“Yeah, looks like it.”
“Had she ever had any heart issues?”
“Not that I knew of, but Blake told them in the ER that she’d been on medication for high blood pressure—a diuretic and something called a calcium channel blocker. A couple of years ago, my mom had asked for his professional opinion about taking them.”
“But those drugs didn’t do their job?”
“It’s not clear exactly what happened. Maybe she didn’t take her meds religiously. The ER doctor said that she might have actually developed a pulmonary embolism that caused her heart to stop—or even had a stroke.”
Gabe drops his head into his hands.
“Oh honey,” I say, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It just doesn’t make any sense. She looked so great over the weekend. Like she was in perfect health.”
I don’t want to upset Gabe any more than necessary but I decide it’s best to mention what I’d noticed earlier. I bring up his mother’s lack of interest in eating, the indication of fatigue, ordinary details that only with hindsight appear to be warning signs.
“And she told you she was going up to take a nap? What time was that?”
“Around two thirty.”
“My mother never takes naps, so yeah, that clearly meant something.” He shakes his head in despair. “If only she told one of us she wasn’t feeling right.”
“Maybe it didn’t seem that significant at first.”
Gabe releases a gust of breath.
“What?” I ask. I sense words on the tip of his tongue, perhaps a thought or emotion he wishes he could convey.
“I . . . I guess I’d better get to Henry.”
“Just so you know, I didn’t let on to him how serious the situation was, only that Gee was feeling unwell. But he seems to have picked up on the sadness in the air.”
Gabe nods solemnly. “Why don’t we meet you over at the house,” he suggests as he rises from the bench. “My dad and Blake ended up leaving right after us.”
When I enter the main house through the side door, it’s Ash whom I spot first, standing at the end of the corridor that leads to the main hall. I care a lot for my father-in-law, but I’ve never been as close to him as Claire, and our typical friendly banter hasn’t exactly prepared me for this moment. I gird myself, though, and rush forward.
“Ash, I’m so sorry,” I say, tears springing into my eyes as I embrace him.
“Oh, sweetheart, I know you are.” He holds me tightly. “Claire was crazy about you, you realize that, of course.”
“Yes, I know. And the feeling was so mutual.”
He nods. “Will you excuse me for a minute? I need to call my sister, Jean, and break the news, and I want to get it out of the way while I’m still standing.”
“Of course.”
I follow him down the corridor and as he veers right, probably pointed toward his study, I head to the dining room, where Gabe’s brothers are milling around with Wendy, Keira, and Hannah, who’s surfaced again, now wearing a somber look. A few people have helped themselves to food, others just to wine. I embrace each of my brothers-in-law, without bothering to stifle my tears. Marcus and Blake seem to be trying hard to hold themselves together, while Nick’s eyes are rimmed with red. As soon as I release him from a hug, Hannah snakes an arm possessively around his waist again. Maybe I should remind her I already have a Keaton and I’m not in the market for a second one.
Still, I have to applaud her acting skills. The corners of her deep brown eyes are turned down, and so are the ends of her mouth, as if she’s devastated on Nick’s behalf—and her own, too. And her straight-backed posture suggests she feels she has every right to be standing smack in the middle of our group, grieving, even though most of us have known her for only two days.
Does she have any idea, I wonder, that the stress she subjected Claire to might have played a role in her death? Doubtful. Hannah’s got too big of an ego for a thought like that. She might even be secretly gloating over the fact that she’s been handed a get-out-of-jail-free card after her stern talking-to by Claire last night. There must be just one niggling worry: that Ash is wise to whatever Claire threatened her about.
“Here you go, love,” Blake says to Wendy, handing her a large glass of sparkling water. “You need to stay hydrated.”
“Thanks,” she says. She looks not only sad but tense, making me wonder if she’s second-guessed her decision to have accompanied people to the hospital. That kind of stress can’t be good when you’re newly pregnant.
“How’s Henry doing?” Blake asks, directing his attention to me.
“Gabe’s telling him now. I’m sure he’ll be really upset.”
“She was an incredible grandmother. It’s terrible to realize that our own child will never meet her,” he says, looking at Wendy.
And neither, I think, will the ones I hope to have with Gabe.
“I’m glad she learned about the baby, Blake,” I say. “It must have made her so happy.”
“I only wish I’d gotten to her sooner today,” he says, taking the conversation in a different direction. “God knows how long she lay there while we were all outside the house, including my dad and the dogs.”
“I saw her around two thirty in the kitchen, and she said she was going up for a nap. So maybe she’d come downstairs right before you found her.”
He nods soberly.
“I should probably force myself to eat a little something,” Wendy interjects. “And then go to bed.”
“Yes, sweetheart, I think that’s best,” Blake tells her. “Make sure you get some protein, and let me know when you’re ready to head to the carriage house.”
Wendy starts off toward the sideboard, and my phone pings again. When I see it’s a text from Gabe, I excuse myself and step aside to read it.
H is pretty upset. Gonna stay for a while, help him fall asleep. Can you relieve me in a bit so that I can head back over to the house?
Of course. I’ll be back soon.
I say good night to everyone, and after smearing a wedge of blue cheese onto a piece of bread to go, exit the way I came. It will take Gabe a while to get Henry to sleep, so I linger in the dusk along the path, admiring Claire’s large garden near the boxwoods. The landscape people who work the property will continue to maintain everything, but as certain plants die, they’ll be replaced with less imaginative choices, and these gardens are bound to lose their uniqueness before too long. Over the next day or two, I decide, I’ll take pictures of them with my phone so I can capture them as they are right now.
When I reach the cottage, I round the building to the little patio in the back. The border garden here is much smaller than others on the property, but no less enchanting. I pause in the fading light, admiring the ingenious mix of bold and subtle colors, soft and thorny textures.
There are definitely some flowers missing from it, though. I stare at a small, ragged gap in the garden, one, I realize, that a hungry deer couldn’t actually be to blame for. As Claire always told me, deer usually gobble blossoms, not the stalks, too. The missing flowers appear to have been clipped off at the very base.
I step closer. The flowers surrounding the gap are foxgloves, tall stems lined with purple, trumpet-shaped blossoms. Which means the missing ones must be foxgloves, too.