Читать книгу On Second Thought - Kristan Higgins - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Kate

I tried to remember a time when I loved parties. College, maybe?

This kind of party was the worst. I didn’t know many people aside from my family members, and I’d talked to Esther and Matthias as long as they tolerated me, then trailed them down to the basement cellar, where they booted up Mad Max: Fury Road. When guilt forced me upstairs, I saw Nathan getting a plate of food for my grandmother.

An aching, lovely pressure squeezed my chest. He saw me looking and smiled.

“Kate, your husband is so wonderful!” Gram-Gram chirped. “I didn’t know what I wanted, so he got me some of everything!” She popped a mozzarella ball into her mouth and chewed. “Delicious!”

“My pleasure, Lettie,” Nathan said, sliding his arm around me. “Is it me, or does all the food here look like testicles?” he whispered.

I choked on a laugh. Come to think of it, yes. Mozzarella balls, melon balls, grapes, cherry tomatoes, little round onion puffs, scallops...

Gram-Gram patted my cheek. “It’s so good to see you happy, dear,” she said. “Nathan, thank you for marrying this girl! We thought she’d be an old maid forever.”

“Yes, thanks, Nathan,” I said, nudging him with my elbow. “Community service and all that.”

“It beat picking up trash on the side of the highway.” He kissed my temple and dropped his voice so Gram-Gram wouldn’t hear. “And thank you for the great shag earlier.”

My cheeks warmed. “You’re very welcome.”

My grandmother ate another round thing. “You’re in love! Oh, Kate, we’d given up on you!”

“That’s enough, Gram-Gram.” I smiled as I said it.

Eric started clinking his glass. “And here we go,” I murmured, finishing my wine. Considered taking a photo of Eric, then opted against it. Clearly, he had too many as it was.

As he thanked the many people on his list, I felt myself getting drowsy. Nathan glanced at me and smiled. “No sleeping,” he whispered. “If I can stay awake, so can you.”

I smothered another laugh.

“...and my golf buddy, Nathan.”

Nathan raised his glass and smiled. “We played once,” he whispered as Eric kept naming names.

Uh-oh. I felt a case of the giggles coming on.

Nathan squeezed me a little closer. “Is my wife’s glass empty? Uh-oh. I better fix that.”

“Yes indeed,” I said, handing him the glass. He went off to the back, where the makeshift bar was set up.

Eric paused and looked meaningfully at my sister. “And last on the list, but first in my heart, of course, is someone very special I need to thank. Someone who stood by me every minute, who kept my spirits up when I stared down Death, when I was too weak to lift my head.”

Laying it on a little thick, Eric? I chastised myself for the unkind thought.

He summoned Ainsley to his side.

It was about damn time Eric proposed. I mean, clearly, this was the proposal, finally. The fact that it was taking place in front of a collage of himself and himself alone bothered me, but it wasn’t surprising. Ainsley had always been something of a groupie where Eric was concerned.

To each her own. Ainsley was glowing as she made her way to Eric, and that was what I should focus on. I adjusted my lens subtly, hoping to catch the moment.

“Everyone, raise your glass to Ainsley,” Eric said.

Nathan was still waiting at the makeshift bar. He’d have to hurry so I could toast my sister. I’d sucked down that first glass fast to help me deal with that damn collage. There was a picture of his scrotum, pre-and post-op, with a little infomercial text underneath it. A quick wine buzz had been required. Even now, the scrotal sac photo seemed to beg me to look at it.

Behind me, I heard my mother sigh. She had a very distinct sigh, years of practice. Dad wasn’t here; he was calling a game somewhere out West. A shame. Ainsley, product of the wife he truly loved, was his favorite.

Eric took my sister’s hand. “Babe, I couldn’t ask for a better woman in life. Ever since we met, I knew you were special, but my cancer journey has shown me that you’re not just special...you’re extraordinary.”

Did the word cancer have to be in every other sentence? Still, Ainsley’s chest was hitching; I could imagine how hard it was for her not to cry; she could cry at Antiques Roadshow. She bit her lip and smiled, her mouth wobbling a little. Sweet kid. Well, she was thirty-two. Sometimes I forgot, since she seemed so...naive.

Eric gazed out at the crowd. “Everyone, a toast to the woman who is not only kind and generous and strong and beautiful, but also...” He reached into his pocket, and I raised my camera. “But also the woman I want to spend the rest of—”

There was a little cry of surprise from behind me, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement.

Nathan.

He tripped. That was embarrassing, right at the big moment.

It was just a flash of a second. Wine sloshed over the rim of the glass Nathan was carrying. A woman jerked as it splashed on her back. Nathan stumbled, and someone stepped neatly out of his way, and he fell.

There was a thunk, and I couldn’t see my husband anymore.

A ripple of laughter rolled through the crowd. “Someone’s cut off,” a Wall Streeter said.

“Shame to waste good wine.”

“Make sure he pays for that!”

My camera was still pointed at Ainsley. I looked at her, and she wasn’t smiling anymore.

Her face was white.

Her boss, Jonathan, knelt down where Nathan had fallen.

I felt my heart roll. Get up, Nathan. Get up.

“Call 911,” Jonathan barked, and then my camera hit my side as it fell from my fingers, the strap yanking against my neck.

Nathan was lying facedown.

Wait.

He’d only tripped. He wasn’t a drama queen, not like Eric.

But he was just lying there.

A seizure?

Ollie the dog barked.

“Honey?” I said, but my voice was thin and weak. My wobbly legs carried me closer.

Jonathan rolled Nathan over, pressed his fingers against his throat.

Was he checking for a pulse? Why? Nathan just tripped, that was all. Big deal. Maybe his legs were a little weak because, yes, we’d done it against the wall not more than two hours ago, and it wasn’t as easy as it looked on TV.

Jonathan started CPR.

Oh, Jesus. Jesus, Jesus, this couldn’t be happening. This had to be a mistake. I’d never seen anyone do compressions before. It looked painful. Would Nathan’s ribs be okay? Should Jonathan ease off a little? “Honey?” I said. I was on the floor all of a sudden, on my knees. Please. Please. Please.

Nathan’s eyes were only open a slit. “Nathan?” I whispered.

“Help him,” someone said. “Call 911.” But that had already been said. 911 had already been called.

I could smell chardonnay.

“Help him!” my mother barked. “Somebody, breathe for him!” And somebody did, one of the frat brothers, the one who made the left nut joke.

Someone was saying “Nathan? Nathan?” in a high, hysterical keen, and I was pretty sure it was me. The dog was still barking. Then my sister’s arms were around my shoulders, and she was telling people to step back, make room, get a blanket.

But a blanket wouldn’t help him.

Nathan was dead.