After the Rain

by Renee Carlino

After cleaning the cabin, I put on a thick jacket, baseball cap, and sunglasses and headed for the door. “I’m going to get milk and bread and cheese for sandwiches. Is there anything else you want?” He didn’t answer me, which wasn’t unusual. At the bottom of the ramp, I looked up to the window and saw that he was watching me. I love you, I mouthed to him. I love you, he mouthed back. I let a smile touch my lips before turning toward my truck. When I reached for the handle, I heard the explosive, ringing sound of a gunshot. I whipped back toward our cabin and saw, through the window, Jake slumped over in his chair. It was a cold January morning when my husband, Jake McCrea, put a pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger, taking his own life just seconds after he had told me he loved me. I couldn’t fix him. There were no healing powers in my hands. He hadn’t physically taken me with him, as he had threatened to, but he took what was left of my heart, ending any semblance of life inside of me. At nineteen, I became cold and hard and looked forward to the end of my bleak existence.