Wish You Were Here: Chapter 2

(If you need it, here's Chapter 1.)

I know everyone says that we should all live our lives to the fullest because you never know what’s going to happen next.  And it’s great that people say that.  But I don’t know how many people actually do it.  Most of us are too busy, leading our hum-drum lives to even pay attention to the everyday dangers that may cross our paths.

That’s exactly what Henry was doing.  Living a hum-drum life and not paying attention.  He was walking across the street to check our mailbox when a Fed Ex truck veered over and smacked right into him.  The doctor said he never felt a thing.  One minute he was looking forward to reading the latest edition of Consumer Reports and the next minute he became a warning to everyone who knew him about how life is short.

When it happened, I was  on my way home from work, stuck in the Houston traffic that had become my routine the last five years.  I used the time to multi-task, listening to books on tape in an effort to improve myself.  But the book that day was Eckhart Tolle reading The Power of Now and his voice was so foreign and soothing, it nearly put me to sleep on I-45. 

It was April and the Houston heat was already starting to ramp up for the summer, threatening to lull me to into a coma .  As I turned it off, I thought about how I should have gotten that new Dave Barry book because getting books that are supposed enlighten me but end up boring me to tears made me feel like Oprah would be so disappointed in me.  Instead, I tried to keep myself awake by singing “Dancing Queen” as loud as I could with my windows rolled up and my air conditioner on high. And that’s when my phone rang.

I didn’t hear it at first.  I happened to look down and see my neighbor’s phone number on the screen and my cell phone vibrating across the passenger seat.  I hit the power button on the radio and picked it up, hoping I caught it in time.

“Hello?”

“Hey…Jane?  Where are you?”

“Hey Jimmy, I’m on the highway coming home from work.  Why?  What’s up?  Did Glenda get out again?”

“No…how far away are you?”

“I don’t know.  If this breaks up in the next mile, about twenty minutes.  If it doesn’t I may see you tomorrow.  Why?”

 “Jane, there’s been an accident.”

“What?  I think I’m losing you.  Did you just say there’s been an accident?”

“Yeah.  Some stupid Fed Ex guy bent down to pick his phone up off the floor of the truck while he was driving and hit Henry as he was crossing the street.”

“He hit Henry?”

“Yes.”

“My Henry?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…is he okay?”

“You know, you should probably talk to the police when you get here.  They’ll tell you what’s going on.”

I looked around wildly, realizing that I was completely blocked in by traffic.  I knew Jimmy was trying to be thoughtful, giving me a little warning before I showed up at my house and was greeted by strangers and flashing lights, but now I knew my husband was lying hurt or dead and I had no way to get to him.  I was like a caged animal, desperate to get out and get to Henry, whatever state he was in.  I started uselessly honking my horn and screaming at the other drivers around me.  I looked everywhere for a place to move, finally realizing that I had no other choice but to inch along with everyone else.  I took the first exit I could, madly winding my way through side streets, probably taking longer than I would have if I had just stayed on the highway, but feeling like if I could just keep moving then I was getting closer to Henry.

By the time I got to our townhouse, most of the emergency team had cleared out.  There was still a section of the road that had been roped off with a very suspicious-looking dark stain in the middle of it that I immediately chose to think of as oil some car had leaked that I had never noticed before.  I screeched to a halt in front of my townhouse and jumped out of the car, leaving my door open and grabbing the first official person I saw.

“What happened?  What happened?”

The man in uniform looked at me in an irritatingly calm way and said, “And you are?”

“I’m Jane!  I’m Mrs. Stewart!”

“Oh,” he said, straightening himself up a little more.  “Yes.  Mrs. Stewart.  Do you have a place where we can talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing right now?  What the hell happened?”

“I meant inside.  Can we go inside your home and speak privately?”

 As I walked toward my house, the officer following behind me, I looked up and saw Jimmy sitting on his steps looking shell-shocked.  As if operating in slow motion, his pale face turned toward me with a look of pity I’d never seen before and that suddenly made me shake..  I opened my front door, flipped on the light above our minuscule foyer, and led the policeman into the living room where I turned on the lamp next to the sofa.

“Please sit down,” he said, as if this were his home.

I sat down on the couch and the officer perched himself on the chair opposite me.

“Your husband has had an accident,” he began.  “From what we can tell, he was walking across the street to check the mail when he was struck by a large truck.”

