HANNAH

On Friday afternoon, while I was getting ready to leave work, I got a text from a strange number. My heart began to pound as soon as I read the first four words.

Hey Hannah, it’s Wes.

Fuck. I’d been on edge the last day and a half, expecting him to turn up on my doorstep unannounced. My stomach started to churn as I read on.

I wanted to come by and see you and Abby. Does this evening work?

“Everything okay?” asked Georgia Valentini, one of the two chefs and owners of Valentini Farms B and B. She was technically my boss, but I considered her a friend as well. “All the color just drained from your face.”

I looked up and blinked at her. Gave her the usual lie. “Fine.”

“You sure?” She cocked her head as she tied an apron at the back of her waist.

“Yes. It’s…” I felt dizzy and sweaty hot all of a sudden and had to close my eyes, take a few deep breaths.

“Hey.” Georgia took my arm and led me over to a chair. “Sit down. I’ll get you some water.”

“Thanks.” I lowered my head between my knees and waited for the uneasy feeling to pass, listening to the clink of ice cubes in a glass and the running faucet.

“Here.” Georgia placed the glass on the table and took the chair opposite mine.

Grateful, I took a few sips of cold water. “Thanks. I had a little dizzy spell there.”

“Have you eaten today? Did you have lunch?” Her eyes held concern.

I nodded, but I couldn’t recall if I actually had.

“Probably not enough.” She got up and went to the huge fridge, pulling the door open. “I’m getting you something.”

I didn’t have it in me to argue. Sleep hadn’t come easy the last couple nights, and exhaustion was catching up with me. “Okay.”

A moment later, she set a plate of chicken salad in front of me with two deviled eggs on the side. I wasn’t hungry, but I dutifully took the fork she held out and poked at a grape in the salad. “Thanks.”

She sat down opposite me again. “Want to tell me what’s going on? You’ve been sort of tense and quiet the last couple days.”

“Have I?” I frowned. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re entitled to be quiet sometimes. Everything okay?”

“You don’t have time to deal with my issues. You need to prep for dinner.” It was Labor Day weekend, and we were fully booked with reservations.

“I have time. And Margot will be here shortly to help. Spill.”

I took a breath. “It’s Wes. He wants to come over later, and seeing him is really hard for me. I ran into him the other day, and it’s got me all messed up.”

Georgia nodded in understanding. Her husband Pete, who was the other owner and chef here, had grown up with Drew and Wes, and she’d met them both. “I bet.”

“And the thing is, rationally, I know I should just face the fact that I have to get used to seeing him. It’s not his fault he looks just like Drew or that being around him is a trigger for me.”

“But fuck rationally.”

I sighed. “Exactly.”

“So what’ll you do?”

“What can I do?”

“Tell him it’s a bad night.”

“Putting him off tonight only delays the inevitable, though. And it isn’t fair to him. Or to Abby.” I pushed some chicken salad around the plate.

“What if you dropped Abby off at your in-laws’? Then you wouldn’t have to be around him.”

I shook my head. “I thought about that yesterday, but I feel like I need to be there for Abby. At least in the beginning. I don’t want her to be confused.”

“So say yes. See how it goes. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Uh, I could have a seismic emotional meltdown in front of him?”

She shrugged. “At least he wouldn’t want to come over anymore.”

In spite of everything, I laughed a little. “Right.”

“Listen.” She scooted her chair in and put her hand on my forearm. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do, but you’re stronger than you think. That much I know for sure.”

I’m not, I felt like saying. I’m just fooling you all. I’m pretending so you’ll stop asking me how I’m doing all the time. I’m pretending in the hopes of fooling myself. I’m pretending because the alternative—the truth—is that I’m sad, scared, sick, worried, angry, guilty, lost, and alone. I’m so fucking alone I could scream.

But I didn’t say that.

“Thanks.” I set down my fork. “I’ll text him back.”

Hi Wes. Yes, tonight is fine. Six o’clock will give me time to feed Abby dinner first.

