Chapter 5
Shane had been using that silver tongue of his to sweet-talk me for over forty years. No matter how mad I got, I couldn't stay angry at him.
And now that I was dead, he wouldn't even let me hold a grudge for a little while.
He said, "Elodie, you didn't even come out for dinner today. Are you mad at me? Don't worry, Alyssa won't be coming over anymore.
"And if Jocelyn or Wayne ever makes you upset again, I won't let them come back either.
"Hey, sweetheart. I've already taken out all the bones from the fish. Let me feed you, okay?"
With tears streaming down my face, I nodded as hard as I could.
But Shane couldn't see me, and I couldn't hug him.
"Shane, I'm not mad at you anymore. Come on, big guy, why are you crying?" I murmured.
Shane was still waiting outside the door, hoping for a response.
But there was nothing.
He said, "Elodie? It's me. Shane, your husband. Can you answer me? Say something, will you?"
Shane got up from the floor, carefully holding the plate as he knocked on the door.
I gently wrapped my arms around his stooped back, resting my head on his broad shoulders, and softly told him, "Shane, you can rest easy now.
"You don't have to worry about me anymore. Go chase your own happiness.
"Our kids have grown up. It's time for them to live their own lives. They can't always be looking after me.
"Shane, after all these years together, I've really felt blessed to be your wife."
Shane's expression suddenly shifted.
He turned pale as a sheet.
He flung the door open.
He said, "Elodie, you—"
He was rooted to the spot.
Shane stood in the doorway, holding the plate of fish he had carefully deboned, completely stunned.
The plate crashed to the floor.
He stood there, fixing his gaze on the bed.
He kept staring for what felt like forever.
He stood there so long, I almost thought he had become a statue.
Then I saw his lips start to tremble.
He called out softly, "E-Elodie?"
His voice was so rough I could barely hear him.
I didn't answer.
Of course I couldn't answer. I was dead.
He called out again, this time with a bit more urgency. "Elodie?"
Still, there was no response.
Shane slowly, step by step, inched his way over to the bed.
His legs moved as if they couldn't bend anymore, stiff like a mannequin.
When he finally reached the bed, he stretched out his hand, as if wanting to gently touch my face.
But his hand hovered in the air, frozen.
And then he saw the foam at the corner of my mouth, the tear stains at my eyes, and the empty pill bottle knocked over by the bed.
He let out a scream.
The next second, he threw himself onto the bed, wrapping his arms around my cold, lifeless body.
"Elodie? Wake up! Look at me. It's me, Shane. Your Shane!" he shouted.
He shook my shoulders desperately, but my head slumped lifelessly to the side.
He yelled, "Don't do this to me, Elodie. I was wrong, okay? I shouldn't have been so harsh with you. I shouldn't have said those awful things. Just open your eyes and look at me, just once!"
He tried to wipe the foam from the corner of my mouth, but it just wouldn't stop. No matter how much he wiped, it only got worse.
Then he clutched my neck, as if somehow he could keep my life from slipping away, even though I was already cold.
"The pills. You took them all? Why did you do something so stupid, Elodie? Those were sleeping pills. They were supposed to help you, not hurt you," he shouted.
Suddenly, he lost it. He started tearing through the pillows, yanked off the covers, and dropped to his knees, searching desperately.
He shouted, "Spit them out, please. We need to get you to the hospital; they'll get your stomach pumped. It's going to be okay, Elodie. Stay with me. I'm calling 911 right now."
Shane stumbled toward the landline, his hands shaking so badly he could barely press the right buttons.
It took him three tries before he finally got through.
He stammered, "Hello? Is this 911? Help. My wife overdosed. She took a whole bunch of sleeping pills. The address is... is..."
He choked up, unable to finish his sentence.
He turned his head slowly and stared at me on the bed, who would never stir again.
The operator on the other end kept asking, "Sir? What's your address? Sir?"
Shane's hand fell slack, and the phone clattered to the floor.
He walked back to the bed, this time his steps heavy and slow.
He sat down, gently cradled me in his arms, just like he used to.
My head rested on his shoulder, my eyes half-open, gazing up at the ceiling.
He murmured, "Elodie."
Shane pressed his face against my cold forehead, his tears falling in big drops, landing hard on my face.
He said, "How could you really leave me like this?
"I was just angry; I never meant any of it. I never wanted you to die.
"Forty-two years. We've been together for forty-two years."
He was sobbing so hard he could barely catch his breath, snot and tears streaming down his face.
This man, who always cared so much about his pride, was now a complete wreck, looking like a lost little boy.