Читать книгу On Second Thought - Kristan Higgins - Страница 14

Chapter Six

Kate

Taking a pregnancy test moments before leaving for my husband’s wake...the sense of the ridiculous was not lost on me.

I locked the guest bathroom door and tried to take a deep breath. Since the moment Nathan went down four days ago, I’d been in a dream-state of panic and disbelief, the edge of hysterical laughter never far from my lips, as if at any minute, Nathan was going to jump out of the broom closet and say “Surprise!”

I hadn’t cried yet. Not exactly. There’d been some...well...noises. A sense of strangulation if I dozed off. No tears, not yet. I did, however, seem to be hyperventilating rather a lot.

Ainsley used to have panic attacks when she was little. Mom dutifully taught her to breathe slowly—in for a count of three, hold for a count of three, exhale for three, hold for three. In for three, hold for three, out for three, hold for three. I used to chant it during thunderstorms when she was tiny and would climb into my bed, shaking with fear.

I tried it now. It wasn’t working. All the air wanted to do was rush in-out-in-out-in-out.

Two lines, goddamn it, I mentally ordered. Two lines. You owe me.

I wrestled my Spanx panty hose back into place (because one must look smooth and sleek at the wake of one’s husband), pulled down my black dress and waited.

Come on, Universe. Throw me a bone here.

The seconds ticked past. No rush. Wasn’t like I was going anywhere fun. My chest bucked with an aborted sob. Someone had told me I was in shock. Kiara, that was it. She was a doctor, she knew these things. Also, there was no normal reaction to a sudden death. Nothing I felt was wrong.

Except everything I felt was wrong.

I so did not want to do this widow thing. For a flash of a second, it seemed possible that I could say, “Yeah...no. I’ll pass.” Then I’d revive Nathan and go back to being married.

Eloise and Nathan Senior were waiting downstairs with Brooke, Chase and the heartbroken boys. The thought of their sweet, bereft faces made my throat feel like a nail had been driven through it. A spike, actually, a big rusty railroad spike. Their uncle. Their only uncle.

Four days ago, I was married. That had been enough of a trip. Now I was a widow. I ask you—how weird was that? (My brain seemed to be generating only italicized words, like an overdramatic narrator.)

Brooke lost her beloved younger brother. The Coburns no longer had a son.

Nathan was dead.

I mean, really. What the fuck?

Maybe I could stay here all night. It sure beat what lay ahead. I could simply wait for everyone to leave, creep out of the bathroom and watch Orange Is the New Black. I could make popcorn. Better yet, I could buy some of that popcorn with the salted caramel and chocolate in it. Get a bottle from Nathan’s wine cellar, climb in bed with our big TV on. Nathan wouldn’t be able to resist that. He’d definitely come back from the dead for that.

Funny—horrible—how fast I’d gotten used to sleeping with another person. For twenty years, I’d had my own bed almost without interruption. Two weeks into our marriage, and Nathan and I had already figured out how to sleep together, how we fit together, when to cuddle close, when to pull away.

Now the bed was like the vast Arctic Ocean, freezing cold and lifeless.

The panic was back, little squeaks coming out of my throat, my lips clamped tight.

Please don’t make me do this, Nathan. Please.

There was a gentle knock on the door, and I jumped. “Kate? Are you okay?” It was Brooke.

“Coming,” I said too loudly. My watch told me I’d been in here for seven minutes.

In a movie, there’d be two lines. After all, we did shag before the party. I would have a baby in my grief, and the baby would be a memorial to Nathan and our tragic love, and such a comfort to the Coburns. He absolutely would be Nathan the Fourth. I’d be really noble and quite beautiful, probably played by that chick who cried so well... What was her name? Rachel McSomething. Yes. Nate IV and I would make a new life together, and he would have his father’s blue eyes.

I looked at the test.

One line.

Insult to injury. “Fuck you, test,” I whispered. “You’re wrong.”

