Christmas Box Set Read online

  The chairs were already in place at the burial site when we arrived at the cemetery, and despite being one of the first groups of people to leave the funeral, Father Hammond was already there, as was Banks and his family.

  Mom, Brian Sr., and I crossed the thick, grassy expanse of the cemetery to get to where my husband’s dead, mangled body would be dropped into the ground forever. I was lucky that Brian Sr. had been strong enough to identify his son’s body at the coroner’s office, because I didn’t think I could have done it. The accident was severe, and his body wasn’t in a condition I needed to see. No one told me that directly, but I overheard the police officer telling my father-in-law that. I’d had to rush to the bathroom then to puke my guts out, choking on sobs the entire time.

  Banks stood to greet me as we approached our chairs right in front, next to the gaping hole in the ground. He embraced me, holding me tightly in his strong arms, his scent clean and masculine. I let myself relax against him. This man had been so close to BJ and had loved him like a brother. It was comforting to be around people who cared about my husband as much as I did.

  “I’m so sorry for all of this,” he said in a low voice squeezed tightly with emotion. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

  He’d said that several times since BJ passed, both in person and in text messages. I knew I could count on him, despite the fact that he was only my friend because I’d chosen his best friend as my husband.

  “Thanks, Banks,” I whispered back.

  He let me go, taking a moment to scan my face with his large gray eyes, the concern in them stabbing at my already aching heart, and then he went to sit down with his parents again, who were also giving me looks dripping with concern. I knew how I had to look to them and everyone else—some poor girl on the brink of losing it completely. I didn’t mind, because that’s how I felt to myself, too. When I looked at my own face in the mirror, I didn’t even recognize the hollow-eyed woman I saw staring back at me.

  We sat down without further comment to anyone and waited for the rest of the funeral-goers to arrive and take their seats, all of us dressed in dark, drab colors that matched the overcast sky, our faces unsmiling and eyes pointed at the hole in the ground where the large mahogany coffin would be lowered in due time. I’d chosen that coffin with Brian Sr. There was a silk pillow inside too that matched the color of BJ’s favorite car. True blue, he called it, and if he could convince a client to choose that color paint for a restoration, he was particularly pleased with himself. I’d never see him laid inside the casket, but I felt better knowing that pillow was in there, cradling his dear, sweet head. I wanted to plant one last kiss on his lips, but knew that wasn’t possible. He didn’t look like the BJ I knew. That man was gone forever. The body inside this large, expensive coffin wasn’t my husband. Still, I found solace in that little silk pillow.

  Once everyone was seated, Father Hammond began to speak. I instantly phased him out, keeping my eyes on the casket as my mind wandered onto other topics. I wondered where BJ was now. Heaven, I hoped, looking down on all of us and laughing at how silly we mortals were. Had he found his mother up there? I hoped so. I hoped he found everything that had ever been in his wildest dreams. He deserved all that and more.

  Brian Sr. spoke first after Father Hammond stepped aside, and I bowed my head as he gave poignant words to his sadness, the tears flowing onto my trembling lap. I hadn’t bothered with makeup today, knowing that I was bound to spend hours sobbing. Mom pressed a tissue into my hand and I used it to soak up my tears and block my running nose. Once the tears started, they tended not to stop for hours. My body was dehydrated and sore from so much constant crying.

  Banks went next, holding it together completely, though I could see the hurt in his eyes. I’d gotten to know him over the years BJ and I had been together, so I knew how much he cared about my husband. Unlike with my father-in-law’s comments, hearing what Banks had to say healed my aching, bleeding heart a little. I was still drowning in an ocean of grief, but hearing the story he told of him and BJ meeting in detention, I found myself smiling just a little through my tears. I’d heard it before, of course, but that didn’t change how much I needed those words right now, just a little ray of sunshine in the last few days of torrential rain and thunder.

  I managed to pull it together at the end of this part of the service, enough to stop the tears and walk, stone-faced, to where the coffin had been lowered into the ground. I took a handful of dirt and threw it onto the casket, followed by a single red rose that Mom had pressed into my hand before I left my seat. Brian Sr. joined me, dropping his own handful of dirt onto the wooden box that contained his only son.

  “Goodbye, BJ,” I whispered, so low I could barely hear my own voice. I turned and walked away, BJ’s dad on one side and my mom on the other, our arms linked. I was leaving part of me behind in that box to be buried under six feet of dirt. It was a part I didn’t want back, because it belonged to BJ.

  Mom was holding the reception at her house, and I suffered through it, eating very little and only speaking when I couldn’t avoid it. At the end of the night, I was finally able to go home to the house I’d shared with BJ. It was empty now, and painfully quiet. I locked the front door behind me, sank to the floor, and wept until I crumpled into an exhausted ball on the wood floors and fell asleep.

  Banks

  One Year Later

  Monday

  I usually stayed at work until well after 5, especially lately. But I left early today, cutting out around 3 so I could beat the traffic leaving the city that would start around 4:30 and not end until 6. Today was an important day for me, so I ignored the ringing of my cell phone, not wanting to be distracted by anything that was going on with work. My assistant Jane knew where I was going and that I didn’t want to be disturbed. She was prepared to handle whatever might happen in the two or three hours I’d be absent from my post. Clients might not be happy about it, but they’d get over it. I’d be back tomorrow, anyway, and would more than make up for the time I’d been away.