Georgia patted my shoulder and started prepping for dinner, and I picked up the fork again and ate a few bites, tears dripping into my chicken salad.

* * *

When I got home, I made spaghetti for dinner and sat at the table with Abby while she ate. I wasn’t hungry enough to eat anything, despite what felt like an ever-widening pit in my stomach. Instead, I poured a glass of wine, hoping it would take the edge off my frazzled nerves.

“So you remember I told you about Daddy’s twin brother, Uncle Wes?”

“The one that looks like him?” she asked as a blob of meat sauce fell off her fork and into her lap.

I got up to get a paper towel. “Yes. He’s been in Africa for a while, so we haven’t seen him much, but he’s home now.”

“Does he live at Nana’s?” She shoveled in a forkful of pasta.

“Yes,” I said, wiping up what had spilled. “But he wants to come over here for a visit. Would that be okay?”

“Sure.”

“It might be a little strange because he looks just like Daddy, but it’s not him.”

“Okay.” She reached for her milk.

“And it’s okay to feel sad about it.”

After a few swallows, she set down the cup. “Okay. But does he have any kids he could bring?” Abby had recently learned what cousins were and was desperate to have some of her own.

“No, he doesn’t have kids. Maybe he will someday, if he gets married.”

“Oh.” She dug into her spaghetti again, and I lifted my wine glass to my lips. I was tempted to keep talking about Drew and Wes, press further, tease out any ambivalence she might be trying to hide from me, but it appeared the only mixed feelings about Wes around here belonged to me.

She’s five, reasoned a voice in my head. She doesn’t realize how difficult it might be.

I’d keep a close eye on her while he was here. If the visit seemed too traumatic for her, I’d cut it short. “Do you have any other questions about him?”

She thought for a moment. “What time is he coming?”

“Six.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “In about half an hour.”

“Maybe he’ll want to get ice cream. Daddy liked to get ice cream after dinner.”

I wasn’t sure if she actually remembered that or if it was a memory manufactured after the fact based on stories I’d told her. It was one of my favorite memories, going to get ice cream after dinner on summer nights, and Abby asked me about it often. We’d walk into town, and he’d carry Abby on his shoulders. We always ordered the same thing—Moose Tracks in a waffle cone for Drew, pistachio in a cup for me, Birthday Cake in a sugar cone for Abby, which would drip from the bottom of the cone all down her shirt. God, we’d had everything in those days. And I thought we’d have it forever.

“Mommy?” Abby was looking at me. “Do you think he likes ice cream?”

My throat had gotten tight, and I swallowed hard. “Um, yes. At least, he used to. You can ask him.”

She looked happy about that, and I peeked at the clock again before taking another sip of wine.

* * *

He was a few minutes early.

Abby had insisted on waiting for him outside, so I was sitting on the porch when he drove up, my stomach in knots. He parked a black Cadillac I recognized as his dad’s in the street in front of the house, and waved at us through the passenger window. Abby, drawing on the sidewalk with chalk, waved back before scrambling up the walk to stand next to me. I rose to my feet, feeling a little dizzy and short of breath.

Wes got out of the car, and Abby took my hand. Together we watched him walk toward us, carrying a brown paper bag in one hand. He smiled at both of us, and it was so familiar I wanted to cry. To throw myself at him. To beg him to be someone else and give me my life back.

My knees felt weak.

“Hey,” he called as he came up the walk. “How’s it going?”

Abby looked up at me, and I knew I had to keep it together for her sake. “Good,” I said, squeezing her hand. “Abby, do you remember Uncle Wes?”

She looked at him and shyly shook her head. But then, to my amazement, she let go of my hand and went right to him with open arms. He crouched down and hugged her, balanced on the balls of his feet. Over her shoulder, he looked at me and smiled in surprise. Then he closed his eyes a moment, and I knew he had to be thinking of Drew. A huge lump formed in my throat.

