I pushed Maggie’s words to the back burner of my mind the moment she left. I had other things to concern myself with. Standing at the door watching Maggie, I noticed my mailbox was filled with flyers, pamphlets, fast food coupons, and important letters. Three with the return address of the company that held Kevin’s insurance policies. Oh man.
The third one informed me that, like Maggie, I was now a wealthy woman. It seems that when a husband dies at work, his widow cashes in. The sum on the page was big enough to, at any other time, make me happy. Giddy even. I felt numb.
I sat at the kitchen table and squinted at the fine print. I was entitled to grand sums of money, but I had to work for it. There were forms to be filled out, boxes to be checked, and information to be relayed. The last letter contained a list of duties I was required to perform before the insurance company could “release the funds.” Like the money was a wild animal, caged, penned up for my safety.
I filled in as much information as I could but soon realized I’d need to make a trip to the bank where Kevin had worked. He had a safe-deposit box there containing mortgage, insurance, investment, and other important papers. I sighed. The idea of going down to the bank, the place where he had died, filled me with dread.
I reached for the phone and dialed. It rang five times before I realized I’d dialed Kevin’s direct line. No one would be there to answer it.
I was about to hang up when I heard a sharp, “Hello?”
“Uh, hi,” I squeaked.
“Who’s this?” the voice demanded.
“I’m sorry. I just dialed the number without thinking. Out of habit, I guess. I’m … I’m sorry,”
“Kate? Is that you?”
“Huh? Yes, it’s Kate Davis.”
“Kate, this is Donna. I was walking by Kevin’s office and I heard his phone ringing. Is there something I can do for you?”
Unwanted tears filled my eyes. I jabbed at them with an impatient finger. “Yes, please. I’m not sure who I should talk to.”
“Whatever it is you need, I will help you.”
I felt a cup of relief spill over in my stomach. “Thank you.”
“I’m happy to do it,” she said.
“I’ve been looking at the forms from the insurance company—”
I heard her take a sharp breath. “You haven’t sent those back yet?” She sounded startled.
I shrank in my skin. “No. I just looked at them today.”
“Today?” she said louder, almost annoyed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. It’s just that, normally, we recommend these matters are attended to within a few days of the … passing. It’s a sad fact, but when someone dies, the first thing the survivor should do is call the insurance company and visit the bank.”
“Visit the bank? Why?”
“To unfreeze accounts, show proof of the will, gain access to funds, investments, clear debts, change over ownership of accounts and safe-deposit boxes, that sort of thing,” she said sounding more like a banker now than a friend.
“Deposit box. Actually that’s why I’m calling. Kevin has … had … a safe-deposit box,” I said.
Donna was quiet for a long moment. In the silence I felt fatigue fill my body like an oil spill. I slumped in my chair, my eyes threatening to close.
“Is the box in your name too?”
I tipped my head back until it met the back of the chair. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it’s just in Kevin’s name.” He had told me he was renting a box, but I had no compulsion to add my name to it. He was in charge of those things.
I heard a soft tapping sound, like fingernails drumming on a table. “Things are crazy at the bank right now. Since we lost Kevin, it’s been chaos. I wouldn’t want you to walk into the middle of this.” She hummed tunelessly for a moment. “I’ll pull a few strings and get the paperwork done and unfreeze Kevin’s accounts for you. That way you can access the funds.”
I had no idea Kevin’s accounts were frozen in the first place. I briefly wondered how our bills were getting paid. I brushed the thought aside with an impatient wave of my hand.
“That would be a big help,” I said.
“Good. It will take a few days for me to get it all sorted out. I’ll call you if I need you for anything.”
I hung up and put my head down on the table. A tiny thought swirled. What about the safe-deposit box? What about the insurance forms? Did we talk about that? I let out a groan. I tried to replay the conversation, but it just sloshed around my brain. I reached for the phone again.
“There are copies in the den,” Kevin said.
I froze, hand midair. My throat constricted. “Copies,” I said. A thousand tiny needles pushed at my scalp and rushed down my body.
Kevin said, “I keep copies of everything in the desk in the den.”
“Kevin?” Fear swept through my gut. This is crazy.
I waited for him to speak again. I stood very still for a moment, listening hard. “In the den,” I repeated.
“Copies of everything in the middle drawer on the right-hand side.” His voice was calm, conversational. I wasn’t hearing him in my head, rather out loud, as if he were just in the next room, calling to me.
