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A/N: This one is stupid, really. But I had part of this idea a long time ago and decided to finish it the other night. I don't know.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.




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I lose Pam in January. The roads are terrible and she's determined to make it to her class, because the school never cancels.

"And neither do I," she says. I tell her she's a nerd.

She picks up the baby and shows her the snow out the window, then places her back in my arms on her way out the door.

I grip her chin, tell her she's cute. Because she has her bag over her shoulder and her portfolio under her arm and a hat and a coat and I love it. And when I kiss her, for some reason I'll never understand, it lasts and lasts and I tell her I love her. Which actually isn't our normal kiss for her on-the-way-out thing on school nights.

She doesn't say much about it, just returns everything the way I give it to her and smiles at me. She touches my cheek, then the baby's, looks at both of us. "Love you," she says in a pretty, happy voice before she leaves.

It's the last time I see her like I know her, because not five minutes later a minivan totals our car and almost takes her with it. I'm at the hospital thirty minutes later, about four minutes after I find out about it. Abby fusses when she has to sit with me in the waiting room for so long.

I didn't bring her anything to play with, nothing to eat, because I'm not thinking right, and she just cries and cries. I hold her, rock her and walk up and down the hallway, and thank my lucky stars she has a mother who wouldn't do something this stupid -- how do you bring nothing with you for a ten month old?

Because my wife is in the middle of the emergency room, and it's all I'm thinking about. The thought hits my gut like a rock, and I lean one palm against the wall as the breath comes out of me. She might not be okay.

When they come to tell me she isn't, that she's not here anymore, I'm standing there holding the baby and I'm taller than the doctor telling me the news. As soon as he starts to say something sympathetically, even though I'm not prepared, I just bite my lip and nod, looking away. My eyes get hot with tears and I nod furiously.

I look over at Abby, who's holding her fists close together and pursing her lips because doesn't want to be here, and she's tired. Her eyes are red from her fit before, but now only the occasional sobbing breath takes over her.

The doctor asks me a question but I just shake my head and look at Abby again. I can't, she looks too much like her mother, and, oh, oh god.

"There's probably, like, something though, right?" I say, nodding, and then shaking my head constantly. "I mean, she's young. And she's in good shape. She's healthy, she just... Did you try everything?"

The doctor reaches out a hand and places it on Abby's back and my face contorts, wrinkles in physical pain and I watch this in shock. Did my wife just die?

When the guy finally, finally leaves I lean back against the wall and hold my baby to my chest and close my eyes against her head. She keeps touching my chin because she wants to look at me, tries to wiggle so I'll put her down so she can roam. She gets impatient with me because I hold her too tightly, my palm all across her back and I hug her because she's all I have.

A woman wails, "Oh no, she had a baby?" in this strangled voice. I learn later that this was the driver of the minivan. I'm glad I never talked to her, honestly.

Oh, god. I see Pam later on, and she looks absolutely perfect, just tired. I get almost angry because I can't see her smile right now, and the baby just lights up at the sight of her. I stare at Abby and then back at Pam. This is the last time they'll see each other, I realize. Because I have to organize -- and I choke here -- a funeral, and I am not bringing her to that. I can't.

I don't know what to let Abby do for sure, do I tell her something? She's not going to understand anyway. I don't know what to do with her. The nurse explains that the injury was to the back of Pam's head and that's why we can't see it when she's lying like this, and I'm happy that Abby can't, I guess. If anything.

Abby's straining and whining, trying to touch her mother. I shudder, I don't know what to do. Abby struggles harder and I'm crying, I don't know what to do. I let the baby down so she can touch Pam's cold limbs, her long, pretty fingers.

The last time we were here, we had just met this kid. And now she has to say goodbye to her mother, and she just has no idea.

My chest starts to heave seeing Abby sitting on the side of the bed, patting her mother's hand playfully while Pam lies absolutely still. I don't know -- is this morbid? Because I can't think of her as anything close to... not alive right now. She's my wife, and this is her daughter, and Pam would want this, right?

I hold my hand against Abby's side because she's sitting on the edge of the bed and it's high enough off of the ground. I hold it there and steady her as I collapse over Pam's knees, putting my other arm around Pam's hip and rubbing my thumb there. My arms around my family, the one someone just took away from me.

