There is one thing that is always in Henry’s back pocket—the shopping list written by his wife the day she died.
There isn’t much about the day he remembers. He had come upon the accident unexpectedly on his way home from work. He recognized the car immediately. Sarah had already been taken to the hospital. There are tiny scars on his knees from when he dropped down to the pavement, covered in glass. The officers called to the scene had taken her purse, but various items were still strewn about the wreckage. The list lay about a foot in front of him, her careful script blurred by the tears welling up in his eyes…
He’s careful to take the list out of his pocket before tossing his pants in the wash. He smoothes it out on his dresser face up, the b’s as pregnant as her belly, the slants of some letters resembling the curve of her back.
Fusilli pasta, shallots, garlic, shrimp, oranges, arugula… for the recipe she’d seen on Giada at Home and had been talking about making all week.
Tiger lilies… for the banana bark vase he’d brought back from Bolivia for her last summer. She had a thing for fresh flowers, wanted them in every room in the house. Dried petals circle the vases that still hold brittle stems. Sometimes Henry will stop in a room and finger the petals in his hand, always surprised that they crumble. He expects, or maybe is just hoping, to find a soft, smooth, delicate spot that indicates they were in fact alive once and very beautiful.
Batteries… for the flashlight by the bed. She often stayed up several hours past his ten o’clock bed time reading, but knew the light from the table lamp made it difficult for him to sleep. One night he awoke to find the light from the flashlight dancing across the ceiling and along the wall. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Light show,” was all she said, as if such a simple explanation made perfect sense.
Mint chocolate chip ice cream… his favorite.
Matches… for the candles she’d stuck in the antique holders that stood on each side of the banana bark vase in the middle of the kitchen table.
Milk, bread, cheese, yogurt, avocado, almonds, peanut butter, creamer, coffee, hummus, crackers, baby carrots, pickles, cereal… staple items that always made the list.
It was a Wednesday. An ordinary Wednesday. Nothing special about it. It wasn’t an anniversary or a birthday. He hadn’t received a promotion at work. But the ingredients for the meal, the flowers, the ice cream, the candles—all seemed to suggest a special occasion. That Sarah was putting together a special evening because she had some kind of news, something she wanted to share with him.
It wasn’t until he’d gotten to the hospital that he found out what this news was.
Twins.
A boy and a girl.
They'd survived the accident.
He sat down at the kitchen table and started his own list.
Formula, diapers, wipes.
Milk, bread, cheese, yogurt, avocado.
Almonds, peanut butter, creamer, coffee.
Hummus, crackers, baby carrots, pickles, cereal.
Tiger lilies.
Rocky Road.
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