you’re a better person than I am,” I tell him.
“Let me finish.”
I nod and take Tommy’s hand in mine, waiting until he’s ready to continue. “There’s been enough sadness. If she can help CeCe, promise me you won’t hold the grudge for me. It was mine, and I let it go.”
I nod, relieved that it’s CeCe, not Monica, who was so important he woke me to talk about. Still, for him, I’ll try not to hate her so much. If he could forgive her, at least I can try. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Tommy Whistler, but I’m so glad you married me.”
“You know,” Tommy says, his voice soft and low, “I used to think you didn’t want to marry me so it would be easier to leave if you needed to run.”
“Never away from you.”
He smiles through the pain of his ragged breaths. “Stay with me tonight?”
“Always,” I promise.
Tommy smiles and as his face relaxes, his breathing does, too. He closes his eyes and I kiss them both before giving the love of my life a kiss good night.
Chapter Fifty-Four
CeCe
It happened.
Mom woke me up at 5:23 this morning to tell me. She didn’t have to say the words; I knew as soon as I heard the handle on my door turn.
Even though I knew it was coming, it still caught me by surprise.
I already miss him so much it hurts. It’s like there’s a big dad-shaped hole in my heart and I don’t think it will ever be whole again.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Alexis
My closet has so much black in it, but nothing seems quite right for today.
I pull out a short black dress that has lace on the top and an A-line skirt that makes a perfect halo around me when I spin around—too much for a funeral. People would say I was being disrespectful.
I toss the party dress on the bed and pull another black dress out of the closet. This one is long and simple, one of my favorites. With flats or sandals, it’s perfect for a day of running errands. With wedges and a statement necklace, it can do the trick for a night out. I wear it all the time.
As perfect as it would be for today, I toss it on the bed with the others. Because I know whatever dress I choose, I’ll never be able to wear it again. It will always be the dress I wore to my husband’s funeral.
Three more black dresses. One at a time, I hold them up in front of the mirror. The first one is too short, the second is way too fancy, and the third, there’s just something about it that doesn’t feel right. They all end up in the pile on my bed.
There’s a knock at my door. “Lex? You almost ready?”
“Come in,” I say, even though I’m standing there in a black bra and underwear. Jill opens the door, slipping inside and closing it behind her after she sees my state of undress. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
She looks over at the dresses thrown across my bed and her eyes go straight toward the one with lace. She lifts it up. “Tommy loved how you looked in this one.”
I smile and nod.
“You should wear it.”
“It’s too much. People will think—”
“Today isn’t for other people. It’s for Tommy. For you and for CeCe. Wear the dress.”
I nod and wipe a tear from my eye. I take the dress from Jill’s outstretched hands and hold her stare, hoping she can feel the gratitude I haven’t been able to find the words to express. Without her, none of this would have come together.
Since I’m Jew-ish and Tommy was raised Christian-ish, religion never really played an important part in our lives. So it was hard to figure out how much of a role it should play in his death.
Having a ceremony in a church felt hypocritical. The funeral home was an option, but the room they showed me was ugly and cold.
It was Jill’s idea to ask a retired minister who’s a regular at the café to help us out. Once they started talking, plans fell into place to have a small ceremony on the beach. And since Tommy wanted some of his ashes spread there, it made sense.
“We’re going to be late, Mom,” CeCe says, opening the door without knocking. She’s wearing a red dress that’s not exactly funeral-appropriate, although mine isn’t either. I don’t say anything, but I can’t stop the look of