On Second Thought(49)

Her eyes weren’t red. That was a good sign, I guessed.

“So,” I said.

“Yep,” she said, pouring herself a big glass of wine.

“Can I do anything?”

“Nope.”

“You gonna kill him?”

“I think his mother will take care of that.”

I smiled. Eric did have nice parents. “So...are you guys...?”

“I think he’s having a nervous breakdown.”

He’d sounded pretty calm on the blog to me. Sanctimonious, hell yes, but calm. First, he broke up with her. Now he put it out there for the universe to read about. And knowing Eric, he was loving the attention.

“You seem pretty chill,” I said, accepting the glass of wine she handed me.

“Well, I’ve had all day to read comments. That dickhead boss of mine wouldn’t take it down.”

“Too much free publicity?”

“Exactly. I can’t decide which man I hate more, Eric or Jonathan. I think it’s Eric. Yes. Definitely Eric.”

“We can burn him in effigy if you want. That Japanese maple is perfect for it.”

She snorted. “I appreciate that.” But her eyes flickered and welled. Like a normal person, she cried when the situation demanded it. Me, I was still dry. I handed her a tissue and she blew her nose, then took a swallow of wine.

“Are we going to that grief group tonight?” she asked.

“Oh, we don’t have to,” I said. “You’ve had a rough day.”

“No, let’s,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”

I waited.

“Not fun. Shit. It’ll be helpful. It’ll be helpful and cathartic. Or horrible, and if it is, we can ditch it and go bowling. Let’s order a pizza, okay? I need dairy and gluten.”

“Coming up,” I said.

At 7:00, my sister and I drove to St. Andrew’s Church, where the grief group met. We got out, a fine mist blanketing my hair almost immediately. No one told me how much it rained in Cambry-on-Hudson. Almost a completely different weather pattern than in Brooklyn.

“You really don’t have to come in, Ains,” I said. “I can walk home or get a ride.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m here for you.” She looked at me, as if really seeing me for the first time today, and gave a little smile. “No one should have to do this alone. Not the first time, anyway.”

She was so damn nice. “Okay. Thanks.”

Time to open a vein.





Chapter Thirteen

Ainsley

Apparently, St. Andrew’s was the happening place when you had a problem. There was an AA meeting going on in one room, an NA meeting in another, a divorced people’s group and ours—I mean, Kate’s. One Step Forward: Support Group for Widows & Widowers, the sign said.

Kate’s shoulders were clenched around her ears. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she said.

“Why don’t we give it a try?” I countered. “You might be surprised.”

“You’ll stay, right? God, I sound pathetic.”

My heart pulled. “Of course I’ll stay.” Finally, I was needed. It felt good after the battering my ego had taken today. God, was it only today? I felt a million years old.

My phone buzzed with a text from Eric.

Guess what? GMA wants to have me on the show!!! Jimmy Kimmel, too!!! Seems like the CCs have really struck a chord. Did you see today’s post??? Went totally viral!

My eye twitched. If Eric was here right now, my phone would be shoved into his frontal lobe. Or up his ass.

I’d received three hundred and seventeen emails today. Eleven of those were from Judy, panicking about what her son wrote about me with just a hint of pride thrown in, as well. And now Men’s Health wants him to write a column about his fitness regime! He does look good these days, don’t you think? Then, seconds later, another email, But don’t worry. He’ll come to his senses. He loves you.

The urge to go back to Kate’s fabulous house right this minute and guzzle pi?a coladas was strong within me.

Then Kate reached out and grabbed my hand. My sister needed me. Whatever I was going through, Kate had it worse. In the thirty-two years I’d known her, I’d never seen her lost before.

The group was held in what was clearly a nursery school classroom by day. There were little tables and tiny chairs, and cotton-ball lambs decorated the wall along with the alphabet and numbers. A bookcase and carpeted area were on one side of the room, and the place smelled comfortingly of paint. In the middle of the room was a circle of gray metal chairs, looking out of place in the cheerful, diminutive decor.

There were six or seven people here. Two men, one extremely attractive... Too soon to fix Kate up? Yes, of course it was. Jeesh. I sounded like Gram-Gram. The rest were women, one about Kate’s age, one older, one younger.

“Hello, I’m Lileth,” said one of women in a smooth voice. “I’m a licensed clinical social worker, and I run this group. You’re welcome here, and I’m so glad you came. Here are the rules.” She smiled sadly, a professional mourner’s smile, and handed us a ream of papers.

“Wow. Lots of, uh, information. I’m Ainsley, and this is my sister, Kate,” I said. Kate said nothing, so I felt obliged to fill the gap. “Her husband died a few weeks ago.”