On Second Thought
Page 48

“He did catch it early.”
She gripped my hands. “Listen. He’s not going to backpack through Alaska. What if he falls and gets hurt? Who will take care of him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care at this point.” If only that was true.
“Oh, honey! Don’t say that! He’s had a meltdown. You can’t stop loving him! You’re the best thing that ever happened to him. You do still love him, don’t you?”
I pulled my hands free and rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t know, Judy. I mean, of course I do. But this new guy...the one who calls me a corpse and goes on GMA and Jimmy Kimmel...he’s completely different.”
“I know. It’s shock. He loved Nathan like a brother.”
“No, Judy, he barely knew Nathan. Nathan was my brother-in-law, and I barely knew Nathan.”
She looked at me, her face drawn in concern. “Ainsley, honey. You have eleven years with our son. That’s a third of your life. Don’t forget that!”
“I know. But...” My throat closed, my eyes filled. “He’s the one who forgot, Judy. It’s like I’m a stranger he doesn’t care about at all anymore.” I swallowed a sob. “He hasn’t even been over to see Ollie.”
We’d had Ollie for two years. How could a person just ditch his dog like that?
Or his woman?
“He does love you,” Judy said. “You just wait, and you’ll see. Please. This cancer scared him so badly. You know that better than anyone. I think it’s post-traumatic stress, that’s what I think.”
I took a breath and swiped under my eyes with my fingertips. “You could be right.”
“I am. I know it. I’m his mother, and I know.” She kissed my cheek with vigor and looked into my eyes. “Aaron and I love you, sweetheart. We want you to be the mother of our grandchildren. You’re like a daughter to us, you know that. Please, just keep an open mind.”
“Okay.” I hugged her. “I have to get back to work. Talk to you soon.”
“I love you.”
That caused more tears to flood my eyes. “Love you, too,” I whispered.
Judy and Aaron were more like my parents than Candy and Dad. If I lost Eric, I lost them, too. No more annual Broadway shows, no more mani/pedis with Judy where we gossiped and laughed. No more beautiful Hanukkah nights, lighting the candles, Judy exclaiming over the gifts I chose so carefully. No more vacations where the guys played golf and Judy and I had a fruity cocktail on the beach.
No more unconditional love.
I went to the bathroom to make sure my mascara hadn’t smudged. It had, of course. I ran a tissue under my eyes, blew my nose and washed my hands.
When I got back to the desk, there was an email from my boss.
Please refer to page 29 of the employee handbook about personal matters being handled during work hours.
Jonathan Kent, Publisher
Hudson Lifestyle
I typed back, my fingers hammering the keys.
Please refer to the fact that the publisher of Hudson Lifestyle is making me meet with our problematic blogger, so maybe getting some insight from his mother about his current mental state isn’t the worst idea in the world.
Ainsley O’Leary, Features Editor
Hudson Lifestyle
A second later, my computer dinged.
You may have a point. Please try to refrain from crying in the bathroom, however. It’s bad for morale.
Jonathan Kent, Publisher
Hudson Lifestyle
I typed my response, then deleted all the F-bombs, then realized the F-bombs made up the whole email.
Whatever. I had an article on pumpkins to write.
Chapter Sixteen
Kate
When I got home that night, the house smelled fantastic. Ainsley was in full 1950s housewife mode, still wearing blocky little heels, an apron over her cute little flowered dress.
“Wine?” she asked with a smile. “I’m making a roast with mashed potatoes, braised carrots, a little wilted spinach on the side. And there’s coconut pie for dessert.”
“You’re amazing, Ainsley.” I raised my camera—the Canon, not the Nikon—and took her picture.
Ah. There it was, the real deal. She was confused and angry and sad. What Eric was doing was a joke—another idiot being controversial whose fifteen minutes would soon be up.
“How was your day?” she asked, pouring me some vino.
I put down my camera and sat at the soapstone counter. “It was okay,” I lied. “I had lunch with my mother-in-law at the club.” There’d been a line of people—a line—who wanted to talk and pay their respects. My cheek had been kissed so many times I had a headache from all the Estée Lauder perfume that seemed to be a requirement of female club members over sixty. “Eloise is...” My voice choked off.
“I can’t imagine how she’s coping.”
I shook my head. “She always says the right thing, she’s nice to everyone.” I hesitated. “But she doesn’t want to talk about Nathan. At least, not with me.”
“How’s Mr. Coburn?”
“Medicated. Drinking a lot. So we talked about nothing. The only safe topic is Miles and Atticus.”
“They’re so cute.”
Atticus resembled Nathan an awful lot. It was hard to look at him. I cleared my throat. “I went back to the house, and Mr. Coburn asked if we could blow up a picture of Nathan for their anniversary party. As a cutout, you know? He’d been drinking, and...”
Those little strangled noises were coming out of my throat. Not crying, no, that would be too normal. Just vocal chord spasms as the air tried to escape from my locked throat.
“Oh, honey.” My sister came around the counter and hugged me. Her dog whimpered, dragging his little baby blanket to me. Sweet puppy.
Last night, I’d had a dream about Nathan. We were hosting a party. I didn’t know anyone there, but it was our house, and as I went to find Nathan, I saw him heading for the cellar door. I knew in a flash that if he went through that door, he wouldn’t come back, that he’d cross to the other side. I called to him, and he turned and smiled, that sweet, sweet smile...and went in anyway. I tried to follow, but the door had disappeared, and everyone was telling me what a great party it was while I groped along the wall, trying to find a spring or latch so I could find Nathan and bring him back.
Ainsley was back on her side of the counter, checking the roast.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said, and her face lit up.
“Really? I feel like an idiot half the time.”
“You’re not. You’ve been fantastic, Ains.” Ollie, aware that someone other than himself was getting praise, put his paws against my legs. “And so have you, Ollie-Dollie,” I said, picking him up. He had the silkiest ears in the universe. I could well understand the value of therapy dogs.
“So what’s new with you?” I asked, dipping my finger in the wine and letting Ollie sniff it. Not his vintage, apparently, because he jumped down and trotted back to his blanket.
“Oh, let’s see. Judy came to see me at work today,” Ainsley said. “To beg me not to give up on Eric just yet. She thinks he’s got PTSD.”
I thought he had asshole-itis, personally. I’d seen a snippet of him on Good Morning America and hit Off so fast I nearly broke the remote. “What if he does come crawling back, Ainsley? Would you give it a shot?”