* * *

The carpet at the funeral home was so plush and soft that I wobbled every time someone hugged me. And everyone hugged me. I definitely should not have worn heels. Why didn’t anyone tell me this? Also, the Spanx panty hose kept threatening to roll down. Every few hugs, I’d have to reach behind and hitch it up a little. I had to pee, which would give me the chance to pull the panty hose back where it belonged. Was I allowed to leave the line? Probably not.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” I said to the tie in front of me. If I looked only at the necktie, it was easier not to lose my shit and start with the hehn-hehn-hehn sounds of hyperventilating. It was so fucking embarrassing. I sounded like a dying duck.

My language had seriously deteriorated since my husband died.

“Bernard, how good of you to come. Thank you for being so kind,” said Eloise next to me. She wore a black knit St. John dress and pearls. Her eyes were dry, her heart broken, and she made Jackie Kennedy look like a strung-out wreck. “This is our daughter-in-law, Kate. Kate, our very dear friend Bernard Helms.”

“Great to meet you,” I said, then covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean that. Obviously, I wish we’d met under different circumstances. But you know, thanks for coming.” My left heel wobbled. I felt drunk with fatigue and grief. Now I looked drunk, too, wobbling around, constantly off balance. Eloise’s heels were higher than mine, but she was not the wobbling type. Brooke wore flats. Smart of her. “Did you know Nathan well?”

Bernard’s eyes filled. “I’ve known him since he was a baby. Such a good boy. I remember this terrible snowstorm, oh, maybe ten years ago. My wife had cancer, and we lost power, and I look out the window, and there’s Nathan, coming up our driveway. His place had an automatic generator, and damned if he didn’t take the both of us to his house and treat us like royalty the whole four days. Cooked us dinner, played Scrabble.” Bernard was now openly weeping. “I’m so sorry for you, my dear. Such a tremendous loss.”

I seemed to be gulping and sort of barking with a little choking thrown in for good measure. Pressing my hand against my mouth, I glanced at Eloise helplessly. Pain was carved so deeply on her face that it hurt to look, but she smiled sadly and patted Bernard’s arm, murmured something.

I felt like a junkie next to her.

My sister slipped up with a box of tissues. I didn’t need them, though. I was just barking, like a dog, or a fox, or a...a...stegosaurus. Did they bark? What was the question? Oh, tissues. The really good ones, with lotion. Ainsley was still waiting, so I took one, blew and wobbled. Ainsley steadied me, and I hated that she was being so nice. I didn’t want her to be nice. I wanted to be home with Nathan. “Hang in there,” she whispered, then went back to her seat.

“I’m so, so sorry,” said another one of Eloise’s friends, her eyes red and wet. “You just got married! How can you stand it?”

I have no fucking idea, lady. “I... It was a terrible shock.” Eloise had been saying that, so I borrowed her line.

“Awful! Did he...” She lowered her voice. “Did he make any noise?”

Jesus. “I... No. It was very fast.”

“This is why Indian women throw themselves on the pyre, isn’t it? You must want to do the same thing.” She looked at the casket. “He almost looks alive, doesn’t he?”

Yeah. We had an open casket. I wasn’t sure who said yes to that. It might have been me.

Most of the people here were strangers to me—friends I hadn’t met, friends of the elder Coburns, friends of Brooke. The boys’ classmates came, which was just brutal, seeing Miles and Atticus trying not to cry, and failing. The Little League team Nathan and Chase coached together came in as well, the little sweaty boy hands shaking mine, the kids unable to look me in the eye.

As wife, I came first in the reception line. Then Eloise, her finishing school posture ramrod straight, and Nathan Senior, who was medicated, I was pretty sure, the lucky dog. God. No, he wasn’t lucky. The rusty spike twisted.

Then came Brooke, who was being so brave and kind, though how, I could not imagine. Chase was solemn, nodding, speaking in a low voice, moving the line along, putting his arm around Brooke. At the end were Atticus and Miles in their little navy suits, which just ruined me.

My sister and Eric sat in the front row with Matthias and Esther, Esther crying quietly, Matt giving me a sad smile when our eyes met. And Mom, who wore a you should’ve listened to me look on her face. What was she? A fucking gypsy? Sean and Kiara were murmuring in the back, shaking hands, listening sympathetically. They’d left Sadie with a sitter, but they’d brought a drawing she made for me, smears of pink and green paint.

