Song: "Amnesia" by 5 Seconds of Summer

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We made incredible progress throughout the week, getting Harry's things packed away, staging the house to look impeccable and ready to list, and we cleaned enough that Harry decided nothing else was necessary. Where he had thought to have some of the rooms painted, I convinced him that they were nice enough to show the house. The fact that he and Cathryn had no kids and probably didn't even spend much time at home made it that much easier to spruce up once the clutter was gone.

The day after the Metlers came, Harry had fallen into a funk, still working his fingers to the bone, but not saying much. It was obvious he was brooding over something. I wanted to give him space, but at the same time, I wanted to be there for him if he wanted to talk.

I broke the uncomfortable silence around lunch time, offering to make some grilled cheese and then delicately asking if I could help him in any way.

"You're already helping so much," he said, giving me a forced smile. I puttered around his now neat and cozy kitchen, preparing our lunch.

"I don't mean with the house, Harry," I said, slathering slices of bread with butter. The sandwiches sizzled on the hot griddle. "I mean, can I help you? I know you're going through something. Want to talk about it?"

He leaned and placed a tender kiss against my temple. "How do you already know me so well?"

"I love you?" It came out as a question, but I meant it to be the answer to his question. I paid attention because I loved him. I brought our food to the round dining room table which now looked so small in the otherwise empty room. "Listen, I'm not going to push. Undoubtedly, you'll still go through things that I can't necessarily help you with, but I don't want you to hesitate to talk to me. All right?"

He nodded, satisfied with my offer. He ate a few bites of the grilled cheese and then said, "I guess it's hard letting go, even of the things I thought wouldn't be a problem." He paused and I could practically see the words jumbling around in his head, like he wanted to speak volumes, expounding on all the ways this was a challenge for him. But he simply summarized, saying, "It's just hard."

We finished eating quietly. I cleared away the dishes and communicated one more thought, then I would leave it rest. I might be totally off the mark anyway. "Harry,  you can give yourself more time for this. No one is pressuring you. There's no rush to put it on the market right away."'

"There is!" He snapped. It reminded me of the time at my place when he was getting agitated about not having a prestigious career. This time, however, he stopped and said, "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to be harsh. But I feel the pressure from inside. I've spent sixteen months here, most of it feeling like I wanted to die and believing my life would never get better. I used to have good memories here, but now all I can think about is the past sixteen months of hell. My memories of Cathryn are all here now," he said, pressing his hand to his heart. "This house no longer feels like the home I shared with her. I can only remember the devastation I went through here. I just want it gone."

I bobbed my head in an understanding nod. "That makes sense. I only hope that you won't regret moving so fast with this. Then again, houses aren't exactly selling like hotcakes right now, so you should still have time to process everything and be able to let go gradually."

"To be honest, I started thinking about it around the same time I started coming to the library back in September, so it's not like I'm rushing into it, exactly. I was escaping from this place because it felt like prison. It's time. I just have to make sure I don't let go of anything that I'll miss."

He stood up, his countenance visibly relaxing. He pulled me up to his chest and held me. "You're something else, you know that?" His lips melded with mine as he tightened his arms around me. His mouth slowly massaged mine, tenderly and lovingly without any urgency whatsoever. The pleasantness of being wrapped in his embrace could have easily convinced me to forget the task at hand.

Eventually, we came to our senses and separated. He seemed lighter, no longer ruminating as he went about his work. I had a small revelation, though; one that would serve me well in the coming months and even years. Grief was a long, messy process. It wasn't a task to be completed within a defined amount of time, never to be re-visited. It was a moving target. The initial crushing blow was delivered sixteen months ago and at that time, Harry had felt like he was going to die because of the pain. That initial, enormous injury was finally healing to the point that it didn't affect him nearly as much as it did at first; the pain was becoming bearable and some days, maybe he didn't notice it at all. But like someone who has had their bones crushed in an accident, he might still have periods of pain for the rest of his life. Although it wasn't physical, Harry's wound would still hurt from time to time, and I had to be prepared to give him the grace to go through those times, to love him the best I could when they came around.

As the week progressed, he had his moments. He was mostly positive, but there were times when I could tell certain things stung or just downright smacked him in the face. There were tears, there was also laughter and some reminiscing about her, which I welcomed because she was a part of him; it would do me no good to try to ignore that.

I had been nervous about spending the night at Harry's, since the only time I'd slept there before was when I had that peculiar and rather alarming dream about Cathryn, the one where she spoke to me about telling Harry it's time to go. Or was it Time to let go? I couldn't even quite remember her words anymore, they were fading just like all dreams do.

There were no more dreams until the last night we were to spend there before returning to my place. This one wasn't nearly as unsettling but still quite odd.

I was at work, repairing bindings on some of the most worn children's books. I lovingly glued and taped and mended, thinking about how long it had been since I'd sat down with a good book to read. As much as I loved him, Harry had turned my life topsy-turvy and certain things were definitely different now.

I wasn't far from Gabby, but for some strange reason, she used the PA system to page me. "Regan, you have an important email. Please read it and respond to it at once." Why would she page me about an email rather than just telling me? And how did she even know about the email unless she was snooping?

I gave her a strange look, but she was already directing the set up crew for our annual fundraiser. I sat down at my desk and checked, surprised that there was one new email from a "CMS." I opened it and read the brief message.

To Whom It May Concern,

I'm looking for something I believe may have been left at your library. It's a small lotus box, about the size of a cigar box, and it contains the round gate. I believe it may be on the shelves on the third floor, perhaps by the books about South America. If found, would you please return it to me at once. It means the world to me.

Sincerely,

Cathryn Metler-Styles

I didn't necessarily find the dream unsettling, but I didn't understand what lotus box and round gate meant. Probably just dream gibberish but the words played over again and again in my head.

In addition to the strange message, I was fixated on the fact that the email had been signed using the name Cathryn Metler-Styles. I had been working on designing and ordering nameplates for the books Harry was donating, but it never occurred to me before that I should actually ask him how her name should be presented. I had been just writing her name as Cathryn Styles, but I wanted to be accurate if the intention was to honor her memory.

We were packing our personal things, getting ready to return to my place to throw a New Year's Eve party the following night. While rushing around, tugging on cups of coffee, I casually said, "Hey, I'm working on something for the book donation. I'm just wondering, did Cathryn keep her maiden name after you got married, or did she take your name? Just want to know how I should put it on the dedication."

"Oh," he said, seeming a little surprised by the question. "She hyphenated her name. Legally, she was Cathryn Metler-Styles."

I had a brief rush of apprehension and a chill traveled down my spine, a tiny reflection of the anxiety I'd felt after the dream where Cathryn spoke to me. Was she really trying to communicate with me somehow? Even allowing that thought seemed ridiculous. It was just my subconscious and it was normal for me to dream about my lover's first wife as I still worked through my feelings about her.

The dream stuck with me all day - the weird coincidence about her name, the nonsense about a lotus box and a round gate. And the idea that someone could just "accidentally" leave something on the third floor shelves was just laughable, considering I spent a sizeable chunk of my time at work in those third floor shelves and I would definitely notice if something was there that shouldn't be.

Ultimately, as soon as I had the opportunity, I checked both my work and personal email, (only to make sure I wasn't going a little crazy), and there was no such message from a Cathryn Metler-Styles. Yet I knew I wouldn't be able to let the entire matter rest until I returned to work and checked the shelves for myself.

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