Abby was an affectionate, loving child, but I’d never seen her cling like that to someone she didn’t know very well, especially a man. I miss him too, baby. I twisted my wedding band around on my finger.

Eventually she let go and he straightened up. “She’s beautiful,” he said to me.

“Thanks. She looks like her daddy.” Abby came and stood next to me, and I tousled her hair.

“I see a lot of you in her too,” he said, his eyes on her face, then mine. I’d forgotten how much more quietly he spoke than Drew.

I took a deep breath. “Would you like to come in?”

“Sure. Thank you.”

I opened the screen door and let Abby go in first, then Wes held it open for me. Automatically, I went into the kitchen. When I’m nervous, I tend to fall back on what I know how to do—feed someone. Pour them some coffee. Offer a drink.

“Smells amazing in here,” he commented, looking around. “And it looks great, too. But were the walls a different color before?”

“Yes.” I poured some more wine for myself. “Can I get you anything? A glass of wine? Some pasta? Are you hungry? Have you eaten?” Whoa, Hannah. Whoa.

“I’d love some pasta. It smells delicious.”

“Nothing fancy, just some tomato basil sauce.” I pulled the leftovers from the fridge, glad to have something to do.

“We growed the basil!” Abby climbed into her chair at the table. “And Mommy let me pick it.”

“She did? I bet you’re a great helper in the garden.” He set his bag on the table and sat down next to Abby.

He chose Drew’s chair. That’s Drew’s chair.

Squelching the urge to ask him to sit somewhere else, I stuck a bowl of pasta in the microwave. Don’t be ridiculous. Many people have sat in that chair since Drew died. And it’s not his chair anymore, because he’s gone.

“We don’t really have a garden,” I said, trying to keep my tone natural. “Just some pots in the yard. But I’d like to plant one.” It’s on my list of Things Drew And I Wanted To Do Together But Now I’ll Have To Do Alone. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

He glanced at the wineglass in my hand. “Sure, thanks.”

I poured him a glass of pinot noir and prepared a salad for him while he shared the gifts he’d brought for Abby from Africa—a hand-made musical instrument, a stuffed elephant, a bright yellow dress, and a children’s book about African animals. Abby loved it all and wanted to put the dress on right away.

“I hope it’s the right size.” He watched her run out of the kitchen with it, and a moment later I heard her feet on the stairs.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” I set the pasta and salad in front of him, placed a napkin and fork on the table, and took the chair across from his.

“Wow. This looks great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He dug in, and I sipped my wine. For the first time since he’d arrived, I allowed myself to really look at him. He wore jeans and a white collared shirt that set off his golden skin, and his hair was closely cropped on the sides and back, just like Drew’s had been, and a little longer on the top where brown curls traitorously beckoned my fingers. I wanted to touch it.

Would it feel like Drew’s? Were his curls the same soft texture? Would they cling to my fingers as I ran a hand through them?

Jesus. Stop it. You can’t touch his hair.

I looked out the window, lifted my glass to my lips.

“This is delicious, Hannah.” He wound a huge mound of pasta around his fork. His wrists and forearms were nice and thick—a little thicker than Drew’s, and the slight difference pleased me. If I could focus on the differences, I’d cope better.

“Thanks. I got the tomatoes from work. Everything we serve there is grown on their farm.”

“That’s right. My mom mentioned you’ve been working at Valentini Farms.”

“At the new bed and breakfast, yes. Although we serve dinner now, too. But sometimes I work over at the farm if they need extra help with something.”

“I’ll have to check it out. I’d like to catch up with Pete. It’s been a while. Sounds like they’re doing really well with the new business.”

I nodded. “They are. Summer has been really busy there. And it’s completely booked this weekend.”

“High season up here. Things will seem quiet next week.” He set down his fork and picked up his wine. “So you’re enjoying the job? I remember how good your baking was.”

“Thanks.”

“And everything is good with the house?”