“Oh, Kate! I’m just so sorry!” Hugging me now was one of Nathan’s workmates, a fellow architect whose name I couldn’t summon. Her body shook with sobs. “I am so, so, so sorry.”

Three sos. He deserved them.

“He was so happy with you,” she whispered, pulling back to look at me.

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” My throat was so tight, the words croaked out. “He was—” was? Shit, all this past tense! “—so fond of you.” Whoever you are.

The coworker’s mouth trembled, her eyes red. “Anything you need, just call me,” she whispered, moving on to Eloise.

“Susannah,” my mother-in-law said, never one to forget a name. Her Boston accent made the name sound like Susahnner. “You’re so kind to be here. I know Kate appreciates it very much, as do we.”

Nathan and I would never make fun of his mother again. Oh, he’d loved her, all right, but he could do a killer imitation of that upper-crust accent, her soft Rs and long vowels. “Is this hahf-and-hahf?” he’d say. “Hahven’t you any skim, my deah?”

I’d never hear him do that again. How was that possible?

“Hello. Thank you for coming,” I said to the next tie, my voice wobbling.

“Kate, these are the Parkersons,” Eloise said, her voice trembling slightly. “Our next-door neighbors when Nathan was a boy.”

“We can’t believe it,” Mrs. Parkerson said, tears pouring down her face. “We just can’t believe it. He was such a good person!”

“I’m Kate,” I said. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“We flew in from Arizona. Terrible storms in Chicago.”

“Well. We appreciate it.”

“He used to rake our leaves,” the husband said. “We’d pay him a dollar, remember, Eloise? Imagine that. Kids today can’t drop their iBoxes to do a damn thing, but Nathan did our whole yard for one dollar.”

So you were cheap and took advantage of a kid. Got it.

“At least you don’t have children,” the woman said. It felt like a punch in the throat. Before I could answer—and what do you say to that?—they moved on to Brooke and fell on her like vampires.

Poor Eloise. I had no idea how she could hold it together like this. On impulse, I reached out to squeeze her hand, but she turned away to say something to the neighbors before I could, and my hand was left floating, awkward and alone.

Impressions of people swarmed me like bats after dark. There was what’s-his-name, the guy whose office was next to Nathan’s, covering his face with his hand, crying. They’d worked together for a long time, I thought. Just inching through the doorway now was one of the shop owners from downtown—Jenny, who owned the wedding dress shop, and her boyfriend. Lenny? No. Something cooler. Leo. So nice of them to come. We were going to have dinner, Jenny and Leo, Nathan and I. Not now. No more foursomes. Not unless I found another husband, quick.

The thought made me sputter with a laugh, the edge of hysteria that much closer. I turned it into a cough. I wasn’t sure anyone was fooled.

I met Nathan’s Boy Scout troop leader; the woman at the post office; the mayor of Cambry-on-Hudson, who used to babysit him. His cross-country coach from middle school, his cross-country coach from high school, his teammates, his classmates, his college mates, his graduate school mates, his workmates. Everyone knew Nathan. Everyone had a story.

Another person from downtown Cambry-on-Hudson stood in line. Kim from Cottage Confections, who’d made us a tiny, beautiful wedding cake when she heard we’d eloped. She and Jenny the wedding dress designer and I had drinks when I moved into my new studio, all of us linked by the wedding industry. Kim had gone to school with Nathan. She’d told me a funny story about him at an eighth-grade social, when he danced right into a pole and got a bloody nose.

She saw me looking now and gave a little wave, tears in her eyes.

I wasn’t sure how I could keep breathing. The spike seemed to be cutting everything off. Maybe I’d faint. Fainting would be good. I wouldn’t have to be here if I was unconscious.

Ainsley had sent a mass email to my friends, letting them know about Nathan. But Cambry-on-Hudson was far to come for a wake, I guessed. Brooklynites were notoriously reluctant to travel past Manhattan. Out of the entire City of New York? Please. There’d been a lot of emails I hadn’t yet read, and many flower arrangements, some fruit baskets and donations to charities. Cards had been pouring in.

