Page 139 of Sing it, Sam

“Again, don’t worry. The grieving process … you need to take time, Jane. If you don’t do it now, things will fester. Just take this advice from someone who knows.”

I wipe my runny nose on the sleeve of my shirt. “Thanks.”

“Have any arrangements been made for the funeral?” she asks in a softer voice.

The funeral.Bile rises up my throat.

Coffins. Flowers. Mourners.Sam.

I rub my palm over my chest as the ache inside intensifies. “No. I’m going to stay with Ben for a bit. We’ll let you know.”

“If there’s anything I can do, anything, call me. And Butch is fine.”

“Uh-huh,” I mumble as a sob wracks my body. “Bye.”

I flop myself down on to the bed. As tears course down my face, I clutch at my necklace and draw my knees up. The ache in my chest deepens. It stings when I breathe, when I move.

What now, Sam? What now?

***

For two days, I lock myself away in Sam’s room. Ben regularly brings food, but I can’t eat. He tries to nudge me in the shower, but I can’t function. I can’t focus on anything except Sam. I see him everywhere, especially in my dreams. There he’s alive and well, but when I wake in his room, alone in the bed where we first made love, my emotions take me hostage once more.

I’ve heard Ben out there. Talking on the phone. Meeting with people who’ve come by. I’ve tried to block it out, but I know what he’s doing. He’s making arrangements.Funeral arrangements.

Sometimes I find myself staring at the ceiling as emptiness creeps into the place in my heart that Sam occupied. Then I remember how hard I fought Sam to get him to engage, to not shut himself out. It would crush Sam to see me like this.

As much as moving forward is going to be like a betrayal, I know I have to take that first step.

I know Sam would want that.

***

After a solid night’s sleep, I will myself out of bed and to the shower. The smell of bacon draws me by the nostrils to the kitchen, where I find Ben shovelling scrambled eggs onto two white plates.

He jumps as I come into his vision. “Hey, you’re up.” A smile curls at his lips, but then fades. “Made you some breaky. Hungry?”

“Yeah,” I say on an exhale. “I’m starving. Want me to make us some coffees?”

“Please.”

I busy myself with our drinks, while Ben takes the bacon from the pan, butters the freshly cooked toast and spoons the eggs on top. He then takes our meals over to the dining table, shuffles paperwork to the side, and takes three empty coffee cups back to the kitchen sink.

I place our mugs on the table and sit opposite him. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” he asks and devours a mouthful of eggs.

“I should’ve been helping you. I just don’t know that I can. I want to try, though.”

He reaches across the table, grips my hand, and gives it a quick squeeze before returning to his meal. “I know this is hard, Jane. It’s okay. I understand.”

“Do you wanna talk about stuff now?”I don’t want to, but if listening helps you, I’ll do it.

“How about you eat first? It’s been three days.”

I nod and pick up a sliver of crispy bacon. “’Kay. Strange request, but do you have any Nutella?”

He nods. “Always.”

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