Dearest Readers,This is usually when I say my thank yous, but this time it is going to be a litle different.For those of you who stuck around to the very end, I thank you for your patience. I know it must have been frustrating.It has never taken me this long to finish writing a book. I was in the middle of working on a new chapter for this book, when I received a frantic phone call from my sister. My mother had overdosed on some really bad medication, and she suffered acute liver failure. She refused all medical treatment, and we were left powerless, watching her die a slow, nasty, agonising, traumatic death.Everytime since that day, when I returned to this book, I was reminded of that moment. Writing through that grief has been incredibly hard.Nevertheless, I tried to keep giving you my best, since you deserve nothing less than that, and I still loved Madeleine, Rafael, Betsy, Ethel, Frankie and even Paulie so much.When I return with a new book, it will be with the usual frequen
Madeleine“What do you mean leave?” I ask and shift Noah over to my other hip. “We just go here, and I’m exhausted.”“I get that,” Ethel replies, and without even asking takes Noah from me. “But this is really important to me.”He settles against her almost immediately. He drops his head on her shoulder and goes straight to sleep. “Babies can feel your stress,” she whispers.I scowl at her. “How did you know I was here?”“It’s a small place,” she says and slowly walks over to Betsy who landed on the fancy, leathing couch against the wall, and hasn’t spoken since Ethel walked through the door. “I got to know people here, went to every hotel and BnB in town, and told them that I was expecting my sister… I asked them to phone me when you showed up.”“And they just did it?”“I work in the clinic, so… yes, people trust me. People are different here. They make friends quickly, and they really like to gossip.”I smile at her. I haven’t been here long, but I noticed that I blurted almost half
MadeleineI committed the strange name to memory before I went to the kitchen, and used the stove burner to light Ethel’s letter on fire.I washed the ashes down the drain, and went back to the office where I spent almost every day of my life for the past three months. Rafael feels close here.Frankie just watched while I cried, but he never left. Not even once. My eyes were swollen shut, my nose blocked up, and my throat raw.But I felt better than I had since Rafael died. Lighter somehow. Through hazy eyes, I looked at the old captain who gazed longingly at my son.I wasn’t the only one who was grieving. “You can pick him up,” I offer. My voice was soft, barely audible.Frankie swallowed hard and I could see him fighting the tears. “Thank you.”For a short moment, everything felt almost normal. We were a little family. Noah and his Uncle Frankie. “How is Paulie?” I asked.The captain didn’t answer me until he sat down with Noah perched his lap, a big, wrinkled old hand protecting my
MadeleineI refuse to accept that Rafael is dead. It makes no sense.We had a baby. He was right there. He thanked me. He said goodbye.He said goodbye.I sink to the bed we shared for less than a year, and hold our son close to my chest. He’s asleep. Calm. Only lets himself known when he needs something.Just like his daddy.I stare at our wedding photograph on the nightstand. He was a handsome groom. And he looked happy. His eyes are lit up, the smile is real, his body almost relaxed.Noah squirms a little in my arms and I look down at him. He takes after Rafael. His daddy’s double. With the serious frown between his eyes and the disapproving scowl, I might as well look into a mirror.I smile and get up to move the baby to his crib. It’s been a long day. They wouldn’t let me see him.He had a closed casket. I sat in the church and stared at the coffin, the photo of Rafael the only reminder that he was inside. I wanted to scream at them to open that damn thing. I had to make sure
RafaelI sat in my office, elbows on my desk, head cradled in my hands, the sonogram picture in front of me. The tears came quickly and easily then.Madeleine was quiet the whole way home. She just stared out of the window, soft tears rolling down her face.I opened my mouth several times to say something to her, but all my words would have fallen short. I had no words. Nothing I could say to comfort her. But she did. Her words landed like a gut punch. “How many of our sons will die?”“None of them,” I answer through clenched teeth.Her belly was just starting to show, but she folded her arms protectively over the little bump and turned away from me - as if she feared I’d be the one who’d take him from her.Frankie walked in. Maybe he knocked, maybe he didn’t. I couldn’t remember.I glanced up, and all I could say was, “It’s a boy.”It wasn’t good news. I so wanted a son. I should have been jubilant, but all I could see was a police officer standing at the door, telling Madeleine tha
RafaelThe lights are low. Madeleine is sleeping peacefully in her hospital bed. Hand tucked under her head, arms still over her belly as if she’s not aware that the baby who used to be there is on the outside now.Everything happened so fast. We barely made it to the hospital. Madeleine had the baby in the parking lot. A midwife made it outside just in time to catch him, rudely shoving me out of the way.I was relieved. I can handle blood and guts, but seeing my wife hold on to the car, unable to move, watching the blood drip down her legs, was more than I could handle.With two grunts, Madeleine pushed our son into the world. The nurse handed him to her, still attached to the cord. And like the warrior queen she is, my wife walked into the hospital, cradling our son close to her chest, growling at everyone who tried to take him from her.I lean over the bassinet and pick my tiny son up. All five pounds and 5 ounces of him. He wasn’t quite done cooking yet, but he’s healthy and stron