ELEVEN NADIA

E LEVEN

N ADIA

It had been a week and one day since Nadia had last heard Rafe's voice. Since he'd last told her he loved her, kissed her, held her in his arms. She'd gone through a barrage of emotions. Sadness, loneliness, longing, and anger. This one, along with complete and utter heartbreak, was at the forefront of her feelings. Not a second had gone by when she hadn't thought of her husband. Alive and vivacious to cold and dead. Every time she pictured the love of her life, she saw him as she last had, in a bed with wires and machines keeping him alive. All she saw was the double doors that had swallowed him as she stood there, watching as the doctors wheeled him away to harvest his organs.

Now, she and her family were being asked to attend a memorial and to meet with the driver, who wanted to express her sincere remorse for the accident. Not accepting fault for not keeping her car properly maintained. Deep in her mind, she knew it had been an accident. It was, however, avoidable, and she couldn't help but think the person should be held accountable. Nadia hadn't even buried her husband yet, and the city wanted to unite and show the citizens how the people of Boston were strong and would recover. How Rafe's legacy would unite a community. How the organizers would learn from the tragedy and move on.

Nadia would not recover. There was nothing for her to rebuild. Her husband was gone. The life they'd planned out for themselves, blown to bits. Shattered.

She didn't want to be there, but her parents had insisted. This tribute was supposed to be cathartic. It would help her begin her healing process. She thought it was a waste of time. The last thing she wanted to do was see where her husband had died. Yet there they were, sitting in black folding chairs, under a tent, listening to the mayor talk about the city Rafe had loved so much. Aside from family, she didn't know anyone sitting behind her. Maybe they were the other people, the ones who had been hurt when the car broke through the crowd.

Lynnea whined and tugged on Nadia's arm. She picked her youngest up and held her. In a week, Lynnea had gone from a sassy spitfire who tested her mother's every nerve to a child who didn't want to speak to anyone, who whined more than she had as a toddler, who was a shell of herself. And then there was Gemma—their formerly loving, vivacious daughter who'd wanted to dance and sing and always had a smile on her face but now spit venom, hit her sister, and insisted on slamming her door repeatedly while screaming at the top of her lungs.

As a family, they needed counseling. Nadia knew this. They would not survive without it. Her family had told her the girls were mourning in their own way, which Nadia understood to an extent, but they needed help coming to terms with what had happened to them. All she had to do was pick up the phone. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Maybe next week or next month.

The women in her family had planned Rafe's funeral. Nadia had expected resistance from Cleo when she told her mother-in-law she intended to have Rafe cremated, but Cleo said it was the right thing to do. The wake, however, would be open casket. Nadia wanted to give Rafe's friends, coworkers, and extended family a chance to say goodbye, despite the pain she felt.

Nadia arrived an hour early to the funeral home, alone. Her father drove her, walked her in, and then left her there. It was where she wanted to be, with her husband, one last time. Just them. She sat in a chair and stared at the dark wooden casket. The company that made it had donated it to Nadia for Rafe. This was one of the many things gifted to them since Rafe's death. Aside from food and flowers, they'd received gifts of memberships to gymnastics, dance, and theater classes for the girls, clothes for the three of them, a year's supply of this or that. The list grew daily. She was grateful but wanted to know what would happen at the end of the year, when the free memberships ran out—who would pay for those gifts then? Her dual-income home now had a single income, and she wasn't even sure she could afford to live on her income alone in the home she and her husband had purchased to raise their family in.

She sighed, wiped away her tears, and rose. Each painful step led her to her husband. She'd dressed him in his favorite black suit, the one he wore for special occasions, and the tie the girls had bought him the previous Christmas. As soon as he'd opened it, he'd proudly said it was his favorite and wore it to work twice a week. Her sister had brought Rafe's cologne to the funeral home the day prior, and as Nadia leaned closer, she inhaled. He smelled like the man she was in love with, and not death. Rafe wore his wedding ring, but tomorrow, it would be given to her in a pouch, along with his watch. She would keep these things and pass them on to their children or grandchildren.

Her fingers ran along the smooth, polished wood, and then the satin lining. The casket was beautiful, if one could be beautiful. Quantifying death and beauty wasn't something Nadia could do very well.

She knelt and rested her chin on her hands. Despite death, Rafe was still handsome. She ran her fingers through his hair, not caring about the gel and hair spray the mortician had used to keep it in place. It was never coiffed perfectly, and it didn't make sense for it to be now. Besides, no one would remember that Rafe Karlsson had had messy hair in his casket. She would, however, remember what her husband looked like before the funeral director closed the casket.

"Would you look at you," she said, trying to find some humor in the moment. "I've never seen you look so still in all the years I've known you. I hope you're doing anything but being still wherever you are, my love. Just please, no more running." She didn't wipe her tears this time. She needed to cry, needed to feel the tightness in her throat, in her chest. She needed the pain to remind her she was still alive and had two tiny humans depending on her.

"God, I miss you so fucking much." She choked on a sob. "I don't understand why you were taken from me. From us. What did we do to deserve this?"

There would never be a satisfactory answer.

Nothing would ever make sense to her.

"I want to wake up from this nightmare and find you lying next to me in bed, loving me. I want to look into your eyes and see that you love me, to hear your voice again telling me everything's going to be okay, and to feel your arms wrapped around me while we sway to the music in our heads. Those are the things I want right now. Tomorrow they'll be the same, except I won't get to say them to you because your body will be gone." Nadia slumped against the casket. "This is the last time I get to see your handsome face, get to touch your strong hands, get to run my fingers through your hair. They're going to take you from me again, and there isn't anything I can do to stop them.

