We sat at our kitchen table
over cigarettes and eggnog lattes.
The Christmas lights wrapped
around the tree
and silver and gold hung
above the fireplace,
along with the stockings.
The festive lights cycled
through an array of colors.
Suzanne took a puff and blew
out the smoke.
She flicked the cancer stick
into the ashtray.
Suzanne slid her hand across the table.
My grief drove her crazy.
We talked it over.
We left nothing off the table.
Suzanne brushed me off after pulling
me from the rut I fell into
after Jessica, my daughter, died.
I took a drag and blew
the frustration through my nostrils.
“Five years ago…” I turned to glance out the window.
“It was a night much like tonight.”
“And?” Suzanne embraced my sweaty palms with comfort.
“I was putting up the lights,” I said, stopping to wipe my eyes with a tissue. “I just want…” I lowered my head. My tears blurred my vision. I blinded myself with grief. “I was on a ladder. Shouldn’t have been. But I was.”
“And?” Suzanne wiped away tears of her own.
I lifted my hands, but my arms remained on the table, and I lowered them.
“Jessica ran into traffic.” I raked my fingers through my thick, dark hair. “I told her a thousand times to stay in the yard!”
“It’s not your—”
“I told her!” I said, slapping the table. “Mary warned her, and I told her,” I balled.
“You can’t blame—”
“I’ll never see Jessica again.” I shoved myself to my feet and moved to the living room window. Neighborhood homes draped in Christmas lights reminded me of that December when a car hit Jessica. She was ten years old. And she was my everything.
Suzanne approached me and fit her body into mine. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
“It hurts this time of year.” I fit my arm around her shoulder.
“You asked me to bring it up this time of year so that you could spill your feelings.”
“I know.” Suzanne paused and choked back a lump in her throat. “I can’t bring her back, but God gave us a daughter.”
“What?” My narrow eyes softened, and a half-grin formed on my lips.
Suzanne nodded through streams that baptized her eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
I wrapped my arms around her.
She laughed as I twirled her.
Our lives were spinning in the right direction.
Neighbors strolling for their evening walks
stopped to observe our contagious euphoria.
I moved toward her lips, paused, told her I loved her, and gave her several quick pecks.
Suzanne bit her lower lip. “I’m going to want more than a kiss later.”
“My pain…”
“Needs to be dealt with,” she said.
I sighed. “You’re right. If I’m going to be the father and the husband I need to be, I need help.”
Suzanne reached into her jeans pocket
and retrieved a card for a counselor.
“A counselor?” I arched a brow.
“A counselor,” Suzanne said.
“A counselor it is.”
Suzanne spilled into my arms. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I’ve been avoiding this for so long,” I said. “It’s like…” I cleared my throat. “I don’t want to forget Jessica. The way she was. Nothing.”
She rested her hand on my forearm. “You don’t have to forget her.”
Suzanne yawned and stretched. “I’m going to lie down.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I said.
She kissed my neck before heading to the bedroom.
I stood there, still staring out the window, thinking about how it all happened. I told Jessica to forgive me for not paying attention that night. I prayed she’d made friends in heaven.
I cracked a grin before a tear left my eye.
I’m forgiven.