Under the Summer Sun

Dorian turned toward Neal in the lounge chair beside her, keeping an eye on the children as they played under the summer sun. “We did good,” he commented, his green eyes twinkling. Taren shouted from across the yard, grabbing her attention. When she looked back, the chair was empty. Because Neal was gone. Had been gone for some time now.

~

He is a shadow that follows her. She sees him in the bathroom mirror as she brushes her teeth; he shaves his beard at the sink behind her. The coffee maker feels warm to the touch sometimes, like he brewed a pot before leaving for work in the morning. He had always left earlier than her. At the boys’ baseball games, she feels him beside her: an encouraging and steady presence. In the bed they shared, she imagines that she can still smell the lingering remnants of his cologne.

Her husband had been the rock of their family.

Neal had made their children feel safe and cared for. His strong arms lifted them up when they fell. Taren pushed through the pain of his broken arm on the ride to the hospital because his father was by his side, helping him draw on his strength to rise above the pain. Dorian felt beautiful when Neal gazed at her, caressed her cheek. The shivers that radiated through her when his fingertips traced her collarbone made her feel alive, attractive, loved.

When Tyson came early, Neal delivered his second son on his own. The EMTs tracked them to where they’d been forced to pull over on the side of the road in route to the hospital because their second son was eager to make his entrance into the world. The techs praised her husband on his quick thinking and the successful delivery, as the baby’s umbilical cord had been wrapped around his neck.

The boys look like him. Instead of her auburn locks, both boys have their father’s golden tresses, slim nose, and full lips. Neither have his green eyes; they inherited her hazel eyes and prominent forehead. They are beautiful boys; proud does not come close to describing how she feels about them. They are the perfect combination of their mother and father: Taren, adventurous and outgoing, Tyson, serious and ambitious. Both are intelligent, athletic, and proving to be independent in their own rights, even at ten and seven.

Taren wants to play professional baseball. He’s held a bat since before he could walk; lives, breathes and eats the sport. His father had been good, and Taren is determined to be even better, to be the pro that other fathers and sons could watch and root for together. Tyson reads every book he can get his little hands on and can debate on any topic until he is blue in the face, just like the dad he barely remembered. He had his father’s persuasiveness and could easily grow to be the politician Neal had aspired to be in his second chapter.

Their father had been fearless.

Brave right up to the end, Neal had saved his best friend from drowning. Jerod had gotten caught in a riptide on their last trip to the beach. By some miracle, Neal, also out in the water, caught hold of his friend and got Jerod past the danger zone before he himself was swept away, spent of energy from fighting against the turbulent water. There one moment, gone the next. The tide did not care how strong of a swimmer Neal was. It was vicious. Indiscriminate. It quickly pulled him out, far out. And sucked him under. Suffocating him. Draining his life away. When his body was recovered, weeks later, she was told that she would not want to see it. So, she didn’t. Neal’s father identified him at the morgue. The funeral was closed casket. She got to keep her memories of him as her quick-witted, goofy, and very much alive husband.

But that didn’t stop the nightmares. Her imagination functioned exceedingly well. Her mind distorted Neal’s near perfect face and body to something bloated and revolting. Sometimes, when she peeked over the open coffin in her nightmare, there were only dark, decayed sockets where his eyes had been. His mouth opened, though, and a horrible wail came out, unearthly and sustained until she woke herself up with her own screams. In other nightmares, he had eyes, but they were sunken into his skull and when she peered over the coffee, they shot open wide, causing her to jerk backwards, lose her balance and fall into a deep abyss, spinning faster and faster into the void before waking up in a cold sweat.

Jerod owed his life to Neal. He never forgot that. He made sure Dorian and the boys were taken care of. He hadn’t missed a single birthday of theirs in the past three years. He arbitrarily popped up with surprises for them and even set up a trust for each of the boys to access when they turned eighteen. Kind gestures that helped heal his own wounds.

It didn’t make up for not having her husband. Having someone to come home to every evening and have dinner with. Someone to plan family trips with. Someone to discuss her hopes and dreams for the kids with. Someone to watch scary movies with, to bicker with, to stay up late on the weekends, laughing and drinking wine or beer with. To leave a trail of discarded clothing on the way to the bed with.

