On Second Thought(41)

“And how are you, Kate?” Eloise asked.

My stomach chose this moment to growl. Loud and long, too, thunder rolling across the plains. “Hungry, I guess.” I laughed.

Whoops. No laughing allowed. My husband was dead. Her son. The laughter stopped.

Eloise’s face didn’t change. She gave a small nod.

“Sorry,” I whispered. I looked away.

“Have you gotten back to work yet?” she asked, folding her hands.

“Not yet,” I said. “I had a wedding this past weekend, but my assistant covered it. Max. You met him, I think.”

“Yes. A nice man.”

“Yes.” Another stomach growl. We both ignored it this time.

The waiter came over. “I’ll have a martini, three olives, very dry,” I said, even though it was only 1:12 in the afternoon. But wait! I might be pregnant. “Actually, just water. And a Caesar salad, and the filet mignon.” Because the baby would need iron and stuff. Until Cousin Tilly from St. Louis came to visit, I was pregnant, goddamn it.

“House salad for me, thank you,” Eloise said. “Dressing on the side, please.”

Our waiter nodded and left.

From where we sat, we could see the golf course, acres and acres of unnatural, perfect green. Nathan had sponsored a charity golf event. I wasn’t sure how golf charities worked, but he had one, and it was supposed to have been in August. Who would take over? Who cared?

“How’s Na—Mr. Coburn?” I asked.

“He’s...he’s struggling,” Eloise said. There was a pause. “And how are you holding up?”

I took a shaky breath. “It’s hard,” I said.

“We have to be strong.”

I nodded, pressing my lips together.

How could she do this? How could she even be upright? “Eloise,” I said, reaching across the table to hold her hands, “I’m so sorry you have to—”

She squeezed my hands hard, then pulled back. “Please, Kate. Not here, my deah.”

My hands stayed across the table for a moment, like dead fish. “Of course. You’re right.”

Everyone grieves differently, the saying went. And I knew Eloise was devastated inside. Her boy. Her baby. He was everything a person could want in a son. He’d never disappointed her...well, not that I knew of. Except, perhaps, in marrying me.

“Have you seen any of your friends, deah? Or your sister or brother?”

I took a deep breath. “My sister calls every day. Otherwise, no. Not yet.”

I’d had a thousand texts and emails, cards and phone messages, though. I don’t know what to say was a popular theme. Also, Call me if you need anything.

Nothing from Paige. That really stung. We’d been friends for so long.

Daniel the Hot Firefighter had emailed. Just a Thought you might like this and a link to a BuzzFeed article about why men shouldn’t own cats. #4 had been because they’ll try to see if the cat’s head will fit into their mouths with a GIF of someone doing just that, and I’d laughed out loud, startling myself, startling Hector into a rapid swim across his bowl.

Otherwise, it had been mighty quiet in Nathan’s house. Mighty quiet. I was considering getting a dog.

My stomach roared again.

“You’re not eating well, are you?” Eloise asked.

I shook my head, swallowing, forcing my throat muscles past the rusty spike that seemed to be wedged there.

“Well. We cahn’t have that. You’ll have a good lunch.”

But when lunch finally came, I could barely get down a mouthful.

I did it. For the baby’s sake, no matter what those ignorant tests said. Chewed and chewed and chewed. Swallowing was an act of will.

This was my life now.

“Mr. Coburn and I have decided to go ahead with our anniversary party,” Eloise said. She ate the European way, fork in the left hand, knife in the right. “And of course we’d love for you to do the photos.”

“Sure. Of course.”

“We cahn’t just abandon the charity.”

“That’s very...good of you.”

I’d be going to the party without Nathan. His parents got fifty years; we didn’t get one.

Until April 6, I’d had a civilized relationship with my in-laws. Nathan Senior often called me Karen, and finding things Eloise and I had in common had been nearly impossible. We didn’t read the same books; she didn’t watch TV or go to the movies. Once we’d exhausted the topic of how perfect Atticus and Miles were, we were pretty much done.

Brooke had said all the right things when Nathan and I were dating, and she urged her kids to call me Aunt Kate after we got married. She’d invited me to one of those parties where guests buy jewelry made by African schoolgirls, and I sat there, trying to be open and positive and interested in everyone, buying lots of jewelry I wouldn’t wear.

Before April 6, my still-shaky place in the family had been natural, normal. All I had to do was be pleasant and hang in there, and eventually, I’d belong.

Now I’d forever be a reminder of their lost son and brother, forever included in family events that would be steeped in grief for the rest of our lives.

How did people survive this?

I can’t believe you abandoned us like this, Nathan. Pretty selfish, don’t you think?