Finding Tranquility

PART II: JESS-2

Brett’s parents sat in the pew across the aisle. His mother sobbed into a handkerchief, loud gulping weeps that would’ve been comical if not for the fact that she was crying over the murder of my husband. I wanted to wail with her, but I was all cried out.

Father Thomas finished his sermon and asked if anyone wanted to come up and share their memories of Brett. Mom and I had talked about this; no way in hell could I stand up in front of two hundred people and talk about how this felt. Anyone who couldn’t imagine what I was feeling right now could f**k off. I didn’t want to tell them, I wanted to go home.

But my mom stood up, walked to the front, head held high. “I’ve known Brett for eight years, and I loved him like my own son. From the day they met, he and my Jess were inseparable. I still remember the first time he came over, when they were only fourteen years old. He dropped by to ask if Jess was home, but she was at Bible study, wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. He asked if there was anything he could do around the house to help out while he waited.” She paused, smiled at the memory, and continued. “I told him that I was making Jess’s confirmation dress. At the time, he and Jess were about the same height. That boy, bless his heart, stood there and wore that dress while I sewed the hem all around him. Didn’t complain or anything. Just quietly waited for Jess to come home so he could see her. I knew then, he was a keeper.”

A chuckle went through the crowd. Brett always hung out with my mom, helping her sew or cook or whatever she was doing. At first, I thought he was just sucking up to her so we could hang out without a chaperone, but I realized after a few months that he really enjoyed their time together. It wasn’t uncommon for me to leave Brett chopping vegetables while I quizzed him on French words or read to him from our English assignments.

When we got married, I’d dreamt that one day, our children would help him in the kitchen the same way he helped my mom.

Stupid dreams. Just like my husband, they were gone in an instant.

Brett would never teach our child to cook, never change a diaper, never grow old with me. Never learn my mother’s top-secret cake recipe that she always promised to teach him when he was older (the “magic” ingredient was probably butter), never start a 401(k), never hold my hand again, never kiss me. And there was nothing I could do to make any of it right again.

Forgetting about everyone else in the church, finally, I lowered my head and let the tears flow.

Chapter 9September 2019

Eighteen years ago today, my husband died.

Everyone said, “But you’re so young to be a widow!” as if tragedy only happens to the elderly. As if the fact that we were newlyweds meant Brett couldn’t be dead, that my loss never happened. Like I’d imagined it.

If only that were true. That Brett could’ve been instantly restored to me because I was too young to have lost my husband, we were too newly married.

I wasn’t the only person who lost a loved one that day, not even close. That stupid mantra, “never forget,” plastered everywhere like that helped. I hated seeing those reminders even more now than I did in 2001. The phrase was such an obvious overstatement that it had no meaning to me at all.

Of course we’ll never forget. What are we, robots? Even after almost twenty years, I thought about Brett every day. Especially on the anniversary.

When I got in my car and pressed the ignition button, pop music blared, making me jump. I turned it down and flipped the dial, glad to get to pick my own music for once. The radio turned to an “oldies” station (how could my high school days be “oldies?”), and a familiar song filled the car.

As I drove, I tapped my fingers on the wheel, matching the music’s rhythm, automatically singing along. “I’m too sexy for my shirt…” A song I hadn’t listened to in years, probably because it was the song playing on the football field when Brett and I met for the first time.

I’d been headed to my first cheerleading practice, weeks before my freshman year. I hadn’t really been all that excited about being a cheerleader, but I liked handstands and cartwheels, and my friends talked me into the rest.

“It’ll be fun,” they said. “Something we can all do together!”

Personally, I thought going to classes and studying and watching Swan’s Crossing tapes on the VCR was something we could all do together, but my mom swore high school was about pushing your boundaries and trying new things or whatever.

Going to a high school three times the size of my junior high was scary enough; I didn’t want to imagine what it would be like if all my friends made the squad and I didn’t. So, I tried out. I was both surprised and relieved when they announced the results.

That day, the other girls were meeting half an hour before practice to watch the football players warm up. I’d dragged my feet as much as I could, but there was no use in stalling. I’d made my bed, and it was time to lie in it. So, I got out of Mom’s car when she dropped me off and squinted into the sun. Across the field, my friends were already lined up along the bleachers in their shorts and sports bras peeking out from under their tank tops. The boom box beside them blared, blasting Right Said Fred across the field. I didn’t see the fourteen-year-old future quarterback trotting toward me.

He slammed into me with a crunch. The impact sent me teetering. I tried to catch myself, rolled my ankle, and landed on my a*s.

