Page 8 of Nothing Left To Lose But You

I stare at my shoes, and a lightness buzzes in my chest. Within seconds, guilt creeps into my easy-going feeling, and the two emotions thrash about in my mind. Guilt wins, of course. What was I thinking? This is too soon. I count the linoleum squares on the floor as the cart passes over them on my way to the register. Uninvited tears haven’t broken loose in public in weeks, and I need to continue the streak.

The sight of The Brunette’s gorgeous eyes and pretty smile battles with the sorrow leaking from the Hannah-shaped hole in my heart and the warmth of her memory. I float between these feelings the entire way home.

Claire squeezes in next to me on the couch and leans her head onto my shoulder. “What’s got you down? You’ve been quiet since you got back from the store.”

“I’m fine,” I lie. I’m not fine. I feel like a terrible husband—widower—for giving any consideration to another woman.

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I can’t relate to what you’re going through, but sometimes it helps to say it out loud. At least, it does for me.”

Claire’s right, but I’m not opening those gates tonight. I don’t have words to explain desperately missing Hannah daily and feeling like a piece of me died alongside her; and I won’t allow myself to ruminate on The Brunette, who for a small sliver of time allowed me to stand in the laundry detergent aisle and forget that my heart will never be whole again.

“I promise I’ll let you know if I ever need to talk.”

My aunt walks into the kitchen and busies herself with putting away the groceries I brought home. I follow behind and make space for the cookies in an upper cabinet. She grabs the gallon of milk and sets it inside the fridge before pulling the laundry detergent off the counter. She hauls the bottle to the laundry closet off the kitchen and sets it on top of the washing machine.

Popping her head around the corner, she beams. “You found the right one. Rufus always grabs the wrong detergent when I send him to the store.”

“Glad I got the right one.” I fake a small smile, neglecting to share that I had help making my selection.

“I’ve been thinking: It’d be good for you and Maggie to get out more. School starts soon, you know.”

“I’ve already registered Maggie,” I call out from inside the bottom kitchen cabinet where I’m stacking cans of soup.

“Why don’t we plan on taking her back to school shopping next weekend?”

I stand, pull a glass from an upper cabinet, and fill it with water. My thoughts collect as the cool liquid slides down my throat. When Claire saysweshould take Maggie school shopping, she meansshewants to take Maggie, let my daughter go wild picking out whatever she wants, and insist on paying for everything.

People drive by the Owens’ farm every day and wrongly assume they’re poor because they live in a mobile home. Claire and Rufus have priorities, and a home that makes passersbyoohandahisn’t one of them. Rufus told me they saved and invested their whole working lives so they can now enjoy a comfortable retirement. He boasted they don’t want a glamorous McMansion because they’ve spent decades fillingthishome with love.

He also pointedly informed me that not having a mortgage allows them to do as they damn well please with their time and money. Claire’s current pursuit and retirement joy involves supporting me and spoiling my daughter. I object to her spending on us and avoid doing or saying anything to encourage it, but she still slips things in.

“Back-to-school shopping? Let me think about it.”

“Don’t be that way,” she scolds.

“Aunt Claire, I love and appreciate you, but I can’t let you bear our every expense.” I gently plead with her, hoping she’ll understand, and my uncle bursts through the backdoor causing the screen door to slam shut behind him.

“What y’all fussin’ about?” Rufus’s voice booms. He’s a big man, and his voice carries in a startling way that seems to surprise even himself when he speaks. The contrast between his voice and his gentle-giant personality is comical. My uncle’s as soft as they come.

“She wants to take Maggie shopping before school starts.”

“And?” Rufus questions, unable to identify the conflict.

“AndI’m not sure I’m comfortable with it. I’m her dad—It’s my job to provide for her. I’m not even putting a roof over our heads right now.”

“Oh boy, get it together, why don’t ya? Ain’t nothing wrong with letting others help you, son. Do you know how much joy it brings Claire to help you with Maggie?” Rufus’ eyebrows lift, and he waits for me to fire back. “You think we’re doing some charity act when you get outta the house for a while and let us watch Maggie? Listen to me: In the few short months y’all have been here, we’ve fallen in love with your girl. You sharing her with us is a gift.”

Too many things are vying for my attention. I’m still shaken by my shopping trip, and the emotional bomb Rufus just dropped in my lap is too much. I don’t have any fight left in me today.

“Fine,” I admit, knowing this is a losing battle. “Where’s Mags, anyway?”

“I told her she could play with the kitten as long as she stayed out of the shed. Checked before I came in a minute ago, and she’s curled up in a patio chair with the cat. I’ll get her up and make her wash up for dinner.”

“Thank you,” I tell Uncle Rufus.

I peck a kiss on Claire’s cheek as I walk past. “Let’s plan for next weekend.”

Chapter 5

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