“Yes. I’ve had a crash course in things like mortgages and taxes and insurance in the last year and a half. Your dad has helped me a lot.”

“Good. I’m always happy to help you out, too. Don’t ever hesitate to ask.” He paused with his glass halfway to his mouth. Was his top lip a little fuller than Drew’s? Maybe it was that he wore his scruff a little shorter than Drew had. “I feel bad that I haven’t been here for you, Hannah.”

“Don’t. Really, don’t.” I met his eyes, and we exchanged a look that felt like a conversation. I couldn’t have handled your being here anyway. I can barely handle it now.

But I feel guilty.

There’s nothing you can do.

There must be. Tell me what it is. I’ll do it.

“It fits!” Abby came bounding down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Glad for the intrusion, I focused on my daughter, who twirled happily in her new dress, which was ruched with elastic across the bodice and halter style, but the straps were hanging down. “Come here, let me tie it.”

“I want Uncle Wes to do it.” She stood next to his chair, presented her back and lifted her hair off her neck.

He looked at me, eyebrows raised, as if to ask permission.

I shrugged. “She’s all yours, Uncle Wes.”

He smiled back and set his glass down before reaching for the straps. His fingers looked big and masculine as they gently worked the straps into a bow. I almost laughed at how hard he appeared to be concentrating on the task.

“There,” he said. “How did I do?”

“Good.” She twirled around again.

“What do you say, Abby?” I prompted.

“Thank you.” She beamed at him. “I love it.”

“You’re welcome.” He picked up his fork again. “I’m so glad it fits.”

“Can we go for ice cream now, Mommy?”

I looked at Wes. “She wants to walk into town for ice cream. It’s no problem if you don’t have time.”

“Of course I have time.”

“Abby, let Uncle Wes finish his dinner, and then we’ll go, okay?”

“Okay. Can I go back outside?”

“You can go in the backyard. Not the front.”

“Kay.” She went out the back door, leaving us alone again.

“She’s so cute, Hannah.”

“Thanks.”

“How is she doing with…everything?”

“Pretty well, I guess.” I sighed, lifting my shoulders. “She was so young, you know? And sometimes I’m torn between hoping she remembers everything about him and how much he loved her, and other times I’m glad she probably doesn’t. I don’t want her to have the pain of missing him the way I do.”

He nodded. “I get that.”

“She doesn’t talk about him a lot,” I confessed. “At least not with me. Her therapist thinks it’s probably because she thinks it will make me sad, not because she doesn’t want to remember him.”

“Makes sense.”

“So each night at bedtime, she’ll ask me something about him, or I’ll tell her a story.”

“That’s a good idea.” He picked up his wine. “I could tell her some, too, if you’d like.”

“She’d love that. In fact, she just asked me last night what Drew looked like at her age. I told her maybe Nana had a picture at her house.”

“Definitely. Albums full of them. And she loves looking through them. Why don’t you bring Abby over tomorrow? Mom would love to see you both.”

“I have to work,” I said, glad for the excuse.

“All day?”

I hesitated. “Until two. She’ll be here with her sitter.”

“Bring her after that. We’ll swim and have a cookout or something. I can show Abby how her dad and I grilled hot dogs over a bonfire at the beach. And made s’mores.”

“She does like hot dogs and s’mores,” I admitted.

“Good. Then it’s settled.” He finished eating and carried his dishes to the sink, and I followed with two empty wine glasses. For a moment, we stood shoulder to shoulder looking out the window into the yard, where Abby was sitting on a swing Drew had hung from a tree for her. We could hear her singing “Lullaby of Birdland” softly through the screen.

“She sings Sarah Vaughn,” he said. “Just like you used to.”

I looked up at him in surprise. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “My mom loves those old standards. I grew up hearing them.”

“No, I meant how do you know that about me?”

He met my eyes. “You used to sing along to the music at the diner while you worked.”

“Did I?” I laughed, a little self-conscious. “Sorry. You were probably trying to study.”

