Page 67 of Pity Parade

I don’t know how I’m supposed to concentrate on anything, knowing my wife left something for me, but Emily has an edge about her right now that makes me feel like I shouldn’t cross her.

After putting on the kettle, my old neighbor places a teacup in front of me and asks, “How have you been?”

What does she expect me to say? I’m fine. Living the good life. I’m a billionaire now, hadn’t you heard? Instead of any of these options, I tell her the truth. “I’m struggling.”

“Is that why you came back?”

“I’m not sure. I guess I was hoping for some answers.”

Emily sits down but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she seems to be waiting for something. What, I don’t know. An apology? A better explanation?

When the kettle starts to whistle, she stands back up to get it. After filling our cups, she tosses a teabag at me. “Jess was having headaches for about a month before she died.”

“I know. I made her go to the doctor and find out why. He said it was probably hormones caused by the pregnancy.”

“She didn’t think that’s all it was,” Emily says. “She thought there was something seriously wrong. Turns out there was.”

“Why didn’t she say anything to me about that?” I demand. The thought that her death could have been avoided makes me feel like I’m on the receiving end of machine gun fire.

Ripping the paper wrapper off her teabag, Emily says, “Probably because she wanted to think everything was fine. She wanted to believe the doctor.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she thought something was wrong?”

“Seriously, Heath?” She gives me a death glare. “Jess was your wife. I told her to talk to you. I assumed at some point she had.”

I shake my head. “Does this have something to do with whatever she left for me?”

Emily shrugs. “I couldn’t say. I didn’t open the envelope. Instead, I called you fifty times to tell you to come get it.”

“Did you mention an envelope in your messages?” I wrack my brain trying to remember that, but it doesn’t sound at all familiar.

“Did you even listen to my messages, Heath? Or did you erase them when you heard it was me?”

My voice is barely above a whisper as I tell her, “I probably erased them.”

“That’s what I thought.” She points at my teacup. “Drink up. I’ll be back.” Then she gets up and walks away from the table. She’s gone for long enough that I start to wonder if she’s forgotten I’m there.

When she comes back into the room, she’s holding a large manilla envelope. The familiar script across the front causes my breathing to temporarily halt. The only thing written on it is my name, but it’s my wife’s handwriting.

Emily puts the envelope down next to me. “I don’t mean to be cruel, but I’m guessing you might have found this helpful before now.”

As anxious as I am to rip it open, I don’t want to read anything in front of an audience. Emily seems to sense my anticipation because she tells me, “You can go.”

I stand up with the envelope in hand. “I’m sorry you haven’t heard from me before now.”

She sighs heavily. “I didn’t need anything from you, Heath. All I wanted to do was help you.”

“I couldn’t take anyone’s help, Em. I didn’t know how.”

“I know.” She turns and leads me back to the front door. “I’m here if you ever want to talk.” There’s something in her expression that suggests she knows she’ll never see me again. “Goodbye, Heath. Take care.”

Walking through the front door, I once again tell her, “I’m sorry about Paul.”

She shrugs. “You never know how life will turn out, do you?”

Lifting the envelope in front of me, I say, “Thanks for this.”

She nods her head slowly. “You’re welcome. I hope it helps you find the peace you came here looking for.”

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