Page 79 of The Dirty Saint

And neither do I.

* * *

I lay in my bed, unable to drift off to sleep. The side next to me feels even emptier than usual, and I’m picturing my husband draped in the sheets, which isn’t making anything easier.

After a few more minutes of twisting and turning, I grab the photo of Chris and me off the nightstand. Our wedding day. The two of us are surrounded by greenery; trees and flowers of all types. We are both smiling and grinning, me in a white mini dress and him in a button-down with khakis. I run my finger over his face.

He was so handsome. With his sage-green eyes and light brown hair, he looked like a movie star. But never mind his physical features, he had a heart of gold. He loved every piece of me, even the broken ones. When we met and he discovered I was pregnant, he didn’t even hesitate to be there for me and the baby.

Christian had always wanted a family of his own, as did I.

So it was a perfect match when he found me passed out on some random park bench on what was otherwise a simple Tuesday afternoon.

“Mom?”

I turn to see Noah in the doorway, clutching his stuffed animal, Buck. His voice is stained with sadness.

“Yes, buddy,” I ask.

“I miss Dad.”

A wave of grief suddenly crashes into me, nearly knocking me off balance. I move over and pat Chris’s side of the bed. “Come here.”

I reach out my arms, and Noah falls into them. I pick him up and cradle his tiny body to me, tightly.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I say.

He nods, his bottom lip trembling.

“Today at pick up, Luka’s dad came. Luka was so excited. It was all he could talk about at lunchtime. Marci told me her dad was getting her from school, too. And it made me sad because sometimes, Mom, I want Dad to get me.”

I look at my son, admiring him like he’s a piece of artwork. I mean, that’s what he is to me. A masterpiece disguised as a little boy named Noah.

“It’s alright, bud. In fact, it’s okay to feel the way that you do. I’m sure it isn’t easy to see your classmates with their dads. I knowIget sad when I see people withtheirhusbands because I don’t have mine anymore. And believe me, I want my husbandsomuch.”

Tears escape Noah’s eyes. “It isn’t fair,” he cries. “How come Dad had to go live with God?”

“I—”

The words get lost in the back of my throat.

I realize then I don’t have a good answer. Or really a clue as to what to say. Nothing will change the fact that Christian is gone and not coming back.

However, I am going to try myverybest for my son.

“Noah, do you remember when I told you that Dad was in a lot of pain before he died?”

“Yeah.”

“Well he wasn’t getting better, no matter what he did. And his pain made himextremelytired.”

“So why didn’t he just go to bed and get some extra sleep?”

I smile ever so slightly.

Bless my sweet, curious boy.

“I wish it worked that way, I really do. But unfortunately, sleep wasn’t going to heal Dad.”

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