Jerod had a spouse. Jill was there to console Jerod when he had nightmares, when he was brought back to that first euphoric then horrific moment in time. The freeing feeling of no longer battling against the brutal waves, then an instant later turning to see his life-long friend being violently wrenched away. So, Jill soothed him; hugged and cuddled him. She whispered in his ear that everything was alright. Implored him to stop wishing it had been him swept away instead of Neal. Assured him that everything happened for a reason.

Dorian went to bed alone. For almost a year straight, she had cried herself to sleep every single night. How she could still produce tears today was a strange phenomenon. She felt empty all the time. Half of her was missing. What was her identity outside of being Neal’s wife? Sure, she was Taren and Tyson’s mother. She was an editor by profession. A member of a local book club. But being Neal’s wife was always first and foremost. Loving him and being loved by him had taken up most of the space in her life. The boys were still young, but soon they wouldn’t be. They wouldn’t need her for too much longer. They would leave for school and then start their own careers and families. She’d be lucky to see them a few times a year. She would eventually retire from working. The book club wouldn’t last forever. And she would be alone.

Her girlfriends had been hinting recently that it may be time for her to get back out there. Get back out there to what? No one could replace Neal. No one could ever know her like he did. Dating was different now, anyway. Her divorced friends had gone the way of the internet. Creating profiles to entice the men on different platforms, hoping for a match. One of them had been successful, closing in on an engagement. The other was enjoying not being committed and went on several different dates a week. Neither path appealed to Dorian. She honestly could not imagine going through the motions of fixing her hair, make up, dressing up and meeting a man. What would she say? What would they do? She was not well versed in the art of flirting. Neal had made the courting process so easy. Somehow, he just knew her right away. He got her.

He had approached her in the library of the university they attended. “Do you ever take a break?” he asked with his signature easy smile, sliding into the chair across the table from her. She had looked up, startled and his bright eyes caused her breath to catch in her throat. “I could ask you the same question,” she turned around his inquiry. “I believe you’re here whenever I am,” she pointed out. He’d furrowed his brow, a blond lock falling over his forehead. “Are you stalking me?” he asked, maintaining a serious tone. She’d snorted a laugh. Not exactly attractive but for some reason, she wasn’t worried about that. “I’m a cop’s kid,” she’d explained, smoothing a wayward strand of dark hair behind her ear. “I’m aware of my surroundings. Most of the time.” “Well, I’m pretty observant also and I’ve noticed that your head is always down in a book. You don’t get up, stretch, grab a cup of coffee, nothing. Just full study ahead.” “Maybe I’m just that passionate about Early American Lit,” she’d countered without a hint of sarcasm, trapped in his eyes. “Come get coffee with me,” he had offered. It wasn’t a plea. It was barely a question. It was a statement that resonated throughout her very being. He could have asked her to go to the moon and she would have said yes as long as she could be with him.

She had packed up her books and walked with him the short distance to the campus café. They drank coffee and talked and laughed and drank more coffee. They were instantly inseparable. They balanced each other out; Neal was more outgoing, and it took nothing for him to break out into goofy songs or impressions. He took risks and made it a priority to have fun in life. Dorian was even keeled, cautious, safe. She weighed risk versus reward and made intelligent, informed decisions.

In other words, she was boring.

She had asked Neal once why he had chosen her out of all of the girls on campus. He’d said that he just knew it when he saw her. She was a beautiful enigma. It had taken him a while to get up the nerve, but there was no doubt in his mind that they would be together and that he would make her happy.

That’s how he was. So sure of himself and what he had to offer.

She missed him terribly. Every endearing, silly, annoying, insufferable, sexy thing about him. But he was fading. She treasured those moments that she felt him, smelled him, saw him. She knew that one day she wouldn’t be able to any longer.

So here she sat, the sun sinking lower in the sky as her boys played, feeling her husband's presence. Basking in the comfort that just his memory could conjure. She looked back at the chair beside her and there he was, that signature grin tugging at her heart. “Yes, we did good,” she said.