The only representative from my Brooklyn life was Max, my soft-voiced assistant, standing in the back with his wife, eyeing the crowd like a member of the Secret Service. He didn’t like most people, which was ironic, since we were always photographing them. So the fact that he was here...

Ainsley hopped back up like a well-trained service dog and gave me a few more tissues, assuming I was crying. Nope, still no tears. Panic, yes. My skin crawled like fire ants had attacked. Adrenaline, shock, whatever. I took the tissues and balled them in my hand.

Behind me was Nathan’s body, post-autopsy.

“You doing okay?” Ainsley asked.

“Nope. Really shitty,” I whispered. The carpet sucked at my heels again, and I staggered a little.

My father appeared before me. “Hey, sweetie. I’m so sorry.” Then his face crumpled a little.

Sometimes I forgot that Dad had lost a spouse, too.

He composed himself, his face changing back to that jovial how ’bout them Yankees expression he usually wore. Hugged me hard, the kind of hug that I hadn’t had from him in twenty years or so.

“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered. My father had liked Nathan, despite the Mets. Swore he’d win him over to the dark side by taking him to a Yankees game.

So that would never happen, either.

Dad let go of me rather abruptly and moved down the line to Eloise. He hated funerals and wakes. Most people did. I definitely did. I wondered if I could say, “I hate these things. Who wants to grab a burger instead?”

Had Nathan been scared? Did he know? Please, please, don’t let him have been scared, I begged the higher power that I’ve been clinging to these past four days. Heaven, which I never really believed in, had become awfully important this week.

Nathan deserved heaven.

Maybe if I could cry, this horrible spike in my throat would disintegrate. But the tears didn’t come.

Another man stood in front of me. No tie. Kind of refreshing, really. Just an unbuttoned gray polo shirt revealing an attractive male throat, a hint of chest hair. I waited for the I’m so sorry for your loss. It didn’t come. I raised my eyes.

The face was gorgeous. And familiar, but I couldn’t place it for a second. Green eyes. Dimples. Mischievous eyebrows.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said in a low voice, and he gave me a hug, and then I knew who he was, and I was suddenly so unexpectedly happy that it took me by surprise. Someone from my old life was here, someone I would never have expected to see. His neck was solid and warm.

“God, you smell good,” he murmured. “Sorry. Inappropriate?”

“Very,” I said, hugging him back. “What the hell are you doing here, Daniel the Hot Firefighter?”

The room went quiet.

Oh, shit. I mean, that was what we called him, but still.

“It’s the grief talking,” he said to Eloise, releasing me. “Hi, I’m Daniel Breton, a friend from Brooklyn. I’m so sorry.” He looked back at me. “So. Shitty luck, huh?”

“Yep.”

We just looked at each other a second. “How are you?” I asked, not wanting him to go.

“Better than you.” He cocked an eyebrow.

“True enough.” It was so strange to see him in my new life, in Westchester County. Aside from a few parties in the apartment he once shared with Calista, the only time I’d ever seen Daniel the Hot Firefighter was in bars or riding past in a fire truck.

We’d never been friends, exactly. Calista had been my friend before she got so spiritual and limber. Daniel was just her man-child ex, fun eye candy. At most, Paige and I had let him sit with us for a drink while he was waiting for a False Alarm to wander past.

But here he was. And it probably took him two hours to get here.

“Were you happy together?” Daniel asked.

The question brought the spike flying back. “Yes,” I whispered.

“Good. That’s good.”

The line was stopped, the endless mourners waiting. “Thanks for coming, Daniel.”

“You bet. See you around.” He moved on, shaking hands with the Coburns.

For a second, I pictured four of us—Daniel and one of his False Alarms, Nathan and me, back at Porto’s Bar, laughing. We should’ve done that. Why hadn’t we ever done that? They would’ve liked each other, maybe.

Unfortunately, Nathan still seemed to be dead.

So no beers with Daniel the Hot Firefighter.

I glanced at the casket, which I’d been trying so hard not to do.

Nathan wore a blue suit and a tie I’d given him for Christmas. Or had I? He had lots of ties. This one was purple with red polka dots. From now on, I’d be obliged to hate red polka dots.

