Chapter One

Jack the Mannequin

I never thought saying goodbye would be this hard. I mean, it’s nearly impossible to look at my husband lying in that coffin without smiling. It’s even harder listening to some pastor I’ve never met read a sweet letter I wrote last night after four whiskey sours. Despite the laughter rising in the back of my throat, I had to make that letter sound good. Damn good. Not for this stuffy room full of people I hardly know, but for Jack’s parents. And his brother, Lincoln, and sister, Mary. They’re such sweet people and, for some reason, they like me. And I like them too. Swept up in a whirlwind of backyard barbeques and snowbound holidays in Aspen, my fairytale goggles kept me from seeing the real Jack. The one who turned distant soon after we married three years back. The one who turned verbally abusive before graduating into the dark, wet wastelands of full on physical abuse. The same Jack I caught red-handed with some pretty little thing two weeks ago today.

His family, however, doesn’t need to know about the real Jack. It would crush his mom and dad, both of whom I love dearly. With all their money, you’d think they’d have sticks shoved so far up their asses they’d look like walking kabobs. But you’d be wrong. They don’t act like that, not around me anyway. Minni and Tom have become the parents I never had and I hope they’ll keep in touch after this tsunami of mourning comes to a flowery end. I like them. All of them. That’s why they don’t need to know about the real Jack. Besides, he only really hurt me that one time. Or maybe it was twice. Let’s see, there was the time he clocked me in the eye after discovering I’d secretly kept on my birth control. Check. Oh, and then there was the time he blackened my other eye after I foolishly suggested a marriage counselor after black eye #1. Yep, two times. Basically, that’s it.

I glance at Minni and Tom seated to my right before peeking at Mary and Lincoln on my left. Everyone’s staring at Jack’s dead body and I’m stuck smack dab in the middle of the front row, like some heartbroken queen put upon a pedestal for the whole kingdom to weep for. I blow out a slow and low breath, lowering my shoulders. Heavy is the head. Twisting my fingers in my lap, Founders Funeral Home is unnervingly quiet. I can hear every sniffle and cough, and my fallen king’s face is so pasty and thin, I barely recognize him. The medical examiner told me Jack was dead before he hit the ground and I still can’t fucking believe it. A heart attack while cleaning the gutters? At his age? It’s like winning the lottery. I mean, you hear about it happening to other people but you never think it can happen to you. Yet it did and now I am finally free of Jack McConnel. In less than two months’ time – when people stop sending sympathy cards and dropping off pans of lasagna – I can go back to being Sienna. Party of one. Well, not the old Sienna. That poor girl is just as dead as my husband. The new Sienna is wiser, stronger, and even with the embalming fluid hanging thickly in the air, everything smells sweeter. It’s like I was color blind and, thanks to some new pair of glasses, now I can see. Everything is so vivid, I can literally taste the bouquets of pretty flowers on my…

Jack’s mom sets a bony hand on my right leg and gives it a reassuring squeeze, pulling me from my thoughts. Noticing my distant gaze, she probably thought I was caught up in whatever sweet memory Pastor Ed was currently sharing. Or maybe Minni thought I was spacing off with a bored look pulling on my face and, man, I wish I had a veil! Do widows even wear veils anymore? Is that even a thing? It should be mandatory because I just want to get the hell out of here and drink some margaritas on a patio and goddamn it’s hot in here! Is the air even on?

Barely turning my head, I toss Minni a faint smile – just enough to show how distraught I am over the loss of her son – my creep husband. Then, after that cumbersome task is finished, she takes her hand back and we return our attention to the shiny mahogany coffin. Jack looks…older. Sunken. Waxy. He always kept in such great shape, I could barely keep up with his endless running, biking, and swimming. A quick afternoon workout to him was a triathlon to me. I was surprised he didn’t like to shoot clay pigeons from the back of his bike, but now he looks different. His hair is thinner and he’s wearing way too much makeup and something is making my right eye itch. Probably a loose lash. Without moving a muscle, I silently weigh my options. If I go ahead and rub my eye, it will look like I’m wiping away a tear before it can destroy my mascara. And that’s a good thing. Or…will it look like a suspicious tic? Something a hardboiled detective would pick up on in a heartbeat. Either way, I have to be careful of my every move from this point forward. It’s the only way. No smiling. No laughing. And no dating.

