Page 10 of When The Rain Falls

Since Laurel died, I’ve only dated one other person.Nicole. Everything was fine. Until we tried to sleep together and I couldn’t stay hard. We tried a couple times. Then she gave up and left.

That’s right. I’m a fucking catch. An asshole, single dad, who can’t perform in bed. Women might be willing to overlook a lot of things. But not that last one.

"You don't meet nice girls at bars.”

"Well then,” she huffs impatiently, “meet a mediocre one."

Jesus.

"Way to set the bar high," I mutter.

"Lars, honey,” my mom looks to my dad. “What's the male version of a spinster?"

"Jeeesus." I narrow my eyes at her. But my glaring and frowns don’t phase her anymore. My family is entirely immune to it all.

"Leave the poor guy alone,” my dad scolds. “Have you seen his lip? He’s trying his best.”

I raise my face to the ceiling and glower at it. What’s that supposed to mean?

"If he had a woman in his life, he'd have help with the kids,” my mom continues.Did they forget that I'm right here?"He takes care of everyone. He needs someone to take care of him."Ironic statement considering why I'm here in their house right now.

My dad hides his face behind his catalog again. I’m pretty sure to hide his eye rolling. I stopped bothering to hide mine years ago.

"Oh!" Mom exclaims suddenly. She picks up a stack of paper and rifles through it. "That reminds me." She pulls out a single piece of construction paper and hands it to me. "This was at the bottom of our bin of fall decorations."

It's a white paper with three different colored handprints cut out and glued to the front. The hands are upside down and someone drew long, hooked handles on them. I realize they're supposed to be umbrellas. One handprint is larger than the other two. My breath hitches for a moment. My eyes sting as water begins to rise behind them. One handprint is labeledMom. The other two handprints are labeledRubyandVivian. It's clearly Laurel's handwriting. I'll never forget her graceful, looped script. She must have given this art project to my parents the year before she died, judging by the size of the hands.

I grip the paper tightly between my fingers.

"Thought you might want it," Mom says softly.

"Thanks," I say, staring down at the paper. It's light and flimsy. But it packs a heavy punch. A punch right to my gut.

"Oh, wow." I recognize Vivian's voice behind me. I don't remember her coming back into the room. She peeks over my shoulder. "Can I have it, Dad?"

I thrust the paper towards her and walk down the hall.

"Did you celebrate your mom's birthday yesterday?" I hear Mom ask Vivian.

"It was her birthday?" Vivian asks. Fuck. I was so busy wallowing in my own pain yesterday that I didn't even think that the girls might want to do something for her.

At the end of the hallway, I turn my back, desperate to stop my eyes from filling with tears.

Vivian and Mom continue to talk about Laurel. I stare at a spot on the wall, take deep breaths, and count to ten.

Grief is a funny thing. Most days are just fine. Fine, normal days. Well, notnormal, normal. But a new normal. And then, every once in a while, without warning, the gravity of it all hits me hard. It's not just my loss. It's their loss, too. My daughters. Daughters who will never really know their mother. Who will never benefit from her sage advice, or feel the warmth of her love, or the brightness of her smile, or the gentleness of her spirit, or the generosity of her heart. In some ways, I think their loss is greater than mine. In other ways, I think they're better off. At least they don't really know what they lost.

When I finally look over my shoulder, I see Vivian clutching the paper closely. Fuck. Fuck absolutely everything. My daughters should have their mom, not just her handprint.

5NOT HOMELESS

AIMEE

Is therea man in my bed?

I wake up between the crisp sheets of my hotel bed in a mild panic. I don’t remember there being a man in my bed last night. But the hotel bedspread is bunched up suspiciously on the other side of this king bed and now I can’t be sure. I take a deep breath, slow my racing heart, and bring an arm down to flatten the comforter beside me.

Please don’t contain a body.

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