Lost (6 page)

I looked around the neighborhood that I
loved and took a deep breath.

When we moved
there 14 years ago, I was pregnant with Jimmy. Brian wasn’t quite sold on a
community, rather he was pushing for us to buy some land and to build a house,
but Carey was just a baby, Sam was starting school, and I just wanted to be
close to other people. Bee and Anthony were the very first people we met.
Actually, Anthony was.

Brian was
yelling at me from the back of the U-Haul. “You’re
not
going to help me
lift this! Seriously. Move, woman,” he fussed at me.

“DON’T talk to
me like that, Brian! It isn’t
that
heavy.” I had my hand on my stomach.
I was only six months pregnant, but already felt as big as a house.

“J, this thing
weighs like 300 pounds. Get out of my way. I’ll use the dolly.”

“Really? That’s
gonna be tough going up that hill.” I moved to the rear of the U-Haul truck’s
cargo bay and shook my head at my husband.

Then we heard a
voice call to us from outside, “HEY! You guys need any help?”

I stuck my head
out and saw a handsome man with skin the color of coffee coming up our
driveway. He was tall—like 6’6” tall. And he was big—football player big—and
his even bigger voice seemed to boom from his barrel chest.

“Hi. Yes! Thank
you so much!” I waddled down the ramp and stuck my hand out. “I’m Julie Klevan,
and that guy—the stubborn one in the truck—is my husband, Brian.”

Brian came down
relieved that he didn’t have to maneuver the heavy dresser into the house
himself. “Hi there. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“No! That’s
what neighbors are for!”

And that was the
start of a friendship that had endured a lot of great moments... and a lot of
life’s tests.

Bee and I were
pregnant with Ant and Jimmy, respectively, at the same time. Ant was their
youngest. They also had a daughter, Karie. Karie was 8 when Ant was born, so
that made her a bit older than Sam. I didn’t know about Bee’s miscarriages
until she lost a baby in her fifth month. That was two years after Ant was
born. Come to find out that was her fifth miscarriage, and she told me she was
done. When Anthony was at work, and she cried, I held her hand. Amy and I even
took her away for a girls’ weekend on what would have been the baby’s due date.

When Sam broke
his leg playing basketball, Bee was the one to go to the hospital with me,
since Brian was out of town.

When Brian’s
father died, Anthony went with him to the lake house to clear out some of his
things.

And when I fell
apart for those few, dark weeks after Brian’s death, Bee and Amy took turns
staying with me. They would sleep on a small cot Anthony put in my room. I woke
up more than once at night to find myself comforted by my friend.

We were always
there for each other. And we always tried to include each other, and our kids.
We always joked that we each had seven kids—as opposed to the five and two that
we actually had.

When Anthony
took Ant fishing, our kids were often included in those weekends, and vice
versa. Camping trips. Cookouts. Game night.

When we moved
into the neighborhood, that is what I wanted—for me, my kids... my family.
Friendship.

I was an only child, and I was never
close to my parents. My mom died when I was six, and my father was a cold,
quiet man. When he passed away 12 years later, I felt a loss, but I didn’t feel
lost. I had been on my own for years, so his death just made it formal.

But when I met
Brian, we made our own type of family—one that worked for us. Brian was also an
only child, but he was close to his parents, and when we got married, his
parents welcomed me with open arms. His mother, Lynette, used to joke I was the
child she had always wanted, and she became the mother I never had. Her death
was hard on us all, but Mark, Brian’s father, pushed forward because he knew
what they had. Mark used to tell me all the time that the memories of the good
times he had with his wife kept him warm on a cold night. He held all the
memories close to his heart, and it wasn’t until after he passed that we found
the scrapbooks he made for Brian, the kids, and I.

“J! Looks like
my dad took a scrapbooking class.” Brian came into the house late one evening
after he and Anthony got home. The guys had been up at the lake house cleaning
out Mark’s den.

“What?” I
looked up from the vegetables I was chopping.

Brian brought
in a box filled with books and papers. On top were three beautiful, leather-bound
scrapbooks. I picked one up and opened it. In Mark’s precise handwriting was a
note to Brian and I.

My Dearest Son and Daughter,

First of all, this is
all your mother’s crap. That woman saved everything! Report cards, art projects
(Apparently she thought you were some sort of Picasso, Brian!), trophies, and
pictures. You know me. I would have kept the pictures and thrown most of the
other stuff away. But when your mom died, I realized why she kept it all. For
the memories. The good ones and the bad. I was just going to give you the boxes
she had and tell you to take what you wanted, but then I found her pictures.
See, Mom printed out all the pictures I took! You remember how long it took me
to figure out how to put them on my computer. That damn camera you two got me.
But your mom. She got it. She printed them out and kept them. She put them in a
box with all the old pictures we had of you growing up. Your football games,
your swim meets, your graduation. It was all there. And so I went to the craft
store and this nice young lady helped me pick some stuff out. I wasn’t gonna
waste my money on some class, so I just looked stuff up online and used
magazines. And I made these for you two and the kids.

