Chapter Thirty
I can hardly bear to write about the following week’s events. I will say only that I attended Wes’s funeral in St. Margaret’s Bay where he was buried in the Radcliffe family plot.
It was a dark, overcast day. Angie was there, but we did not speak to each other. I saw no evidence of her pregnancy, but of course there wouldn’t be any, because she was only a few weeks along—if she were truly pregnant. I still wasn’t convinced.
Scott attended the funeral as well and sat alone at the back of the church. Unlike me, he did speak to Angie. I saw them outside the church immediately following the service. The wind was blowing hard and I tried not to stare. They spoke only briefly. He kissed her on the cheek, then she walked quickly to her rental car and drove off. I wondered what they had said to each other.
Angie did not attend the family gathering at the Radcliffe house after the burial. I’m not sure why. Perhaps she knew how they felt about me and she didn’t feel welcome. Or perhaps they simply hadn’t extended an invitation to her. I didn’t ask.
When it was over, I returned home with Bev for a quiet evening.
Shortly after ten, Scott sent me an email. It said simply: Rough day. How are you doing?
I sat down and typed a response: As good as can be expected. It’s all such a shock. How are you? I saw you talking to Angie outside the church. She must be taking it hard.
I sat and waited for him to reply, which seemed to take forever while my belly turned over with nervous knots.
Finally, my laptop chimed.
Yes, I spoke to her, and then I went to her hotel.
My heart dropped. I sat forward, reading his message as fast as my eyes could focus on the words.
We talked for hours. She was very emotional and she cried the whole time. She apologized for what she and Wes did to us, and I had to convince her that he didn’t die because they were being punished for it. Sometimes bad things just happen and there’s no explanation. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
But I can understand her guilt, because if she hadn’t begged him to come back to her, he would still be alive.
Scott
I felt a stabbing of fear, because if they had talked for hours, surely they must have discussed their relationship.
Perhaps, now that Wes was out of the picture and Angie might be pregnant, she would want her husband back. Of course she would. She would be shaken by this sudden loss and terrified for the future, to be raising a child alone. She would be overcome with grief and loneliness.
I wanted to type the words: Does she want to get back together with you? I resisted, however, because it seemed selfish.
Instead, I wrote: I can only imagine what she must be going through. That must have been very difficult for you.
Knowing Scott the way I did, I had to assume that he’d held her in his arms and done his best to comfort her. The image made my insides twist into a tight band, because even though I was devastated by Wes’s death, I still had feelings for Scott.
But it certainly wouldn’t be appropriate for me to act upon those feelings. Not now—the very night of my husband’s funeral…
Scott replied:
It was. She was a mess. She asked me to stay with her at the hotel tonight, but I told her I couldn’t. Surprisingly she understood why I didn’t want to, and she didn’t pressure me. She’s flying back to Toronto first thing in the morning.
I exhaled sharply with relief, but I still wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t want him back eventually, especially if she were pregnant and alone.
I decided to be forthcoming.
I hope she’ll be okay. She has some support in Toronto, right? She has friends? Because I have to say it… I don’t want to lose you, Scott.
Seconds ticked by like minutes while I sat in my chair, chewing my thumbnail and waiting for his response.
What frightened me was that he was such an honorable man. Angie was still his wife, and I could imagine him feeling an obligation to hold true to his marriage vows. I was terrified that he would put an end to the love that was blossoming between us.
Finally, an email came in.
I don’t want to lose you either. Let’s not give up on this, okay? I understand that you have to mourn for Wes, but I’ll be here, waiting for you patiently. And I won’t be reconciling with Angie. She doesn’t love me, and I don’t love her. Not anymore. We both know it. We talked about that today, at length. So that’s not a possibility, okay? I don’t want you thinking about that.
S.
My whole body shook with relief, and I bowed my head, taking a moment to let my tears flow as I said a prayer of thanks for the words he had written.
All I wanted to do was get up from my chair and cross the street to be with him right away. But we had buried my husband that afternoon and I was still grief stricken. I didn’t want to confuse my need for comfort and solace with what might be possible for us in the future.
I typed my reply:
Thank you, Scott. I’m so happy to hear that. I admit I was worried because you mean so much to me. And if the situation were different, I would be on your doorstep right now, stepping into your arms, but that can’t happen. Not today. I’m still in shock about Wes’s death and I need to come to terms with it. But please don’t give up on me.
C.
He replied immediately:
I won’t. Get some sleep. I’ll be in touch again, and don’t hesitate to call or text if you need anything. I’m here for you.
S.
I went to bed and managed to get only a few hours’ sleep, because I kept waking up and thinking about the car accident and what it must have been like for Wes in those terrifying final seconds.
I cried for him and wished I could have done something—anything—to keep him from getting on that plane. I couldn’t help regretting the fact that we never actually said goodbye, and that he had died believing I hated him.
I didn’t hate him. I only hated what he did to us.
The following day, Barbara called me to set up a meeting with their lawyer in Halifax, because evidently, Wes had left a will.
I was surprised to hear this, because he and I had not prepared wills together, though we often talked about the necessity of it and had planned to get around to it eventually.
Barbara did not disclose any of the details over the phone. She merely told me what time to meet her, and gave me the address.