But with each sentence of Bobby's I read, I bloomed, like a parched plant being fed water. His words filled me with love, giving me back some of those pieces. And for the first time, I felt connected to the life inside of me. Not just an instinct of protection. Not just a source of responsibility. But I felt like a person lived in me. I surged with hope again. With thoughts of the future. With strength. With love.

I reached for the other items in the box. A life insurance policy with me as the beneficiary. His will, leaving me everything in his name, including his inheritance and his truck. A key to a safety deposit box, and a note attached to the key explaining that the box held a couple thousand dollars cash.

I looked up into the blue sky, full of puffy clouds. “I'll take care of her, Bobby,” I whispered. “I'm gonna make you proud.”

A gust of wind lifted the stack of letters, and I grabbed at them, laughing through a heavy heart. Maybe it was just a gust of wind, but it would have been just like Bobby to want to send me scrambling. He was always such a pain in my butt.

But of course, I was still so, so sad. So I hugged the stack of letters and cried for a while. But I drew courage from the words I had read. How a twenty-year-old man had gone through so much loss and never lost his kindness, was never overcome with bitterness. In fact, he came back and touched lives with his spirit. He saw the world and all the beauty in it. He never got wrapped up in the trivial things. He knew what was important.

When I was ready, and the gusts of wind had stilled for good, I walked back to the house.

Will and Sasha were inside cooking lunch. The slap of the screen door closing caught their attention.

“Hey sweetie,” Will said.

I knew it was obvious I had been crying, but they didn't ask.

“Are you hungry?” Sasha asked.

“No, but I should eat anyway,” I said.

“That's probably a good idea,” she answered.

“Not for me, though.”

“Hmm?” she asked, as she laid the lattice-shaped pie dough on a cherry pie.

I was ready to tell them about the pregnancy. In fact, I think this was news they needed. They had accepted Bobby was gone, and now they could use this news to heal instead of just adding to the injury.

“I didn't want to tell you until you had some time to process Bobby's passing . . . but I wasn't just at the hospital for my head.”

I watched Sasha and Will look at each other quizzically.

“I didn't know. I had no idea. Rory and I tried for years and it never happened.”

“You’re with child?” The words barely escaped Sasha's throat.

“I started bleeding . . .” I paused, stopping myself from recollecting the horror of a few days ago. “And they found out I was expecting. I still am.”

“Is it . . . Bobby's?” Will asked the sensitive question delicately.

“Yes . . . um, the timing makes it so. I stopped being with my husband when he got here. And . . . um . . . Rory wouldn't admit it, but I think he has some issues. I don't think he can,” I sighed, “produce.”

Will let out a soft, lingering gasp. A mixture of relief and disbelief.

“But you were bleeding? What did the doctor say? Should you be on bed rest?”

“I'm supposed to follow up, but I was told I should take it easy. As if that's even possible,” I stated bitterly.

“Whatever you need, Lilly,” Will interjected. “You are not alone.”

It's amazing how some simple words can knock you in the chest like a battering ram. I was surrounded by occupied beds in the hospital. My sister sat vigil by me. The streets were filled with movement. But I was in a desert. I was in an invisible purgatory. Stuck between mourning Bobby's death and celebrating the life we had created together.

You are not alone.

Those words were like a life line being tossed to me. Even if it couldn't pull me out, at least I could hold onto it and know someone was on the other end, supporting me. That knowledge alone was a comfort.

“I think I'll rest for a few minutes,” I said.

“Would you like me to call you when lunch is finished? I'd say it's another thirty to forty minutes.”

“Sure. I'm sure once I smell your cooking my appetite will return.”

Sasha smiled wistfully, but her eyes were full of empathy and sorrow.

I passed through the living room, where Bobby and I had nested in front of the fireplace the night of our corporeal reunion. I walked past the cove of bay windows, where we slow danced to a song that would forever remain etched in my heart. I looked down at the floor. Just weeks ago, our bare feet drifted side to side in unison, making those planks creak in the still of the night.

I turned up the stairs and made my way to the master bedroom. At first I leaned against the door and absorbed the memories of that room. Two weeks. I had two perfect weeks with him. That's more than some people ever got. I knew he was grateful for them, so I tried hard to be. But it wasn't fair. He deserved more than two weeks. He deserved a full lifetime.

A pale, thin curtain caught wind and danced up and down. I could have sworn we had gone through the house and closed all the windows before we left. But if the breeze carried Bobby, I was happy to leave it that way.

Every morning we'd wake up by sunlight. Bobby would wrap his arms around me, and whisper “Morning, Lil,” into my ear. I could hear his smile in his voice. It was always so nice to wake up to a smile. Sometimes I'd roll on top of him, and we'd have at each other. Other times, I wouldn't turn, but I'd take his hand and place it on my hip. He'd softly slide it up, and quietly, gently, he would touch me. And then our bodies would move together in a sensual, slow rhythm. Our raspy breaths and moans would unite as his hands wandered all over me. We would be so close, our bodies in perfect sync, as if we were two halves of a whole. Sometimes, we'd just talk about our plans for the day. And when I talked, he'd always watch me intently. I knew he was paying attention to my words. But it was more than that, it was him taking me—us—in. Bobby sometimes wasn't sure if he was still here or not. And sometimes I think our little sliver of heaven confused him even more.

So I crawled into the bed, thankful we didn't launder the sheets. I grabbed his pillow, and it still had a hint of his scent on it. I closed my eyes so I could pretend this was just another one of those mornings, and fell asleep.

I woke up to gentle stroking on my shoulder.

“If you want me to save you a plate, I can do that too,” Sasha offered soothingly.

“No, it's fine. I want to sit with you.”

I made my way down to the kitchen and was taken aback by the feast. Roasted chicken, green bean casserole, collard greens, macaroni and cheese. A pie rested on the window sill over the sink, filling the kitchen with the sweet aroma of baked cherries and sugary dough. It was then I realized I hadn't had any decent food in days, almost a week. The peanut butter sandwich was my last non-hospital meal, and hospital food and grief make for a terrible combination.

“This is amazing!” For the first time, I felt like I was feeding someone other than myself. And I felt like each bite of this food had love in it. There is definitely a difference when food is made to comfort and nourish and not just for survival.

I sat at the table and we passed around the goods.

“Will, is some of this your doing?” I asked.

“I'll take credit for doing whatever Sasha told me.”

“He's a good assistant,” she added.

We took a few quiet bites. I had forgotten how delicious food could be until I tasted Sasha's cooking.