In the Distance There Is Light Read Online Free PDF

least, that’s how I feel about it, and I’m not going to disturb the fragile air between us by asking her how she feels about it.
    Once we’re in bed, me in the pajamas I brought over from Jeremy’s—together with a bottle of Ambien stashed away in my toiletries bag in the bathroom, just in case—and Dolores in her tank top-shorts combo, which baffles me again, I think of how loudly Ian would have laughed at this. Me sharing a bed with his mother. He wouldn’t have questioned it, nor have searched for any deeper meaning to it, but just mocked it endlessly.
    “Some more Grace & Frankie ?” Dolores asks.
    I nod because I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s not a show I enjoy. It doesn’t even matter what we watch, as long as there’s noise to drown out the whimpering voice in my head.
    Dolores doesn’t press Play immediately, but runs her fingers over the space between us in the bed. “This was Ian’s spot when he was little. He loved crawling into bed with us.”
    “Did you let him watch television in here?” I ask.
    “I only got a TV in here after Angela died. To mask the silence, I guess.” She takes a few seconds to swallow something in her throat. “Ian dragged it up the stairs for me, asking me whether I really wanted to go down that road. ‘Once you get a TV in here, Mom,’ he said, ‘it’ll be forever.’ When he said things like that he reminded me of Angela so much. Physically, they didn’t look much alike, but character-wise they were so similar.”
    I have to stop myself from grabbing her hand that’s still stroking the sheet, and then I wonder why I would even bother stopping myself. I put my hand on hers and give it a gentle squeeze.
    Dolores looks at our hands, but doesn’t say anything, just inhales deeply—as though she’s counting her breaths—then exhales. “I’d like to believe I shaped his character a little as well. He was only five when I moved in with Angela.”
    “Of course you did.” I don’t even need to think about this. I never knew Angela, but I’ve known Dolores for as long as I’ve known— knew —Ian. He introduced me to his mother barely two weeks after we met. “I saw so much of you in him, Dolores. He was such an endlessly kind, optimistic, sweet guy.”
    “He was a beautiful boy who turned into a gorgeous man.” Her voice catches in her throat.
    “Inside and out.” I give her hand another squeeze.
    “He could also be annoyingly stubborn and a pestering know-it-all, but let’s not speak ill of the dead.” Dolores’ chuckle transforms into a little yelp. With her free hand, she brushes some tears from her cheeks. “Goodness, I think you’ll have to hold me tonight.” She looks at me.
    “I will,” I say, meaning it from the bottom of my heart.

Chapter Eight

    Ian, Babe,

    It has been two weeks and two days since I received the awful, dreadful news. Since you left me for good. I don’t cry all day, every day anymore, though the first few days, I truly believed I would never be able to stop. Because, do tell me, what the hell am I going to do without you? You were so much more than my boyfriend. You were my rock. My sounding board. The person who allowed me to become my true self.
    Who will I be now? Without you, I’m not even sure I can be this person I worked so hard to become. I miss you every single second and your sudden, cruel absence is so big, so all-encompassing, there’s no room for anything else. There’s only this grief, bottomless and inevitable grief.
    Most mornings, when I wake up, there’s this split second when I’m convinced it didn’t happen. You were not on Paterson Street when that truck started reversing. You didn’t lose your balance. You were wearing a helmet. I mean, it’s so unlike you to lose your balance like that. I just can’t imagine it. You must have been daydreaming, must not have had your eyes on the road like a hawk, scanning for danger. What were you dreaming of?
    And fuck, Ian, there have been