On Second Thought(47)

Without Nathan at my side—or his mother or Brooke—I was still a stranger in Cambry-on-Hudson. Right now, I was grateful for that. I was just nobody buying a muffin, not a mother with diamond studs in her ears, not a Mercedes-driving businessperson. Just someone passing through, maybe. Someone nobody knew.

“You’re Nathan Coburn’s widow, aren’t you?” the barista asked, handing over my change.

There went my mood. “Yep,” I said. “Have a good day.”

“His sister babysat me,” she said. “Sometimes Nathan would come over and help me with my math homework, and he was always so—”

“Okay, bye,” I said, walking out. Kept walking right down the street to my studio, passing Bliss and Cottage Confections.

It was pretty neat, three women who owned wedding-oriented businesses on the same street. Kim and I did events other than weddings, but it made up the bulk of our work. Nathan had been so pleased the one time we three women had gone out for a glass of wine.

“See? I told you you’d make friends,” he’d said when I got back, and it irritated me, since I’d never said I wouldn’t. It also seemed as if he’d been implying that... I don’t know. That my move from Brooklyn hadn’t been as difficult as it had been.

Because yes, I missed the most beautiful borough. Sometimes I’d mention that, how I missed the smell of garlic at Porto’s or Ronny, the homeless guy we all bought food for, and Nathan would look a tiny bit peeved, as if he was disappointed that I didn’t say, “Gosh, Cambry-on-Hudson is the best place ever! I hate Brooklyn!”

Now I was stuck here in Cambry-on-Hudson, husbandless in my husband’s town, where everyone knew him better and longer than I did.

I missed being alone by choice, not by a freak accident and a tiny venous malformation and granite countertops.

There was the rusty spike again.

“Hello,” said an older man walking his little mutt.

“Hi.” I gave him a fake smile and unlocked the door of my studio. Mercifully, he didn’t pull me aside for a tearful memory of my husband. If he tried, I might’ve punched him.

And then I was inside, and safe. Kate O’Leary: Award-Winning Photography, the sign proclaimed in tasteful letters. The space still felt new to me. New, but clean and bright. Creaky old oak floors and a little courtyard in the back, where Max and I ate lunch the day Nathan died.

My office was its usual mess. I’d come back here for something after Nathan died. Couldn’t remember what now. Papers or something. There was a picture of us on the shelf above my desk. I turned it facedown.

Why was I here again? Oh, right, a shoot in about ten minutes. Max wouldn’t be in for that; he helped only on outdoor shoots, when the lighting was trickier, or at big events. I had plenty of time to eat breakfast. Had to keep up my strength and all that. I took a big bite of muffin. Cranberry-orange, and damn, it tasted so good. The coffee, too. Crumbs rained down on my sweater, and I brushed them blithely into my keyboard. I was glad it was as big as my head. I might have another one later. Two head-sized muffins in one day.

My thoughts sounded a little crazy even to me.

Maybe tonight I’d go to that grief group Ainsley mentioned.

Three and a half weeks since he died. Almost a quarter of our married life. Almost a month. I wondered if this would be how time was measured now. The days and weeks, the minutes since.

I think I knew the answer.

Oh, and by the way, still no period. I was throwing caution to the wind. See this huge wonking coffee? Damn right, I’m gonna drink it! Take that, Two Lines! I’ll be as surprised as anyone when you show up!

Yes. The group might be good.

I went into the other room, where the indoor portraits were done, and started setting up, placing the kicker lights to cast shadows and light on Jenny’s face. Checked my portrait camera, made sure I had the mirror angled so she could see herself.

The bell in the front jangled. “Kate? It’s Jenny!” In she came, a big black bag over one shoulder, her dark hair shiny.

“Hey, girl!” I said, my cheery voice sounding odd. She wore a soft black leather jacket that I wanted to marry. Oops. No jokes about marriage. I was a widow now. She also had a bag of fabric; I’d asked her to bring some different material to use in the background.

“This is such a great space!” she said, looking around like an eager sparrow. “Oh, here, I brought coffee.” She handed me a big cup. “One of those mochaccino caramel things.”

“Thanks.” I probably shouldn’t have more caffeine. You know. Just in case. My uterus snickered.

“You bet. And hey...about Nathan.” Her dark eyes were painfully kind. “I’m so sorry.” She squeezed my shoulders. “I’m going to email you every week and invite you out for dinner, and you can turn me down as much as you want, but when you’re ready, we’ll go somewhere fabulous with huge drinks, my treat. And you can tell me about him, or we can talk about bridezillas or gossip or go to a movie. We can talk now if you want, or we can just get down to work.”

I should type up what Jenny just said and send it to everyone who said I just don’t know what to say. This. This is what you say.

“Let’s work,” I said, my voice a little husky. “And thank you. I’ll take you up on that.”

“You better.” She paused. “You know, Leo’s a widower. My boyfriend.”