Look at them. Tell the
kids about the first touchdown you scored, and the first time you came home
drunk. Yep, Mom had a picture of that too! Brian, tell the kids how you botched
your proposal to Julie (YES, Mom took a picture. I’m surprised you didn’t see
her around the corner!). And Julie, tell them how you said yes anyway.

Keep them and look at
them. Remember the past, live in the present, and look forward to the future.

I love you all,

Dad

Each book was
beautiful. The pages had themes. They had tickets to football games, graduation
announcements, our wedding invitation, birth announcements, but most
importantly they had little comments that Mark had inserted. His observations.
His notes on things he saw. And Brian and I treasured those.

I had started
to keep little things like that myself, thinking I would make one for each of
the kids. I just never realized I would be starting them at 38. I had hoped my
books would be like the ones Mark made for us—something I put together when I
was in my twilight years. I would have pictures of weddings and grandchildren
to include. I would have decades of memories to comment on. And though I had
close to twenty years with Brian, it wasn’t enough. I had wanted more. I still
wanted more. I wanted decades, centuries. I wanted a complete lifetime with
this man, who even in death had such a hold on my heart. And though I felt
robbed, I also realized that the time we did have was wonderful. I realized
that the years we had together were filled with more laughter than many people
get in a century. It was filled with tears and heartache, but also infinite
joy. Brian had given me memories that could sustain me for the rest of my life,
and if I couldn’t have him, at least I had those.

I walked up the steep driveway to the
front door and stood on the stoop. Even after all these months, I was still
surprised at the memories that would surface. I was surprised at the little
things that would trigger my recollections. I had thought of those scrapbooks
on and off for the past few years, and maybe it was the idea of going through
Brian’s things that made me think of them on this day. I steadied myself,
getting ready to face the daunting task in front of me. I fished my keys out of
my pocket and went into the house.

It was a bit
warm. I guess I forgot to turn the AC on the previous day. I walked over to the
thermostat and set it for a comfortable 75. Brian used to fuss that I kept it
too warm in the summer and too cold in the winter. I let out a sad laugh. His
fussing was one of the things I would miss the most. It’s true what they
say—you miss the strangest things.

I walked into
the kitchen, ready to tackle the dishes, and looked at the back door. I miss
not having to yell at him to shut the back door. He always left it open, and
the screen door just let out all the cool air.

And then with a
glance of the microwave, I missed that sudden slam of its door whenever Brian
used it to heat up something.

The little
things!
I thought to
myself.
Well, today is going to be a busy day, so I better get to it.

It was only
9:30, so I had plenty of time before animal control showed up. I hummed as I
finished washing the dishes, and when I was done, I turned on the dishwasher to
tend to the rest.

I was ready to
do this.

I went downstairs into the basement and
grabbed some boxes. Then I went into Brian’s workshop. I looked around at the
machines and all the tools meticulously placed on the walls. I needed to talk
to the boys to see if there was anything they wanted. I walked over to the desk
to look for some packing tape, and then I saw it.

Brian had
always loved to do little woodworking projects. We had stools he made in the
kitchen, and I had a beautiful chest in our bedroom for our linens that he
crafted for me one cold winter. But I had never seen something like this.

I had a lot of
jewelry—nothing too fancy—though I had my wedding rings and some beautiful
diamond earrings Brian had bought me for our tenth anniversary. I had
complained one day that it was just all over my dresser. I had little cardboard
boxes or tiny silk bags, but I needed a jewelry box. I guess Brian remembered.

I hadn’t been
down there since he died as I wasn’t one to do much around the house in regards
to repairs. Sam occasionally did quick fixes here and there, but there was
never a reason for me to come down. I guess I never thought to see what Brian
had been working on when he died. In the corner, on the old desk on which he
used to come up with designs was a beautiful maple box. The swirls and patterns
drew my eye, and I gently lifted the lid. Inside were tiny, velvet-covered
compartments—each one waiting for a piece of jewelry to be nestled inside of
it. When I lifted up the first layer, I found a note in Brian’s handwriting
with a date—
November 10, 2012
.

The day before
he died.

To the light of my life,

Thanks for taking this
diamond in the rough and making him gleam. I love you with all that I am.

I took a deep
breath, put the velvet compartment back in its place, closed the lid, and ran
my hand over the smooth, gorgeous wood. It would be the last gift I ever got
from my husband. I held it to my chest and grabbed the packing tape from the
desk. I took everything upstairs with me and walked into our bedroom.