This was just not funny. Seriously. I was not amused. For a second, I felt like kicking his casket and saying, Wake up, you selfish shit. Look at your poor mother! Look at Miles and Atticus! How is your sister supposed to go through life without you? And what about me, huh? What about our baby? Remember that little project? Huh? Huh? You can’t just run out on all this, you know!

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Another tie. This one was navy blue with silver. “Thanks.” I raised my eyes. It was Jonathan, Ainsley’s boss.

He’d been great that night. When I started, ah, screaming and stuff—Nathan’s slits of blue eyes, those unseeing blue eyes, and please, Higher Power, take that image away from me—Jonathan had been busy. Chest compressions until the paramedics arrived. He drove me to the hospital, I think. It gets blurry around that point. No. He did.

“He seemed like a very nice person,” Jonathan said, and the simple words caused another agonizing swallow.

“Thank you,” I whispered, and he inclined his head in a courtly nod and moved on to shake Eloise’s hand.

“Kate,” said a quiet voice next to me. Brooke. “Can I have a word?” She guided me a few steps closer to the...the...the casket and lowered her already quiet voice to nearly inaudible. “Kate, Madeleine is here and wants to pay her respects. Is that all right with you?”

“Madeleine? Nathan’s ex?”

“Yes. She...she was devastated when Mom called her.” Brooke’s eyes filled with tears.

“Oh. Um...well, sure. I mean, is it okay with you guys? The family?”

“It’s up to you.”

Well, I couldn’t exactly bar the door, could I? “Sure. Of course.”

Brooke nodded, then walked from the room, and I went back to the hated line.

Nathan never told me much about Madeleine; it was one of the few subjects he was touchy about. It hadn’t been easy, I knew. They’d been married for six years. She’d had a difficult upbringing and was, in his words, brilliant. She worked in...in something cool. I couldn’t remember. Otherwise, I knew nothing.

“Thank you for coming,” I said to the next tie.

“I’m very sorry,” said the man, and I was so tired, I didn’t bother asking how he knew Nathan.

“Thank you,” I said.

“At least you didn’t have children,” his wife said, patting my arm, and I felt like stabbing her.

And then in came Madeleine with Brooke.

My husband’s ex-wife was stunning. He hadn’t mentioned that part. So you were married to Jessica Chastain, huh? I thought. Why isn’t she your widow? Doesn’t seem fair that she had you for six years, but I’m the sap who has to stand here. Also, my feet are killing me.

Madeleine was slim in that “Diet? What do you mean by this foreign word?” way. She was a vegan, Nathan had told me; he’d been watching me lay waste to a bacon cheeseburger and seemed quite content with my meat-eating habits. Vegans were difficult, he’d said.

But they did tend to have great figures. Her dress was navy blue, simple but fascinating, too. Chic, smooth haircut, expensive-looking gold earrings that twisted and swung.

She saw the casket and froze, her face turning white as chalk.

Then she let loose a wail that made my blood run cold.

The place fell silent.

She collapsed right there, folding (gracefully) to her knees, and put both fists up to her face. “No!” she sobbed. “Oh, Nathan, no!”

I hadn’t wailed, or collapsed. Was this a point in my column, or a demerit?

A demerit, it seemed. Eloise rushed to her side, helped her up and put her arms around her. “My deah Madeleine,” she said. “Oh, my deah.” They hugged, and finally, it seemed, Eloise cracked. Her face spasmed.

Just for a moment, though. She led Madeleine to the casket, where Madeleine put her hand on my husband’s chest—my dead husband’s chest—and shook with sobs.

Six years, the lucky bitch. Eloise murmured to her, and Brooke came in for a group hug.

Them, the popular girls in high school. Me, my panty hose rolling down.

“Where’s the bathroom?” my grandmother asked loudly. “I shouldn’t have had all that Pepsi at lunch.”

“Come with me, Gram-Gram,” Ainsley said.

“Kate.” The ex-wife was in front of me, trembling, pressing her lips together. Should I try to out-grieve her? Should I also wail and collapse?

Then I looked in her eyes, and all my bitchery evaporated.

She had really loved him.

“Hi. I’m...I’m so sorry,” I said, and my mouth wobbled, because I was so sorry, so sorry I hadn’t taken better care of Nathan. She’d kept him alive for six years. I lost him in our first.

