Life and Other Inconveniences(129)

When Daddy died and everyone said it was from a broken heart, Clark knew he could never tell, ever, because then he would have killed Dad, too, and Dad was the only one he loved anymore.

Sheppard had become perfect in death, whereas Clark just was. His mother started that company, abandoning him almost completely, and before long, he didn’t even care. He knew how to get what he wanted. He knew she didn’t love him the way she’d loved Sheppard, or Dad. He knew he’d spend the rest of his life in the shadow of his dead brother.

Sheppard’s body was never found. Maybe the divers hadn’t searched that area. Maybe the muck at the bottom had swallowed him. Maybe there really were Tree People who ate children.

Over the years, he learned to banish that day from his thoughts. He wrapped himself in self-interest, because who else would care about him? He learned to take what he could get and not expect anything else. He taught himself how to have fun—drink, get high, sleep around. He decided he deserved everything he wanted, because Sheppard should’ve been nicer, and his parents should’ve cared about their other son more. So he took everything without question, because he deserved it.

Later, when his wife died, when Hope was born, and cracks appeared in that armor, he did what he’d learned to do, been taught to do—pretend it didn’t happen. It almost didn’t happen, really. A childhood accident, no big deal. Shit happened. Christ, he’d stuck up for himself! He’d been five. It wasn’t like he was a murderer.

If Clark still had nightmares about that rock, that shove, it was just because his mother should’ve hired a shrink and paid more attention to him, instead of staring out the window, missing her perfect-not-perfect firstborn.

Oh, and she got her way. Clark never called his mother Mama again.





CHAPTER 39


    Emma


Gigi drank a little water and took a few spoonfuls of soup, but that was it. She kept trying to talk, but her words were incomprehensible. I told her she’d be better tomorrow, but I had no idea if that were true. Dr. Pinco came again late that evening but said outside of brain surgery, there was nothing to be done.

And I wouldn’t put Genevieve through brain surgery.

I slept in her bed next to her. Strange, that it was the first time ever. Around two a.m., she woke up and looked at me.

“Mama?” she said, and I almost sobbed.

“I’m right here,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep.” I smoothed her white hair back as if she were Riley, and she smiled at me and closed her eyes.

Mac slept by the bed; Minuet snuggled between Gigi and me. The other dogs were with Donelle and Riley. Pop stayed overnight, and Miller came by in the morning and hugged me a long minute when I ran downstairs to get breakfast. He’d brought yellow roses, which were Gigi’s favorite, and his kindness made me crack a little . . . just the fact that he knew and remembered.

“I’ll stay as long as you need me,” he said.

“It’s okay. I’ll call you, though.”

“Good.” He kissed me and hugged me again, and I tried not to cry.

Gigi mostly slept, and we all gathered in her room, Helga, Charles and Donelle playing cards. Pop came in and held Gigi’s hand.

“You’ll be all right, old girl,” he said, and his eyes were suspiciously shiny.

Around one in the afternoon, she opened her eyes. “Where . . . Sheppard?” she asked.

Riley and I looked at each other.

“You’ll see him soon,” I said.

“Tell him . . .” She tried to get more words out, then closed her eyes.

Dr. Pinco came. No change. Her heart sounds were faint. “You may want to prepare yourselves,” he said. “She’s winding down, but she’s not in any pain.”

Jamilah came by, and Beth, and Calista called twice, confirming what Dr. Pinco said. The hours dragged and sped. Miller came by again, this time with huge flower arrangements from the garden club, Rose Hill, the historical society, Franklin’s General Store. I debated getting Hope, then decided against it, then called to ask her pediatrician his thoughts, which were to keep her put.

I called Brooklyn Fuller, Genevieve’s attorney, and asked her to draw up some papers.

It was brutal, this waiting, hoping she’d slip away, hoping she’d revive and scold us for messing up her room. There were glasses and half-finished sandwiches and dog hair everywhere. Pop opened a window so she could smell the salt air, and I put another blanket on her bed. For the first time in ages, Donelle tidied the room.

The Talwars came over, bringing a boatload of food, and offered to have Riley come to their house for the night, but Riley wanted to stay. Of course she did.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” Saanvi said, hugging me. She kissed Genevieve’s forehead and said, “Thank you for making us so welcome in your home, Genevieve.” A tear dripped onto my grandmother’s forehead, but she didn’t stir.

Around six, I told everyone to go have dinner, and I’d stay with Genevieve. Give her some quiet time. The dogs went, except for Mac and Minuet, her favorites.

I lay down beside her and held her hand, straightening her engagement ring.

A quiet knock came at the door, and I looked up to see my father.

He was thicker than he’d been last time I saw him, and his hair was silver, but he was a good-looking man, still.