blooms will come back. I just have to remember to water it. Once I do, they’ll come back, I know they will…”
She’d collapsed onto the floor, still holding the orchid, and sobbed and sobbed. Derek stared at her, paralyzed, not knowing what to say. Finally, he turned and left, disappearing into the mudroom, disappearing into the garage, disappearing into his car. Disappearing, just like everything else that was good.
They’re not in that place anymore. Marin is no longer hysterical and inconsolable, and Derek is no longer frozen and helpless. She doesn’t exactly know how to define this new place, which isn’t the same as the old place, but is better than where they just were. As Dr. Chen would say, “Even a millimeter forward is progress.”
The orchid is making progress, too. When they left for Whistler, the stalks were strong and green, but still bare, as they’ve been for the past year. But now …
Marin catches a glimpse of something and leans forward, examining the stalk to be sure she’s seeing what she thinks she’s seeing. Yes. There it is. One tiny pink petal poking out of the bud. The orchid Sebastian gave her is blooming again. And suddenly she feels a stab of hope so sharp and fierce, it almost guts her.
I choosed it, Mommy.
A text comes in, and she reaches for her phone on the kitchen island. It’s from Sal.
You alive?
There are a hundred ways Marin could answer, because today the question is so loaded. She and Sal slept together, and at some point, they’ll have to talk about it. Sal knows she went to Whistler with Derek, and he’s probably wondering what it all means for them. And by them, not Marin and Derek. Marin and Sal.
For now, though, she takes the easy way out. She responds the way a younger person would, without words. She simply sends back an emoji.
A heart.
* * *
The people from grief group use text to communicate with each other in between meetings, assuming there’s even a need. Group works best when it remains compartmentalized. Feelings are poured out only within the safe confines of Frances’s donut shop, and left there to evaporate when they return back to regular life. Nobody from group goes out for cocktails afterward, nobody grabs dinner, nobody sends an email a couple of weeks later “just to check in.”
But now Simon from group is calling. Not texting. Calling. Marin didn’t hear the phone ring at first because the faucet for the bathtub is running at full force, but she sees his name light up the screen when she goes to grab a towel.
She stares at her phone, contemplating whether or not to answer. Whatever it is Simon wants to talk about, it can’t be good, and she isn’t sure she’s up for it. For the first time in a long time, Marin feels … normal. Even. And she wants this feeling to last, at least for today.
But then she remembers. Simon’s child is missing. There are a handful of people in the world he can talk to about it, and Marin is one of them. She reaches for the phone, and as she pads back into the bedroom, she hits the green icon on the screen to answer the call.
“Marin, thank god you picked up,” Simon says. “I tried you a few minutes ago but you didn’t answer.”
His voice is different. He doesn’t sound sad, he doesn’t sound depressed, he sounds … wound up. Almost frantic.
“Simon, hi. What’s going on?” She perches herself at the edge of the bed to peel off her socks. The double doors to the ensuite are open, and she has a clear view of the bathtub from where she’s sitting. The tub isn’t full yet, and because it’s so big, she still has a couple of minutes before she has to turn the water off. “Are you okay?”
“I just got a call from Frances. Marin … they found Thomas.”
She hears the words, but her brain can’t fully comprehend them. She’s frozen, one sock dangling from her foot, only half pulled off. “What did you say?” she asks, and it comes out a strangled whisper.
“Frances got a call from the police this morning that they found Thomas.” Simon’s voice changes halfway through the sentence. It gets quieter.
And then she understands. The news hits her like a throat punch, and suddenly she can’t swallow.
“Oh my god.” Marin can barely choke the words out. “Oh, Simon. Oh no.”