“I can’t tell you how devastated I am,” Ed said to Coco on the phone, and he sounded it. It was a shock for everyone who knew them. Tom and Bethanie were forty-six years old, much too young to die. “I’ll do whatever needs to be done to get them home,” he reassured her. “I have a call in to the American ambassador. We both belong to the Racquet Club and I’ve met him a few times. I’m sure he’ll do everything he can to help us.” Tom Martin had been a very important man in the world of high finance and was greatly respected by all.
Eleven Americans had been killed in the attack, and several others injured. It was high season, July, when the South of France was full of tourists from every country. The victims had mostly been French, but many weren’t. According to CNN, the casualties included a Saudi prince and both his wives, twenty members of the Qatari royal family, several Scandinavians, the Spanish Minister of the Interior, numerous Germans and British subjects, and a tour group of Japanese schoolchildren. Dozens of French citizens were dead and hundreds injured. The death toll had risen to a hundred and sixty-four, and two hundred and eighty-seven people injured.
There had been bulletins on the news all morning, and a mournful speech by the French president. An extremist group had taken credit for the attack. None of the terrorists had survived, as they’d intended. Those who had survived uninjured among people on the Croisette at the time had been sequestered for psychiatric attention for several hours, and had just been released to go home. It was too late for any of it to help Tom and Bethanie. Reporters had said that there were body fragments scattered everywhere, which special teams were removing.
“I’ll go over if I need to,” Ed volunteered to Coco, “but we probably won’t have to. The embassy will expedite it, I’m sure. Can I do anything for you right now?” he asked Coco, and she shook her head, barely able to speak, as Sam sat beside her. They both kept crying, and so did Ed.
“I’m okay. I have a friend here.” She squeezed Sam’s hand.
“I’ll let you know what I hear. I’ll come up to see you later,” he promised. She didn’t want him to, but she didn’t want to be rude, and he was a link to her father. She’d be seeing a lot of him if he was the executor and trustee of her father’s estate. She knew him well, but he was always a little overwhelming. She still looked dazed when she hung up. Sam took her to her bedroom and got her to lie down, and she asked him to lie next to her. He got onto her bed in her pink silk bedroom and held her. She lay with her eyes closed, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping. She just lay there, in his arms, breathing and trying not to think of what had happened. She wondered if they had had time to be scared, or suffer, or if it was all over in an instant. The bombs had been powerful, and those closest to the explosions had literally vanished.
Ed Easton called back two hours later. He had spoken to the ambassador, and they were going to take care of everything. He and Coco didn’t have to go over, although normally the French formalities were complicated, with considerable red tape to negotiate. Ed said the hotel was going to send her parents’ belongings, including the contents of the room safe, all of which would arrive by courier. They would have everything by the next morning. The ambassador was hoping they could have the Martins’ bodies in New York by the end of the week. The French government was in a state of chaos over the attack, but the emergency services were well organized in the midst of it. They had promised to send the other Americans’ remains home quickly too. France was in deep mourning, and American networks had named all the American victims once the families had been notified, including her parents.
Sam tried to get Coco to eat something but she wouldn’t.
At four o’clock the doorman buzzed, and said that a Mr. Easton wished to come up, and she let him. Their housekeeper, Theresa, had come to work to help her, looking devastated. Flowers had begun to arrive that afternoon. Coco hadn’t called the funeral home yet. She just couldn’t, and they didn’t know when her parents’ bodies would be arriving. The first flowers that came were from her boss at Time magazine, and she was touched.
Sam left when Ed Easton got there. He said he’d be back as soon as he showered and changed at home, and dropped off his bag from the weekend and his father’s car. He left Coco sitting in the living room with Ed, looking shell-shocked. Ed was wearing a well-cut dark suit, a white shirt, and a black tie, and looked grim too. He’d had a flood of calls from people they did business with who just couldn’t believe it.
“I’m so sorry, Coco,” Ed said, reached for her hand, and held it. Just seeing him reminded her of her father, which brought some comfort, although seeing him was bittersweet. Why was he there and her father wasn’t? She still couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She had always known that Ed was her trustee, and her mother would have been co-trustee with him, but she had never thought that this moment would come so soon. Her parents were so young. Ed was around fifty, but looked older that afternoon, after the shocking news. Coco looked gray beneath her suntan from the Hamptons. She was shaking as Ed put an arm around her to comfort her. “I’ll do everything I can for you. Let’s get through the funeral, and then we can figure out what you want to do about some of your father’s things.”
“Like what?” She looked startled and frightened. It was overwhelming.
“This apartment, the house in the Hamptons. If you want to keep them, or sell them, or live here.” She was twenty-one, so at least she could make her own decisions, but he said he would guide her to make it all easier for her. “Everything goes to you of course, now that your mother…” He didn’t finish the sentence. The estate would have been divided if Bethanie had survived. But Coco was their only heir now, to a very large fortune. It didn’t even dawn on her, and she didn’t care. She wanted them, not the money they had left her.
“Do you want me to call a doctor for you?” he offered. She shook her head. She didn’t want anyone or anything, except Sam with her. He was the only one who understood how she felt. He always had.
“No, I’m okay. I think I’m in shock or something.”
“We all are,” Ed said sympathetically in a hushed tone. “Who could possibly have expected this? The embassy said they’ll get the bodies home late Wednesday night or Thursday morning. When do you want to do the funeral?” He needed to ask her the questions and she tried to focus.
“I don’t know. When should we do it?” It was helpful having his advice for the practical issues. She had no idea what to do about any of it.
“Maybe Monday, in case there are any delays,” Ed suggested gently. “There could be a rosary over the weekend, if you’d like that. They could have visitation set up on Friday. Were they religious?” He didn’t think so. He was fairly certain Tom wasn’t, but he didn’t know about Bethanie, or if Coco was.