Life and Other Inconveniences(46)

“Yeah.”

“Emma. Emma London.”

Recognition dawned on his face. He ran a hand through his black hair, and a few strands of silver caught the sunshine. “Sorry. How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you? It’s nice to see you.”

Miller Finlay was Jason’s cousin, older by five or six years. I’d met him a few times, since Jason and I had dated all through high school. Jason had idolized him—the cool older kid who’d take him out sailing, or to a bar in New London to hear a band. In fact, Jason had been in Miller’s wedding; it was why he hadn’t been at Riley’s birth. Granted, she’d been two weeks early and my labor lasted all of four hours, so I couldn’t blame him for that.

Miller wasn’t quite as handsome as Jason, but he was nice-looking just the same. His face was angular and somewhat plain and he looked older than . . . what? Forty? On closer inspection, I recognized the boy Jason had loved so much. They worked together at Finlay Construction, the business their fathers had started.

“I guess I heard you were coming to visit for the summer. I must’ve forgotten,” he said. “How are things? How’s your daughter? Riley?”

“Yes. She’s great. She and Genevieve are in the city today, so I thought I’d make myself useful and put in a vegetable garden.”

“Not here, though,” he said.

“Why’s that?”

“My wife is buried here.”

I flinched. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Miller. I didn’t . . . I don’t think I knew that.”

Had I even heard that his wife died? Did Jason forget to tell me? I think I would’ve remembered something so huge.

Miller looked away. “Genevieve got permission from the town. She, uh . . . Ashley, that is, she didn’t like cemeteries. And she loved this place. Loved Genevieve, too.”

Ashley, yes, that was it.

I had a flash of a memory of a Christmas party at the Finlays’, Miller and Ashley sitting cuddled together on the couch. They’d just gotten engaged, and it made me so happy, the idea that high school sweethearts would end up together, as Jason and I hopefully would. Miller saw me staring at them, the perfect couple, and winked.

I definitely would have remembered if Jason told me his cousin was a widower now.

“I’m so sorry,” I said again, and my voice was husky. “How long has it been?”

“A little over three years.”

I knew better than to ask how it happened. If he wanted me to know more, he’d tell me. The blue jay called again, watching over us, and a seagull dropped into the water, emerging with a small fish in its beak.

“Do you have any kids, Miller?” I asked, a little surprised I didn’t know the answer.

“Yeah,” he said. “Tess. She’s three.”

My heart dropped before my brain caught up with the math.

His wife must’ve died right after the baby was born. Oh, God! How could Jason not have told me about this? The whole family must’ve been devastated. Ashley—in my limited experience with her—had been really, really great. Funny and friendly, even to someone who was not quite in the family.

“Well, Riley’s sixteen now, so if you need a babysitter, she loves kids. And, uh, so do I. You know. I mean, I’m sure you have plenty of help, but we’re here! If you need anything! But you’re probably an old pro.”

Hard to believe I was a therapist.

“Thank you,” Miller said.

“It must be very hard,” I said, managing to remember something from all those years of training.

He didn’t answer for a second. “It is. Well, I should go. I’m sure I’ll see you again. I, uh . . . I come to Genevieve’s cocktail parties sometimes. On Fridays.”

“Good! Good. It’ll be good to see you.” Three goods. Jesus.

“Have a good day,” he said. Four.

“You too.”

I watched as he walked away, hands in his pockets, head down.

Broken.

There, just at the edge of the forest, was a bench I hadn’t seen until this minute. A plaque was mounted on the back.

    In memory of Ashley James Finlay

Cherished wife, mother and daughter

Loved by all who knew her.





CHAPTER 15


    Miller


Childbirth classes were the most fun Miller had ever had with his wife, and that was saying a lot. Their marriage had been, in a word, perfect. Yes, she ground her teeth at night and it made his blood run cold. Yes, he talked too much about how many laps he swam every time he went to the pool. No, he didn’t really get along with her dad, and yes, she hated Thanksgiving at Uncle Rob and Aunt Courtney’s house and always got a little drunk to counter Aunt Courtney’s endless stream of meaningless chatter.

Ashley had terrible taste in television, weeping over the schmaltzy and predictable network shows. She hated his taste in music, a genre that was best described as Another White Guy Who Loves Rap. She was a clean freak and couldn’t relax if a pillow was out of place; he was unable to fold shirts according to her exacting requirements.

But every day, they were so happy together. Every day they touched, kissed, hugged, said I love you, did something nice for the other. Every day, he felt lucky. Miller didn’t understand men who complained about their wives. He couldn’t imagine someone other than Ashley, with her smile that could lift his heart, the way she’d fill up his phone with deliberately unflattering selfies, how she laughed harder than anyone when he cracked a joke at a party.