Our
bedroom, because if I was being honest,
the room would forever be ours. Right there, right then, walking into the
bedroom, I couldn’t believe I ever thought it was just
my
room. Time
would pass, and I might get rid of some of his things, but Brian was there. I
could feel him, and since I was alone in the house, I spoke aloud.

“I miss you. I
miss you
so
much, but I want you to know that I’m holding it together.
Some days are easier than others.” I started going through my jewelry while I
talked to Brian, “But each day gets a little easier than the one before it.”

I took out the
turquoise necklace that Brian and Sam picked out for me last year. “Remember
this necklace? I said it was too big for me, and you just told me to be quiet
and put it around my neck. I loved it. Oh, and these are the earrings that you
and Jimmy bought me... What? Three years ago? ’Tiny waterfalls’ is what the
girls said.”

I started
putting away my rings, sliding them into the tiny slots. “Sam’s home. I don’t
think Duke felt right to him with you gone. I hope you understand. I thought
about it, and I think the kids were right. I needed to let Sam follow his heart
on this one. I thought he would go to Old Dominion, down the road, but he
decided to go to community college. I won’t lie—it’s nice having him here. He’s
a big help. Oh! He took Carey to get his license a few weeks ago. I can’t
believe he’s 16. And Jimmy... Oh, Brian! Jimmy has a girlfriend. You met her
when you went to Busch Gardens with Jimmy’s class. Claudia. Such a sweet girl.
And the girls made honor roll... again!”

I picked up the
first piece of jewelry Brian had bought me. Again it was one he and Sam had
picked out. Back then Sam was the only little one we had. It was a pretty
bracelet with rough-cut turquoise stones linked together. I used to wear it to
work everyday. I rubbed each stone and was surprised to find that I was smiling.
“I remember when the two of you gave this to me. I told you that you didn’t
need to get me anything. Remember? We were saving up to buy a dining room table
for the townhouse.”

Our first home
was a run-down townhouse. We had scrimped and saved for the down payment, and
when we moved in, we didn’t have much furniture. For about six months we ate on
the floor. Sam loved it, but I wanted a table. But Sam had thrown a fit, or so
Brian said. It was the first Mother’s Day that he had a mother, and he wanted a
gift to show me how much he loved me. So Brian took him to the mall, thinking
he would pick out something small such as a book I wanted. But Sam zoned in on
the bracelet and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I used to give him quarters
for helping me around the house, and unbeknownst to Brian, Sam had put all his
quarters in a little bag. He also had five dollars that Mark had given him, and
he pulled it out when the pretty, young clerk came over to ask him if he needed
any help.

Brian told me
that Sam had $9.75 on him, and he was so earnest and sweet that the young lady
called the owner over. The bracelet was about five times what Sam had, but the
old man was so touched by Sam’s story that he sold him the bracelet for $9.75.
Brian was so grateful that he returned to that same store, Everything Silver,
year after year and bought me a piece of jewelry. I loved that story and found
myself laughing softly at the image of a young Sam buying me a bracelet.

I put the
bracelet lovingly in the box my husband made for me and closed the lid. “Oh,
Brian. We did good. We did real good.”

I put the
jewelry box on my dresser. Since I had cleared off some of the little cardboard
boxes, I had plenty of room to give the beautiful maple box the space it
deserved. I went over and grabbed my iPod from my nightstand and popped it in
the dock Brian had on his dresser. I found my favorite playlist and turned it
on.

Walking over to
our closet, I decided to pull out things I wanted to keep or give to the kids
first. That would make packing up everything else easier.

I picked up the
black suit Brian bought last year. Bee and Anthony, Amy and Ben, and Brian and
I had all gone away for the weekend. We decided to splurge and go to The
Greenbrier, a resort in West Virginia about five hours away. Prior to the trip,
all the men went out and bought new suits, and because of that, all three of
the women had to go out and get new dresses. Brian looked so handsome in that
suit. And now Sam, who was just a bit shorter than Brian, could get some use
out of the suit.

On Brian’s 35th
birthday, October 2009, it was a cold mess. I think we turned the heat on in
early September that year. The kids usually bought Brian one nice gift with Sam
putting in the bulk of the money as at that point he was the only one with a
job. But that year Carey helped his older brother with his odd jobs over the
summer. The two boys mowed lawns, house sat, and walked dogs, and Sam babysat.
Anything to earn some extra money. The weekend before Brian’s birthday the two
older boys asked me to drive them to the mall. Jimmy and the girls had given
them their contributions (about 8 dollars total I think). I drove them to the
mall and told them I would pick them up in two hours. Every year the kids had
given Brian something he liked—a movie he wanted to see, a T-shirt with his
favorite superhero on it, something small and simple. But this year they
surprised me. When I picked them up, they refused to let me see what was in the
bag.

“What’s in the
Macy’s bag?” I asked as Sam and Jimmy climbed up into the van.

“Nothing,” they
both answered.

