gently so one ring didn’t turn into ten.

“They’re here! Are you ready yet?” Brian’s voice passed through the door like it wasn’t even there.

A feminine voice responded, too far away for Luke to make out.

“Fine, I’ll get it. But hurry, okay?” Brian sounded like he was standing on the other side of the door, but Luke still jumped when he yanked it open with a whoosh. Standing a few inches taller than Luke, he was nearly six foot two and bulky with muscles that stood out under his gray T-shirt and sweats. It was easy to imagine what he looked like in his glory days, college football star, dreams dashed by a torn ACL. Now he was a cop in a small town, breaking up domestic disputes and tracking down fake IDs.

“Hey there, how you doing, man?”

How was he doing? Hmm. He hated this question. No one really wanted to know how you were doing. They wanted you to tell them how okay you were so they didn’t have to feel weird around you. Luke would rather lie about his mental state than deal with everyone’s awkward silence and looks of pity. He always took the easy way out and told them what they wanted to hear. Brian wasn’t a close enough friend to cry in front of, so Luke went with his normal response.

“Uh. We’re okay. Thanks for asking.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Brian said the line Luke had heard so often it had almost lost its meaning. “I don’t know what Annie will do without her. Appreciate you letting her watch Clayton.” He lowered his voice. “She misses Matt, and now with Natalie gone, I’m worried about her.”

Luke shifted, sure he was the one who should be saying thank you, not Brian. “She’s doing us a favor. You know Clayton—he loves Miss Annie. Right, bud?” Clayton said something muffled by the hood encasing his face. The poor kid was freezing. When Brian didn’t seem to notice and the silence bordered on awkward, Luke changed the subject. “I hope your case is going well.” Luke stumbled, wondering how Brian didn’t seem cold wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt while standing in the front door.

“My case?” His right eye twitched and he stood a little taller, folding his arms across his chest.

“Sorry.” Luke rubbed his hands together. “At Natalie’s funeral, Annie said you were working an important case.”

“Yeah,” Brian said, nodding. “Sorry, yeah, the case.” He tapped his biceps, his smile back. “You don’t even want to know what some people will do to get drugs. It’s crazy.” Brian rubbed his arms, goose bumps finally developing on his bare skin. “So, you coming in or what?”

Luke took a breath to answer, searching behind Brian for Annie. Leaving Clayton with Brian wasn’t within his plans or comfort zone. He was a nice enough person, total guys’ guy and easy to talk to, but not exactly babysitter material.

“You know what?” Luke put a hand on Clayton’s shoulder. “I’m not really sure today is going to work . . .”

Annie’s footsteps on the stairs interrupted his attempt to slink away. She ran toward him, hair still wet.

“Oh my gosh, it’s freezing down here. Brian, invite them in; don’t let them freeze on the doorstep.”

“I was trying to, babe; I’m not stupid.” He rolled his eyes at Luke emphatically like he’d get how annoying a wife could be. “Come inside before I get in trouble.”

“Brian, get out of the way.” Annie ducked under his arm and mouthed, Sorry.

“Good to see you, Luke. You should join us for darts at Willie’s one of these nights. I owe you a beer after missing . . . you know.” He stepped back and Annie waved them inside. “Sorry to ditch out on you guys, but I’m going back to bed. Got another late night tonight.”

“Oh, no problem. It was nice seeing you again,” Luke said, attempting to remember the appropriate small talk involved in this particular situation.

“Yeah, don’t forget—beer.” Brian headed up the stairs.

“How could I?” Luke forced a laugh, relieved when Brian didn’t quip back but thankfully disappeared up to the second floor.

“I’m so sorry about that.” Annie waved toward the ceiling, where they could hear Brian shuffling around in a bedroom. “He’s working nights lately, so he’ll sleep all day. But we’ll be superquiet, right?” Annie smirked at Clayton like what they’d be doing was going to be nowhere close to quiet. He nodded, his eyebrows waggling.

Annie quickly unzipped Clayton’s coat and yanked off his boots like she’d done it a thousand times before. “Hey, buddy, I pulled out a bunch of Matt’s old toys. I saved the best ones for when I’ll be Granny Annie some day. Why don’t you take a look?” She hung his coat on the handle of the closet door and tucked his gloves in the pockets. Clayton smiled and ran off into the office through a pair of French doors.