My Reading Problem: Excerpt: A Widow Redefined by Kim Cano

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Saturday night, after our monotonous weekly routine of chores and grocery shopping, we all sat down to play a board game. We chose Monopoly Junior, a simplified version of the regular game. Within an hour my son had kicked our butts. Mom ran out of money, which is technically when the game is supposed to end, but we fight until the last man is standing. Since I only had a few dollars left, I threw in the towel.

“It’s getting late,” I said. “We should go to bed.”

Tyler frowned. He didn’t want to sleep, but was up past his bedtime and he knew it.

“What a wonderful idea,” Mom agreed. “Let’s put an end to this embarrassing defeat.”

Once validation came, Tyler stood up and stretched, a proud smirk crossing his face. I wondered if maybe it was time to upgrade to the adult version of Monopoly, to give us half a chance at winning.

“Better luck next time,” he joked.

I was surprised I fell right asleep Saturday night. Sunday morning was when the dread set in. I took a shower, dried off and brushed my teeth. While staring at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed something: I looked different. But I didn’t know how.

As I blow-dried my hair I began drifting off, thinking of Justin. I still missed him so much. It hadn’t gotten easier with time. But it was something I lived with, something I understood. The flowers, though, they were something new. Their appearance unsettled me. In spite of my fears, I had to find out. I had to know who left them. And why.

I went into my room and stuffed my swimsuit and towel into my gym bag. I was probably overreacting. The flowers could have simply been left by the wrong grave. I decided I was being dramatic and silly over all of this. I’d just go to the health club, workout and come back home.

After eating a small breakfast, I said goodbye to Mom and Tyler.

“Enjoy yourself. Work those muscles,” she said to me.

I gave Tyler a quick kiss goodbye, then found myself driving toward the cemetery anyway. No matter how much I tried to pretend it was nothing, I couldn’t deny my curiosity… and concern.

On my way there my sense of awareness was heightened. I noticed details I hadn’t paid attention to before: a for sale sign adorning a neighbor’s yard; a new Korean restaurant on the street corner. This wasn’t a typical day, grocery shopping in a half hour or less or droning through punching a stack of documents, working on auto-pilot. This was a genuine mystery that needed solving.

And I didn’t look forward to it.

When I pulled into the parking lot and got out, I realized I hadn’t worn boots. I wore gym shoes. Cursing myself, I stepped into the dirty slush and looked around. Apart from a grieving family gathered on the far side of the cemetery, I was alone.

I began walking around, reading the headstones. There was an equal number of older men and women who had lived a long life. Mixed in were a few middle-aged folks and sadly, some children. And then, of course, there was me, the idiot hanging around with them on my day off. I shook my head, realizing how foolish I was. Then I walked over to Justin’s grave.

As I got closer, I couldn’t believe my eyes. A fresh bouquet of yellow daffodils lay in front of my husband’s headstone. I began shaking. From the cold, but also from fear. Anger rose in me. “What’s going on here?”

I expected some kind of answer from Justin, in the form of telepathic communication, perhaps, but there was nothing. The only sound was sniffles from my runny nose. I wiped it and inhaled an icy breath. Then I quickly glanced around.

Whoever brought these flowers was gone. But they had shown me one thing; it wasn’t a mistake. Someone was putting flowers on my husband’s grave. And if I came often enough, accompanied by my good friend—Irish luck, I would find them.