Alternate Side(66)

“That’s dreadful,” Alma said.

“Passed away,” Sherry said. “They could have said passed away.” She wiped her face, then looked down at the pinkish streaks of foundation on the ragged tissue. “Oh, no,” she said.

Nora squeezed her hand. “It could be worse. George could be here.”

Sherry gave a harsh laugh that sounded as though it were stuck somewhere in her chest. “He wrote me a long letter,” she said. “He talked about what a wonderful man Jack was and told some long story about how Jonathan had come here trick-or-treating one Halloween and Jack had invited him in and talked to him in a way that Jonathan would never forget.”

“About what?” Nora said.

“I have no idea. I’m not even sure it’s true. Every time Jack saw Jonathan, he called him ‘that little weasel,’ as far as I remember.”

“That was Jack,” said Alma.

“The other thing that’s exhausting about all this is that these people insist on evoking some mythical Jack who bears no resemblance to my husband. His partners made him sound like Mother Teresa, until one of them mentioned his golf game, when they all shut up and the one man turned purple. And one of the work wives was telling a long story about how a friend of hers had gotten over being a widow through yoga. I hate yoga.”

“Agreed,” said Alma.

“I’m sorry, Nora,” Sherry said. “I’ve been so mean to you the last few months, but I had no idea how to handle this situation. Which is ironic, given what I do for a living.”

“I totally understood,” said Nora. Sherry lay back on a stack of pillows. “Is it bad form to take a nap in the middle of something like this?” she said.

“Don’t worry,” said Alma, and she and Nora slipped out and closed the door. “I’m going to get all these people to go home,” Alma said, looking at her watch, and Nora was certain she would make it happen.

“Has she taken something?” Nora said.

“In her place, you or I would certainly do so,” Alma said, which Nora thought was true of her but not of Alma.

As they came down the stairs Nora said, “I keep thinking of this mother from the kids’ school who was eaten up with guilt because she said she’d fantasized about her husband dying so often that when he did she felt as though she’d made it happen.”

“Oh, goodness,” Alma said. “If all the women who fantasized about their husbands’ passings made them happen, there would be no men in the world. How were Rachel’s and Oliver’s graduations?”

“Oh, you know. Sad. Hectic. Lots of crying girls, hugging one another.”

“We haven’t yet reached the evolutionary point at which the boys cry?”

“I didn’t see any,” Nora said. “But Ollie’s friends are all science and math guys. Maybe that explains it. I know Charlie told Jack’s sons that if Oliver wasn’t in Boston and Rachel wasn’t in Seattle they would be here, but that isn’t really true. They both really love Ricky. And they didn’t much like Jack before, anyhow.”

“Well, we’re not here for Jack, are we?” Alma said. “We’re here for Sherry. And it’s after nine. I’m going to clear the room.” Nora watched her approach the Fisk sons and then made her own escape out the front door.

“Where did you disappear to?” Nora asked Charlie when she got home. He was sitting in the living room in the dark and she began to turn on table lamps.

“I was sitting out in their backyard,” he said. “I was out there last month with Jack. We had a cigar, talked a little about the case. I could tell he was feeling bad about what happened. I was sitting out there by myself tonight, thinking, One minute we were talking, and now it’s not even a month later and he’s gone. Just like that. He was really sorry about Ricky. I think that’s what killed him. It wasn’t the threat of a lawsuit. He just felt like a bad guy.”

Nora sat on the couch, her knees nudging his. “I hate to say it,” she said, “but in some ways he was a bad guy.”

“I don’t think so. He just got stuck in a situation and didn’t know how to get out of it. And I was sitting there thinking, In ten years I’ll be him. Circling the drain at work, so pissed off that someday I’ll hit some poor bastard with a three iron.”

“It’s not true. You’re not that guy. You’ll never be that guy.” Nora put her hand on his back and rubbed it, the way she had with the kids when they were babies, fretful, teething. Charlie turned his head and looked at her. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve done to me in a long time,” he said.

“Sorry, Charlie.” She said it because she used to say that as a joke, when they first got together, like the tuna ad from when they both were kids. But it didn’t seem funny now.

“Come to bed,” she said.

“You go ahead. I’m going to sit here for a while. Just turn out the lights.” Nora waited for a moment. “Go ahead,” he said again.

As she started up the stairs she heard Charlie say, “Nora?” It was so odd, to hear him use her proper name. For years it had been Bunny or Bun, as though Nora were a name for other people and he had claimed a singular name just for himself. She tried to remember the last time he had called her Nora. It was usually when he was angry, but he wasn’t angry now.