He hangs up, and as I stuff the phone into my pocket, I notice that my hand is trembling.
My poor husband. He may be in a state of shock now, but when reality sinks in, it will be shattering for him.
And for me, too. Claire’s been such a key presence and positive force in our lives. We’ve spent so many hours in her company, not only here but back home in Manhattan, too.
I’m jostled from my thoughts by the sight of Keira moving toward me, holding her own phone in her hand, with a heightened watchfulness in her eyes. Maybe she’s got the right approach to life. If you’re always on alert, then you’re better prepared for moments like this.
“Was that Gabe?” she asks.
“Yeah. You heard, too?”
She nods grimly.
“I can’t believe it,” I say. “I feel like I’m going to wake up in a little while and none of it will be true . . . . How did Marcus sound?”
“He’s devastated, but he knows he has to stay strong for his dad.”
“I’m sure Gabe is feeling that way, too.”
“Are we supposed to do anything, call anyone?”
“Not for the time being, I’d say—What happened to Hannah, anyway?”
“I have no clue. I’m sure Nick will call her.”
There’s a trace of dismissiveness in her tone, suggesting she hasn’t abandoned her concerns about Hannah and Marcus.
“I should tell Bonnie. She’s putting together a cold buffet.”
“It’s hard to imagine anyone having an appetite tonight.”
“True, but they’ll still need to eat. By the way, Henry doesn’t know yet. Gabe wants to be the one to tell him.”
“Understood.”
I make a move to return to the kitchen but catch myself. “How about you, Keira? Are you okay?”
Though I sense she’s feeling a mix of shock and grief, I couldn’t guess the ratio. From what I’ve gathered, she wasn’t particularly close to Claire, but they seemed to like and respect each other.
“Yes, thanks for asking. I just feel so sad for Marcus—and for everyone, of course.”
“Me, too . . . . I guess I’d better break the news to Bonnie. See you in a little while.”
I return to the kitchen, but don’t go past the doorway. Henry’s still at the table, his little head bent over as he noisily drains his Coke with a straw. Bonnie looks up from a conversation with Jake, and I motion silently that I need to talk to her. She quickly steps into the dining room, closing the door behind us.
She breaks down when I tell her. “Poor Ash,” she says, using the bottom of her apron to dab at her eyes. “Poor all of us. I can’t imagine life without Claire.”
“I know. Me, either.”
“Does this mean she did have heart problems? She never said a word.”
“Maybe she didn’t know.”
“Well, this week certainly didn’t help.” My face must have fallen, because she adds, “Oh, please don’t take that the wrong way, honey. But you know how she was. She tried so hard to make everything perfect, and sometimes I think it stressed her out.”
“I’m sure,” I say, but I doubt being a gracious hostess this weekend stressed Claire out any more than normal. If there’s any culprit, it’s Hannah.
Bonnie dabs more tears away.
“Should I lay out the food in here?” she asks, indicating the sideboard. “I doubt anyone will want to eat on the patio.”
I think she’s referencing the mugginess, but how could any of us bear to eat under the pergola tonight, no matter how glorious the weather was? It’s the place where Claire made so much joy happen—and it would be a harsh reminder of what’s been wrenched away.
“Yes, in here is good.”
My phone pings with a text and I glance down to see it’s from Gabe.
Headed home now. Meet you at the cottage.
“You ready to head back?” I ask Henry once Bonnie and I are back in the kitchen. He’s on the floor now with Bella and Ginger, and quizzing Jake about his canine knowledge.
“Now? We just got here. And Bonnie said I could have ice cream.”
He’s rarely whiny like this, and I know it’s probably a sign he’s picked up on the tension in the air. The dogs seem to sense it, too, looking up at me imploringly.
“You can bring it with you, okay?”
Henry shrugs in resignation, clearly confused, and I scoop the chocolate ice cream myself so that Bonnie can return to her dinner prep. As I do so, my gaze falls once again onto the row of empty vases on the side counter. Suddenly my mind catches on a memory from this morning, the faint sound of Claire in the garden behind the cottage, the snip-snip of flowers being clipped.
“What happened to the flowers Claire picked today?” I ask Bonnie.
She turns toward me, her face pinched. “Flowers? I don’t think she got a chance to do any cutting today.”
It must not have been Claire who I heard, then. Maybe it was a deer rooting through the garden and helping itself to the flowers. Claire always used to say they were the bane of her existence.
No more, I think woefully.
With the bowl of ice cream in one hand, and Henry’s soft palm in the other, I lead him back to the cottage. He kicks stones absentmindedly along the path and watches them skip across the flagstone. My heart aches. In a matter of minutes, his small world will be turned upside down.
As I wait for Gabe on the couch in the sitting room, with Henry beside me, I realize how this is one of those pivotal moments in a marriage—when you have the opportunity to provide your spouse with the comfort he craves. I want to do the best job possible at that.
Before long I spot Gabe through the window, hurrying along the path. His shoulders are sagging, his expression heartsick. Leaving Henry to his movie, I pop out of the cottage, hurry toward my husband, and hug him tightly.
“Oh Gabe.”
“It’s totally surreal,” he says, his lips against my hair. After a minute he pulls back. Every muscle in his face is taut, as if he’s doing his damnedest not to sob. “Last night she’s passing potato salad around the table and cutting a blueberry crumble, and now she’s just gone. Gone.”
“Sit for a moment, will you?”
“Yeah, good idea,” he says and collapses onto the wooden bench outside the cottage. “I need to pull myself together a little before I talk to Henry.”
“Do you want to speak to him alone?”
“I think it might be best. Would you mind?”
“Not at all. But if there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”
“Thanks. I’m sure he’ll need comforting over the next few days.”
“We’ll go back to the city for the service, right?”
“Uh, doesn’t look that way. According to Dad, my mom made it clear over the years that she wanted a very private memorial service out here—for family, mostly.” He snorts, sadly. “Oh, and get this. She told him she wanted one of those natural burials, where they put you in some kind of shroud and drop you in a hole in the ground.”
“Well, it’s not what we’re used to, but it’s fitting for someone who loved nature as much as she did . . . . So they think it was definitely a heart attack?”