At that moment, there was a roaring in my ears unlike anything I had ever experienced before.  My heart started to skip in a rhythm all its own.  I knew that my mouth was hanging open, but my brain couldn’t seem to tell it to close, causing it to go dry in seconds as I gulped for air.

“And where is he now?” I asked, the calm tone of my voice surprising me.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Stewart.  Your husband is deceased.”

 “Deceased,” I said, trying the word on.

“Yes ma’am.”

The officer then began to look at my face questioningly as if searching for some sort of reaction.  But I didn’t have one.  Not yet.  And I wasn’t entirely sure what it should be.  That the man I had just kissed that morning on his way out the door to go to work was now lying motionless somewhere was just too much for me to believe. 

“Is there anyone I can call for you?” He asked.

“No…no, thank you,” I said staring at him, but not really seeing him.  “Where is Henry now?”

“He’s at the morgue,” said the officer.  “Given…given the nature of his injuries, it might not be best to see him right now.”

“I see.”

“But I’m going to put you in touch with someone at the department who can help you,” he said, reaching into the folder in his hand and putting some brochures on the coffee table in front of me.  “Here is a brochure on how to handle the first stages of grief.  Here is a form that tells you all of the available religious resources in your area, should you need one – the ones with the stars next to them will pray for you 24-hours a day if you call and tell them what you need.  Here is contact information for a kennel should you need to board a pet for any reason during the next few days.  And here is a card for our victim’s advocate services and they can help you with what happens next.”

“What happens next?” I said, feeling bewildered. 

“Yes, ma’am.  Funeral arrangements and things like that.”

“Oh.  Yes.”

“Are you sure there’s no one I can call?”  He asked doubtfully.  “A friend?  Family member?  I would really rather not leave you alone after getting news like this.”

“No.  No, I’m fine.  I’m going to call someone as soon as you leave,” I said, not making a move from the couch.

“Okay.  If you’re sure,” said the officer, visibly relieved to have this little task finished.

I didn’t hear him leave, but he must have because at one point I noticed he was gone.  I don’t know how much time went by, how long I sat there in that same position on the couch, still in my work clothes, clutching my purse.  I stared at the door as if willing Henry to walk through it, rumpled in his work clothes and asking if we had any beer left in the fridge.  I saw his briefcase sitting next to the front door where he must have dropped it before walking outside to check the mail and in an irrational moment I thought, “If he would have just put that in his office like I’m always asking him to, he would still be alive.”

My eyes remained dry and my breathing unsettlingly steady as if my body had gone into a mode that I’d never been in before and didn’t recognize.  All of the energy had drained out of my extremities and my hands felt as if they were getting no blood circulation at all.  Eventually, I observed that everything seemed quiet outside and I no longer saw lights flashing through the front windows as I had when the officer and I had first walked in.  Through the linen curtains that Henry and I loved because they gave us privacy but still allowed light to come in, the street light shone through, but I could no longer see the faint shadows of my neighbors milling around.  I blindly reached for the cordless phone on the end table and began to dial.

“Hello?” said Izzy groggily.

“Izzy?”

“Jesus Christ, Jane.  Do you know what time it is?”

“No.  What time is it?”

“It’s midnight.  Are you drunk or something?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean ‘you don’t think so’?”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure, but I think I came home from work and some policeman told me that Henry is dead.”

Pause.

“Jane?  Are you joking?  If you and Henry are playing with me, I’m going to toilet paper your cubicle tomorrow.”

“I don’t think I’m joking.  I don’t know.  Do you think that could have happened?  Do you think that that’s what that officer told me?”

Another pause.

“Jane.  Don’t move.  Are you listening?  I don’t want you to move from where you are.  I’m putting on my clothes.  Can you hear me?  I’m putting on my shirt right now.  Here go my pants.  Now I’m putting on my shoes.  Now, I’m going to hang up and I will be at your house in fifteen minutes.”

“You will?  That would be great.  Thanks,” I said as I blindly pressed the button to hang up and let the phone fall on the cushion next to me.

I’m guessing that it was the promised fifteen minutes that passed, but I’m not entirely sure. When Izzy walked in through the front door, Emily trailing behind her, I was in the exact same spot I had been in the entire night.  They came in silently, each kneeling before me and taking a hand as if they were there to worship me.  Neither one of them spoke, just looked at me and waited for me to say something as I blankly stared past them.

“A truck,” I finally managed.  “Hit by a truck.  Checking the mail.  Fed Ex truck.  Instant.  Dead.”

“Those assholes,” Izzy said in her angry low voice.  “We’ll sue the shit out of them.”

