NOT LIKING one bit the prospect of having released Sam’s spirit without a replacement lined up, I phone Tom Saturday morning and ask him to come by.

Slight hesitation, then: “I’m working. But I can swing by, sure.”

An hour later he’s at my door. Now two dogs bark ferociously.

“Where did you find Sasha’s clone?” he asks.

“The dog park.”

Tom sits on the couch; I take the blue chair.

“I have something to tell you,” I say.

“OK.”

“I like you… I mean, as more than a friend.”

His eyes widen but he smiles slightly. “Uh well, um, gee, Adri, I had no idea.”

“Yeah right.”

“You do know I have a girlfriend?”

“I know. But I don’t think it’s serious.”

“Well I think it is.”

“Oh, I realize that,” I say, reaching for my coffee cup. “I’m just telling you how I feel because I thought you should know.”

“Thanks…I think.”

“Is there any chance we might end up together in the future?”

He puts his coffee cup on the earth coaster. “I don’t know what the future holds.”

“I think it holds what you want it to hold, Tom.”

“Perhaps,” he says. “But timing is everything. Do you know what I think?”

“What?”

“That you loved Sam so much that now you’re looking for someone to give all that love to.”

“Is that wrong?”

He smiles gently. “No. But I just wonder if…well, I don’t want to hurt you but maybe you need to learn how to love yourself again first.”

I recognize the two-by-four of truth as it meets my forehead.

ON APRIL 29th, the seven-month anniversary of Sam’s death arrives and along with it, Matt—Sam’s former partner—on my front door step. He holds out to me a beautiful bouquet of pink tulips.

When the barking subsides, he points to Sasha’s cohort. “Who’s this?”

“Sven. She needed a home. Cute, huh?”

“Well yeah…but it’s kinda weird how perfectly she matches Sasha.”

Over coffee, he asks me how my writing is going.

“Slow. I’m finding it really difficult to stay focused because there’s always so much going on around here.”

“Then go someplace else.”

The phone rings and I let the answering machine pick up. I ask Matt if he knows the significance of today.

He shakes his head. “No. I just thought you’d like flowers.”

I tell him today is the seven-month anniversary. “I promised Sam I’d make it this far without him.”

“What happens tomorrow?” he asks.

“I dunno.”

“Are you going to be all right?”

“Yup. But I guess it is time to come up with a new ops plan.”

The phone rings again. I glare at it.

“Starting with a quiet place to write,” says Matt.

“There’s a lot going on right now…”

“There always will be, Adri. That’s life.”

“I know.”

“Have you set a deadline for completing your manuscript?” he asks.

“No.”

“Well, I’ve been working on a novel for years and trust me, there’s a real danger in not having a goal to aim for.”

The twenty-ninth of June will be the nine-month anniversary of Sam’s death and since we didn’t have a have a child together, maybe this book is the next best thing?

“June twenty-ninth,” I say.

“That’s only two months away—are you sure that’s reasonable?”

“No. But at least it’s something to work toward.”

The phone rings again.

Matt looks at me. “How do you stand it?”

“Not very well.”

Then the doorbell rings, sending Sasha and Sven into another tizzy.

“Getting a novel written in this zoo,” Matt says, standing up, “would be nothing short of a miracle.”

I open the door to let him out—and the detective in, who is here to discuss with me the final report from Occupational Health and Safety.

In the kitchen, I pour a cup of coffee and hand it to him, nodding toward the document in his hand. “What’s the bottom line?”

“That Sam’s death,” he replies, “sure is a case for fate.”

“When you cops start saying stuff like that, it really freaks me out.”

“It’s just that Sam’s case is very strange, Adri. I mean, the sequence of events that led up to his death are almost unbelievable.”

Once we’re in the living room, I ask him what the report says about the railing.

“As you know,” he replies, “according to legislation there should’ve been one. But as I found in the police investigation, the lack of railing was not a malicious act. It was an oversight. There was no intent to cause harm.”

“Of course not. Safety simply wasn’t a priority.”

He puts his cup on the coffee table. “I’m not in a position to advise you of where you should go from here…if anywhere.”

“I realize that.”

“I just wanted to tell you that the entire investigation is now complete. The police are satisfied it was an accident…”

I shudder at the word.

“…and Occupational Health and Safety are as well. The company where the accident took place…”

I clench my teeth.

“…immediately made the necessary structural changes and, as I told you before, they felt very bad about what happened. I guess I just wanted to remind you that there were several contributing factors that led to Sam’s death, not just one.”

“You mean the funny sounding alarm, the confusion of the employee, the forklift which made the hole in the drywall the day before, the wind setting off the alarm, the two previous false alarms, the poor lighting, the chair that gave that extra tilt to Sam’s trajectory, the lack of safety railing, and the simple fact that Sam cared enough about catching the bad guy that he gave his life trying to do so?”

“You’ve certainly been thinking a lot about this,” says the detective.

“I should certainly hope so. And ya wanna know what I think the bottom line is?”

“What?”

“That when Sam got to the landing at the top of that ladder, he saw what he expected to see on the other side of the wires: a safe surface on which to step. If there was no safety railing, why would it even cross his mind that there might be a false ceiling?”

“Adri…”

I hold up my hand. “Which begs the question: why would a company blatantly put its own employees at risk?”

“It wasn’t an area that employees went on a regular basis.”

“That area has been deemed a permanent workplace by Occupational Health and Safety, has it not?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’d say Sam’s death is a case of cause and effect: no railing, no husband—which tells me that workplace safety is obviously an issue that needs to be addressed.”

But why do I have to do this on my own? After the detective leaves, I call Tom to debrief. He tells me he’s off to Mexico tomorrow with his girlfriend.

“Oh,” I say snottily. “And are you looking forward to your trip?”

“Of course.”

“Well, have fun.”

“Thanks.”

I don’t say anything.

“Are you OK?” he asks.

“Not particularly.”

“Adri…”

“Have a great vacation,” I say, then hang up.

Then I walk into the dining room and reread Emily Dickinson’s poem. My dad’s right: I’m hinging my hope for happiness on an expected outcome with a specific person. Not only do I want Tom to help me deal with the issue that led to Sam’s death, I want him to drop his girlfriend and rescue me from widowhood.

“Come on guys,” I say to Sasha and Sven, “let’s go for our walk.”

At the dog park, I sit down on a rock and look out over the river. “Well Sam, I promised you I’d stick it out for seven months. Now here we are.”

I remove my wedding and engagement rings from my left hand and place them on my right. My marriage to Sam is over. As much as I don’t want to let go of the past until I know what the future holds, I’m learning life just doesn’t work that way.

“They say if you really love something,” I sob to the water, “you must set it free. And only if it comes back to you, was it meant to be yours in the first place.”

So, for the second time in two weeks, I let Sam’s spirit go. Now, however, I not only risk losing it, I have no backup in place.