“Really? You’re
carrying around an empty bag?” I smiled at them in my rearview mirror.

“Of course
not,” Sam answered. “But, Mom, we found something so awesome for Dad. Can you
wait until Tuesday to see it?”

I could see how
excited both the boys were, so I left it alone. But I was anxious to see it.
That Tuesday, I ran to the bakery to pick up Brian’s favorite carrot cake, and
I got the ingredients to make him his birthday meal—meatloaf with homemade
mashed potatoes and corn on the cob. I ran to get the girls from preschool and
hurried home to start cooking. That night, the boys were bursting at the seams,
and they finally gave up waiting.

“Here, Dad!
Open our present!” Carey put the gift in Brian’s lap.

“Can’t it wait
until after I finish dinner?” Brian smiled at them.

“Dad!” Sam
pleaded, “Come on!”

And so Brian
opened the gift... and our mouths dropped. He pulled out a gorgeous gray
cashmere cardigan sweater. I reached out and stroked the sleeve. It was so soft.

“Wow, that’s a
beautiful sweater!” I couldn’t believe it. I had a few cashmere sweaters, and
this one was expensive.

“Do you like
it, Dad?” Sam asked, his eyes bright with excitement.

Brian had tears
in his eyes, as we finally realized why the boys scrimped and saved all their
summer money. “Like it? This is the most beautiful sweater I’ve ever owned. I
love it.”

And he did. For
the next four years, Brian had worn it every chance he got, and now I wanted
Carey to have it. Sam told me Carey was the one that found the sweater.
Originally, they were going to get Brian a PS3, something I had put off getting
for a while. But when Carey saw that sweater, he knew Brian would love it. I
took it off the shelf and brought it to my face. I caught a whiff of Brian’s
aftershave, and I folded it gently and laid it on the bed.

The girls had
already taken some of Brian’s old T-shirts. They loved to sleep in them, so
they were good.

Now, what to
get for Jimmy?

I searched and
discarded a few ideas. Brian’s clothes were still too big for Jimmy, so I
didn’t want it to be something like a sweater or a suit. It had to be special.
And then I saw it in the back of the closet. Brian’s fishing vest. I hated that
thing. It wasn’t easy to get Brian into the mall. He thought it was a waste of
time, but occasionally when he needed something, he would come to Miller’s
Crossing with me. Miller’s Crossing was what you would call an outdoor
mall—tons of stores and restaurants, but with a very open plan.

“J, why don’t
we go to Miller’s today?” I should have known something was up when Brian threw
that out at me.

“What? Really?
Great!” I didn’t question him. I just ran and got my purse.

And the first
store we go in was Orvis.

“I knew it!” I
fussed at him good-naturedly.

“What?” He
acted so innocent.

“You want to
buy some fishing crap, and you won’t spend that kind of money without me, so
that’s why you dragged me here!” I laughed at him.

He cuddled up
to me and whispered in my ear, “You help me pick out some new gear, and I’ll
get you a pretty purse.”

He knew my
weakness. So we got him some new gear, and he wore that damn vest all the time.
He had lures all over it, and patches he and the boys bought on their fishing
trips. Jimmy loved it and would wear it whenever Brian let him. It would be perfect
for Jimmy. It’s a bit long at the moment, but in a few years he would grow into
it. I could probably just hang it on his wall for him so it would be near him.

And I already
knew what I wanted. I had to search for it. Brian hid it from me as every time
he wore it, I threatened to throw it out. His old University of Virginia
sweatshirt. It had holes around the collar, and I had already patched the left
elbow for him... twice. The hem was a ragged mess, but he wore that sweatshirt
constantly. And on the top shelf in his closet, underneath all the other
sweatshirts I bought him, I found it. There was still a stain on the front of
it from the first time he changed the oil in my car. It was big on me. The
sleeves were well past my fingertips, and the bottom of the sweatshirt covered
my knees. I used to wear it when I was pregnant with the girls all the time.

“Seriously,
woman! You’re stretching out my sweatshirt!” Brian fussed at me.

“First of all,
no, I’m not.” I totally was. “Second, you got me knocked up. Deal with it.”

I was in my
ninth month with the twins, and though they were born in August, I was
constantly cold. I was also huge. Not like pregnant huge. Like elephant huge. I
hadn’t seen my feet in months, and if I wore anything other than flip-flops, I needed
Brian or one of the boys to help me put them on. My maternity clothes barely
fit at that point, but the sweatshirt did. I don’t think I took it off the last
week of my pregnancy. I slept in it and wore it around the house with an old,
stretched out pair of Brian’s sweatpants. Since they were too long, Sam had cut
the bottom for me so they didn’t drag around the floor.

I would keep
the sweatshirt until it fell apart. I smiled. I’ll probably keep it even after
that.

I clapped my
hands together.
Okay! Got that done!