Inhaling deeply, I make the move and itch my right eye. With her watery gaze locked on her poor dead brother, Mary pats my other leg and holy hell it worked. God, how I wish I had a veil. I’m not an actress and can’t keep this charade up much longer. We still have to go to the cemetery after this, for fuck’s sake. Releasing a sticky breath, I straighten up in this ungodly chair and force myself to relax. I just have to think about something sad. The saddest memory I’ve ever had. Something that still haunts me to this day. Sighing, my heart sinks.

Steven.

God, I miss Stevie. Unlike Jack, he was always there for me. Especially when I had a new chew toy or fresh bag of Beggin Strips. I still remember that midnight storm, when a dining room window suddenly…

Oh shit, the organist is playing again and now we’re standing. Hurriedly getting to my heels, I pull down the black dress I bought at Target yesterday afternoon and focus on what Pastor Ted is saying. Or was it Pastor Ed? Shit, I can’t remember. All I know is the back rows are filing past the coffin to say their final goodbye to Jack the mannequin and, hallelujah, this party is over. I exhale a somber breath that fits right into my grieving wife thing because I can do this. Now, we go to the cemetery and listen to some more pointless praise from Pastor Ed – who, for the record, never met Jack a day in his life – and then it’s off to Minni and Tom’s for coffee, finger sandwiches, and more wistful stories about good old Jack. Then…I can finally go home and collapse into bed.

But not my bed.

The spare room bed.

I haven’t slept in I don’t know how many days now, but I will never sleep in my old bed again. Not after that day. I notice Lincoln watching me and it feels like he’s trying to read my mind so I redirect it. I haven’t seen him in a suit and tie since my wedding and he’s so damn handsome, he could be the next James Bond. Dapper as he is, I can tell he’s worried about me. His strong silence can’t fool me. Yet, I can’t stop wondering if he knew about Jack’s afterschool specials. Lincoln certainly knows more about his older brother than his parents do, that’s for sure. A lot more. But if he knew about Jack’s cheating side, he should’ve warned me before I married the sonofabitch on a white sandy beach.

Tearing my eyes from his invasive green ones, I stare at Jack’s withered corpse so I don’t have to face anyone else. I would rather make it look like I’m reliving some magical night we shared just before he died. One last special moment, held together by flickering candlelight and silky red wine. A moment that never happened. Our last special moment ended in a nasty fight – one that will follow me to the grave. My brow wrinkles as a new thought pushes to the forefront of my tired brain. Will I have to be buried next to Jack one day? Oh my God, that can’t happen! I’ll just have to…

Minni takes my arm because, suddenly, we’re the only ones left in the boxy room and it’s our turn to walk by the coffin and gaze upon poor, wonderful Jack for the very last time. I want to smile so badly because I’m finally free. Free to stop worrying about what kind of mood he’ll be in when he gets home from work, or if he’ll like the baked ziti and garlic bread I spent half the afternoon preparing. Free to be me and not the fictional housewife he so desired. Releasing a sigh that could easily be misconstrued as forlorn, I run a loving hand along the glossy casket and think about the new condo I’m going to buy with Jack’s life insurance payout. One with a patio and pool right on the beach.

Turning from the stench of death, the ghost of a grin brushes the corners of my mouth and it is a motherfucker to hide. I pass through a set of French doors and step out into a crowded hallway. People stop and turn, pressing their lips tightly together to quietly convey their sympathy for my loss and I just want to laugh.

I never thought saying goodbye would be this hard.