"He's gone." Sheila doesn't think her heart will ever beat the same way it did before she heard those words.
They search everywhere they can. They search until their fingers are numb, their noses are red, their feet hurt against the icy grass. They move together in packs, at first, hoping that if anybody catches him the news will spread faster that way. If they're in groups, they don't have to be alone. If they move in groups, they don't have to deal with anything. They search until it hurts to breathe.
Jeanie breaks off first, her hands wrapped around her stomach, she pads back to the apartment for warmth. Crissy goes next, nose running and tears streaming down her face, she doesn't know how to deal with real loss. One by one they all return home, or wherever they go at night. Until finally there's just two. Sheila and Berger bump into each other in the park, their fingers entwine as they keep searching. There's no such thing as satisfaction, contentment, or peace until Claude is back in their arms.
The apartment stays quiet for the first week. Curtains drawn, smoke always billowing, ashtrays overflowing, refrigerator empty, floor cold, blankets wrapped around bony shoulders, Berger and Sheila stay in the bed the first week. They don't make love, they don't talk. They sit in their coats with their arms wrapped tightly around each other, the cold crawls through the blankets as they come together in silent grief.
"He's gone." Berger repeats. Sheila nods. He's gone.
Jeanie pulls them out of bed the second week, expecting Berger to make a joke about her being their mother. He doesn't. Her firm hands force them to shower, and it's there that Sheila breaks down for the first time. The water overwhelms her and her knees hit the shower floor, the sound resonates over the pouring water and Jeanie bursts into the bathroom. Sheila isn't afraid to cry in front of her friends, in fact, the sight of Jeanie's concerned face twists her stomach and she begins to sob even harder. Big, chest raking sobs that tear at her throat and leave her gasping for air. Berger picks her up, cradling her wet body to his chest, and brings her back to bed. With her sopping hair stuck to her face and goosebumps erupted over her skin, he tucks her into the blanket with a heavy sigh. She falls asleep alone and naked in the bed she'd shared with Claude so many times, it hurts to exist.
By the third week, Crissy has the curtains in the bedroom pulled open and the beads pulled back to show the sun peeking through the grey clouds. Soft snow drifts slowly out the window, Sheila spends her nights watching the white specks dance around each other in the black of night. Crissy forces her to eat, so she sits up in bed and stares blankly at the wall as she spoons the soup to her mouth, wanting to know why nobody else seems as hurt as she is. Wants to know why nobody else feels like they've died. Wants to know why nobody else is dying. Wants to know when she started to care about this boy so much.
Her mouth is dry and her eyes are sore and moving takes more effort than it should, but by the fourth week Sheila is out of bed again. The world doesn't make sense without Claude's soft touch, without Claude's warm eyes, without Claude's crystal laugh. But this is the world she's living in so, she realizes, it's the world she'll have to fight through. Sheila gets dressed, feeds herself, puts on her coat, and goes out for a walk. It's weird to leave the apartment by herself, without a friend to help her move and function she feels more lost than she'd like to admit. She sits with a cup of coffee in the park where Claude used to make daisy necklaces with her. It's too hard to cry, instead she lays back on the cold snow and closes her eyes. The sun seeps into her skin, warms her heart, reminds her that Claude loved the sun. Reminds her that Claude wouldn't get to see the snow again. Reminds her that Claude might be looking up at the same sky that she is right now, her heart flutters a little at the idea and her fingers grasp snow and squeeze. The water melts in the heat of her palm, she grins and bends down to clasp more snow. Sheila makes a big snowball, rounds it out perfectly even until her fingers are numb. She launches is at the nearest tree, watches it break and fall like nothing. She remembers that Claude loved her.
"He's gone." Sheila whispers to Berger before her hands find his hair and her lips seek his desperately. He accepts her frantic kisses with little hesitation; they fall to the mattress silently. No words are passed as they make love, and afterwards they lay next to each other in the dark room with their fingers entwined between them. Sheila turns her head to the side to look at his beautiful face to find he's staring back at her in the same manner.
"He's gone." Berger whispers, green eyes searching hers for the answer she wished she possessed.
"He's gone." She nods back, a sad smile gracing her thin lips. He gives her hand a squeeze before bringing it up to his mouth, placing a kiss across her knuckles.
"He's gone." Sheila finds herself saying again, this time the words sink in.