He looked out the window again. “Don’t be. I liked it. You had such a pretty voice. I never forgot it.”

Something warm hummed beneath my skin at the compliment. Something I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Something just for me.

It was a nice feeling, and I held onto it, worried that any minute, Grief and Guilt would rear up and snatch it from me. But it lingered as we wandered into the yard to collect Abby. The sun was setting behind the trees, throwing dappled light onto the lawn and giving the air a golden quality so pretty I wondered if I was imagining it.

Abby jumped off the swing when she saw us. “Uncle Wes, will you carry me on your shoulders?”

Oh, God. The contentment I’d felt a moment ago vanished in an instant. My world was full of shadows again. “Abby, no.”

“It’s fine. I’d like to, actually.” Wes picked her up and swung her onto his shoulders, and she laughed gleefully. “Point me in the right direction, okay?”

“Like I’m the princess and you’re my ship!” she squealed. “Go that way!”

Abby pointed toward the street, and I followed them silently around the house to the sidewalk. Abby chattered the entire way into town, playing the princess game, and Wes played along, doing her bidding. I stayed quiet, arms crossed over my chest, worried about what was coming. I knew it. I knew this would be confusing for her.

At the ice cream place, it went exactly as I’d feared. When Wes ordered mint chocolate chip, Abby balked and tugged on his arm. “No, you have to have Moose Tracks in a waffle cone. And Mommy will have pistachio in a cup, and I will have Birthday Cake in a sugar cone.”

“Abby,” I scolded. “Let Uncle Wes order what he likes.”

“No, it’s okay.” He patted her head. “I love Moose Tracks. I was having trouble deciding. Thanks, princess.”

She grinned, satisfied.

My stomach was upset, but I ordered the pistachio ice cream anyway and protested when Wes insisted on paying. “You don’t have to,” I told him, pulling a twenty from my pocket. “You already brought gifts for her.”

“I want to.” He gently gripped my forearm, and we locked eyes. “Let me.”

He’s too close. He’s touching me. “Okay,” I said, mostly so he’d let go of my arm. “Thank you.”

We walked back slowly, and I ate a few spoonfuls of ice cream without tasting it. Had this been a mistake? Was Abby going to confuse Wes with Drew from now on? Would they somehow merge in her mind? Did she plan on acting out every memory she had of Drew with his brother in order to feel like she had her daddy back again? I watched her slurp happily on her oversized scoop of Birthday Cake, skipping along between Wes and me. She certainly didn’t look traumatized. Maybe I was overthinking things.

Although she ate it too quickly for it to drip down the front of her dress, ice cream was all over Abby’s mouth and in her hair by the time we got home.

“You’re a mess,” I told her. “I should turn the hose on you.”

“Yes!” She clapped her hands.

“How about a bath instead?” I asked, glancing up at the house. “And then we can—oh, our porch light is out.”

“Do you have a bulb?” Wes asked. “I’ll change it for you.”

“You don’t have to. I can reach it with the stepladder.”

“It’s no big deal, really. It will take me two minutes.”

I hesitated. On one hand, I didn’t want Wes to feel he had to step into the role of handyman around here. I was perfectly capable of changing the porch lightbulb. On the other, I’d likely put it on my endless list of things that needed to get done around the house and check it off sometime next year.

“Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom.” Abby hopped from one foot to the other.

“Go on,” said Wes, nodding toward the house. “I can wait.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Inside the house Abby scurried up the stairs and Wes stood in the front hall, hands in his pockets. I tossed my half-eaten ice cream in the kitchen trash, slipped my sandals off and climbed onto the counter to reach the high cupboard where Drew had always stashed the light bulbs.

“Can I help you?” Wes called from the doorway.

“I can reach it, I think.” Kneeling on the counter, I opened the cupboard door and peered in.

Wes came up behind me. “Let me help you.”

