I took it, letting him pull me onto his lap, where I burrowed my head under his chin and breathed in the security I felt there.
“Thank you for not wearing your cologne,” I said.
He chuckled. “I’ve noticed you cringing lately when you smell it.”
That was true. It was one of the reasons I’d gone to purchase a test. That and the fact that I was tired all the time. “I figured out why it’s been bugging me.”
“Do tell.”
I held up my fist and opened it so he could see the pregnancy test lying on my palm.
His chest expanded as he sucked in a breath. Then he sat up, pushing me back so that he could look at my face, then at the test, then back at me.
The joy on his face was a glorious sight. He kissed me over and over, saying, “You’re going to be a mama, Libby. You’re going to be a mama.”
And three weeks later—three blissful, short weeks later—Jonas was gone.
♪♫♪
I wasn’t ready for it. If Jonas had been active military, maybe I would have been prepared, braced for the impact. If he had been a firefighter or a police officer, I might not have been blindsided when the news arrived on my doorstep.
That news took the form of two police officers.
My first response upon opening the door was confusion. The chances of me having done something illegal were slim to none.
“Ma’am, are you Libby Caster?”
“Yes,” I said with a furrow of my brow. A twinge of nervousness set in.
“Are you married to Jonas Caster?”
My stomach clenched down so tightly that it felt like I was bent in half. This time I just nodded, waiting for them to tell me. It was bad. I knew from their faces that it was very bad.
Being told that my husband was dead was an out-of-body experience for me. I accepted it with a detached stoicism I didn’t know I was capable of.
After the facts and condolences had been given, after they’d asked if there was anyone I’d like to call and I’d declined, I walked them to the door, the click of the latch sounding hollow and cold.
As I sank back onto the couch, the one thought that pushed through the fuzzy haze was That makes four.
My mother.
Serena.
My father.
My husband.
There were a lot of dead people in my life…or…no longer in my life.
I looked down at my belly, which showed no evidence of the baby I was carrying. I was fatherless. And now my baby was fatherless—before it was even born.
And me? I was a widow. Not the kind of widow that mourned and then jetted off on cruises to see the world. Not the kind that took up crocheting and made a slew of blankets for present or future grandchildren.
No, I was the kind of widow who raised her child on her own. The kind who didn’t know where the money would come from. I was the kind of widow who never had the chance to learn everything about her husband. I didn’t know all the stories. I hadn’t discovered all of his quirks. We had so much more we could have learned and experienced and grown from. But that had all been cut short. So short.
The officer’s question about calling someone came back to mind. I had said no. I didn’t want to call anyone. I didn’t want Naomi to drop everything and fly out to take care of me. I didn’t want barely-friends sitting around watching as I dragged pieces of myself around the house in an attempt to keep living. I just wanted to be alone.
That wasn’t true. What I wanted was Jonas.
Jonas with his big smile and his stubborn streak and his big family—
I winced. I might not have any family left, but Jonas did. Was there anyone I needed to call? Yes. His parents. I covered my mouth with both hands as that conversation played out in my head. That’s when it hit me. The detachment fell away and everything hit me.
The pain.
The disbelief.
The loneliness.
The anger.
The unfair! Unfair! Unfairness.
We hadn’t even told his family about the baby yet, and I was going to have to call them up and tell them that their son was gone.
He had just been walking, like he did almost every day. On his lunch break, he would walk down the street to one of several lunch joints he frequented. He would eat, call me to talk for a bit, and then walk back to his clinic.