“Forgive me for...that,” she whispered, tears spilling out of her beautiful eyes.

“No, no. It was an honest moment.” Sheesh. Listen to me.

“I’m sure he loved you very much.”

“Right back at you.”

Eloise gave me an odd look.

How did he ever get over her? She was flippin’ beautiful. I would marry her, she was so stunning. And why didn’t she want his babies? It would make things a lot better for the Coburns if there was a little Nathan running around this place, let me tell you. Madeleine was probably a selfish whore.

Eloise put her arm around her and ushered her away. I wondered if I said that selfish whore bit aloud.

“Thank you for coming,” I said belatedly, my voice sounding cheerful, as if I were waving fondly as best friends left after dinner.

Cause of death: blunt trauma to the head.

If my sister had gone for wood counters, or soapstone, would Nathan still be alive?

Apparently, he had a tiny little oddity in one of the blood vessels in his brain. Not a problem, unless one’s wife needed a second glass of wine.

Cause of death: wife wanted to have buzz on during irritating speech by sister’s boyfriend.

Couldn’t Eric just have asked Ainsley to marry him in private, like a normal person, I don’t know, like maybe five years ago? Instead, he had to make a big production in front of everyone, in front of his Wellness Montage (it had been labeled, and really, who the hell photographs the removal of a testicle?). No, we all had to drink a toast to my little sister, and boom, I’m a fucking widow.

I looked at the line, which went out the door, out into the foyer and down the street. When we pulled up to the funeral home, the line of mourners was four people thick and wrapped around the block. So much black it looked like the Night’s Watch from Game of Thrones had descended. That was two hours ago, and the line showed no sign of thinning.

Everyone loved him.

Nine months ago, I hadn’t. Nine months ago, I hadn’t known him. I’d finally gotten to that happy Zen place, and life had been really, really good.

If he had tripped nine months ago, I wouldn’t have even known about it. Seven months ago, I would’ve lost a very sweet guy I’d been seeing. I would’ve been melancholy for a while. Would’ve made a black joke about how the universe was telling me not to date. Five months ago, I would’ve mourned him, would’ve wondered if we had truly been in love or if it was just infatuation. I would’ve gone to his wake and introduced myself to his mother as a friend, smiled sadly when I thought of him.

Four months ago, I would’ve lost my fiancé, but I still wouldn’t have known the reality of living with him day after day.

Ninety-six days of marriage.

I drifted over to the casket and, for the first time this endless evening, took a long look at my husband’s body.

That woman had been wrong. He looked absolutely dead. His face was hard and stiff, like one of those plastic surgery addicts, pumped up on filler. I wondered if the funeral home used the same stuff. Juvaderm. Botox.

Oh, Nathan.

At least his hair felt the same. My fingers stroked it, gently, trying not to make contact with his scalp. Just his hair, soft, silky hair that curled a little when he was sweaty. Roman emperor hair, I said once. We were in bed at the time. His smile...

“Hey.”

It was Eric. Cause of death: extremely long-winded speech.

“Hey,” I bit out.

“You doing okay?”

“Not really.”

He put his arm around me, and I felt a pang of regret. Eric had always been a decent guy, if self-absorbed. “I was telling Sean about how weird this was, given my cancer. Like there’s some meaning here.”

The irritation came swooping back like a vengeful eagle. “There’s not, so please. None of your platitudes, Eric.”

He blinked. “I...I just meant life is short. You have to live life large.”

“Not now, Eric.”

“It’s almost a message from the universe. You know I loved him, too. And I thought I’d be the one who died. You know? From my cancer?”

“I vaguely remember, yes.”

“It’s just so random. When I was getting chemo, there were days when I thought this was the end, and I said to myself—”

“Here, Kate.” My sister pressed a glass of water into my hand. “Mrs. Coburn wants you to meet someone. Nathan’s friend from Columbia.”

Saved by the mourners. My sister steered Eric away, and I took another long look at my husband.

I love you, I thought desperately, and at almost the exact same time, another thought came, hard and defiantly ugly.

I wish we’d never met.