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“Then why can’t we be together?” she asked.
“It’s my fault,” he said.
“Alan dying is not your fault. He had cancer,” Savina said in a soft and even tone. “You don’t need to feel guilty about that.”
“I don’t… I mean… it’s hard to explain,” he said.
“Try,” she said. “For me. For us.”
He sucked in a deep breath, staring over her shoulder at the glass cabinet. “After Mary died, I had… well, I had some fucked up thoughts.”
“That’s a normal part of the grieving process,” she said. “I had them too.”
He barked harsh laughter. “Not like this. I would look at you and Alan, and Solomon and Heather, and all I could think was - why me? Why did I lose my wife, and Alan and Solomon got to keep theirs? I was so fucking jealous, Savina. I kept thinking how unfair it was that I was alone and miserable, and they weren’t. For a while, the jealousy nearly ate me alive. What had Alan and Solomon done that was different from me? Why did they get to be happy with the women they loved while I put flowers every week on my dead wife’s grave.”
His eyes burned, and his throat turned so tight he could barely force the words out. “I never wished anything bad to happen. I swear I didn’t, but the universe didn’t care. It didn’t need me to actually wish for anything. It just saw my jealousy and my anger, and it… it decided to even the score. So, it fucking killed Alan. You lost your husband because of my pettiness and my jealousy.”
“Oh, honey.” Savina’s voice held compassion, not pity. She crowded close, and he didn’t have the energy or will to push her away. He closed his eyes, his breath coming in harsh pants.
Her soft hands cupped his face again, and she wiped away the tears that slid down his cheeks. “Hal, look at me.”
He didn’t want to, but she squeezed his face gently and said it again. “Look at me, honey.”
He opened his eyes, studying the same compassion in her gaze that radiated from her voice. “I want you to hear what I say to you right now. Really hear me. Okay?”
He nodded, and she pressed a soft kiss against his mouth. “Alan didn’t die because you were jealous of him. He died because he got the shitty luck of stage four pancreatic cancer. That’s it. That’s why he died, honey. It had nothing to do with how you felt.”
The lump in his throat made it nearly impossible to swallow. “I know I sound stupid and irrational.”
“No, you don’t,” she said. “Do you think I haven’t been jealous of Solomon and Heather? I have. Many, many times. Do you remember that woman you were dating when Alan died? Jennifer, I think?”
He nodded, and she said, “I was jealous of the two of you, even though I knew it wasn’t that serious. Jealousy and feeling petty are all normal parts of the grieving process.”
“I was a terrible friend,” he said. “After Mary died, Alan and Solomon were there for me. They kept me going when I didn’t think I could. I repaid them by being jealous and angry.”
“Did you tell them how you felt?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I couldn’t… I didn’t want them to hate me or to know what an asshole I was.”
She kissed him again. “You weren’t being an asshole, and I know Alan. Even if you had told him, he would have understood, and wouldn’t have judged, Hal. Neither would Solomon.”
He stared at her. “You believe that, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She returned his gaze steadily. “Alan was your best friend for many years, but I was his wife, and I knew him better than anyone. He would have understood why you felt that way, honey.”
The heavy weight he’d carried since Alan’s death slowly dissipated until he felt light enough to fly. He took another deep breath as Savina pressed her hand against his heart. “He loved you, Hal. You were his best friend, and he told me so many times how thankful he was to have you in his life. Nothing could have destroyed his love for you. I promise.”
She pulled him into her embrace, and he buried his face in her neck as he wrapped his arms around her and nearly crushed her body against his.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Savina.”
“I know, honey.” She rubbed his back with long, slow strokes. “It’s okay.”
They stood quietly for a few minutes before he finally leaned back to stare down at her. “I love you.”
She smiled. “I love you too.”
He brushed her hair back from his face. “I feel better.”
