Her Fresh Start Family

“Don’t listen to them.” Jen held up a hand. “They’re just nosy. Don’t tell them a thing.”

Nina stifled a smile. She’d been worried, but they all seemed relaxed and made her feel at ease. Even comfortable.

“So, tell us about you.” Evelyn clasped her hands together and smiled. “All we know is that you’re a widow like us. Kitty wouldn’t tell us any more than that.”

The warmth faded and turned to icy alarm. They knew. She hadn’t planned on sharing that information so soon. Not until she’d grown more comfortable with the women.

Trudy nodded. “We were glad to hear that. You’ll be able to share things we haven’t experienced yet.”

No, she couldn’t. How could she when she’d never gone down that road? She didn’t understand anything about being a widow. She’d spent the last three years deliberately not understanding it.

“How long has it been?”

All five women had their eyes on her, waiting for her answer. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Three years.”

Jen sighed softly. “How did it happen?”

Please don’t make me say the words. “He was killed in Afghanistan.”

“I’m so sorry. My husband was a soldier, too. I understand.”

Nina expected to feel the searing pain of loss again, but Charlotte’s soft tone of understanding scrubbed off the sharp edges she usually encountered. The realization left an uneasy sensation in her chest. “Well, as much as I’d like to spend time getting to know each other, I think it best if we start our session. We only have an hour.”

“Well, then I’ll go first.” Evelyn took a deep breath and smiled. “This is my last meeting. I won’t be back.”

Mumbles of disbelief traveled around the room.

“Remember that job offer I had in Louisville? Well, I took it. I’m leaving Friday.”

The women quickly surrounded their friend and hugged her, expressing their joy.

Evelyn sat back down. “I was so dependent on my husband that, when he died, I was lost. I never believed I could do anything without him. It took me seven years, but here I am, ready to move away from the only home I’ve ever known and start a new life in a new city. And I’m excited.”

“I wish I was as brave as you.” Trudy adjusted her glasses. “I could never leave Hastings, let alone Mississippi. I’d be terrified.” She looked at Nina. “Were you scared to leave Chicago and come here?”

Caught off guard, Nina searched for a proper response. She was supposed to facilitate this session, not participate in it, but the women expected an answer. “Not really. Though I didn’t think about it too much. Kathryn called, and I was able to help, so I came.”

Trudy sank back into her chair. “Everyone is braver than me.”

Jen reached over and squeezed her hand. “Nonsense. You just need to build your self-confidence.”

Paula nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with staying in one place your whole life. Remember, Kitty said, we each have a growing trail to walk, and it’s different for each of us. It just takes some of us longer to deal with the grief.”

“Or not deal.” Charlotte spoke up. “I wish I’d faced it sooner. It’s been ten years, and I’m only now starting to move forward. What does that say about me?”

Nina listened to the various conversations and the admissions as the women shared their varied journeys down “the widow’s walk to wholeness,” as Kathryn called it. Before she knew it, the session was over, and she realized her anxiety had been for nothing.

As she lay in bed that night, their comments burrowed into her mind. She’d seen herself in each of the women. Denying the reality, afraid to move forward, feeling lost and inadequate. She’d always believed she was alone in those feelings. Despite knowing the stages of grief and recovery, they never seemed to apply to her, only her patients.

The women were as warm and friendly as Kathryn had said. The session had gone better than she’d anticipated. It had practically run itself. All she had to do was observe and record, and offer an encouraging word.

Next week she’d be far less anxious about the group. They might even give her more to think about. But she’d have to be more careful about sharing her own story. She wasn’t ready for that and probably never would be.

* * *

He was running, but his feet weighed a ton, making forward progress difficult. He saw the soldier fall. He shouted, but he was too late. Two soldiers, hands clasped in the dust and debris of the explosion. He’d failed in his mission. He’d vowed to protect the man with his life, but he’d allowed his chaplain to be killed.

Bret sat up in the bed, sweat running down his neck and beading up on his forehead. It had been a long time since he’d had the dream. Months. Why had it resurfaced now?

Sleep now was pointless. He got out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of tea. The house was stuffy, so he opted for the cool darkness of the back porch. A few moments later, the back door opened and his father joined him. Bret willed him to leave, but he knew he wouldn’t and that talking about the dream usually helped—some.

“Same old dream or something new?”

“Same.”

“How long you plan on nursing this load of guilt?”

“Dad, don’t.”

“It was an accident. Not your fault. His choice. Not yours.”

“My responsibility. My failure. Only two military chaplains killed in battle in the last fifty years, and one of them was mine.”

“The army doesn’t blame you, and the good Lord has forgiven you, so you must like carrying that weight on your back, or you’d let it go.” Dad stood. “Same way you keep blaming yourself for Sylvia walking out. Her fault. Not yours.”

Bret set his jaw. His father had no idea the depth of his guilt where his marriage was concerned. He should have seen how unhappy Sylvia was. He should have known that he wasn’t pulling his weight.

“Find someone to talk to, son, before this thing eats you alive.”

Nina Johnson’s face came to mind. Bret had a feeling she would understand. He had no idea what her issue was, but the chain-mail coat she wore around her heart was familiar. If it weren’t for his girls, he’d be wearing one as thick and impenetrable as hers. He doubted being so withdrawn was good for a psychologist. She should understand things better than most. Unless she’d been hurt deeper than most. Maybe therapists, like medical doctors, made the worst patients. Too close to the trees to see the forest they were lost in.

He hated the thought of the lovely Nina lost and alone. It was a hard way to live. And for some reason, it was important to him for her to be happy.

* * *

It was Friday. Nina ran a hand through her hair and let her gaze travel around Kitty’s office. Maybe she should have stayed home today. There were no patients scheduled. Dottie wouldn’t be here. Nina could have stayed at the hotel, buried her head beneath the pillow and waited for tomorrow to come. But she’d learned from painful experience that trying to ignore this day only made it longer. It was best to keep busy. She still had dozens of case histories to read over, and after the widows’ meeting, she wanted to learn more about each of her ladies.

They were all so strong and confident. She envied their ability to walk through their grief and come out in the later years feeling whole and filled with hope and a sense of purpose. Things she would never experience. But they had fired her curiosity, and some of the things they’d said had forced her to think about her own situation. Which was why she wanted to be better prepared next week. She had to be able to control the discussion and steer it away from herself.

An email popped up on her cell screen, illuminating the time and date. Tears pierced the backs of her eyes. She forced them away. She had to get through today in one piece, and the only way to do that was to work. Hard.

Bret had tried to question her about her withdrawn mood on the way to work, but she’d brushed it off as fatigue from the stressful first week on the job. Thankfully, he remained silent during the rest of the ride. Once there, she’d hurried to the office and pulled an emotional blanket around herself.

Five years ago, this day, she’d lost the most precious thing in her life. Her daughter, Molly. Surviving this day was the hardest thing she faced each year.

The stack of patient files kept her busy through to midafternoon. A box lunch from the hotel had helped her avoid going out to eat. Bret must have had a busy day since he hadn’t popped in to check on her. Either that or her cold-shoulder attitude this morning had scared him off. Strangely enough, she was getting used to him watching out for her. It had been a long time since anyone had cared about how she was doing.

She glanced at the clock. In a couple of hours, she could go home, hide under the covers and watch some mindless pay-per-view movie, and when she woke up tomorrow, she could put it all behind her for another year.