“I guess I should move things to where I can reach them, but this is where he always kept light bulbs, so…” My voice trailed off. “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“No,” Wes said. “It doesn’t at all.” With his left hand, he pulled down a box with two big bulbs in it. “These?”

I nodded, sitting back on my bare heels. Then I embarrassed myself completely by bursting into tears. “Oh God, I’m sorry. It’s just one of those things, you know? That he always did.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” He looked around, grabbed a tissue from the box nearby, and handed it to me.

“Thanks.” I blew my nose and kept talking. I have no idea why. “Sometimes it’s those small things that make me miss him more than the big things. I just picture him. Changing the porch light. Mowing the lawn. Moving a heavy piece of furniture. Stupid, mundane, everyday things that he should be here to do. But he isn’t.”

“I know.”

I felt a hand on my back. A couple awkward pats. I frowned. Drew would have wrapped his right arm around my waist, buried his face in my neck, and swung me down before teasing me about being too short to reach the high cupboards. Fuck, I missed that kind of touch. Playful and tender and loving. I missed it so much that some secret place in me wanted Wes to do it—grab me and touch me that way. I wanted to do what Abby had done, bring a memory to life, pretend he was Drew, act like nothing had changed. Let me feel his touch and his kiss and his body against mine just one more time. Let me feel like everything is okay. Let me forget I’m alone.

“Sometimes I get mad at him for it,” I whispered, clutching the tissue. “For leaving me alone to do everything—the trivial shit like this, and the huge stuff like parenting our daughter. I didn’t want this. He left me. He left us.”

“Hannah.” His palm stilled on my back, warm and reassuring. I didn’t deserve it. What kind of person gets mad at her dead husband?

“Isn’t that horrible?” Another sob worked its way free from my chest. “That I feel anger at him for something he didn’t choose? Go ahead, you can say it.”

“It’s not horrible. It’s grief. Earlier today, Mom was digging at me about something and I thought, Damn you, Drew, for leaving me alone to deal with Mom for the rest of my life. And then I felt like shit.”

“Exactly. It makes no sense.” I wiped my runny nose with the back of my wrist.

He handed me another tissue. “It never will.”

Nodding, I closed my eyes against the tears. He rubbed my back again, and for a moment, just for a moment, I let myself pretend.

He’s not gone. Everything is gonna be okay.

But then Wes took his hand off me, and I was alone again. Alone and snot-nosed and embarrassed. I got down from the counter, keeping my face to the floor. “Screwdriver is in here,” I said, pulling open the junk drawer. My fingers were shaking. “I need to get Abby in the tub.”

“No problem. I’ll get this changed and head home.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t even look at him as I left the room. I couldn’t.

* * *

I bathed Abby, read her a story, sang her a song, and tucked her in.

“Everything okay?” I brushed her hair from her face. She’d been uncharacteristically quiet since we’d gotten home, and I was still worried about her.

“Yes.” But she didn’t sound sure.

“Want to ask me a question?”

“Yes.” She looked up at me. “Are you sure he’s not Daddy?”

The desperate hope in her eyes crushed my broken heart. “Yes, honey. I’m sure.”

“He looks just like him.” She glanced at the photo on her nightstand.

“I know. That’s because they’re identical twins. Remember, I told you it might be strange to see him.”

“And he likes Moose Tracks, too. Just like Daddy. And he’s a doctor just like Daddy.”

“Lots of people like Moose Tracks. And lots of people are doctors. Uncle Wes is not your daddy. He’s a different person.”

She turned onto her side and hugged her new stuffed elephant close.

“Want me to sing another song?”

“No. I’m tired.”

“Okay. Night, baby.”

“Night.”

I kissed her forehead and left the room, leaving the door open.

Downstairs, I noticed the porch light was on, the front door was closed, and Wes’s car was gone.

Thank God. I’d had enough for one night. And I’d have to think up an excuse for tomorrow. Clearly, Abby needed some time to process the fact that Wes was not Drew and couldn’t fill that role.

To be honest, so did I.