"I love you, Rafe," she said to him. "And I'm failing without you by my side. I don't know how to be me without you. I don't know how to be a single parent and raise our girls the way we discussed raising them. They're hurting, baby. Our strong babies are in so much pain. We all are. We just want you back."

"Mrs. Karlsson." Mr. Mahar, the funeral director, cleared his throat and waited. When she didn't answer him, he continued. "The rest of the family are here."

Nadia nodded and waited for him to leave. She trailed her fingers down Rafe's face and then did what she never thought she'd do—she leaned forward and kissed him. "I love you," she told him again before she stepped away.

She found Mr. Mahar in the hallway, waiting for her. "You can let them in. I need to freshen up." She made her way to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. The woman who looked back wasn't the Nadia she knew. No, that woman was long gone and was unlikely to return.

With a steady breath, she returned to the parlor, where her family members were saying goodbye to Rafe. She sought out her girls and went to them, taking each one by the hand. They would go last, before the public came in.

"Mommy, there are a lot of people outside for Daddy," Gemma told her. Nadia leaned forward to look out the window and saw a line of people.

"Daddy will appreciate that they came to say goodbye."

Gemma nodded, while Lynnea clung to Nadia's side. She tugged on her mother's skirt. "I want to go home."

"I know, sweetie." No one wanted to be there. "All of this is almost over." And then they would have to find a way to heal.

When it was the girls' turn to say goodbye, they climbed the small steps in front of the casket. At first, Lynnea was adamant she didn't want to see him, but Nadia taught her about remorse, and how if she didn't take the opportunity, she might regret it later. After the wake, she wouldn't have another chance, unless she looked at his photos.

Somehow, Nadia held it together while the girls said their goodbyes. They moved to the side, with Nadia at the front of the receiving line, Gemma next to her, and then Lynnea. Reuben stood behind his nieces, ready to whisk them away when they were tired of shaking hands and hugging strangers. Otto and Cleo stood next to Lynnea, followed by Freya, Lars, and their children. The Boltons stood in the back of the room, ready to greet the people they knew.

"Mrs. Karlsson, are you ready?"

Nadia shook her head. "Unfortunately."

Kiran came in first, making eye contact with Nadia before turning toward the casket. When he got to the receiving line, he pulled her into his arms and wept. Nadia gasped. Kiran hadn't done this the other night when they were at the house, when he'd held her. He'd been strong for her, and now she felt as if she needed to be strong for him.

Kiran had lost Rafe too. The hug was bone crushing and necessary. They wept together.

"Thank you for coming," she said into his suit jacket.

"I'm where I need to be, Nadia."

Kiran crouched in front of Gemma and Lynnea. "If you or your mom need anything, you call me. Got it?"

The girls nodded.

"I'm still your uncle, no matter what." He pulled them into his arms and hugged them. Nadia couldn't watch, not without losing it.

She wouldn't cry. Not today, and not in front of people she didn't know.

Today, she'd be the strong wife of Rafe Karlsson.

Nadia watched Kiran make his way through the line and then mingle with her parents. He caught her staring and smiled. Somehow, amid the heartache, she found the strength to smile back.

Her best friend, Hazel Pittman, came with her daughter, Hayden, who was the same age as Lynnea. The girls were close. Besties, according to Lynnea. When Aida McGee, Gemma's best friend, came in, the "oh my Gods" made Nadia's eyes roll. Eight-year-old girls didn't always know how to express themselves very well and often mimicked others, especially those from the television shows they watched.

After coworkers and friends had made it through, Nadia saw nothing but a sea of blue. The police, fire, and ambulance departments had come to honor Rafe. She knew they'd be there tomorrow, leading the procession, but had no idea they would be at the wake. When Luca DeMarco, the officer who'd helped and stayed with her on that fateful day, stepped in front of Nadia, he said the standard "I'm sorry for your loss." She surprised not only him but herself when she hugged him. She would be forever grateful to him for being there for her when she needed someone.

"Thank you."

Strangers came to pay their respects to a man they didn't know but had felt something for. Each person shook her hand and told her how sorry they were. A few said they had run with Rafe during previous races or rowed with him on the Charles.

After the last person had left, Nadia once again sat in the room with Rafe. This time, candles burned around her, the sky had darkened, and she was physically exhausted. She knelt on the steps and rested her chin on her hands. Rafe would've hated the attention he'd received today and would've said something about how he didn't deserve it. But he had. He was loved by many, and that was evident in the volume of people who'd come to pay their respects.

For the last time until she saw him again, she ran her fingers through his hair. In her mind, it would be forever messy. She leaned forward and kissed him. "I love you."

A throat clearing had her looking over her shoulder. The funeral director stood there, poised with his hands clasped in front of him.

"Would you like his ring and watch now?" he asked her.

Nadia nodded. She reached for Rafe's hand and slipped his wedding ring off, unable to recall a time he had ever not worn it since the day she'd set it on his finger. Next, she unclasped his watch and slipped it over her wrist. They would've given them to her tomorrow, but now was better.

"I'll see you in the morning," the director told her. "The limo will pick you up and bring you here, and we'll start the procession from here."

"Thank you."

Tomorrow, the family limo would follow a police detail as they made their way through the city to the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, where her husband would be honored.

Six pallbearers would carry an empty casket to the front of the church, where Rafe's family and friends would stand in front of pews filled with people, some he'd known and some there in honor of him and in support of his wife and children. Speeches would be read, telling everyone who wanted to listen about the man who'd been taken from them.

When the service concluded, Nadia would walk down the aisle, with a daughter on each side, while her husband's empty casket left the church.

And then, she'd start over.

If she could figure out how.