"Why?" I wonder aloud, my vision a blur as I notice Abby touch Pam's lips.





The first time Abby walks, like really walks and moves somewhere, I lose it. I scoop her up and she's upset that I messed up all her walking business. I pick her up and carry her into the bedroom and shut the door and cry with her. She cries, and then I feel like shit because I made my baby cry and we sit there together, like a mess.

I tell her I'm so sorry she doesn't have a mom anymore, that her mom was so perfect and she loves her so much, and tears drip off of my nose and onto her face. She's a year old and Pam was so excited about that. Pam wanted to try for another baby right about now. And she was born to be a mother.

Abby eventually cries so hard I let her scoot onto the floor and she picks herself up and walks across the room. She's been taking steps for a while, but now she's walking like she's this little kid instead of a baby, and I can't take it. I don't want to leave that behind, that version of her. Because Pam knew her as a baby, and I remember the day we had her, the day we found out about her. Pam doesn't know this, but she would know how to raise it, and who knows what I'm doing right?

My parents, and Pam's, know I'm a mess and come over -- all of them -- every Sunday to check on me and their grandchild, make me dinner and everything. I let them do it because they care, but they slide their eyes around the room and tear up when they see Pam's pictures still everywhere. I'm not going to get rid of them. She's my wife, I love her, and even if she's dead she's going to be in my house.

It's only been two months, but they all get less emotional each time they're here. One time, they even laugh about the time that Pam forgot some kind of ingredient in something that made some kind of food turn out totally wrong. They all love her, and Pam would have laughed too, but I get irrationally angry when they say it. I'm trying to be nice, really I am, but I ask them to watch the baby while I go lie down. They're quick to apologize, but what the hell?

A lot about me is irrational. Sometimes, even though I feel so stupid to admit this, I half expect the doctors to call and say, "You know, we're so sorry, we made a mistake -- she's right here, perfectly fine, do you want to come pick her up?" Or the police to call and say, "What happened is that it was a different car that that minivan hit -- she actually got lost ended up in Vermont and just now found a phone. Do you want us to bring her home?"

And all I can do in those moments, as mindless as they are, is think, God, if you bring her back, I will do anything you or Pam or this baby or anybody ever wants me to do. And I mean it. I know I do. I'd quit this stupid job, or I'd work sixteen hour days. I don't care. I would do it. I just need her back.

Another irrational side about me... Sometimes I get angry with her. Which she can't even understand, because she isn't here. She left me alone with this daughter to raise. Daughters need their mothers. She shouldn't have done this. She shouldn't have gone out in that weather just to get to that class. I don't know why she did that to us, to this family. To her daughter..

With my face against the pillow, tears matting my hair against my forehead and my ear, I sob. Just quietly, I don't want my parents to worry. I hear Abby make a loud giggle and all four of them cheer for her -- she must have done something great.

I just need her here.

"Why did you do this?" I whisper into the pillow, curling my fist underneath me.




One day, months and months later, I'm making Abby laugh as I push her around in the shopping cart. I'm learning not to be such a pushover anymore with this girl. She points to some kind of toy, a car with lots of shiny parts and plastic guns or something, with these big eyes and killer smile. The kid is half cheese.

As we keep going past the rack the toy sits on, she twists her entire body dramatically like she just won't make it without that toy. She holds her hand out and reaches for it and pouts, and wow, she looks just like Pam. More all the time really, but right then her pout is all her mom.

I slowly bring the cart to a stop and look at her as she faces away from me and points at what she wants. I miss Pam everyday, and it never goes away. Not even a little bit. But thank god for this little girl. Thank god, I have a piece of her. Her hair is going to be like her mom's, and Pam would've hated that maybe, but I think it's perfect. Maybe so much of Pam went away and she sent it back to me in this little girl.

I realize my heart is pounding at this revelation so I draw in a shaky breath -- you know, like a man -- and reach for the toy she wants. I don't care. Recommended ages eight and older. Well, I'll just watch her with it, I guess.

She lights up and smiles at me with all these teeth she has now, and she looks even more like Pam. I hold the sides of her face and bring her close to me and rest my forehead against hers. Normally, I know, she would try and pull away -- because she has this new toy in her hand and everything -- but instead she looks up at me and smiles so big... When I tell her I love her, she kisses my nose.

