Page 63 of Pity Parade

The more I get to know Heath and witness his internal struggle, the more I know he’s actively grieving for his wife and son. I imagine that will still be the case when he’s an old man. Taking his hand, I lead him back toward the park bench to sit down. “Heath …” I start to say, but I’m not sure what to say next.

It doesn’t matter because he cuts me off and announces, “I put my house on the market a few weeks after Jess died.”

That’s shockingly quick. “Why so soon?”

He considers my question for a beat before shrugging. “My mom thought I was in denial and my brother told me I’d regret it.”

“Did you?” I ask. “Do you?”

“I don’t think it’s possible to know. I hated saying goodbye to the home where Jess and I made such beautiful memories, but I couldn’t wait to get away from the image of finding her dead. It was there every time I walked through the front door. If I’d stayed, I would have been living with ghosts, and the pain of that would have eaten me alive.”

“Everyone processes their grief differently,” I tell him for lack of anything more profound coming to mind.

“Have you ever lost anyone close?” he asks.

“My grandparents,” I tell him. “And while that was sad, it wasn’t exactly a tragedy. You expect your grandparents and parents to die before you.” I stay quiet for a minute before telling him, “When I was eight, my best friend died from cancer.”

He turns to me with a look of compassion. “That must have been awful for you. I’m sorry.”

“The first year sucked,” I tell him. “Bailey and I were inseparable, so it was hard to figure out who I was without her.”

“I get that,” he says.

“But we were also kids. So, while I’m sure her parents never fully recovered from losing their child, by the next year, I had a new best friend and my life simply continued.”

“Did you ever see her parents afterward?”

“They moved,” I tell him. “It seems they couldn’t live with the ghosts, either. When I was twelve, my mom told me they got divorced. I guess they just couldn’t figure out how to go on as a family without Bailey.”

A tear slides down Heath’s cheek and as much as I try to hold myself back, I can’t. I reach out and wipe it from his face.

“Life can be so freaking hard,” he says.

“It sure can,” I agree. “But you know what? I never regretted having Bailey for a friend even though it was awful to lose her.” I hurry to add, “I’m not comparing her to Jess or your son, I’m just saying that I understand grief.”

Heath closes his eyes and inhales deeply before releasing the pent-up air. “On our honeymoon, Jess suggested we try for a honeymoon baby. I told her I didn’t want to. I wanted to enjoy our time just the two of us before having a child.”

“That makes sense.”

Shaking his head, he tells me, “She could have been a mother before she died. I could have given her that gift, and then when she left, I would have still had a part of her.” Emotion clogs his throat.

I realize I’m still holding his hand, but I can’t seem to let it go. Instead, I give it a small squeeze of support. “You didn’t have a crystal ball, Heath. You didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“That’s easy to say, but the truth is I could have given my wife the one thing she wanted more than anything before she died. I was the only obstacle.”

“You gave her the gift of your time together, just the two of you. You better believe she was grateful for that.”

Heath stares into my eyes like he’s getting lost there. “You refuse to see anything but the good, don’t you?”

“Not so,” I tell him. “I see things for what they are, and in the situation with your wife, I really think you did the best thing.”

Leaning closer to me, Heath murmurs, “Trina …”

I know what he’s about to do and I realize I should pull back, but against my better judgement I lean in and let him kiss me. It’s not passionate, as that would hardly fit the discussion we’ve been having. Instead, it’s gentle and it’s sweet and full of sadness.

This man is somehow pulling me back in, and while I know I should resist him at all costs, I also feel like I know him better now. I know his wound, and as such, his reasoning for keeping women at a distance.

When he pulls away, he mumbles, “I, uh, probably I shouldn’t have done that.”

---