I jumped up and went into the living room. Nothing.
Finally I went down the hall to the den and found the papers in the desk, just as Kevin had said.
I wrap the gift in deep-blue paper, the most masculine-looking paper I could find. I don’t bother with a bow or string because whenever Kevin sees a bow on a gift he wrinkles his nose, pulls it off, and says, “What’s this for?” before tossing it over his shoulder. He was a man’s man. No frilly stuff for him.
It’s our third anniversary and that means leather. Twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is silver, fifty is gold, but third is leather, and I’ve bought the perfect gift. Plus I’ve made reservations at the Tower, an expensive restaurant with a medieval name that makes the best grilled salmon with dill reduction sauce in the world. It completely blows our meager budget, but I don’t care. Kevin is worth it. And with all the hours he’s been putting in at work lately, he needs a break. We both need a break.
I rip off a last bit of tape and press it to a ragged bit of paper in one of the corners. It looks terrible, like it was wrapped by a five-year-old. But tonight I’m too happy to care what it looks like.
I hear his car in the drive and scoop up the gift, hiding it behind my back while I position myself in front of the door. He opens the door, sees me, and smiles. “Whatcha got behind your back?”
I smile and roll my eyes. “Not telling.”
“Then I guess I’m not telling either,” he says, holding up a brightly wrapped parcel with a gold bow on top. I make a playful grab for it, but Kevin holds it over his head, well out of my reach. “Happy anniversary.” He easily takes the gift from me and puts both of them on the kitchen table. “Presents later. I’m hungry.”
At the restaurant he orders wine, then changes the order to champagne. “Leave the bottle,” he tells the smiling waiter.
I eye the champagne, wondering how much it costs, but I hold my tongue. Not tonight. Tonight we won’t talk about money or budgets or saving for a bigger house. I raise my glass. “To us. And to our future.”
Kevin clinks his glass against mine. “Hear, hear.” He takes a long gulp of champagne while I sip mine. He pours himself another. “It’s going to be a great future, Kate. Things are starting to look up for us.”
Up? I didn’t know they had been looking down.
Kevin slurps up the last of his drink and reaches for the bottle. “You know how unhappy I’ve been in the loans department.” His hand wobbles as he pours, and some champagne dribbles down the side of his glass. He picks it up and licks the side from bottom to top. “Can’t waste it.”
“Maybe you should hold off until our food comes.”
He points a finger at me. “There’s only so far a guy can go in the loans department, you know. There’s a ceiling.” He holds his hand over his head in an imitation of a ceiling. I can’t help but laugh. “I hate ceilings, but”—he holds up a finger as if to shush me, even though I haven’t said a word—“the new acquisitions manager called me to her office today and we had a long talk.” He drags out the word “long,” holding the O and stretching it to ridiculous lengths. “She says I’m in the wrong department. She says she’s been watching me and sees my overlooked potential.” He takes a deep pull on his champagne. “I have overlooked potential,” he says, slurring.
A flutter of excitement rises in my chest. “I’ve always thought so, babe. So what does this mean for you?”
“It means,” he says, plunking his elbow down hard on the table. “You’re looking at the new assistant to the acquisitions manager. And you know what that means.”
“No, what does—”
“It means a couple of years of effort and I’m a veep.”
“A veep?”
He swings his glass wide, nearly swiping a passing waiter. “A VP, my clueless wife. A vice president.”
I grab his hand across the table, ecstatic. “Kevin, that’s wonderful news. I’m so proud of you.” My head is instantly filled with what this could mean for us. Maybe we can buy a larger home sooner than we expected. A five-bedroom would be perfect. Our two-bedroom just isn’t enough, and we’ve put off starting our family because money is so tight, but with this news … “We can have a baby now,” I blurt out. “We don’t have to wait anymore.”
Kevin’s eyes cross briefly, then his eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead. “A baby?”
A giggle burbled up from inside of me. “Uh, yeah. With you on the fast track at work, we can have a baby now, and be able to buy a bigger house in just a couple of years. There’s no need to wait anymore.”
Our meals arrive, and Kevin stares at his as if he doesn’t recognize it. Then he looks up, smiles, and winks. “Well, let’s wait until after dinner, at least.”
I kill the engine and car lights, and everything goes dark. The neighborhood is silent, sleeping. I try to help Kevin out of the car but he waves me off. “I’m not drunk, for the one hundredth time.”
