When I'm Gone: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

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    Then he remembered—the letters. If he had those little blue rectangles filled with her words, her voice, he might be able to breathe again. To survive.
    The tears stopped, receding to whatever corner of his heart they’d been hiding in. He dropped his hands and used the midnight blue shoulder of the robe to dry his face. Annie, sensing the shift in his mood, dragged her hand across his back, giving one last pat before returning it to her lap.
    “Why don’t you go shower and change?” she whispered. “I’ll take care of May and the kitchen.”
    He still couldn’t look at her, sure his face was swollen and ugly from crying. Staring at an off-color dent in the wood floor, he thought about refusing her offer, showing how strong he was by going into the kitchen and doing all the cleaning on his own. But he wasn’t strong. He couldn’t even get through one breakfast without his family falling apart, and if he was going to let someone help, it might as well be Annie.
    “Sure. Thanks,” he muttered. She used her hands to push herself to standing, her footsteps disappearing as she ascended the stairs. Once the door to May’s room opened and shut, he forced himself to stand. A shower would help, new clothes, but all he really wanted to do was to sit down and reread the letters and live for a little longer in a world where Natalie was still alive.

CHAPTER 3
    It had been ten days since Natalie slipped away in her sleep while Luke dozed on the couch beside her, seven days since the funeral, and three more letters since the first two, all robin’s egg blue, with spiral notebook pages neatly folded inside. Luke couldn’t seem to make out a pattern to their arrival. Every time the flash of blue was missing from his mail delivery, Luke was sure he’d never get another letter. Then in a day . . . or maybe two . . . an envelope would show up with the same postmark and no return address. He’d given up trying to figure out Natalie’s plan. Honestly, he’d never completely figured Natalie out in real life; no way was he going to break that code now that she was reduced to nothing but memories and a few random letters.
    At least the next few letters were less dramatic than the first two. Mostly talking about her day, her lingering nausea, the way her hair was falling out slowly enough she couldn’t bring herself to shave it like most patients did.
    Then there was the letter filled with panic when a clump of hair fell out into her cereal one day and she’d ended up with a mouthful of chemo hair instead of shredded wheat. She said it didn’t taste much different, only it got mushy a lot slower. After that, she got a wig.
    Luke remembered that—the hair falling out, the wig buying, but it was different reading it again in her own words. It made it seem like they’d had fun using clippers and a razor to shave her head smooth. Like they’d had a blast trying on different wigs and pretending they were secret agents instead of sad people who knew what was growing inside her was more likely to kill her than to be cured.
    Yesterday’s letter was a little different. It was the first time since the pancake fiasco that Natalie made an actual request in her letter, instead of narration with wishes of kisses and cuddles to the kids at the end.
     
    DAY 6
     
    Luke,
    If I actually decided to give you these letters, then I’ve only been gone for a week or so. I’ve never been through this losing a parent thing, at least not as a child. You know more about that kind of grief than I do. But remember, our kids have something you didn’t—a caring father.
    With that said, here’s the thing I’ve been pondering today: I think it’s time for you to go back to work. Okay. Take a moment to freak out and be annoyed that I’m telling you to get back to work just days after your wife died. Maybe you won’t miss me as much if you remember what a control freak I could be. Take your time. I’ll wait.
    Long enough?
    Listen,