Awesome. Way to be coordinated, Jess. You’ll make a terrific cheerleader.

“Oh, s**t!” the guy said. “I’m so sorry!”

Shading my eyes with one hand, I peered up at him. Dark hair, cut short on the sides, a little longer on top. Brown eyes. Perfect straight nose, not like my stupid snub nose. No freckles, also unlike me. He was cute. Very cute. Much too cute to want to talk to me once he finished apologizing. At least he could be bothered to say sorry, not like some of the jerks at my old school.

My butt hurt from slamming into the ground, but I smiled at him, anyway. “S’okay. I should’ve been looking where I was going instead of at my friends over there.”

He reached one hand down to pull me up. “You a cheerleader?”

“Yeah.”

When I stepped on my left foot, a flare of pain shot up my leg. I tried to cover it up, but I’m not that great an actress.

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I lied. I took another step, but my ankle buckled, and I instinctively reached out for support.

He caught me around the waist and pulled me toward him. He felt solid. If you have to get mowed down by some guy before the first day of school, it’s wise to run into one who’s strong enough to carry you.

“Here. Let me help you across the field,” he said.

When we got closer to the field, the football coach spotted us and yelled. “Cooper! Nice of you to—What’s this?”

Coach Wall spotted us at the same time. She fussed over me for a moment before picking me up and trotting toward the bleachers, muttering about ice. I looked back at Brett over my shoulder, thinking that this moment would be a zillion times better if he’d been the one to lift me into his arms.

Then I shook my head, cursing myself for being such a hopeless romantic. High school wasn’t really like Say Anything or Sixteen Candles. This wasn’t the ‘80s.

When you’re fourteen, you never really know how good-looking you are. When Brett approached me for the second time, I assumed he wanted to talk to my friend Sue. After all, she was tiny. Short, adorable, great at tumbling. Or maybe he wanted to apologize again. I had no idea he’d be into me. I’d gone from gangly to pretty practically overnight, and the change in how boys reacted took me by surprise.

From early on, we were inseparable. We both had overbearing parents who put a lot of pressure on us to be who they thought we should be. We both dreamed of leaving our small town and moving to the big city, both loved Seinfeld and My So-Called Life, and were fascinated by the human body. He even watched Swan’s Crossing with me. In ninth grade, that’s more than enough to form a lasting bond.

Until the day he died, I never dated anyone else. When I was fourteen, Brett gave me my first kiss. We were each other’s first loves, the golden couple, crowned Prom Queen and King. When we announced our engagement after college, people were surprised we’d waited so long.

Some days, I still couldn’t believe he was gone. In the back of my mind, part of me always expected to run into him, everywhere I went. Even when I started dating again, I waited for Brett to show up and ask me what the heck I was doing. And on the rare occasions I allowed myself to ponder the afterlife, I expected to see my husband there, waiting for me at the pearly gates, holding one hand out to me.

For the most part, I didn’t believe in Heaven, but losing Brett made me want it to exist with a desperate need.

The song’s chorus brought me back to reality, and with a shake of my head, I switched the radio off. The nineties music I’d once enjoyed brought me no pleasure anymore. And on this day of all days, listening to the news was out of the question.

So much time had passed, most of my employees didn’t even know about Brett. I’d taken the day off after bin Laden was killed, unable to explain to everyone why that news didn’t make me happy. Of course it didn’t. More death wasn’t better. Killing the enemy didn’t bring my husband back.

If it stopped more killing, great, but it didn’t fill the void inside me.

Even after all this time, I couldn’t face going to work on this day. Listening to the news on the TVs in the waiting room all day. I never planned to take the day off, but when the sun rose on September 11, I always found myself making the same call.

“Quincy Orthopedics,” a man said.

“Hey,” I said. “It’s me. I’m taking a vacation day.”

Teddy’s voice exhibited zero surprise. “Of course you are. Take care of yourself, Jess. Do what you need to do. Are you taking Ethan out of school?”

“No. It’s just another day for him. The school won’t make a big deal out of it.”

“In that case, you should call my friend Steve and see if he wants to spend the day with you,” Teddy said. “It would do you both some good.”

Not for the first time, I mentally shook my head at my partner’s interest in my personal life. I pictured Steve’s friendly smile, neatly trimmed goatee, and kind eyes. The image raised no emotions within me whatsoever. A nice enough guy, but not for me. “No. I don’t think that’s going to work out after all.”

Teddy clucked his tongue into the phone. “You’ve got to put yourself out there. It’s been, what, ten years since you last had a serious relationship?”