𝑱𝒆𝒇𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒚 𝑺𝒕𝒚𝒍𝒆𝒔

     It’s been six months since Adrienne sadly passed away, but it feels like yesterday when she threw herself from the window sill. I still can’t believe she’s dead and that she committed suicide. It feels like a nightmare, but I’ve seen too much to know it’s not. I had seen Adrienne’s sister and her husband at the funeral crying. I listened when she said her tribute. I had witnessed close friends and family shed tears.

     I had watched myself get drunk a few times over her death. I’ve wallowed in grief. I know all this is real, but somehow part of me doesn’t want to accept that she’s truly gone. That I’m never going to see her again.

     I’ve had nightmares, and they keep worsening. The house feels haunted by Adrienne’s ghost. I don’t think I can live in it anymore. That’s why I’ve put it up for sale. I’ve got a buyer. It didn’t take long for my real estate agent to find me one. I’ve spoken with him. His name’s Daniel Miller. He’s a married man with two kids and a wife. His family strikes me as the perfect family Adrienne and I couldn’t have.

     I’ve told him everything there’s to know about the house, including Adrienne’s suicide. I don’t want them finding out from the neighbors. I reasoned he should know what he’s signing up for. I had thought telling him about Adrienne’s death would make him have second thoughts about wanting the house, but it did nothing of the sort. He wanted the house so badly that he was willing to move in that instance. He only needed his wife’s consent.

     I plan to stay at the lake house in Tarrant County. I bought the land years back and used my father’s company to build it. I chose that spot particularly because of the lake. The gentle laps of the water calm me down whenever I hear it. The view from the house is perfect, and I can’t wait to live there permanently. If I were an artist, I would have taken my inspiration from there.

     I’ve had a delivery van transport some of the things to the lake house already. I’m only here to get a few stuffs I will need in my new house. Most of Adrienne’s belongings are now in Liana’s possession. I donated some of her clothes to the orphanages—something I know she’d have wanted. A quarter of her salary went to social welfare. She used to be very active in charitable works. She’d visit the orphanage in town and spend hours with the kids. The nuns there had swarmed her funeral and cried their eyes out. She was going to be missed because she left a legacy. She’s gone, but her legacy isn’t.

     I fold the last satin shirt into the duffel bag, then pick up the portrait of Adrienne sitting across the nightstand. I stare at her picture and move my fingers across her smiling face. Tears stream down my face. Rivulets glide down my cheeks and hit the glass pane. I spend minutes watching the portrait, reminiscing. A memory strikes me, and I’m lost in my thoughts.

     Adrienne and I were strolling by the beachside, barefooted. I cracked a silly joke, and she giggled. We continued chatting and promenading, unperturbed about our surroundings. We stopped and stared into each other’s eyes, holding hands.

     “It’s beautiful out here,” she chirped.

     “I can’t agree more. That’s why I insisted we come to the beach.”

     We were still on our honeymoon in Miami staying in a first-class hotel my father booked as my marriage present. We had been staying indoors for a while, and I suggested we went out for a stroll. The sea was calm, and I saw several people enjoying themselves in it.

     A cold wind blew toward us, carrying with it the scent of water and adventure. Adrienne’s hair moved violently, and I tucked strands behind her ears.

     “Who would have thought,” she said.

     “That?”

     “That we’d end up as a couple. I can’t believe we’re married, Jeff. It feels like a good dream.” She held up her hand and stared at the wedding ring.

     I said, fondling her cheeks, “It’s crazy, isn’t it?” I couldn’t believe it either that we were now happily married. Congratulations to the newlyweds in town.

     She looked up at me, and I brought my lips close to hers. “You’ve made me the happiest man on earth.”

     I watched, mesmerized by the movement of her beautiful lips as she replied, “And you’ve made me the happiest woman on this earth.” A giggle escaped us, and we pulled each other into a hug.

     The memory wears off. I blink back the tears. Putting the portrait into the duffel bag, I zip it, carrying it downstairs and into the car boot.

     I’ve informed Tim, Anna and the rest about my final departure. I’m yet to tell Ms. Gillian. I make my way past her lawn and onto her front porch, which always looks neat and welcoming. No wonder Adrienne came here all the time. I knock and wait. She shows up behind the door in a white blouse and brown slacks, topped with a cotton cardigan. She smiles at me.

     “Hello, Ms. Gillian.”

