Beneath a Southern Sky - By Deborah Raney Page 0,40
on the table, you sure aren’t making this easy for me.” But now she was glad for a little levity, glad that they were finding the easy manner they’d always had with each other.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. Go on. We’ll get back to why you like me in due time.”
She smiled, acknowledging his wisecrack, but plunged ahead, wanting to get this over with. “I know Nate is gone, Cole. I’m not in denial. I know he would have wanted me to go on with my life and not grieve too long for him. But it doesn’t seem quite right—or fair to you—when I feel as though he’s”—she struggled to find the word—“present. It’s almost like he’s here now, between us.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts, Daria.”
“No, of course not. I don’t mean it that way. But the feelings I have for you are so close to what I had with Nate. You tease me or say something funny, and I can’t help but think of the way Nate used to do that.”
He looked at her intently, seeming to drink in every word. “Is that so terrible, Daria? Your husband was a huge part of your life—your other half. From what you’ve told me, you had a great marriage. It’s only natural that you think of him often. That doesn’t threaten me. I don’t think it should.”
She cocked her head. “Really? Do you…do you think of your wife that way?”
He dipped his head, ran a hand through his hair. “It’s a little different for me, Daria. For one thing, it’s been a lot longer. Bridgette’s been gone for over five years now. Time has a way of erasing a lot of things. And we had some rough times at the end. I don’t know how much you know…”
She waited, not wanting to tell him what she’d heard, wanting his own version of the story.
“You probably heard that Bridgette killed herself.” It wasn’t a question.
“Carla said they didn’t know for sure.”
“Well, that’s true enough. I don’t even know, Daria. I still don’t know for sure. I came home from work one night, and the car was running in the garage. She was sitting inside, the radio on. I honestly don’t know if it was an accident or not. I-I’d like to think that she was listening to a talk show or something that caught her interest, and she just didn’t realize what was happening. It was cold outside, so maybe she let the car run to keep warm.”
His voice was trembling now, and his face took on a troubled expression. “I’d like to think that’s what happened,” he went on. “But Bridgette was very intelligent. And she was always so cautious about things like that. If she caught a whiff of gas from the furnace, she wouldn’t rest until the gas company came out and assured her it was safe. Things like that. I think deep down I know that her death wasn’t an accident.” He said it as though it might be the first time he’d admitted it aloud.
“Oh, Cole,” she said.
He looked up, and his eyes found hers. “It’s okay, Daria. Like I said, time has healed a lot of the wounds. It was horrible at first. I wasn’t sure I was going to survive. People seemed to blame me for not doing enough, for not seeing her pain—rumors can be so vicious. And I felt guilty. Bridgette was dealing with—well, a lot of junk.” He swallowed hard. “I should have known something was wrong. But you do what you have to do to get through. You, of all people, know how that is. But God has been with me through it all. I have peace about it. I really do, even if the very worst is true.”
She nodded.
“Daria—” He started to say something else, then shook his head as if to ward off the gloom his words had brought over them. Then he started gathering up the empty wrappers from their dinner. “Do you want to walk for a while?” he asked finally.
“Sure,” she said, relieved for the change of subject.
He got out and locked his door behind him, tossed the Taco Bell bags into a nearby trash bin, and went around to open her door. They buttoned up their jackets as they walked across a small playground to catch the trail. They’d only gone a couple hundred yards when the trail disappeared under a canopy of trees. The air grew instantly cooler and smelled of pine needles