the benefit of his mother-in-law.
"Go to it, Abe," she said as he buttoned up his coat. She laughed again.
"Insensitive bitch," Jeromy muttered as he closed the door behind him and
headed toward the wood pile. He felt like using a stronger word than "bitch," but
Wiltebrand's gray head started to appear over his shoulder like a human Jiminy
Cricket, and instead he angrily began to split the biggest log he could find.
"My wife is dead! My WIFE is dead! MY WIFE IS DEAD!" The words
kept echoing relentlessly in his head with each stroke of the axe, which felt heavier
and heavier each time he lifted it. Finally, he thrust the axe deep into the chopping
block, sat down on the cold November earth, and began to cry.
It was the first time he had admitted the truth to himself, and the first time
he had cried. He had seen her body in the hospital, but she had looked so peaceful
and serene then. He had seen her like that a hundred times before, like when she
would fall asleep on the couch after breastfeeding their newborn baby.
THE BABY! My God, what was he going to do with the baby? Little
Joshua was only eight months old. Thankfully, he was fast asleep in the house.