  I’d considered running by my condo first to change out of my suit, but decided to just go straight to the cemetery. I wanted to get there a little before Maggie did so I could have some time with BJ on my own. I didn’t go by the gravesite much, and not just because cemeteries gave me the creeps. It didn’t feel necessary to drive out there because I never went through a day when I didn’t think about BJ. But Maggie had called last week to ask if I’d be there with her on the one-year anniversary of his death. I’d planned to visit the shop where he worked and drink a beer in his honor with some of the mechanics. I still intended to do that—I would go home to change before dropping by there to talk to Jackson, the head mechanic who’d really stepped up since BJ died—but I’d be there for Maggie first and would do whatever she asked.

  Maggie and I had kept in touch even without BJ there to link us to one another. We chatted on the phone, exchanged emails, and met up for coffee every few weeks. All the while, my feelings for her had changed, evolving into something that felt wholly inappropriate. I felt like a complete ass, but I couldn’t help that I looked forward to seeing her and wondered if something more could come of our friendship. I knew BJ wouldn’t want her to be alone for the rest of her life, but it also felt way too soon to expect anything more from her than what she was ready to give, which was her friendship. Making a move felt like stabbing my old friend in the back. It was the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn’t help the feelings that were getting stronger even as I tried to cut them off at the root. A year ago today, my best friend had passed away. That was what I needed to focus on, and not just today, but every day. Maggie was off limits. I was an asshole for even thinking about getting something started between us.

  I drove the rest of the way to Danbury, my thoughts consumed with memories of BJ and our times together. It had been a year, but I still couldn’t believe he was really gone. The knowledge kept slamming into me, catching me completely off guard, usually in the
morning when I woke up and thought of something I wanted to tell BJ, only to remember that I’d never be able to speak to him again. I was sure that, one day, this would end. Even with how disorienting this morning ritual was, I dreaded seeing it end, because that meant I would be used to BJ not being in the world, and that was a terrible thing to consider. I never asked Maggie if it was like this for her too. It seemed indecent. And, anyway, I imagined it was even worse for her than it was for me, despite the fact that I’d known him for much longer than she had. They’d been building a life together, and now all of that was done.

  I pulled into the cemetery, looking around for signs of other cars. I saw some on the far side of the grounds, but I was alone over here. I chastised myself for the relief I felt at this, but I wanted some time alone with BJ.

  I parked and got out of the car, striding over to my best friend’s gravesite in the brisk weather. The summer was long gone. We were in the middle of fall now, with the leaves of the trees changing from green to more brilliant autumn colors—gold, red, and purple. I loved this time of year, but it had changed a little after BJ’s death. The season felt bitter, and not just from the chill in the air.

  I stopped in front of the headstone, burying my hands in my pockets as I read it.

  Brian Andrew Bowling Jr., beloved husband and son.

  I clenched my teeth, squeezing my jaw hard to ride out the threat of tears that wanted to come at the sight of these words. I didn’t come out here much. BJ was everywhere for me, but I needed to make more of an effort.

  “Hey, man,” I said, and then paused. It took a second to shrug off the awkwardness of talking to a headstone. But BJ was everywhere, including here where what was left of his body was buried. I wasn’t quite sure what I believed in where an afterlife was concerned—I didn’t make a habit of accompanying my parents to church and hadn’t since they gave me the option of not going—but I definitely wanted to believe that he was in a better place, that the unique energy that had made him the incredible person he was hadn’t just dissipated when that reckless asshole slammed into him, all because he wanted to save a few minutes by illegally passing the car in front of him.

  “It seems like forever since I talked to you.” I smiled at that. I found myself talking aloud to him all the time when I was by myself. I had no idea if any part of him was left in this world, but if so, I wanted him to know I hadn’t forgotten him, that I still thought about him all the time. “I’ve been working so much but trying to enjoy life too, like you always used to tell me. I’ve been trying to look after Maggie. We talk from time to time, mostly about you.” I cleared the lump in my throat, feeling intense guilt over what I was about to say next.

  “I think I’m falling for your girl, man.” I kicked the ground, ashamed to even be saying this out loud. “I don’t know how else to explain it. I’d never betray you. I’ve tried to look after her the way a friend would, but I can’t help wanting more. You know how great she is, how warm and funny.” I couldn’t shake how wrong this felt—I was literally standing at the end of my best friend’s burial plot and asking for permission to date his wife—but now that the words had started, I found I couldn’t stop them from coming.

  “I don’t like feeling this way, BJ. I really don’t. Give me a sign, man. Tell me to back off. Tell me to keep going. I’ll do whatever you tell me.”

  I stared at the tombstone, reading BJ’s full name, that he was a beloved son and husband. The words stopped having any meaning after the 10th or 11th time. I kept staring, my body rigid, as the wind moaned through the trees behind me. I shook my head, letting my muscles loosen as I swallowed back a chuckle at how stupid I was being. BJ wasn’t going to answer. And I shouldn’t even be thinking that way about Maggie. She was my best friend’s wife. It didn’t matter how long he was dead. That would never change the fact that she was off limits.