I unlock the door and flick on the lights we always forget to turn on when we leave. Two gifts snuggle on the kitchen table. I’d forgotten all about them.
Kevin comes in behind me and sees them too. “Oh yeah. Oh good. Let’s open presents.” He grabs the one he bought me and half runs, half stumbles up the stairs with it. “Let’s open them up here.”
I follow silently, not bothering to ask why. He’d been acting strangely ever since dinner. Talking loudly, drinking an entire bottle of champagne, then ordering a beer. I’d never known him to celebrate this way.
Kevin stands by his dresser, trying to light a candle. He strikes the match, nothing. Again. Nothing. A third time, sparks, then a fizzle, then nothing. He turns to me, holds out the matches, and I take them, lighting the match, then the other three candles perched on their individual holders. The dim glow flickers around the room. It feels peaceful, calming, sexy.
Kevin sits on the bed, cross-legged and bouncing lightly like a child. Strike sexy. He holds out his gift to me. “Three years of marriage. Three is leather.” He grins. “You told me so.”
I grin back and tug on a piece of tape, careful not to tear the brilliant red paper. Kevin leans over and snatches the gold bow from on top and puts it on his head. I laugh and pull off the wrapper. A white box, the kind you use to wrap the sweater you bought Grandma for Christmas. I throw him a toothy grin that I hope covers my disappointment. I don’t want a grandma sweater. I pull the lid open and stare at the thing inside.
Kevin gets up on his knees and moves over to the end of the bed where I am standing. He peers into the box. “Try it on.”
My stomach flops over. This is no grandma sweater; this is serious underwear for professionals. Did I say underwear? More like a contraption. It’s black with a spattering of silver grommets and a few buckles tossed in for added flair.
Kevin rubs his hands together like a kid set loose in a candy store. “Just like you told me—leather.”
I glance over at the gift I bought him. As if reading my mind, he turns and grabs it off the bed. “My turn,” he says, ripping the masculine blue paper to shreds. He stares at his gift with unfocused eyes. “It’s a book.”
I nod. “A leather-bound book on the history of aviation.”
“Cool,” he says, placing the book on the floor beside the bed. He points at the leather thing in the box I’m holding. “Try it on.”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat. “Uh, I’ll put it on in the bathroom.” I dash across the hall before his slightly drunken hands reach me. I close the bathroom door quietly and lean against it. I look at the offensive garment. Three years of marriage, and he’d never once hinted that he wanted this. It wasn’t the sort of thing you put on to feel special or sexy. It was the sort of thing you put on and felt cheap. Disposable. Whorish. I had a drawer full of wonderful, soft, sexy things. I enjoyed wearing those. But this?
“Need help in there?” Kevin’s voice called from the bedroom.
Help? I need an escape ladder. “No. Be right out.” I close my eyes and chant, “I love my husband.” I get undressed. I hold the offensive thing against my skin. “I love my husband.”
It was dark by the time I finished filling out the insurance forms. My eyes stuck together when I blinked. I put the papers into a manila envelope and decided to walk to the mailbox, despite the late hour. A part of me was anxious to finalize the insurance settlement. It was a large amount of money. Guilt poked at my chest like a bully. You shouldn’t care about money, it said. I grabbed my sweater and headed out the door.
When I returned home, I went to the kitchen, filled the kettle with water, set it on the stove, and went upstairs, taking them two at a time.
I hesitated at the top of the stairs. It felt strange to be up there. Like visiting a memory. I felt uncertain which way to turn. If I turned right, I would enter the bathroom. Left, I would be in the spare room. If I walked straight ahead, I would enter the bedroom Kevin and I had shared for the past five years. I turned right.
Avoiding my reflection, I twisted the water taps, stripped, and stepped into the shower. I stood still and bare under the flow of hot water. The bathroom filled with steam as I washed my hair and cleaned my body. Somewhere between the shampoo and the last scrape of the razor against my leg I began to feel, as Maggie had promised, human.
I stood in front of the mirror combing out my long brown hair, my right hand midstroke, when Kevin’s voice came to me from the other side of the door. “Kettle’s whistling.”
“Okay!” I hollered back without thinking. I grabbed my robe off the back of the door and flew downstairs. I was in the kitchen, hand on the kettle, before my brain caught up with what had happened. I spun around and called, “Kevin?” I ran back up the stairs, stopping at the top. “Kevin,” I called again. “I heard you. I hear you. Kevin, please,” I said, my voice falling to a whisper. “Please. I hear you.”