Page 139 of Overtime

Jackson

1 I Will Follow You into the Dark

Get some help,they said. You’re not handling this well, they wailed. The pain will lessen with time; you’ll find love again, they whispered.

They were wrong.

The moment I could no longer smell her perfume on the clothes I refused to wash nor find any of her long, black, curly hairs around the house, I had to escape. I’d taken a lot of proverbial beatings over the past year, but the day she truly ceased to exist was a hit I wasn’t prepared for.

After months of round the clock care, IVs, morphine injections, and chemo side effects, our home still carried her original scent and presence. It made no sense. While our families smelled sanitizer and only saw the remnants of a lost battle, I felt her in every room. Until even her ghost deserted me, I never thought to part with the home we’d built together, the rooms we made love in, the nursery that would never hold a baby of our own.

I promised her forever. I was willing to honor my vows, even in death, but my love wasn’t strong enough to hold her.

I step out of my car into the humidity of summer. The air settles on my skin like a thick, woolen blanket, pricking immediate sweat and weighing me down. Honestly, I have no idea where I am. Somewhere in Ohio, maybe. The last sign I remember seeing said Pennsylvania, but that was hours ago. My stomach gurgles, reminding me why I pulled off the highway.

Eating hasn’t been a priority in months, but I’m not willing to risk blacking out behind the wheel from dehydration and low blood sugar. My own grief doesn’t hold more importance than the lives of the families who are on road trips, enjoying their vacations together.

She’d never forgive me if I took out a minivan from my own stubborn selfishness.

Bells clang over my head as I push open the door to the little diner. The scent of grease assaults my nose. A woman with kind eyes glances up from the hostess stand, an immediate welcoming smile forming on her pink-painted lips. She looks old enough to have seen the worst life has to offer, but there’s a spring in her step that suggests she’s tougher than the human condition.

“Good afternoon! Table for one?” She glances around me as if I’m hiding someone behind my back.

“Yes.” I clear my throat. It would seem not speaking for weeks has weakened my voice. “Just one. My wife died, and I eat alone now.”

I don’t know why I say it. Perhaps my mind needs to verbalize the reality of my situation. I haven’t spoken to anyone in so long, and the first words out of my mouth cause my knees to buckle. All the breath rushes out of my lungs until black dots dance in my field of vision.

The lady grabs my arm with a surprisingly strong grip, steadying me until I’m able to stand upright without swaying. She clucks as she slowly leads me around the corner toward the dining area. “Oh, you poor thing. We’ll get you taken care of. I’ll fix you up with our best waitress, and you’ll feel better in no time.”

“No, no. I’m sorry,” I backpedal, feeling like an awkward teenager who can’t control his thoughts or actions. “You’ve misunderstood. I’m not looking to be fixed up with anyone. I have no interest in dating again.”

She settles me into the booth with a smirk and a wink. “I would suggest no such thing. It’s obvious you’re madly in love with your wife. I apologize if I misspoke. What I meant is that I will send our sweetest waitress to serve you. She’ll take care of you while you’re here.”

I relax into the cracked red leather of the bench seat, nodding for fear any more words I might utter will come out all wrong. Smiling isn’t in the cards, but my face feels like I manage a close approximation. This poor old woman has been nothing but kind to me. She must think I’m some sort of psychopath. And hey, maybe she isn’t wrong. I haven’t felt this unhinged since we first heard the diagnosis.

It was only supposed to be a routine screening, so we could move forward with the IVF procedures. How could we know trying to start our family would herald the end of it?

I let my mind drift into the bitter questions, which have no answers and the unfairness of it all. Wallowing feels familiar, safe. The moment I try to move forward—as my parents have so callously demanded—I’ll begin losing my memories of her. I can’t allow that to happen. Memories are all I have left.

Until she appears.

I’d blink, but I’m terrified if I do, she’ll vanish again.

Her frizzy hair begs to be touched, but I’m frozen in place. The purest blue eyes I’ve ever known stare back at me. She smiles, but it’s tentative and almost shy. Nothing like the expressions of ecstasy and love I see in my dreams.

“Evie?” My heart ceases to beat while I wait for this hallucination to crash around my shoulders. Surely, that’s all this is. I want her here so badly, my brain has actually made it happen.

Those full lips stretch further, and I almost weep with the need to feel them pressed against my mouth. “That’s me. Margie said you were waiting. I hope it wasn’t too long. Can I get you something to drink? Maybe a big glass of iced tea? It’s awfully hot today.”

Her tone seems friendly enough, but her mindless chatter kills a piece of my soul that I wasn’t sure was left behind. After years of whispering our deepest, darkest secrets, discussing something as mundane as the weather seems like a slap in the face.

“Sir?”

I shake my head, reminding myself this isn’t real. It’s just my mind playing tricks on me. Still, I have to know for sure. “Evelyn?”

Her eyes hold no shred of recognition as she furrows her brow and studies me. “Uh…no. My name is Eva; Evie for short. Or, well…not shorter than my name, actually. It’s a nickname.” She rolls her eyes as her high cheekbones redden. “God, listen to me. Maybe I need something cold to drink, too. Band practice has obviously fried my brain. I’m so sorry, sir. Don’t mind me. What can I get for you?”

I place my hand over hers that rests on the table. It’s wholly inappropriate, but I absolutely can’t help myself. She’s got this deer in the headlights expression going on, which is obviously my fault. “It is hot, so don’t worry about it, Evie. I’m a bit off today, too. A glass of iced tea sounds great.”

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