The Widow's Guide to Dead Bastards by Jessica Waite

Author:Jessica Waite [Waite, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2024-07-30T00:00:00+00:00

SOUL MATES ARE BULLSHIT

There are drugs in my house, somewhere, and per my marching orders in the night, I’m hunting them down. I’ve unloaded the freezer, checked inside every container, even opened a nostalgic TV dinner. Stalactites of frost hung from the thin plastic film, over rectangles of mashed potatoes, pale sliced turkey, a frozen gravy blob. No weed.

I text a couple of Sean’s buddies. One claims to have no idea. The other says check his hockey bag.

Fluorescent lights flicker above me in the cold garage. When I unzip Sean’s black duffel, a sulfurous stink gets me in the face. How does hockey gear maintain this foul odor even when it’s frozen? I lift out shoulder pads, cup, rolls of tape, an old towel. No weed. No closure.

The bag gets stuck as I try to wedge it back under the counter. Shifting things around, I spy a briefcase behind a file box. The leather is stiff and cold in my hands, and beige with dust, except where my fingerprints leave black smudges. Marijuana is illegal, but it’s not fear of the law making my pulse race, it’s this queasy feeling of dread mixed with the potential for vindication. A perverse feeling I’ve become familiar with: not wanting to find the evidence because that makes it all true, and being thrilled to find it because I fucking knew it.

Finding the drugs means Dash will never stumble upon them. But there’s something else I’m searching for: some verdict on whether I was an idiot for devoting twenty years of my life to Sean. My hackles went up when Rebekah came onto the scene; I wondered how many kinds of pussies Sean thought there were. My intuition got me close to the truth, so many times, but where is the thing that will tell me for certain?

The briefcase zipper opens smoothly. In the main pocket is an old black pen and two empty file folders. I slip my hand into a side pouch and feel something smooth and plastic. It crinkles when I slip it out. It’s a Blue Mountain Arts greeting card, still covered in protective cellophane. I wipe my dusty hands on my pants and remove the plastic. The card stock is rough and heavy, like handmade paper, painted with a moonlit scene in purples and blues.

To My Soul Mate

I am so glad that you are a part of

my life. It is a privilege—to know

you, to share myself with you, and to

walk together on the paths that take

us in so many beautiful directions…

I had heard of “soul mates” before, but

I never knew such a person could exist—

until I met you. Somehow, out of all the

twists and turns our lives could have taken,

and out of all the chances we might have

missed, it almost seems like we were given

a meant-to-be moment—to meet, to get to

know one another, and to set the stage for

a special togetherness.

When I am with you, I know that I am

in the presence of someone who makes my

life more complete than I ever dreamed it

could be.

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