We're in the checkout line when my body freezes for the second time that day. The woman ahead of me is... okay, she looks a lot like Pam. Her hair is darker, but wavy and hangs on her shoulders just like Pam's used to. Her skin looks obnoxiously white in the lights of the grocery store, and her smile even looks like hers a little. I mean, it's one of those really uncanny things, that someone could look so much like someone else that's not even related to them.

She must catch me staring at her, because the resemblance is crazy, seriously, and she smiles at me. Okay, the smile isn't so much like Pam's, but if someone had just met Pam, they could easily mistake this girl for her. I mean, it's so bad I'm kind of glad Abby's facing me and she's busy with her toy, in case she might see this lady and remember something.

"She's so cute," the woman suddenly says, in a voice that's a lot higher than Pam's.

"Oh," I say surprised, looking down at Abby, who's pretty intent on this fifteen dollar boy's toy I'm about to buy her. "Thank you."

The woman leans over to talk to her, which worries me because Abby and I are all we have and I don't always like... I don't know, people hanging around her. But Abby smiles up at her, seemingly to only show this stranger all of her teeth.

Abby offers her the toy, which is weird because wasn't she about to freak out over this a while ago? I take advantage of it while it happens, asking the woman to take it from her so the checker can scan it quickly. Then all of us, the cashier, this new woman, me and my baby, smile and laugh a little. We hand the toy back to her and Abby's in her own world again.

I stare at her for a long time, Abby I mean, and then just decide to try something.

"Do you..." This doesn't feel totally right, but I go with it because I'm already halfway there. "Do you want to have coffee?"

She looks a little surprised, glancing over at the baby and then at me. Then briefly to my hand, where I don't wear my ring anymore. Long story -- my mom and I got in a fight one night and made me take it off, said something about how it was only holding me back and everything. Later we came to the conclusion, both of us, that that was really out of line, but I left it off, and it was an okay night after the fact.

But. Anyway. She crinkles her nose in this funny way and says, "Sure."

We meet about five minutes away from the grocery store and I talk with this girl and it's... Awful. She's really kind of stupid. She talks about dumb things. Well. She talks about perfectly fine things, but it's like a conversation on steroids -- I'm pretty sure she's talking about global warming and politics and the economy because she doesn't know what else to talk about with me. Because her conversations aren't making any sense; basically, I know enough about these things to know she has no idea what she's talking about.

She starts to look less and less like Pam, because her mannerisms are of course nothing like hers. That would be too much of a coincidence. She flips her hair back and blinks a lot when she speaks. She claps out of nowhere, and I almost look around and think -- did something just happen? Should I be applauding?

I laugh out loud to myself later when I'm getting ready for bed and Abby's all tucked in, because I'm pulling light bulbs out of the bag from earlier when I find that she stashed her number in there. I shake my head and twist out the old bulb from the bedside lamp and replace it. The light engulfs the framed picture under it.

I lower myself to the bed and stare at it. Pam, me, and Abby when she was about two hours hold. I realize it's incredibly corny, and I've done it a number of times so far, but I press one finger into the edge of the frame and drag it to Pam's face. I mean to just touch her chin, because I love this picture of her. She looks so happy and so do I -- happiest day of our lives, naturally. My finger's too big and covers a lot of the picture. I smile and remember this day, and I remember her.

After a few minutes, my eyes feel like they could be damp, but they aren't tonight. I rub my nose and walk over to turn out the light, head back to the bed, and curl up in the middle with two pillows stacked underneath my head. Hers on top.

I think of Jenny -- that was her name, this woman from today. I'm not going to call her or anything, no. And I'm not ready to call anyone, maybe. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm not. Because I can't even come up with a fictional replacement that would be suitable for her.

But, god, she really did look...

For the first time in a very long time, I consider ... "Heaven." I guess. Or something very much like it. Just the possibility that she's still here, still somewhere. In my daughter, in my life, in that picture frame. Maybe even still has a sense of humor, with this Jenny girl and everything.

I quirk a smile against the pillow. "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"

She's not changing. She's not totally gone.


yanana is the author of 39 other stories.
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