Sharon gets up hastily when Andy doesn't wake up. No use waking him before he's ready, she tells herself. They've had a diffcult few days and he must still be exhausted. He deserves his rest. She will brew that coffee and when she comes back, they will enjoy it together and plan their day. Maybe they can go to the beach or spend the afternoon with Nicole's family, ask Rusty to join them, and maybe Gus, too.
The sound of the closing bedroom door jolts her back to reality. Andy won't wake up. They'll never share the simple joys of life again. They'll never again look at each other over a cup of coffee, they won't see their grandchildren grow up.
"Andy, no!"
She falls back against the door and slumps into a heap on the floor, trying hard to breathe through the mounting panic. The man on the other side of that door is dead. It's her secret for now. She can't bear the thought of calling Nicole, or Louie, or a doctor. They will come and take Andy away from her. They will need her support and strength when she doesn't even know how to get up from the floor again.
She looks at the paper still in her hand and it is as though Andy is speaking to her. If she concentrates she can even smell of whiff of his aftershave, the way he smells when he pulls her into his arms after a long day at work.
"It's not fair! You get to tell me how much you love me, but I never got to tell you. I never got to say goodbye." She sounds like a petulant little child. The worst is that she knows it.
She is only raging against her own shortfalls, her own selfishness. If only she had turned around last night when he touched her. She might not have been able to save his life, but at the very least he would have died knowing she loved him. He would have died in her arms, comforted in his last moments rather than being forced to look at the back of the woman who claimed to love him. What a horrible way to go. And to think of the years he spent wooing and waiting only for her to turn away from him in his hour of need.
"Forgive me," she whispers and then repeats her words with more strength until they fill the space of the corridor. "Forgive me, Andy. Forgive me for shutting you out. Forgive me for letting you die alone." Nothing but quietness answers her.
"Andy, can you hear me? I love you."
In the following silence she pulls herself up, swaying until she has regained her balance. Her steps are slow and measured. So this is what it feels like to be widowed. It feels dark and so empty. Yesterday's troubles fade away in comparison with the sorrow in her heart now, the remorse, the knowledge that she'll never be able to make this right. She pulls her robe closed against the chill of the room. She shouldn't be feeling this cold. Andy should be here with her. On a normal day he would be and he would hold her in his warm embrace and make fun of her cold feet.
"I miss you," she states to the empty room. Her eyes land on a small golden box sitting on top of the breakfast bar that wasn't there last night. Has Rusty come back? But judging by the sun outside it's well past midday and she would have heard him. Or would she?
Her heart misses a beat when she sees the handwriting on the envelope next to the box.
Is this really another message from him? The letter already feels like a last goodbye, something for her to remember him by, but more? And why would Andy have left her a letter? Did he know he was dying? For a moment she can't see and can't think as another wave of guilt washes over her. Did he have to resort to leaving her a message because she wouldn't talk to him?
She would recognise that small golden box anywhere, her favourite Belgian truffles, her pick-me-up on hard days. The knowledge that Andy must have driven across town to get them for her is bittersweet – like the chocolates themselves.
She turns the envelope around a few times before she opens it. He drew a little heart on the card inside and that alone is enough to make her sob. Oh Andy! How can he be so very thoughtful when she is so utterly selfish?
Good morning my love,
I know you tend to get up early when you're upset and I know that you're upset about Dwight's death. (Notice how I didn't call him scumbag?)
Here's a little something to help you start your day. Come and find me, sweetheart. You have permission to wake me up, even if it's only 5 am. I wish I could find the right words to help you deal with this. I know this kinda feels like a rough patch for the both of us, too, but we will get through this together. I love you, Sharon, even if you need your distance to figure things out. I promise you I'll never give up on us.
And now eat your fancy chocolate and come kiss me so I can have my taste, too! I can't wait to hold you in my arms again.
Always yours, Andy.
