A Widow Redefined
Authors: Kim Cano
a novel by Kim Cano
To my friend, Kathryn Thumme. I’m thankful God led me to you.
Reading Guide Discussion Questions for A Widow Redefined
A Widow Redefined Acknowledgements
A Widow Redefined Author Bio/Upcoming Projects
S
tanding in the snow in front of my husband’s grave, I came to an unexpected realization. What used to be a romantic tribute had become something disconcerting.
As I kneeled down to lay a pink rose at the base of Justin’s headstone, I noticed a bouquet of yellow daffodils in the spot where I planned to place my flower. Daffodils? From whom? I tried to wrap my mind around why they were there, to solve a mystery I hadn’t anticipated.
Then a strong gust of Chicago wind slapped across my face. And with it came a new level of comprehension. Today was Valentine’s Day. These flowers were fresh.
Confused, I began to look around. I scanned the cemetery for others and saw a lone groundskeeper cleaning near the entrance. I dropped my rose and began running in his direction.
Arriving short of breath, I asked, “Have you been here long? Have you seen anyone else here recently?”
“No,” he said, eyeing me with caution. “I just come from break.”
Out of frustration I grasped for anything. “Okay, well is there a log of some kind? Of the people who come and go each day?”
My visitations had never been recorded. I knew this.
The man could see its importance to me, so he gave it some thought before responding.
“No,” he said. “No records.”
Disappointed, I stood there, staring at him. He gazed back at me, with a polite smile on his face. Then, after an awkwardly long pause, the groundskeeper’s look changed from pleasant to irritated. He mumbled something about being busy and walked away.
My mind began racing and I felt the pulse of a headache starting in the back of my skull. When I left work earlier, I’d been happy to find it wasn’t cold and gray. Driving into the cemetery, I had been captured by the particularly brilliant sunset; the sky blazed with pink and purple streaks.
Now, as I stood alone, the sky was dark.
Suddenly, I couldn’t leave fast enough. I began running toward my car, somehow managing to not trip or fall, then hopped in and slammed the door shut. A little flustered, I dropped my keys as I went to start the engine. I felt around and finally discovered them jammed between the front seat and center console. I pulled them free, started the car, then peeled out of the parking spot like a teenage drag racer.
As I turned left onto the main road to head home, I considered the possibilities. Maybe Justin’s parents were in town and had gone to the cemetery. They popped in from time to time, not always stopping by to say hello. The rare trip to see their grandson was the only reason they ever seemed to bother with me.
I knew it wasn’t my mom. After the funeral she never went back, although she was respectful of my visits, which were many over the last two years. Since the funeral, my routine—coming on holidays and his birthday—had always been the same. Only the seasons changed. But today my world tipped slightly off its axis, and I couldn’t help but recall what my older co-worker Barb had once told me, that the only constant in life is change.
Something in the pit of my stomach didn’t like it.
As I got closer to home, I tried to forget the flowers. I wanted to seem normal to my son, Tyler, and my mom. He’s only seven, and believed I was out visiting a friend. Mom, on the other hand, is quite perceptive. Nothing gets past her. Stressed out and feeling a migraine coming on, I turned right onto the street where I live.
“Hey honey, I’ve got your plate in the microwave,” Mom called out, after she heard me come in.
I set my keys and purse on the sofa, took off my coat and hung it up. Then I walked into the kitchen.
“Amy,” Mom said, “You look terrible. Are you okay? You have sweat beads on your forehead.”
I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “Oh,” I replied, “I’m fine, just a little cold.”
She gave me a funny look and put my food on the table. I sat down to eat right away, hoping she wouldn’t ask more questions. Then Tyler ran in.
“Mom. Grandma and I went to the library. I got a DVD on bugs of the desert southwest. You wanna watch it with me?”
“Sure honey.” I somehow managed to eat dinner and hold a coherent conversation, but the whole time I felt like I was sinking in quicksand. Luckily, no one seemed to notice. Afterward, Mom returned to her novel, and Tyler and I watched the bug program; at least it appeared like I did. Mostly I just stared at the TV while thinking about the daffodils.
“Scorpions are so cool. Don’t you think?” Tyler asked, interrupting my thoughts.
I despised bugs, but I didn’t want to disappoint my son. “Yeah, I guess they’re pretty neat,” I agreed. “You know, it’s almost time for bed soon. I’m going to take a bath, and then I’ll come and tuck you in.”
Tyler frowned but didn’t put up a fight. He was well-behaved that way. He put the disc back in its case while I left to go to the bathroom. Once inside, I dimmed the lights and locked the door. I turned the tub faucet on to as hot as I could stand it, added some aromatherapy salts, undressed and climbed in. As the water level grew, I sunk deeper into its protective womb. I closed my eyes and let the warmth slowly relax me. As so often happened when I relaxed, an old memory surfaced—one I try not to remember—of the day my dad moved away, leaving my mom and me for another woman. I was just a kid.
Tears began flowing down my cheeks and into the water. It was a silent sobbing so as not to disturb anyone else. Then my mind began to race again.
Daffodils!
Soon my head throbbed with unbearable pain. I couldn’t allow myself to think about any of it a moment longer, so I released the drain, grabbed a towel and climbed out.
I must have lost track of time, because when I went to tuck Tyler in, he was already in bed, asleep. I leaned over and kissed him on top of his head, then gently closed his door. When I got to my room, I noticed a bottle of Excedrin lying on the dresser, so I took two, without water, and collapsed into bed.
