while the girls played, but she also had something particular she wanted to ask Bruce about “—I can make some coffee. I’m a big fan of afternoon coffee.”
She was surprised when he said, “Coffee sounds great, thanks.” Maybe he didn’t quite know what he’d do with himself while Carly was occupied. While part of her envied that kind of space in his life—the room to take a vacation without worrying over a million details connected to her job—she also remembered feeling like she’d never fill the lonely hours of her long days in that first year with Mark gone.
Kelly waited until they’d settled at the kitchen island, watching the girls draw and play a round of hopscotch, before she said, “Carly said something to Lulu at church this morning. About the unicorns.”
His look told her he didn’t really want to cover this topic.
She pursued it anyway. “She told Lulu her mother sends the unicorns, and she asked Lulu why they didn’t have any in the valley.”
Bruce rubbed the back of his neck and set down the coffee mug. “I don’t know where this unicorn business came from. She started talking about them the day before Sandy died, when we knew it would be any moment. She was looking out the window as we were getting ready to go to the hospice center and all of a sudden she looks at me and says, ‘Mom’s friend the unicorn is in the woods behind the house.’ Just like that. Like there was nothing unusual about it.” He sighed. “I played along. I mean, what else could I do in all that sadness?”
“That’s not a bad thing,” she offered, hoping to soothe the dismay still lingering in his eyes at the memory.
“That’s what I thought, but then one came—or at least, Carly said one came—every day after that. Her eyes sort of lit up when she told me. I figured it was something she...needed somehow. I mean, for weeks I thought I heard Sandy’s voice in the hallway or saw her out of the corner of my eye after she was...gone. I figured this was the same thing.” He looked down at his coffee. “The child grief counselor didn’t seem to be worried, and I was barely holding it together as it was—I was in no shape to lecture Carly about the dangers of counting on unicorns.” A heartbreaking worry filled Bruce’s expression. “But now that’s coming back to haunt me, since she hasn’t seen them lately.”
“I’m not a grief counselor—a survivor maybe,” Kelly replied, “but from what I can tell, she seems to be coping okay to me.” She glanced out the window where the girls were having a grand time. “There’s still lots of joy in her.” She decided to go out on a limb. “You, on the other hand, look pretty wrung out.”
He shifted his weight and shook his head. “Nah, I’m okay.”
Kelly offered a smile. “I used to say that all the time, too. Long before it was even close to true. Everybody thinks I’m coping great—and most days I am—but there are still days...” She knew she didn’t have to finish the thought.
“Lulu’s been so nice to Carly. Your daughter’s a great kid.”
Now, there was something a struggling single parent couldn’t hear often enough. “Thanks.”
“How old was she when your husband died?”
“Six.”
Bruce swallowed hard. “Carly was only three when Sandy died. Does Lulu remember her dad?”
Kelly’s heart twisted. Wasn’t that the crux of it for everyone in their shoes? “Yes,” she reassured him. “I make sure she does.”
* * *
He could make sure Carly remembered Sandy. The need to do that drummed like a pulse through him every single day. He was glad to hear of Kelly’s success on that front, but it still bugged him that conversations with Kelly Nelson always went places he didn’t want to go. He would have been better off reading a book in his hotel room instead of sitting here asking questions he shouldn’t and having answers pulled out of him he didn’t want to divulge. Why was she able to get things out of him like this? And why had he let her drag him back to church, for crying out loud?
He hadn’t really minded church as much as he thought he would, but he sure wasn’t going to mention that in front of Kelly. At this rate, she’d probably have him attending potlucks or some widowers’ Bible study by Friday.
He didn’t live here; he was just a visitor. So why were she and Lulu so bent on making him and Carly feel welcome? Was that a valley thing? A wedding thing? Or just a Nelson family thing?
One half of him didn’t want to keep talking to her, but the other half of him was desperate to know how she pulled off the control she seemed to have. The control he couldn’t seem to find. “When’d you get your balance back?” he blurted out after a short pause in conversation. His life felt like a bicycle most days—living a crazy need to keep pedaling so he didn’t tip over.
She gave a quiet laugh. “You’re assuming I had any in the first place.”
“You’ve got more than I can manage at the moment. I don’t know how much more scrambling I’ve got left in me, you know?” He shook his head. “That’s a stupid thing to say.” The gentle recognition he saw in her eyes kept making him blurt things out.
“Oh, no, I get it. Busy feels good—well, better than the alternative, at least. Some days I wonder if there’ll ever be enough of me to make a decent life for Lulu and me. I mean, running the flower shop in a tiny town—even a tiny wedding town—isn’t exactly a surefire plan for solid success. Well-adjusted people don’t lie awake at night wondering how much longer a flower cooler named George will hang on.”
Lie awake at night wondering how many more days. Isn’t that exactly what he’d done on Sandy’s last days? Terrified to fall asleep for fear he’d miss the moment she slipped away from him?
Kelly looked up at the ceiling. “Now who’s saying stupid things? That was insensitive, to say the least.”
“No,” he said. “Kind of feels better to be able to say it. People are always so careful around me. I don’t want to be this fragile. I’m tired of being less than okay, on the verge of okay, anything but okay. Only I don’t know how to get to okay from here.” He looked over to see Carly looking into the kitchen window, waving to him with a happy, floppy mitten. “How to get her to okay. I mean, the whole unicorn thing. Either she isn’t seeing them, and she’s upset, or she is seeing them—which means she’s living in a fantasy instead of reality. That can’t be okay.”
“For her, maybe it is. I still get near hysterical on an airplane.” She sighed. “I don’t think there are rules to this. Not with kids, not with us.” She paused for a moment before saying, “I think maybe one of the reasons Lulu is so taken with Carly is that they’ve both lost someone. Lulu has friends who have single parents from divorce, but Carly is the first person in her age group Lulu knows who’s had a parent die.” She squinted her eyes shut. “I hate that verb, you know. ‘Die.’ ‘Passed’ sounds like it isn’t enough, and ‘die’ sounds like it’s too much.”
Bruce nodded his agreement. He hated most of the words associated with what happened. Deceased. Lost her battle to cancer. Widower. Bereaved. None of the language ever came close to describing the thing anyway.
“Have you had friends do the pushy date thing?” he asked, just to change the subject.
That
