“Mister Johnson, I’m so glad you could join us today. How have you been? We were really worried about you.” The woman smothered him so much with her motherly concern that he wanted to hurl. “I do hope you participate today. It really does help to get your feelings out in the open.” She wove her arm through his and led him toward the group. Grace Hunt was a recovering nun who started the suicide support group five years ago after her father took a gun to his head following the news that his cancer had returned. Meetings were held once a week in the evening in the basement of the Christian Family Center. The church had been Marti’s second home. She had been a choir member since they moved to Chasen Heights.
Forrest poured himself a cup of coffee and hung back by the refreshment table while other members laughed and joked with each other, everyone except Carrie. Sometimes he would catch her looking at him, as though they shared the same thought that this was all bullshit. How soon until he could smile again much less laugh? It was an effort just to put on a happy face for Savannah. He resented how most everyone in the room appeared to have moved on, but Grace had told him it takes time. After all, it had only been two months since Marti’s accident. He still refused to call it suicide. There wasn’t any way his wife would have taken her own life.
The group consisted of six people counting Grace. One woman shuffled over with her cane, her body as straight and thin as the cane itself. Her husband had left a note that he had had enough of life. Eighty years was sufficient. He saw and did all he wanted to do. That was five years ago. Forrest figured Velma Corbin joined because she had nothing better to do with her life.
Luke Fasula was a sulky teenager who was trying to deal with his sister’s suicide. She had been teased in school because of her weight, came home, tied his belt around her neck, and hung herself from a rod in the closet. The fact that she used his belt bothered him more than the fact that she was dead. His parents and therapist were forcing him to come and it was obvious he’d rather be home secluded in his room. Even now his thumbs tapped out text messages with the speed of a drummer. He had become withdrawn and would rather spend time texting or playing video games than talking it out. His time with the shrink had been nothing more than staring sessions. Luke still felt his mom naming his sister Fatima was a disaster waiting to happen.
Ben Kowalski was an Iraq war vet who left one arm in Iraq along with a couple unit members. His best friend, Vinnie, had joined the Marines with him, came home all intact, had a wife and two beautiful girls. Even planned Ben’s bachelor party and was Ben’s best man. On the outside Vinnie was always laughing, joking, not fazed by what he had seen in Iraq so no one had suspected he was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. He left a note for his wife that said I’m sorry before checking into a seedy motel and blowing his brains out.
Carrie Farnswood was the most reserved of all. Although she had smiled a couple times, she wasn’t at the point of laughing and joking with the rest. Her twin sister, Carly, had been one week from her wedding when she took a stroll on the beach, stripped, took the time to fold her clothes neatly, then walked into Lake Michigan. Carrie was sure Carly loved her fiancée, was excited about the honeymoon and the life she and Sean would start together. They had worked hard and saved for three years to put a down payment on her dream home. Carrie still couldn’t believe Carly was gone. Being a nurse she knew the importance of a support group and of the five, she and Forrest appeared to be the only ones who still hadn’t moved beyond the denial stage. Carly had died several weeks before Marti.
“Okay everyone.” Grace clapped her hands as though confronting a room of first graders. “Let’s get started.” The chairs formed a circle with Grace at the head. Although no longer a nun, she still dressed conservatively in a black skirt, white blouse, and sensible shoes. Her hair was short and peppered with gray and her face had little, if any, makeup.
Forrest refilled his cup and doctored it with cream and sugar as he stalled for time. But Grace wasn’t buying it. “Come, Forrest. We need to hear from you tonight.” She patted a chair next to hers. He could feel all five sets of eyes on him.
He kept the coffee cup clasped in his hands as he took a seat. Remnants of streamers hung in the corners of the room, floating like something possessed every time air drifted from the vents. Pink and blue streamers, probably from a baby shower. He felt something squeeze his heart. “Where do you want me to start?”
“Tell us about your wife.”
“Why?” The word came out without thinking, and like a row of dominoes, he couldn’t halt the rest of his feelings from being exposed. “What good does it do to tell you about a woman you’re never going to meet? All it does is make me miss her more. I have enough of that every day just looking at my daughter who is the spitting image of Marti.” Forrest wished the coffee was a glass of scotch straight up. Now he was on a roll. “Do you think sitting around talking about the deceased makes it hurt any less or brings them back? Those five stages—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Hell, I can’t get past stage one. How am I going to get to stage five?”
