Page 6 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

I look into their weary blue eyes. Sam’s eyes. What must it be like to look into the mirror and see your son’s eyes, knowing you’ll never see his again? It isn’t natural to grieve for your child. The unfairness of it presses into my lungs so hard I need a gulp of air.

Only, when I open my mouth to breathe—before I’ve even had a second to consider what a colossally bad idea this is—I hear myself volunteer, “I can do it.”

“You’ll go through Sam’s things for us?” The smallest glimmer of light shines through Mrs.Lewis’s expression. “You’ll pack his things and get his condo ready to sell?” Her hopeful expression presses on the pleasure center in my brain that lights up when I’m doing something right even when it hurts a little.

“Of course.” I stretch the words into so many syllables, desperate for a bystander to jump in and stop this. “Whatever you need me to do, I can do it.”

Mrs.Lewis claps her hands together. “That would be wonderful, Alison. I’m so grateful. I’ve always admired how dependable you are. I’m always telling Sam how perfect you are for him.” She slips into the present tense again. I can’t correct her. Rather than comment, I stare at the mysterious stain on the wall behind her head.

Adam clears his throat. “She doesn’t need to…I can handle it, Judy. It’s fine.”

I glance at him sidelong. “Don’t you live two hours away?”

“There are weekends.” He manages not to sound like an irredeemable asshole when he explains the concept of calendars to me, which is an absolute feat. “And I’m sure there’s some small house projects to do if they need it sold by the end of the year. You won’t want to do that.” His words are technically directed at me, but his attention has barely left the Lewises.

Every so often I’ve caught him chancing glances at me like I’m a piece of food in someone’s teeth. He’s nice enough not to stare but can’t help but anxiously track my movements. His subtle awareness makes my skin tight.

I don’t like the idea of packing up my ex-boyfriend’s apartment, but I like the idea of ceding the task to the North Shore Grump even less.

“I love small house projects.” I narrow my eyes. I’m obviously lying but that’s beside the point. “Small house projects are my favorite.”

“Adam, I thought you were too busy to take on side work,” Dr.Lewis says.

Adam bristles. “This isn’t side work. I’ll make time for Sam.”

I don’t like how we’re talking about Sam, as if he’s only in the next room and not permanently displaced to our memories.

Mrs.Lewis spins her silver pendant necklace with her fingers. “It should really be Alison, Adam. She’ll know what’s special for us.”

She looks to me to reinforce this assumption, which only makes my insides fold in on themselves.

“We can both do it,” I manage.

Mrs.Lewis beams, her husband nods—crossing an item off of his mental to-do list—and Adam pinches the bridge of his nose like I’ve sentenced him to one weekend trapped inside a freight elevator.

Why am I like this?

Because Sam’s gone and all this family wants is for their son to have had a girlfriend willing to shoulder one small piece of the burden bearing down on them.

Being the woman they need right now is the least I can do. It won’t make up for the loss of their son, but it might make this moment more tolerable. I can’t disappoint this family, today of all days.

And whether Adam wants to believe it or not, I can help him too.

“Adam and I will handle everything.”

3

A Steadier Ford

2:17 PM

Alison:

Hi Adam! It’s Alison! Is there a time I should come by on Saturday? Anything I can bring?

Winter comes quickly in Minnesota. One day, you’re enjoying a beautiful fall morning in a light denim jacket. The next, you’re hunting through the bottom of your closet for a parka so you can dig your car out of the snow. Sometimes we get our first good snowfall in the middle of October.

Not this year. The day after Sam’s funeral, it’s in the high forties and warm enough to force my two best friends on the hike my dead ex-boyfriend proposed between his eulogy and communion.

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