Page 102 of Someone to Watch Over Me

“She has wild widows?”

“It’s a support group. The name comes from the Mary Oliver poem that asks, ‘What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?’”

“Oh, I love that. I’m so glad to know there’s support like that for people who need it.”

“The young-widow experience is unique, and the group has been a tremendous resource for her. They’re her best friends.”

“It’s funny how I never think about what it would’ve been like to lose Paul when we were first married, and the kids were still little.”

“It would’ve been a completely different life. Several of her widow friends have young kids.”

“I can’t begin to know how hard that must be.”

“Be thankful you’ll never have to find out.”

“Indeed. Well, I’m glad you’re back to your feisty, obnoxious self. It’s a relief, believe it or not.”

“I believe it. All is well. Go live your life. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, Cora, I promise.”

“Good night, Thomas.”

“Good night.”

I love her. I really do, and if she’d been the one to have the heart attack, I’d be losing my shit like she is. The incident has sparked a lot of latent trauma in all of us, and I don’t blame either of my sisters for being extremely rattled by it. Hell, I’m still rattled by it. Nothing like a heart attack to wake you up to how life isn’t a dress rehearsal, and yes, I know none of us gets out of here alive, but I’m not ready to exit stage left, especially right when things are getting interesting with my dream girl.

Speaking of her, I see headlights outside and hear the rumble of the garage door opening.

My love is home, and my heart gives a happy leap in anticipation of seeing her.

I’ve never once, in my entire life, had a thought like that or had that sort of physical reaction to any woman but her.

Others have gotten the predictable rise out of me, but there was never this kind of emotion involved.

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” she says as she comes up the stairs from the garage.

“Hi, honey, I missed you. How was your meeting?”

“It was great. Lots of laughs tonight.”

“Not the first thing I expect to hear about a Wild Widows meeting.”

She takes off her coat and hangs it in the hall closet and then comes to sit next to me on the sofa, curling her legs under her. “We laugh more than we cry. At least we do these days. When it’s new, there’s more crying.”

“Tell me the truth. Did you talk about me?”

“I didn’t, but they did. There’s talk of Team Tom Terrific T-shirts.”

“Stop it. You’re joking, right?”

She holds up her hands as she tries not to laugh. “It wasn’t my idea, but I’m not opposed in principle.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

Now she laughs—hard. “I thought you’d want a warning if someone actually goes through with this idea.”

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