In the Distance There Is Light Read Online Free PDF Page B

numerous times, more than I’d like to admit, that I wished I were religious, so that I could find comfort in my faith, and believe that you are up there somewhere watching me, but sadly, I don’t believe in any of these things. You’re as gone as you’ll ever be. I’m left behind. And, yes—and you won’t like this—I have been feeling mightily sorry for myself. But you know what? I’m allowed. Because I have nothing left. Not even a wedding ring. Yes, you heard that right. I’ve also been wishing we had married. Then at least I’d be your widow, a scandalously young one, but at least something in relation to you. Now, I’m just a woman whose partner died in a road accident so stupid it wasn’t even worth an article in a newspaper.
    Well, fuck you, babe, for dying on me like that. How’s that fair? I’m left sitting here crying, writing this stupid letter to you, which no one will ever read, in your mother’s house. I’ve been staying with Dolores for a week now. It helps in a way to not be totally alone in this place of grief. We’ve managed to establish a certain coziness between us. She’s such a nice woman, your mom.
    Oh fuck, Ian. Fuck this letter. What’s the point, anyway?

    Sophie

Chapter Nine

    “Are you ready for this?” Dolores asks. We’re sitting in her car outside the building where Ian and I used to live.
    I huff out some air. “I’ll never be ready, but I can’t keep postponing it. I’ll need to go back in at some point.” It has been three weeks since Ian died. I’ve been living with Dolores for two of them. This morning, when we woke up together, she asked if I wanted to go home. At first, I thought she was kicking me out of her house, but she was merely inquiring about my state of mind and if it would allow me to go back to the apartment today, to grab some things, to sort through some mail, to stop putting it off.
    We walk up to the second floor, climbing the staircase Ian used to maneuver his bicycle up. I suddenly wonder what happened to his bike. I never thought to ask and no one said anything. Maybe it’s evidence, although Ian’s death has been ruled an accident—as much his own fault as anyone else’s. His death caused so little legal fanfare, it amplified the feeling that it didn’t happen at all. Basically, he took a very unfortunate, nasty fall. A perfectly avoidable occurrence that happened nonetheless. As though someone somewhere pulled a string because his number happened to be up that day.
    “Give me the key, sweetheart,” Dolores says.
    I’ve been trying to slide it into the lock for seconds, but my hands are trembling too much.
    Dolores opens the door and we walk in. I don’t break down as I might have expected, but that initial coldness wraps itself around my heart again. At the sight of our home, the place where we were so happy, I go back to being the woman who was just told that her partner has died. Three weeks don’t make any difference, anyway. They might as well just have told me today. Everything is still the same. His iPad is still lying on the kitchen table. His shoes are by the door. Two of his jackets are hanging on a hook in the kitchen. Ian still lives here, even though he’s no longer alive.
    Dolores puts the mail she collected from the letterbox on the living room table. “You may want to sort through this,” she says.
    I glance at the pile. There’s not that much. Jeremy has been coming by to collect the mail every other day and he stopped by Dolores’ house a couple of days ago with what he had amassed. It’s probably just bills, which will only remind me of how I should get back to work. But no subject can grab me to a degree that I’m willing to become passionate about it for a couple of weeks. Anything that needs investigating will need to be researched and written by someone else. Jackie O. will soon forget all about me, and I don’t care.
    My glance catches the large painting on the living room wall. It was Dolores’