“I’ll be back.”
She grabbed my wrist.
“David.”
I looked at her.
“Find Anna.”
Those were the last words she ever said to me about her.
Three days later, Carol died.
I don’t remember much about the funeral.
People spoke to me.
They hugged me.
They told me how sorry they were.
Someone brought food to the house.
Someone else called to ask whether I needed anything.
I answered them automatically.
I thanked them.
I nodded.
I smiled when I was expected to smile.
But inside, I was completely empty.
The house was unbearably quiet.
Carol’s shoes were still beside the bedroom door.
Her sweater was hanging on the back of a chair.
There was a half-used bottle of her favorite perfume in the bathroom.
I couldn’t bring myself to move anything.
For several weeks, I simply existed.
Then one morning, I walked into the kitchen and saw the chair where Carol used to sit while drinking coffee.
