“Emily, you cant just leave me! What am I supposed to do without you?”
“The same thing you always dodrink from morning till night!”
I slammed the front door behind me and collapsed into the drivers seat, weeping helplessly. How had our lives come to this? Why us? Just a year ago, we were the picture-perfect family. The kind people admiredand envied, of course. Thats just how the world works.
****
“Emmy, hurry up and get ready, pack Leos thingsIve got a surprise for you! And dont forget warm clothes.”
My husband, Jameswho I teasingly called “Jamie” in moments like theseadored surprises. This time, he was taking us out of town for a snowmobile ride. His colleague had recently bought a cottage about sixty miles from the city. Calling it a cottage was an understatement. To me, it looked like something out of a medieval castle, complete with turrets and what could only be described as fortress walls. You couldnt just call it a fence.
“Well? What do you think?” James asked, watching my stunned expression.
“Theres something about this place gives me the creeps.”
“Youre just cold. Come insideyou havent even seen the fireplace yet.”
The inside was even more unsettling than the outside. But the men seemed to love it, so I held my tongue. No point arguing about tastes when theyre bound to differ.
I wasnt exactly thrilled by the animal heads mounted on the hastily plastered walls. James insisted they were fake, but that didnt make them any less grotesque. Meanwhile, the men happily devoured grilled meat right under the gaping jaws of a wild boar. Little Leo, in true boyish fashion, dashed around with a toy sword, battling imaginary monsters. I kept my eyes on the fireplace flames, avoiding the unsettling decor.
Maybe that dayand that castlestick in my memory in such dark tones because they were the last hours of my old life. Soon after, the owner would roll two snowmobiles out of the garage, and one of them would take my sons life. James would be at the helm, drowning in guilt, unable to escape the hell hed created for himself in a bottle.
I dont know why I was stronger. The pain I carried daily for nearly a year was indescribable, but I refused to let it consume me. It stayed with me, a part of me. No one around me suffered as I did. They had no idea what it was like to see their happy faces every day.
Sometimes, I was tempted to join James, to numb the pain with alcohol. But I knew it would only make things worse. Drunk emotions were our worst enemyanger, resentment, frustration, bitterness. Thats what James lived in now, hiding behind those feelings like a tortoise in its shell. No matter what I did, he refused to come out.
I hadnt planned to leave him. My nerves just gave out, and I needed to get away, even if just for a little while. I started the car and hit the road. Snowflakes drifted onto the windshield, so perfect they looked computer-generated. I drove on and on, stopping at petrol stations, drinking coffee in roadside cafés. Once, I even checked into a hotel just to sleep.
My mind was blank. I wasnt driving *to* somewhereI was driving *away*. I dont remember when or why I turned off the motorway, but the road led me to a sleepy little town. I parked near a small square and sat there, motionless.
“Youll freeze in there,” someone tapped on my window.
A group of teenagers walked by, and I was surprised by their concern.
“Waiting for someone?” the voice came again.
I squinted through the dim light and finally made out an elderly woman walking a small, curly-haired poodle, white as the snow under its paws. For some reason, I got out and approached them.
“Youve been sitting here a while, engine off. I was worriedeverything alright?”
“No,” I whispered.
Funny how its easier to open your heart to a stranger. Maybe because they dont know your past, so they see things clearly. They wont say what my mother didthat James drinks because some distant uncle on his fathers side was an alcoholic. A stranger wont dig through your life looking for mistakes that “earned” your suffering. And if they do, you can always shut them out.
Before I knew it, I was sitting on a stool in a cosy kitchen with blue curtains, clutching a steaming cup of chamomile tea and a crumpled, tear-soaked napkin.
Id thought Id cried all my tears in those first months after Leo died. Turns out, there were more. Id just buried them deep, tired of empty condolences.
“Emily, Ive made up the sofa for you. Rest, then carry on to your nowhere.”
“Alright,” I waved a hand, knowing I couldnt make it back to the carthe sofa was closer.
That morning, I woke up smiling for the first time in ages. The clock ticked on the wall, sunlight seeped through thin curtains, and a rough tongue licked my nose.
“Benny,” I remembered the poodles name. The dog looked up at me, his face curled into what seemed like a grin. I giggled at the silly expression.
“Benny, leave the poor girl alone. She must be starving.”
Auntie Roseyesterdays strangerwalked in with a tray. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries filled the air.
“Dont be surprised,” she smiled. “When I cant sleep, I bake. And today, insomnia was a blessing. Herecinnamon buns. And dont you dare praise them out loud. Pastries prefer silent appreciation.”
“Hows that work?” I grinned.
“Roll your eyes, sigh happilythat sort of thing.”
Well, I never knew baked goods could be so particular. But one bite of that heavenly bun, and I understoodthese deserved every bit of fuss.
The delight on my face must have been obvious, because Auntie Rose nodded approvingly and left me to my breakfast.
In my past life, Jamie often brought me breakfast in bed, joking that he feared a hungry wife. Hed haul whatever he found in the fridgesandwiches, yoghurt, even the occasional pickled herring. Not exactly a wake-up call.
Oddly, the memory made me smile instead of ache. For a moment, Id dived back into those days and surfaced with a gasp of happiness. Who knew a cinnamon bun could lift your spirits so much?
I didnt feel the need to apologise for intruding. It wouldve offended her. After coffee, sleep tugged at me again, and I dozed off under the blanket.
I woke at dusk. Bennys fluffy white head rested beside me, radiating warmth and peace. Id never slept so long in my life.
“Oh, what am I doing?” I bolted up. The house was quiet, half-dark. Just me and Benny. “Ive lost my mind!” I muttered, scrambling for my clothes. Last night, Auntie Rose had dressed me in a borrowed robe. Benny blinked up at me, alert.