While lying in the dark, I decided to think of something happy. A good memory. A previous Valentine’s Day. Justin always took me to Francesca’s, our favorite Italian restaurant. I could almost see us sitting at a candlelit table, drinking wine and eating pasta.
Justin raised his glass, “Someday I’m going to take my kitten to Paris.”
I flushed. Even after years together, he still had that effect on me.
“We’ll eat at the Eiffel Tower restaurant for your birthday. Then we’ll go on one of those Seine river cruises. What do you think?”
“Say the word and I’m packed,” I said.
We spent the night talking, sharing tiramisu. Justin glowed with health and his blue eyes sparkled as he described plans to expand his carpentry business. Soon we’d be financially set. We’d be able to afford to travel the world together, like we always talked about. I don’t think I’d ever seen him more excited about anything as he was about this.
People shouldn’t die of cancer at thirty.
Every good memory eventually ended up there… in reality. There was no escaping it, no matter how hard I tried. And now there was the mystery of the daffodils. I didn’t know what to think, but I desperately needed rest if I wanted to make it to work in the morning, so I shut my eyes and willed my mind to stop racing.
I dreamt of Justin. We floated peacefully together on a lake in a rowboat. The sky was clear and the sun shone bright. He said something funny that made me laugh, causing me to lean over and clutch my belly. When I regained composure and tossed my head back up, still smiling, clouds had filled the sky. They had an ominous look about them, angry. Lightning sparked followed by loud claps of thunder. I looked at Justin, wondering what we should do, but his expression was blank. Then the waves grew choppy. All at once, swells the size of skyscrapers surrounded us. One moment we were in their trough, the next we ascended their foamy crest. Terrified, I looked over at Justin, seeking some kind of help. He remained blank-faced and unresponsive. Then, as we began descending back into the dark cavern of the wave, the boat tipped over, and I woke up, choking.
T
he next morning I woke up late. Disoriented, I jumped out of bed and scrambled to check on Tyler before getting ready for work. I found him in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal.
“There you are,” I said, relieved. “Thank God you’re up and ready to go.”
“Did you oversleep?”
“Yeah. But I’ll be ready in ten minutes, and then I’ll take you to school.”
I rushed through my morning routine quicker than I ever had. On the drive to school, I remembered promising my son I would take him shopping for colored pencils and paper. Drawing was one of his favorite things.
“We’ll stop after dinner to get you those art supplies,” I told him, smiling.
He smiled back, then I kissed him goodbye before he got out of the car. I felt so happy, seeing him excited about a hobby and enjoying life again. It had taken a long time–too long, I’d thought, but he was almost back to himself.
I managed to make it to the office, clock in and be at my desk just before my boss, Dave, walked past. He had some new clients scheduled today, so it was important we looked organized. It was a busy time of year for tax accountants, and, even though we did well, Dave never stopped drumming up new business. He was a real hustler.
Luckily, Dave never gave me any trouble. He told me once that I accomplished the work of two people. Although I appreciated the compliment, what I really needed was a raise. Things had become pretty tight with only one income.
Fatima walked up to my desk and stood silently for a moment, the way she did when she was about to ask a question. “Did you happen to see
Dancing with the Stars
last night?”
“No,” I said. “I went to the cemetery.”
The words were out before I could stop them. I had over-shared. Again.
Fatima opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. She shifted her weight—all ninety pounds of it—then finally said “It was a pretty good episode,” and continued on to her seat behind me, next to Barb, the third member of our accounting trio.
“Everything okay?” asked Barb. I thought I detected a tiny bit of exasperation in her voice. I knew they both wished I’d stop reminding them how much I miss Justin. They’d never say it, of course, because even though they were pretty much opposites—Fatima, a just out of college, stick thin beauty, and Barb, a woman who embodied the dictionary definition of “matronly”—they both were much too kind to complain. But they were probably right. Two years is a long time to grieve out loud.
I mumbled, “I’m fine,” pressing the words through a forced smile.
“I think this morning needs some music,” Barb said. She patted my shoulder as she walked past me to the ancient radio that was balanced on the tallest filing cabinet. She turned the knob in search of a static-free station, but the reception predictably faded in and out. We could only count on two channels: Oldies and a Spanish station. Today she chose the former. On the way back to her desk, Barb smiled warmly at me. Her sweet round face and closely-cropped hairstyle reminded me of a garden gnome. She was the kind of person it felt comfortable and safe to be around.
As the day went on I cranked out one document after another, working like a machine, but my mind still managed to wander. I decided to take a break and email Justin’s mom in Phoenix. I had stopped trying to reach her by phone when she started replying to my voicemail messages with an email. I got the hint that it was her preferred form of communication… at least with me.
I sent her a message asking if she had been in town, and telling her I had been thinking of her recently. I didn’t mention the flowers. Since Justin died and they retired and moved away, we hadn’t managed to stay close.
Later in the day I read her reply. She hadn’t been in, but would let me know if they planned on coming up to Chicago. No “miss you,” no “how’ve you been?” She was an odd bird that way. Always somewhat distant with me, she was a bundle of sunshine and laughs with her son. A split personality, I thought, but I’d never shared that opinion with my husband. I liked Justin’s dad, though. He was sweet. Unfortunately, he never made calls or went on the computer much. He was more of an “in person” charmer. Once you were out of his sight, it was like you didn’t exist.