On Second Thought
Page 93

“You’re welcome.” Jonathan turned to me, and only then did some expression seep back into his eyes.
“Well done,” I said, and he kissed me, right in front of everyone. Took my hand, and led me out.
“How are your knuckles?” I asked as we walked in the near-dark, the lights of the green making a pinkish glow.
“Sore,” he said, then looked at me and smiled. “Thank you, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “I also accept gifts.”
“You’re very good with people, Miss O’Leary. Especially me.”
“Well, I love you, so...”
He stopped. “Do you?”
“Afraid so.”
He looked at my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Good,” he said. “Good.” Then he kissed me again, and since it was Jonathan, I think we could tell this was his way of saying I love you, too.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kate
On the night of the Coburns’ anniversary party, I was seven weeks pregnant. The baby was about as big as a bean, or a blueberry, according to the internet. Disturbing that they always compared it to food. She—or he, the sex was already decided, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out—was ten thousand times bigger than when she began. In five weeks, my chances of miscarriage would plummet, and I was counting the hours. Just eight hundred and thirty-three to go.
My breasts were sore, and I was still tired a lot. In fact, I fell asleep at my desk the other day and woke up in a puddle of drool, another fun pregnancy symptom.
I loved the baby so much it was like living in another dimension. My little traveler had replaced Ollie as the creature I talked to the most.
My plan was to get through tonight, which was going to be horrifically difficult on its own. Later this week, I’d tell the Coburns I was moving back to Brooklyn and get out of Cambry-on-Hudson before I started showing. The urge to disappear into Brooklyn and simply never contact them again was strong, if wrong.
This pregnancy would hurt them so much.
In two months, my tenants’ lease would be up, and I could move back to my apartment and start the next phase of my unexpectedly complicated, sad, wonderful life. Daniel was campaigning for me to live with him until then; he had a second bedroom. I was thinking about it.
He’d been great these past few weeks. He called every night and came over at least once a week. One day, I found the fridge full of fresh vegetables and a roasted chicken. He left me little presents, like a huge vat of Tums—I had wicked heartburn—and a nice almond-scented shower gel. A gift certificate for a pedicure. You could tell the guy had four sisters.
This would be my last regular night in the house. Tomorrow, Ainsley and I were going to start packing my things. Not that there were too many—mostly clothes and a few photos.
I’d miss it here, the house that never felt like mine. It had always been like winning a vacation in a fabulous place you could never afford. But the few short months of my marriage had happened here. Every day of our marriage, Nathan and I came back here. Slept here. Made love here.
The spike shoved through my throat once again.
It was time to get dressed. I had a navy blue gown to wear, a simple V-neck.
The dress looked a lot different compared to the last time I’d worn it (also to the Cambry-on-Hudson Lawn Club, to another fund-raiser), courtesy of my pregnancy boobs, but it was too late to try to find something else. I put on a necklace Nathan had given me—a single dark gray, iridescent pearl on a silver chain. My wedding band and engagement ring.
I’d have to stop wearing those. The spike turned again.
I had the architectural plans finished, rolled up and tied up with a gold ribbon. The Coburns had asked me to come early so we could all drink a toast to Nathan first.
I picked up the picture of the two of us from last fall, the selfie I’d taken, me over his shoulder, kissing his cheek. For the first time since he’d died, I really studied it. It had been September, a year ago.
He looked happy. A little unsure, maybe? It was hard to tell, knowing what Madeleine had said, reading those emails.
“Time to go,” I whispered to my bean-sized embryo.
* * *
The Coburns, Brooke and Chase, and I were ushered into a private room at the Club. We all kissed each other on both cheeks—it took a while.
“Kate, deah,” Eloise said. “Thank you so much for coming. I know how hard this is for you.”
“Oh, I...I wouldn’t miss it,” I said.
“You look beautiful,” Chase said kindly. He was a nice man. “And, Kate, about the house...thank you. It will mean so much to the boys. It means so much to Brooke.”
“Well,” I said. “It felt like the right thing.” I forced a smile, inwardly cringing. I’d also donated Nathan’s life insurance to the Coburns’ scholarship fund. Anonymously.
A waiter handed out glasses of champagne, then left, and we all stood around, not making eye contact.
“It’s hard to celebrate this year,” Mr. Coburn began, and Chase put his arm around Brooke, who immediately began to cry. “But I’m grateful to you, my love.” He turned to Eloise, tears in his eyes. “Thank you for fifty years. Thank you for our daughter. Thank you for our son.” He raised his glass, his hand shaking. “To Eloise,” he said, the tears tracing down his wrinkled cheeks.
“To Eloise,” we echoed.
She looked so dignified and beautiful...and tragic. Her whole life was written on her face, the smiles, the love for her children and grandchildren, the pain of her unfathomable loss.
“To our son,” she said, and then they were in each other’s arms, sobbing quietly.
I bent my head. Oh, Nathan, please help them, I prayed.
“He loved you all so much,” I said. “He was so proud to be your son and brother.” Eloise glanced at me gratefully, and Brooke squeezed my hand.
Then, from my purse, I heard the buzz of a text. Shit! Daniel was supposed to drop the swing off here. But I’d forgotten to text him earlier so he could get here before the Coburns. Just plain forgot, one of the many fun symptoms of pregnancy. I checked my phone discreetly. Yep.
When do you want me to drop off the swing? I’m in the parking lot. Are you here yet?
“Mama,” Brooke said, her voice ragged, “I have something for you.” She went to the table and picked up a gift-wrapped package. “Open it.”
It was a family portrait, taken at our engagement party. The eight of us—Nathan and me, Mr. and Mrs. Coburn, Brooke and Chase and the boys, standing stiffly, a rather terrible shot, slightly blurry. Brooke’s eyes were closed, and Atticus was out of focus, and I looked uncomfortable (because I had been). Nathan’s arm was around me.
It was the only picture I’d seen of all of us.
“Oh, darling, it’s perfect,” Eloise said, and they hugged, too, Brooke’s shoulders shaking.
This was agony.
“Kate?” Chase asked. “You have something, too, right?” He nodded at the scroll I’d left on the table.
“Yes, yes,” I said, breaking out of my inertia. “Here.” I handed them the plans. “One of Nathan’s coworkers put the finishing touches on, but this is from... This is from Nathan. He wanted you to modify the house a little.”
“Nathan did this?” Mr. Coburn asked as Chase and I unrolled the blueprints.
“You remember, darling,” Eloise said. “He wanted us to have a bedroom downstairs for when we’re older. I didn’t realize he...he’d started.” Her chest started to hitch, but she pressed her hand against her heart. “Kate, this is so thoughtful. Thank you, darling. Oh, look. A porch! He knew I always wanted a covered porch.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. “Kate, thank you. Thank you, deah.”