Chapter 7 - Diane’s Last Recording
Harold retired when I was seventy-six.
Before he did, he gave me a small digital recorder.
“Diane left this.”
I stared.
“You're finding things six years later?”
“She instructed me to wait.”
“Why?”
“Because she believed you'd finally be ready.”
I hated how accurate dead Diane remained.
The recording was eleven minutes.
Her voice filled my kitchen.
Older.
Weaker.
Still Diane.
“Raymond, if Harold has followed instructions, you've had enough time to stop behaving like the world ended because I left.”
I laughed immediately.
Beverly, sitting beside me, laughed too.
Diane continued.
“I know you. You probably kept my coffee mug.”
I looked at it.
Of course.
“Throw it away if the crack gets worse.”
I muttered:
“No.”
Beverly squeezed my hand.
Then Diane talked about Darnell.
She said:
“Do not judge our son by the worst month of his life forever.”
I stopped.
“Hold him accountable. Yes. But leave him somewhere to walk back to.”
That was exactly what we'd done.
Then:
“If Vanessa is still around, be kind to her. She likes expensive things, but so did I when I was twenty-five. We were just too broke to buy them.”
Beverly laughed.
Finally Diane spoke about me.
“Ray, I hope you love somebody again.”
I couldn't breathe.
“I mean that.”
Beverly started crying.
“Do not turn me into a shrine. I was your wife, not your prison sentence.”
I paused the recording.
Couldn't continue.
Beverly said:
“We can stop.”
“No.”
I pressed play.
Diane's final words:
May you like
“Whatever is left after grief is still life. Use it.”
That became my rule.