  I heard a cough behind me, followed by light footsteps approaching where I was standing stock still in front of the grave. I turned, smiling as I watched Maggie approach. The crazy woman had walked here, and she was dressed in jeans and a light jacket, her dark hair loose over her back and shoulders, and a big reusable shopping bag hanging from her shoulder.

  “Hi, Banks,” she said, smiling a little.

  I smiled too. “Hi, Mags.” I reached for her, and she came to me, pressing her face into my chest like she belonged there. I wrapped my arms around her and closed my eyes, allowing myself to relish the feeling of her solid, curvy body against mine.

  Maggie

  Monday

  I didn’t pull out of the hug right away. No one touched me much anymore, so I wanted to bask in how nice it felt to be in a man’s arms, to smell a man’s deep, musky scent, even if it wasn’t the man I wanted. The only person who touched me now was Mom, and that wasn’t the same. Brian Sr. hugged me too whenever we saw each other, but that also wasn’t the same. It was like a father hugging you, not a man who thought you were the most attractive and fascinating person in the world. There were times when I’d look over at BJ and find him staring at me with such intense love that it stole my breath away. I could feel the heat between us. Now all I felt was the persistent chill of loneliness.

  I stepped back out of Banks’s embrace before I made things weird with my neediness. “Thanks for coming,” I said. “Today has been really hard.”

  “I know what you mean,” he said, gray eyes stormy with concern. He could read me like a book, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the time we’d spent together after the accident or because he was so much like BJ. I knew it was wrong to keep comparing them, but they were so alike in so many ways. They were very different in a lot of ways too, and I found I liked those things about Banks, too. I hadn’t actually noticed them when BJ was alive. His personality was so big it overshadowed everything, but in a charming way, never like he was trying to show everyone up. He wasn’t like that. He was kind, but charismatic. I’d fallen hard for him so quickly after we first met, and I’d never quite recovered from that fall.

  “Mom and Brian offered to come too,” I said, dropping the heavy bag from my shoulder. I’d put a few things in there that we would need. “But I just wanted to have some time without them worrying about me, you know?”

  Banks nodded but didn’t answer. That was another great thing about him. He really listened to me when I spoke, and he didn’t treat me like I was about to break at any moment. It reminded me of the therapist I’d seen for the first six months after losing BJ. I’d stopped going after a while, though I hadn’t told anyone about that. I just didn’t want to deal with the backlash.

  “Mom won’t leave me the hell alone, always asking questions to find out how I am. I love her to death for it and I know she’s doing her best, but I need a break from that.” I bent to pull the picnic blanket out of my bag. I handed one side to Banks and we opened the blanket before setting it down on the ground at the foot of BJ’s burial plot. “And I love Brian Sr., but it’s hard to be around him sometimes. His grief is even heavier than my own. He lost a child, his only son. I want so badly to be able to comfort him, but I can’t always do it. I’m still not all the way okay myself.” I shook my head, sure I wasn’t explaining this the right way. “We comfort each other too, but I worry that I’m doing the same thing to him that he’s doing to me. Sometimes it’s easier to be with people who aren’t suffering from the same loss.”

  Banks smiled, but painfully, and the look in his eyes told me I’d stepped in it again, which I was very good at doing these days. I spent so much time wrapped in the pain inside my own heart. It was hard to see outside of that fogginess. I could do it with Brian Sr., but that was it.

  “I miss BJ too,” he said, but not defensively.

  My cheeks flushed with color and I cut my eyes away from his as we sat down on the picnic blanket.

  “I know you do,” I said. “But I don’t feel smothered by your grief the way I sometimes do with Brian Sr. That wealth of grief makes it so we’re able to comfort each oth
er better than anyone else, but it can also be exhausting sometimes. But for us, it’s not about healing each other, and that’s its own kind of comfort.” I forced a smile even though it was the last thing I felt like doing. “There are even days it feels like old times when we meet up. I keep expecting BJ to show up, apologizing for being late.”

  He smiled too, less painfully this time, but his angular face was still shadowed with impenetrable emotion. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  I pulled a bottle of Guinness out of my purse, along with two plastic cups. I handed one to Banks, who gave me a perplexed look, and then popped the top off of the bottle. I split the beer between us as equally as I could and then lifted my cup.

  “To BJ,” I said, my voice wavering a little. I wanted to know when it would get easier to think and talk about him. I could be laughing one second and then crying hysterically the next, because no matter how happy the memory was that I was considering, I had to come face to face with the realization that he wasn’t coming back every single time I thought about him. That just beat the wind out of my sails, leaving me stagnating in my own grief, alone.

  Banks lifted his cup and we tapped the rims together. “To BJ.”

  We each took a deep swallow of the Guinness. I’d never been a big fan, but it was BJ’s favorite beer. This was actually one of the bottles that had been in the fridge on the day he died. There were a few more—he’d only gotten the chance to drink two—and I planned to drink them one by one in his honor, no matter how gross it tasted.