On Second Thought(50)

Kate cleared her throat. “Yes. April 6.”

“Nathan Coburn?” one of the women asked.

“Yes.”

“I know his sister.” She smiled.

“Hey, Kate,” the hot guy said. “Sorry you belong to this shitty club. Jenny told me you might show up.” He smiled.

“Hi, Leo,” she said.

Right, right. He’d come to the wake with the wedding dress designer.

Who wouldn’t be making my dress, as I wasn’t engaged.

But it was Kate’s turn to be miserable. “Is it okay if I stay? Since it’s Kate’s first time?” I asked Lileth.

“We prefer that you don’t,” she said.

Leo sighed dramatically. “It’s fine with me,” he said.

“Me, too,” said one of the women.

“Me, too,” said another.

“I don’t mind,” said a little old man.

“It’s just that you don’t share the experience,” Lileth said. “And the group might not be comfortable with someone who’s not a widow.”

“So she’s not a widow,” a woman said. “Good for her. It’s not like we’re going to stone her.”

“That’s a relief,” I said.

“The rules—which exist for good reason—say only widows and widowers.” Lileth cocked her head, fake-smiled and waited for me to leave.

“Are you widowed?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No. But I’m a licensed clinical social worker.”

I felt myself bristling. Kate was still clutching my hand, and I liked the sense of being needed. “Think of me as a therapy dog,” I said.

“Oh, let her stay, Lileth, for God’s sake,” one of the women said. She had a glorious Bronx accent, the orangey skin of a tanning addict and crispy dyed black hair. “We’re all bored with ourselves and our whining, anyway.” She patted Kate’s shoulder. “So sit already, tell us your story.”

Lileth didn’t look happy. I hated her already.

We sat on the cold, hard folding chairs. “A few ground rules,” Lileth said. “Which are covered in the information packet I just gave you. One. Our group, One Step Forward—”

“Two steps back,” Leo interjected. Lileth ignored him.

“—is a safe place, and everything we share is meant for this group only. Two. Confidentiality is expected.” She glared at me, as if I was live Tweeting already. “And this one time, I suppose it’s all right if—I’m sorry, what’s your name?”

“Ainsley.”

“—if Ainsley stays. Unless anyone has a problem with that? This is your group, and if anyone has even the slightest bit of—”

“Let her stay,” said the man who was not Leo. “She’s pretty.”

He was about eighty and gave me a smile. I smiled back. Take that, Lileth.

“Three. We take turns. Each person may choose how much to share, but everyone—”

“It’s not rocket science, Lileth,” Leo interrupted. “Kate, if you feel like talking, talk. You already know me a little, so I’ll go first. Here’s the sad story in a nutshell. My pregnant wife—Amanda—died in a car accident. I was driving. They both died, our unborn son and her.” His face seemed to change without actually moving, and suddenly his tragedy, easily spoken of, filled his eyes. Filled the whole room. I teared up, trying not to picture what that day, and all the days after, must’ve been like.

Leo cleared his throat. “That was three years ago. And now I’m with Jenny, and she’s really fantastic, but I have my moments of deep dark despair. She thought this group might help. And it has.” He smiled, the sorrow shifting, if not leaving, and I found myself liking him.

I looked at my sister. Still had that deer-in-the-headlights look.

“I’m LuAnn,” the orangey woman said, her Bronx accent so thick you could practically taste the Yankee Stadium hot dogs. “Cop’s wife. Widow. God, I hate that word! Anyways, last year, Frank, my husband, he goes on a DV, right? Domestic violence for you civilians. Worse kind of call. Knocks on the door, the husband answers, shoots him point-blank, dead. We got four kids.”

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Kate said, her voice tight and strained.

LuAnn shook her head. “Here’s the thing, Kate, hon. I am so mad at Frank, okay? Seriously. How the hell could he do this to me? If he was alive, I would kill him. I would kill him in cold blood.”

“Of course you don’t mean that,” Lileth said, “though it’s natural to indulge in—”

“Oh, give me a break here, Lileth! I’m in the anger phase today, because our son? Frankie Junior? He comes home with an F—an F!—on his math test, and I’m like, ‘If your father knew how you were screwing around, he would smack some sense into you and don’t you roll your eyes at me!’”

Lileth made a sympathetic sound. “Hmm. Mmm. Children can—”

“—And Frankie Junior, he says, ‘Ma, who even cares? Dad’s dead, you can’t use the guilt card on me forever.’ So that’s what I’m dealing with. A no-good son. Who even knows with the girls? They’ll probably be pregnant before long. My twelve-year-old, Marissa? She tells me she has a boyfriend, and I’m like, ‘Not while I draw breath, you don’t,’ and then it’s tears and drama, and shit, I could use a vacation already!”