“Izzy, shut up,” Emily hissed at her.  “Jane?  I’m going to help you to your room now.  I want you to get changed and lie down.  And I want you to give me your cell phone so that Izzy and I can make some calls.”

“Calls?”  I said, dazed and letting Emily lift me to my feet.  “Yes, calls.  Religious services.  Kennel.  Advocates.  Phone numbers right there.”

“I know, sweetie,” she said is if talking to a small child.  “Izzy and I will get it worked out.”

She led me to my room and I let her help me out of my work clothes and felt her slip a nightgown over my head.  I lay down in my usual spot – my spot next to Henry’s spot – and stared at the ceiling.  I can’t say for sure if I slept but when I finally came out of my room, it was morning and my kitchen was full of people.

Emily and Izzy were in the clothes they had thrown on the night before, clutching steaming Styrofoam cups of coffee and talking to each other.  Dan was talking to one of my neighbors who seemed to be giving him the rundown of the ingredients in the casserole dish she was holding.  Another neighbor was sitting at my kitchen table, hugging my cat Glenda until her eyes bulged out of her furry face, apparently trying to soothe her in some way.  And a very official-looking woman was sitting at the little built-in desk, talking on the phone and making notes in a notebook.

“Jane!” said Emily, noticing me standing at the bottom of the stairs.  “Come sit down.”

She led me over to the kitchen table where Glenda, upon seeing me, put up a valiant struggle against the arms that were violently comforting her, finally gaining her freedom with one giant leap to the floor.

“Now, I’ve called your parents and they’ll be here this afternoon.  I called Henry’s parents and they’ll be here this evening.  I’ve made reservations for everyone at that Holiday Inn down the street.  I called Michelle at work who is going to take care of everything there and she said she would call John at Henry’s office – did we ever find out if they had a thing going?  They still seem to be in touch for some reason – and he’s going to take care of everything there.  How are you doing?  Did you get any rest?  Can I get you anything?”

Emily’s jittery listing of all of the things that had been taken care of unnerved me.  She was my calm in the storm.  Nothing rattled her.  I had a feeling that her hyper behavior was a combination of unexpected death and too much caffeine. 

“Coffee?”  I croaked.

“Coffee!”  She exclaimed as if I had just solved the world’s last mystery.  “Of course!  One of your neighbors dropped off the neatest disposable coffee dispenser from Starbucks.  What they won’t think of next!”

I watched her scurry over to the cardboard box which contained the magical liquid that had apparently become Emily’s best friend in the past few hours.

“Amazing,” I said.

The two neighbors who had been brave enough to stop by began muttering their condolences to me and backing out of the kitchen, sensing that this might be a good time to exit.  I would later figure out that a lot of people do that:  Help in the abstract and depart when things get too uncomfortable.  And apparently, me in my bathrobe, staring vacantly at them while they said, “I’m so sorry” was making them feel uneasy.

“Jane?” said the woman who had been sitting at my kitchen desk just moments before.  “I’m Abby Marshall.  I’m the Victim’s Advocate.”

“Oh,” I said, shaking her hand.  “Thanks for coming.  Although, I think you might be in the wrong place.  I’m not the victim.  Henry is.  Shouldn’t you be someplace talking to him?”

Abby paused for a minute as if trying to judge whether or not I was kidding.  “Well, in this case, we consider you a victim.  I’m here to assist you with whatever you need.”

“Really?” I said.  “Well, I need my husband.  Can you assist me with that?”

“Jane,” Emily said, setting the coffee in front of me.  “Abby is here to help us with the funeral planning process and everything.”

“Oh.  Well.  Plan away.”

Apparently, Abby was hoping for more enthusiasm because she looked a little disappointed with me.

“Yes.  Well.  Maybe I should just leave some contact information for a few local funeral homes and my card in case you need to reach me.”

“Sounds peachy,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee.

Abby shuffled off to gather her paperwork at the desk while Izzy plunked down in the chair across from me, landing her coffee cup on the table with a thud.

“You look like shit,” she said.

“Izzy!  Geez!” said Emily from across the kitchen.

“What?  She does.”

I know that Emily was appalled, but just hearing Izzy act like Izzy was the first thing that made me feel a little better since the night before.

“Have you seen you?” I said, trying to think of a witty response.  “You look like you were run over by a truck.”

The silence was deafening after my remark and it actually took me a minute to figure out why.

Run over.  Truck.  Henry was run over.  By a truck.  Henry was dead.

Damn.