Wish You Were Gone(12)

“Love you, too!” she called after him.

As soon as the door closed, Gray dropped onto the nearest stool, her legs no longer willing to hold her upright. What the hell was that? Darnell didn’t snap at her. He didn’t lose his temper. Even back in his days in the NFL, he was known as the Gentle Giant—never one to showboat or get in anyone’s face. He tackled every damn running back he could tackle, sacked every quarterback he could sack, then walked off the field, showered, and came home. To her. It was one of the reasons why he was so trusted in the sports PR business. Never had an off word been said about him in his four years at USC or his six years in the pros before he blew out his knee and was forced to retire.

It was James who had the temper. And Gray, God forgive her, had always been secretly proud of the fact that she had Darnell. That she had the better man. James and Emma may have looked perfect from the outside, but she and Darnell had the solid marriage, the stronger foundation, the mutual respect, and the deeper love. She never would have lorded it over Emma, but she did enjoy it privately.

But now…

Yes, James had died, and yes, he’d done it in spectacular fashion for all the papers to write about. But she’d never expected Darnell would react like this. He was a fighter. He was a person who bounced back, who came out the other side of any challenge stronger and ready to take on the next.

But this past week, he’d been different—short tempered and distracted. It could all be chalked up to stress, but she didn’t like this version of him. It made her nervous. Because she didn’t know what this version of her husband was capable of.





LIZZIE


Lizzie stared at the number on the calculator in front of her.

Ten schools.

$950.

Nine hundred and fifty dollars just to apply. She checked the balance on her checking account. That last payment had cleared, thank God, so it wasn’t that she didn’t have the money, but it was supposed to be going toward the credit card bill she and Willow had racked up during their back-to-school shopping spree at River Hills Mall. Lizzie had known she shouldn’t be paying full price for any of the clothes Willow picked out—she knew that they would be going on sale in just a few weeks—but they’d been having so much fun. Willow had been in a rare loquacious mood and filled her mother in on things she otherwise never would have heard about, like her overnight to Ocean City with her friends and the boy she’d kissed by the Tilt-A-Whirl.

She cleared the calculator and eyed the stack of unopened bills. It was bad. She’d let things get out of control. But she’d only done it because she’d had that big job over the summer and thought the final payment would cover it. But then the water heater had gone. And there was Willow’s trip to the emergency room when she’d gotten food poisoning working that six-year-old’s birthday party. And that out-of-control cell phone bill the week after the storm, calling and texting everyone she knew to make sure they were okay and did they have power and did they need anything. When it rained, as the saying went, it poured.

Lizzie gulped her coffee. Upstairs, Willow pounded around, getting ready for school, late as always. Her music was so loud, the glassware in the kitchen cabinets shivered with every downbeat. Lizzie pushed her hands into her hair. What she needed to do was call Emma. Emma was literally the only person on earth who could help her. Lizzie needed to tell Emma the truth. But the very thought of that made her insides go slack. There was no way she could burden her friend with her situation. Not now. It was a situation of her own, idiotic making, and she was going to have to deal with it. Alone. Like she dealt with most things.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek, her foot bouncing beneath her chair. The house went suddenly quiet and Lizzie grabbed her phone. Emma picked up so fast she must have been holding her cell.

“Lizzie?”

She sounded odd. Distracted. But of course she was distracted. Her husband just died. This was an awful idea.

“Emma, hi! How are you? How’s it going?” Lizzie asked. She was sweating. Actual beads of sweat had formed on her lip. Upstairs, the bathroom door slammed.

“Oh. It’s going. I don’t know.”

“Is this a bad time?” Lizzie asked.

“No. Not at all,” Emma said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just had a quick question.” Lizzie stared at the bills, the calculator, the balance on her laptop. Her foot was so manic it was shaking her chair. She closed her eyes. No. “I was wondering if you could text me your Realtor’s info.”

There was a pause. She could imagine the baffled look on her best friend’s face.

“The woman I used for the cottage? Why?”

Lizzie stood up and went to the Keurig. She popped in a new pod and shoved her cup under the spout. Would she spend less money on coffee if she bought a regular coffeepot? Why had she splurged on this thing in the first place? It sucked for the environment and she was supposed to be socially conscious.

“I’m thinking about putting the house on the market,” she said, whacking the lever on the Keurig down like it had wronged her personally.

“What?” Emma half-shrieked. “You’re not moving.”

Shit. Lizzie was an idiot. A total blithering idiot. Of course this news would blindside Emma. She’d just lost her husband and now Lizzie was telling her that her best friend was leaving.