Page 24 of The Widower's Girlfriend
I break my cardinal rule at work and check my phone between patients, hoping for a text or call from Walker. When I don’t get either, I resort to skimming the comments on his social media sites. Funny how the majority of encouraging comments get swept aside and forgotten by the nastiness of the others. If my stomach was in knots last night, it’s even worse today in the face of the minority’s anger and hurt.
I’m questioning whether we’re doing the right thing. How can dating me be worth tanking Walker’s whole career? Maybe if I actually cared for him I should step aside and let him get back to helping people, not upsetting everyone.
As I go home for the day and still haven’t heard from Walker, I’ve convinced myself to just fade into the background and disappear from his life. He can’t be thinking it’s worth it. Maybe he feels badly too and can’t bring himself to tell me.
I do care for Walker. Very much.
So I need to do the right thing and let him go.
15
Walker
I’ve been bombarded with phone calls from Asher all day long with words he wants to tweak on my website that will magically calm the backlash. Photos have somehow surfaced from the reception at the conference in Denver, where Jemma looks like a deer in headlights behind me, my hand intimately on her hip. I’ve seen the nasty comments on my social media and want to respond but Ash keeps telling me not to. Then my publisher called with questions as to what was going on. We were in talks about book number three, but if the backlash didn’t die down quick, I’m sure I wouldn’t be receiving a contract for that book deal after all.
And through all the craziness of today, I’m actually shocked. I was completely oblivious to the fact that people care what I do with my personal life. Sharing all my personal thoughts along the journey of the grieving process always felt cathartic. It felt natural and normal to connect with others going through the same thing. It even felt like the natural evolution of things to become a leader in helping others new to widowhood by way of my books and speaking gigs.
But today I’ve gotten my first taste of the flip side. Today is the first day I regret ever hitting publish on that first blog post. Somewhere along the way others’ opinions of my choices began to matter in a very real way.
I’m angry. I want to tear my hair out. I want to rage at the unfairness of it all. I want to hold Jemma close and pretend we can hide out in our own little world.
I’m angry that I’m letting a small group of hurting people tear me down with their words. Hurt people, hurt people. I’m furious that Jemma will read these comments and be hurt by them. I’m upset that I’ve known such grief and sadness for so long and the first time I’ve opened myself up to being truly happy again, people are trying to hold me down. Like I signed up for a life sentence to wallow in my grief, never to escape.
My phone rings again and I want to throw it out the window. Taking a deep breath, I pick it up, thinking it has to be Ash again. What I see on the display makes me pause. It’s my sister-in-law, Melissa’s sister. I can only imagine she’s seen the news and has some choice words for me too.
Could today get any worse?
“Hey, how are you?” I try for a pleasant, non-stressed, happy greeting.
“Walker, I’m surprised you picked up.” Her voice is smooth, not overly upset which makes me wonder what this phone call is all about.
“When I see it’s you calling, of course I pick up. What’s going on?”
“Well, I’ve heard the news and I’ve got to admit, I’m surprised.”
I start pacing my living room floor, the ocean view not soothing me as it usually does. I tug at the collar of my shirt, feeling hot even though it’s a perfectly reasonable winter day at the beach. “That makes two of us. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you personally that I started dating again. It all happened quite quickly and my agent advised me to make a public statement as soon as possible before rumors took over.”
There’s a pause and I can’t help but think she’s winding up to batter me over the head. Melissa was her sister, after all. I don’t expect her to take it well, knowing her beloved sister’s husband has moved on.
“Oh, Walker.” She sighs, her voice low and calm. “Of course it’s a shock to think of you with anyone other than Melissa. But I also know it’s been eight years since she left us. It’s only natural that you’d move on at some point. In fact, I’m happy for you. I really am. I know Melissa would have wanted you to find happiness again.” Her voice wobbles and I hear a telltale sniff over the line.
I squeeze my eyes shut and fight to stay above the tidal wave of guilt that tries to sweep me under. “I can promise you this doesn’t mean I love Melissa any less. Or that I’ve forgotten about her. She was one of a kind.”
A watery acknowledgement follows in the silence. She finally speaks and the hurt is tangible in her voice. “I know. Just make sure this Jemma woman makes you happy. That’s all I ask. Make sure she’s worth it.”
There’s not much to say after that so we exchange a few pleasantries and catch up briefly on each other’s lives before saying goodbye. We share a grief so intimately, yet I can already feel a huge chasm between us with this new development in my life.
I finally sit down on my couch and hang my head. My shoulders feel like there’s a ten-ton weight sitting on them. My phone pings several times in my hands and suddenly it’s all too much. Flipping the switch to silent, I set my phone down on the coffee table and step outside to my patio.
It’s time to do what I’ve always done when overwhelmed and unsure what to do: meditation. I sit on a blanket and stare out at the ocean waves for quite some time before closing my eyes and drifting off to a place where death doesn’t exist and public opinion doesn’t matter in the slightest. A place where everything is calm.
* * *
It’s been two days since the news broke on my website. Two days since I’ve communicated with Jemma. Two days where I’ve waffled back and forth with how I want to proceed. Two days where I’ve wallowed in my indecision and grief and guilt.
I know my silence isn’t fair to Jemma. She deserves to hear from me. And yet, I haven’t heard from her either and in my current state of mind, I figure she’s decided I’m not worth the effort. She’s already shared with me that she doesn’t have much regard for celebrities, and with the hubbub stirred up by a few angry people, she may have decided that dating me just isn’t worth it. Quite frankly, I don’t blame her at all.
Around dinnertime, my doorbell rings. I’m loath to answer it since I’m still in sweatpants and a t-shirt that’s seen better days. I swipe a hand through my hair and hope for the best. Peering through the peephole, I see it’s just Asher. I swing open the door and let him in.
