The Affair

Chapter 41

Theodora.

She's far away from me, her back turned to me, as I call out to her.

Theodora. Look at me.

As she does she's smiling. Beautiful, I think. So beautiful. My stomach grows warm and I relax. She's alive. She's okay. No cancer. No sickness. Just her and her beauty. There she is. There's my girl. Coming to me. And when she reaches me she hugs me. I relax further as I hold her against me.

I love you.

She says nothing.

Benjamin.

Her mouth isn't moving because the voice doesn't belong to her. What is this? Who is that?

Benjamin.

I jolt awake. The dream dissipates and I'm in darkness. Not completely though, because we had a light installed out here. Someone is standing above me with a flashlight and it only takes me a moment to realize that it's Sophie. I also realize quickly that I'm freezing, despite the fact that there's a blanket covering me.

I didn't have that when I came out here, did I?

She kneels down in front of me.

"You fell asleep out here again. I brought you a blanket. You're going to freeze to death."

I wrap myself in it tightly. My chin is trembling, my hands are numb, and there are dried tears on my cheek. I can taste them on my lips, the salty sharpness, and wipe them away with the blanket. I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm so tired.

"You should come in," she says quietly. "Taylor made dinner."

I sigh and scoff. I don't want anything from her. 

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to be."

"Well, I'm not."

I slowly sit up and sit back against the cold headstone.

"At least come in and see Phoebe. She's been asking for you."

I say nothing and she sighs, then sits down next to me. When she puts her arm over my shoulder I don't fight her, rest my head against her, and close my eyes. They're sore. I'm aching. My insides hurt. I've had a stomach ache that hasn't stopped or even subsided since her funeral.

That was nearly a month ago. And I can't count the times I've come out here and fallen asleep. Crying at her grave, holding one of her shirts close to me, talking to her as if she's alive and well, while also cursing at the fact that she's gone. The nights that I'm too drunk to walk are the ones I don't come out. I pass out before I can even make it to my bed. I wake either on the couch, in my office, or in my bed.

"She doesn't understand what's happening," she says softly. "She's too young... But she also asks for her father just as much as she asks for her mother. It's been "dada, dada, dada." And you're not dead, Ben. She needs you."

I feel my anger rising up inside of me.

"Theodora just... she just fucking died, Sophie. What the fuck am I supposed to do?"