“Benny, sweetheart, tell mehave I gone mad? Sleeping a full day in a strangers bed, in a strangers house, in a town I dont even know the name of! Insanity! Or maybe this is how people lose itthinking theyre in some imaginary place when really, theyre in a psych ward.”
Dressed, I looked around. The room was cosy but didnt fit an elderly woman living alone. More like a teenagersposters on the walls, a dumbbell by the window, a desk cluttered with knick-knacks. I picked up a framed photo of two young men in uniform.
The front door creaked open. “Sleepyheads! Its nearly dinner time,” Auntie Rose called.
I hurried out. “Im so embarrassed. I dont know what came over me.”
“Good sleep heals everything. No apologies. Hungry? I bought cakes for tea. Were having a celebration. We deserve a little joy.”
I meant to say I should leave, but my stomach growled.
Five minutes later, we were eating the most delicious rabbit stew. Auntie Rose said a suitor from the countryside, who kept a farm with 135 rabbits”calls each by name, the madman”had gifted it.
“He wants to marry me, but the thought of life on a rabbit farm? I need a time-out.”
“Auntie Rose how long have you lived alone?” I ventured.
“Nearly thirty years. My storys like yours, Emmy. I lost my boy tooolder than yours, though. Forgive me for saying it, but you need to hear it. My pains quieter now, but its still there. My Alex wasnt even in a warjust messing around with guns when one went off. The bullet found him. His sergeant went to prison, but what good did that do? After the funeral, my husband and I grew apart like strangers. Two years of misery, then divorce. He went back to his village, drank himself to death. I buried him in a ditch. After that, I nearly ended it all. Then an old woman told me I had to liveotherwise, Id never see my boy again. Theyre up there, she said, and Id be down below if I gave up. So I endured. The pain changedbecame softer, almost sweet. Its good to remember the love, the smiles. Some people never have that.”
After her story, I didnt want to leave. It felt like Id always lived thereAuntie Rose was family, Benny my dog, the geraniums on the sill, the floral wallpaperall mine.
The next morning, a knock woke us. We exchanged glances and answered together. James stood there, silent, stepping inside and shutting the door.
“Interesting,” he said, scanning the room. “No lover after all.”
“What lover?”
“Any lover. Judging by this towns name, I expected at least a mediocre one.”
“Whats this town called?”
“Seriously? Youve been here two days and dont know?”
Auntie Rose grinned. “Ill make pancakes. Young man, do you like salted mushrooms? Goes well with them.”
“Dont remember. Maybe. My gran used to serve something like that.”
“Delicacies,” she mocked. “You city folk eat chemicals and call it gourmet. We still eat proper food here. Youll see.”
She left, and James and I stood frozen before collapsing into each others arms. Id missed himhis real scent, not the reek of alcohol.
I explained everything. James listened, scowling as he shoved pancake after pancake into his mouth.
“At least you left your location on,” he grumbled.
He opened up too, uncharacteristically unfazed by Auntie Roses presence.
“After you left, I smashed a bottle against the wall. Left a stain on the carpetstill wont come out. Then I passed out. Woke up terrified. If I lost you too, nothing could save me. Not a noose, not a bulletId suffer forever. When I came to my senses, I tracked you to this backwater. Never heard of it. The locator said you were here, so I assumed youd found a lover. The caretaker said your car had been here two days. I banged on every door. A nosy woman upstairs pointed me heresaid an old lady lived alone, no muscle-bound boyfriend, but I didnt believe her.”
We laughed for a solid half hour before deciding lunch was in order.
“Well make dumplings together. Its healingbrings people closer.”
We stayed two more days. We walked the snowy streets of the townnot a backwater at all, but a charming place called Hemsford. Holding hands, we fed pigeons and shared the last bun. To outsiders, we mustve looked like any happy couple, not the broken shells wed been.
All good things end, and we had to return. You cant hide from the world forever.
Nearing home, I grew afraid. What if the dream ended? But Jamess firm grip and my steady heartbeat reassured me. *Worst case, Ill run away again*, I thought, smiling mysteriously at him.
“Well need a new rug,” James said, eyeing the brandy stain.
“Or keep it as a memory. Like Auntie Roses sons dumbbells and posters.”
For the first time, we talked about Leos roomhow wed have to sort it someday. Without a word, we went upstairs and began packing his things.
Our faces werent grief-stricken, just wistful. I wondered who Leo wouldve wanted to have his toy cars. What hed say about the green cap I bought him in Spainthe one he never wore but kept.
“Remember this?” James slipped on a gorilla mask and lumbered around.
“Oh god, that was unforgettable! Only youd let Leo wear it to the zoo. How did we *not* get arrested?”
“Who knew parents would panic?”
We spent the evening sorting his belongingsdonating some, saving others. We held strong. Not a single sigh or tear.
Later in bed, we grew braver. James admitted he wasnt to blame for Leos death. No one couldve avoided the crash. Blaming him was like blaming the hare that darted in front of the snowmobile, or the tree Leo struck.
That night, I fell asleep in Jamies arms for the first time in ages. I woke to the smell of coffeehis hand holding a mug.
“What about me?” I mumbled.
“Shared,” he smiled.
***
Nine months later, Leo got a little sister. Im sure she was conceived that night.
When I found out, I hesitated to tell James. I called Auntie RoseI called her often now, for everything. We even skipped our seaside holiday to visit her in Hemsford. Shed finally said yes to her rabbit-farming suitor. Their August wedding was coming up, and we were invited.
Auntie Rose told me to be brave. So I took a deep breath one morning and blurted:
“Jamie, I cant help itIm pregnant.”
“What?”
“Pregnant.”
“Meaning were having a baby?”
“Well, yes, sort of”
He didnt answerjust kissed me long and hard, his hands warming the little girl quiet in my belly.
