Wish You Were Gone(32)

“Yes, Zoe, I’m here.”

“Oh, Emma, I’m so… How are you? Are you okay? I’m so sorry for your loss.”

This poor girl was calling to comfort her and all Emma was doing was mentally dressing her down. Emma blinked at her reflection in the huge mirror that ran the span of both her and James’s sinks. His toothbrush was still in its holder; a washcloth he’d left on the edge of the porcelain had hardened as it dried.

“I’m sorry for your loss as well.”

“Thanks.” Zoe sniffed. “I mean, you don’t have to say that? But… thanks.”

Emma wondered if James had been a good boss. He used to be, she thought. Back when they discussed things. He always made sure people felt appreciated, stressed out over giving fair reviews, advocated for more time off and work-from-home days. Had Zoe liked working for him? Was she going to miss him? She found herself hungry for information about the husband she only sort of knew, but she couldn’t find a way to ask.

“Is everything okay? Is there anything I can do?” Zoe asked. “How’re the kids?”

“The kids are fine. I mean, not fine, but, you know.”

“Yeah. I mean, no. I mean, I can imagine?” Zoe said, then gave a short laugh or sob—it was difficult to tell. “I’m sorry. I sound like an idiot.”

Emma pulled the phone away from her ear to check the time. She was supposed to be meeting Lizzie at the cottage at ten and it was almost nine thirty. It was her first day actually doing something that mattered to her and she didn’t want to be late.

“Zoe, was there something you needed, or—”

“Yes!”

Emma blinked. “Okay…”

“I’m sorry. I just… I’ve been trying you for days and I have to talk to you about the memorial.”

Thunk went Emma’s heart.

“The memorial?”

“Yes, James’s memorial. The phone’s been ringing off the hook with people who want to know when they can pay their respects.” There was a long pause as Emma closed her eyes against the reeling of the room and the spinning of her brain. They seemed to be going in opposite directions. “Do you… have something planned?”

Emma and James had never once discussed this. They were still so young—not even forty-five. They’d never talked about whether they would be buried together or interred together or whatever the word was. She’d had no idea whether he wanted to be cremated or buried or torched on a frickin’ raft out at sea. It was Gray who had suggested cremation. Due to the condition of the remains was how she’d put it, laying a hand gently on Emma’s arm, which was all Emma had needed to hear. If there was one thing she was sure about when it came to her dead husband, it was that he wouldn’t want anyone to see him looking less than coiffed.

Emma felt a stress laugh burbling up in her throat and bit down hard on her tongue. One of the things she hated most about herself was her tendency to crack up laughing in stressful or sad situations. Also, she cried when she was angry. And smiled when people told her bad news. When her parents had dropped the bombshell that her dad had stage-four liver cancer, she’d grinned. There was something seriously wrong with her face.

“No. I don’t have anything planned. Honestly, Zoe, I don’t think I have it in me.”

“But, Emma, James was beloved around here.”

Beloved, Emma thought. Is that even possible?

“And all his clients have been calling…”

Emma closed her eyes and braced her free hand against the vanity. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t plan some huge party honoring her husband right now. Maybe not ever. He’d been cheating on her. Preparing to divorce her. He’d screamed in Kelsey’s face the night before he died and shoved Hunter to the ground. What if they asked her to do a eulogy? What was she supposed to say?

She thought of Lizzie and tried to hear her friend’s calming voice inside her head. Then, just like that, she knew what Lizzie would tell her to do. She would say that Emma didn’t have to do everything. That it was okay to let other people help her. Especially with the things she felt incapable of doing.

“Can you take care of it?” she asked, holding her breath.

“Yes! Yes, we can definitely take care of it.” Zoe sounded relieved. “As long as you’re okay with that.”

“Absolutely,” Emma replied. “Just tell me where to be and when and I’ll come. I just really am not up to planning an event right now. You understand.”

“Of course I do,” Zoe said. “In fact, I was on the phone with Gray just yesterday and she said you might feel that way, so we’re already looking into venues. MSG offered us the Delta Sky Club.”

That was just like Gray, anticipating what Emma needed before she even knew she needed it. What would Emma do without her?

“That sounds perfect,” Emma said. “James would love that.” The rat bastard.

“We figured we’d do it on a weekday to minimize the turnout as much as possible.”

“The turnout?” How many people were they expecting?

“He had a lot of friends, Emma. But you know that. A lot of friends and colleagues who want to pay their respects.”

Aside from Darnell, Emma knew of no friends. Over the last eight years or so, James had gradually stopped talking to everyone they used to socialize with. His frat brothers from college, the guys from his first job, even the friends he’d made coaching Little League in town when Hunter was little. They didn’t go to cocktail parties or brunches anymore. Didn’t attend his high school friends’ annual Super Bowl/reunion party—James was always working anyway. She assumed he still saw some of the dads at Hunter’s baseball games in the spring, but the rest of the year, all he did was work. Work and travel for work and drink and stumble home and get up at the ass crack of dawn to do it all over again.