“Everyone in this room has been at stage one,” Grace said in her Mother Superior voice. “Some get past faster than others. You have to accept that it takes time.”
“How long? When Savannah graduates eighth grade and her mother isn’t there to witness it?” Now the tears were starting and that was one thing Forrest didn’t want to do in public. Look at the black man crying like a baby. Six foot, one-eighty and he’s a wimp. “Or maybe when she only sees one half of her parents in the audience when she graduates college? Or how do you think it will look when she doesn’t have a mother to help her pick out her wedding gown?”
The room was stunned to silence. Even Luke had stopped tapping out a text message to stare at Forrest. Grace normally had a way of keeping everyone calm, of being able to keep the group on an even keel. But today the meeting was getting away from her. She looked around the room sensing she should probably say something. But it was Carrie who was the first to speak.
“Why don’t you think your wife committed suicide?” Her voice was soft but it may as well have been a clap of thunder since Forrest had shocked the room into silence.
Forrest blinked as though wondering where the sound had come from. “What?”
“You said you were still in stage one. Some people assume it means they deny their loved ones are dead. But for you and me we are in denial because we don’t believe our loved ones committed suicide.”
Forrest found himself shaking his head yes without even knowing it.
“Tell us about it,” Carrie said, appearing to take control of the session.
Forrest took a swallow of coffee and looked around the room. Like the police, would they think he was crazy? He had thought about it every night as he rocked his daughter to sleep. “The police chalked it up to post-partum depression but I know she didn’t have it. She doted on Savannah and she was pregnant again. We talked often about how we wanted to have a houseful of kids. Marti and I were both shuffled around foster homes growing up so we knew the importance of a stable family life. That morning I was already at work but I knew her daily routine. She showered and dressed before Savannah woke up. She was dressed in her warm up suit, made a pot of coffee.” Forrest could see Marti dressed in her lavender warm up suit to power walk while pushing Savannah’s stroller. He smiled through the tears as though sitting at the kitchen table watching her. “She always drank a cup of coffee and ate cinnamon raisin toast while feeding Savannah her breakfast. They would sit at the kitchen table by the bay window so Savannah could watch the birds.” He placed his cup of coffee down on the floor. He made a motion with his hands as if it were show and tell at school. “Marti had put this suction cup bird feeder on the window so they could watch the birds. But that day,” Forrest paused to take a deep breath. “That day she poured her coffee, had Savannah’s jar of baby food on the counter heated and ready to serve, and then walked out of the condo, down the street, and jumped off the overpass. Savannah was still seated in her high chair. Now does that sound right to you?”
Not one person responded. Velma and Carrie had tears streaming down their faces. Grace was sniffing, trying to hold it together. Ben and Luke just stared.
“And I bet the police think you had something to do with it,” Carrie said.
“What?” Luke whipped his head toward Forrest sending a curtain of hair across his forehead.
“That’s what they did to Sean, my sister’s fiancee.” Carrie raked a hand through her blonde hair. She was pretty, with a girl-next-door squeaky clean look. If Carly was an identical twin, she would have made a beautiful bride. “They thought maybe he verbally and physically abused her, or maybe she wanted to back out of the wedding and he wouldn’t let her. Even my parents thought someone had to put the idea in her head and it had to be Sean.”
“Yeah. They talked to neighbors and people I work with, friends at the gym and Marti’s friends trying to dig up some type of spousal abuse. But it was nothing like that. I loved my wife. I don’t care what the cops say, my wife did NOT commit suicide. Yet they closed the case. They called it a suicide so it’s a suicide. And then they have the audacity to suggest I just wanted the insurance money, that if they would rule it an accidental death or something, then I could have the money.”
“The insurance company won’t pay on a suicide,” Velma said. She had a skein of yarn in her lap while her nimble fingers worked the crochet needles. “My husband didn’t believe in insurance. Said it was all a scam because you don’t collect unless you’re dead. Isn’t that ridiculous?” Velma looked around the room, expecting a reply. As usual, her sudden interruption was met with silence.
“I couldn’t care less about the money,” Forrest stressed.
“Wow, dude. That’s deep,” Luke said. “If it wasn’t suicide and it wasn’t an accident, what else is left?”