     “Jeff,” she says happily. “I’m glad to see you in town. Come on in.”

     I step into the serene house and follow her to the fireplace, where she was reading a book before I interrupted. It’s a hardcover, and it is placed facedown, a pair of rimmed glasses sits across it. The TV plays in the background. A female voice echoes in the house. It’s computerized and mechanical. I listen transiently to the TV presenter. She’s giving the morning news, and it’s about climate change. I’m not interested in the weather today, so I shut my ears to it. I’m sure Ms. Gillian wasn’t watching either.

     Ms. Gillian offers me a seat across from her and asks what I’ll have. I tell her I’m fine and she says smiling, “Okay, Jeff.”

     She puts on her rimmed glasses and picks up the hardcover she’s been reading. That’s when I notice the title. HOW TO BECOME A BETTER HUMAN by Arthur MacMahon. I think I’ll need a copy of that in my new house. I’m curious what it has got to say, and I can’t wait to order a copy.

     Shifting my thoughts from the book, I look at Ms. Gillian. She’s forlorn. I don’t blame her. Adrienne was like a daughter to her, and now she’s no more. They can’t have breakfast like they normally do.

     At one point, I wonder why death is so cruel. I’ve heard incidents of people committing suicide and surviving afterward. Why did Adrienne have to die while attempting it? She was a good person and was loved by everyone. Then I remind myself death doesn’t know good or bad, young or old, weak or strong, rich or poor. We’re all equal to death, and I think it takes away the issue of superiority and inferiority complexes because even if you’ve got all the money in the world, you’ll die just like someone without the world’s riches.

     Adrienne’s death makes me question the purpose of life. I’ve got a different perception of the world now. You can lose anything you have at any moment, and it’s so scary.

     “It’s nice to have you back, Jeff,” she says with a note of permanency in her voice, and I feel sorry I’m going to tell her this is my last time here. I don’t think I’d come back in a long long time.

     I clear my throat. “It’s nice to be back here, but I’m not staying. I’ve sold the house.”

     She doesn’t look taken aback, as though she already knew my move. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I don’t blame you. Who’d want to live here after what happened?” She places the book aside and perches her glasses on her nose, tears filling her eyes. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

     Neither can I. Adrienne’s suicide came as a surprise. Well, I knew she had suicidal thoughts, but I thought she was benefiting from the therapy sessions. She looked so much better after a few months with Dr. Hassan. He had been in high spirits Adrienne would get better. Instead, she got worse.

     I pluck a facial tissue from the box nearby and hand it over. She takes it, dabs her face and says, “Thank you.”

     “Adrienne was such a sweet girl. She reminds me of my daughter and the truth is, I haven’t gotten over her death. I’ve missed our moments together. I’ve missed her presence in the house. And I can’t hide it.”

     Ms. Gillian’s tears are going to plunge me into my darkest moments again after Adrienne died, but I’ll not give in to it. Sheriff Hunt recommended a recovery group to me, and I joined. It helped tremendously. Recovering from a loss is much easier when you have people in your situation to grieve with; people who understand what you’re going through. I met different people in the group, all grieving after the loss of loved ones. For five months, I was part till I was able to put myself together and continue the journey called life. I grieved, and I’m still grieving, but I won’t wallow in it because it won’t bring my wife back from death. Neither would Ms. Gillian’s tears.

     I say wistfully, “She was, wasn’t she?”

     She bobs her head. She’s going to cry her eyes out when I’m gone. I’m sad that I’m causing her to grieve all over again.

     She sniffles and places the wet tissue on the table. “Where will you go?”

     “I’ve got a lake house in Tarrant County. I’ll be living there.”

     She gives me a rueful smile. “Take care of yourself. Of all the neighbors, you and Adrienne are my favorite.”

     My face reddens. That’s one hell of a compliment from Ms. Gillian. It makes me wonder why Adrienne would want to kill herself when she has so many people caring about her.

     “I will.”

     I give her my card and tell her to call me anytime she needs help. She takes it, and I announce my leave. She wants to escort me to the door, but I decline and tell her to continue reading her book.

     As I leave her house, a cold wind blows across the lawn. The air is soothing. The trees sway rapidly and green leaves fall to the ground. I walk to my car and settle in the driver’s seat. Then I do a sharp reverse. After I hit the street, I see the house in the rearview mirror disappearing gradually. I’m leaving my past behind, and I can’t stop feeling bad for betraying my wife.