Wish You Were Gone(51)

“Gray?” Emma’s voice, coming from the front hall. “What’s going on?”

It was as if Darnell didn’t hear her. He advanced on Gray like an angry bull, nostrils flared, eyes wild, one hand outstretched as if he meant to choke her. This was not her husband. This was someone she didn’t recognize.

James. James Walsh behaved this way. Not her Darnell.

“Darnell!” It was Emma who screamed his name. Gray saw her enter the room behind her husband. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t even seem to register that Emma was there.

“Darnell! Stop!” Gray cried, hoping to wake him up, hoping to snap him out of it. Before he could back her into the corner, she ducked and spun, sweeping his legs out from under him in one swift tae-kwon-do move she didn’t even know she remembered from college. He crashed to the floor, all three hundred–plus pounds of him going down in a flailing mass, his head banging against the thick edge of the counter as he went.

“Gray!” Emma breathed, rushing over to her.

“Oh my God!” Gray’s hands covered her mouth. What had she done?

Darnell rolled over onto his knees and curled into a ball, head down between his elbows. It was a grotesque version of child’s pose, all bulging shoulders and thick thighs straining against the fabric of his thousand-dollar wool pants. He rocked there, forward and back, forward and back, as if revving up to launch himself through the wall ahead of him.

“Gray?” Emma’s voice was shaking. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No. No.” Gray clutched Emma’s hand.

“Darnell?” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. She half expected him to turn on her, teeth bared, snarling. Her fingers trembled as she released Emma and reached out to touch his arm, kneeling next to her husband. “Darnell? Are you all right?”

He looked up at her then, but he wasn’t growling. His eyes were full of sorrow and fear. Tears coursed down his cheeks; his forehead furrowed with deep, wavy creases. There were welts on the palms of his hands, burns from grabbing the casserole dish.

“Darnell?” she wept. “What’s going on with you? What’s happening?”

He didn’t answer. He simply curled into her, head on her knee, turned on his side, and sobbed. Gray looked up at Emma, who was white as a sheet, and knew it was going to be a long night.





EMMA


When Gray invited Emma over for a run that Sunday morning, she’d thought they were actually going to talk. Preferably over one of Gray’s fantastic yogurt parfaits. But no. When Gray said run, she meant run, and now Emma was a sweaty, jellified mess trying to keep up with the much fitter Gray as she crested the third of three hills.

“Okay. I’m done now,” Emma said, half doubled over and panting as she hobbled toward her friend. Gray was jogging in place, waiting for her to catch up. “The widow needs a break.”

Gray quirked an eyebrow. “Really? You’re playing the widow card?”

“Oh, look! A park!” Emma pretended to have just noticed the small playground and benches across the street. “How nice to see our taxpayer dollars at work.”

She made her way to the nearest bench and sat. Gray came over and put her foot up on the back to stretch out her quads.

“You really should stretch.”

“You really should sit down already and tell me what’s going on.”

Emma could feel Gray tense up behind her. After the episode at Gray and Darnell’s house on Friday night, Darnell had gone upstairs to shower and Gray had told her that the stress of James’s death had Darnell up nights. That he wasn’t eating or sleeping and his temper had been short. Emma had pointed out that these factors didn’t explain away the fact that he’d been about to physically attack Gray and she’d had to whip out some sort of hidden ninja skill to get him to the floor, but Gray had waved her off and said it was fine. Knowing it was not fine, Emma had allowed Gray to usher her to the door because she knew that arguing with the woman was pointless, but she’d fretted all day Saturday until she’d gotten the text inviting her here, and Emma had promised herself she wasn’t leaving without answers—without knowing her friend was okay.

Gray did a few more stretches before finally joining Emma on the bench. “It looks like Darnell has CTE. Chronic traumatic encephalopathy. It’s something a lot of football and hockey and soccer players suffer from.”

“Oh my God, Gray. Of course, I know what it is.” Emma had lived with a man who lived for sports, and was raising a son who was an athlete. This particular disease didn’t affect baseball players the way it did people in contact sports, but Emma knew everything about it there was to know.

“Well, he’s had a few episodes lately, like the one you witnessed on Friday.” Gray looked down at her manicured hands. “We’re meeting with his doctors later this week so they can explain to me how bad it is. How… progressed it is. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it then, but to be honest, Darnell and I hadn’t even talked about it yet and I wanted to know for sure before I told you what was going on.”

“Oh, Gray, I’m so sorry.” Emma put her arm around her friend. Gray didn’t lean toward her or throw her arms around her or anything—she wasn’t that sort of person. But she did relax slightly, which Emma took as a good sign. “Is there anything I can do?”