The Next Best Thing (Gideon's Cove #2)(58)

He moves on to Iris, whispers something into her ear…something naughty from the look of it, since she makes that delightedly outraged face and reaches up to smack the side of his head. Then he reaches my mom, who tucks her arm through his as she talks with her best friend, Carol. Ethan looks so…decent. He nods to Carol without interrupting my mom, looking like what he is, really. A good son. Too bad he lacks that easy grace with his own parents.

I look down, imagining Jimmy here, doing much what his brother is doing. Charming my mother, sweet-talking my relatives, then coming over to sit next to me for a kiss. He’d hold my hand, murmur a few words, then get up to herd our children—we were planning on four—when they got rowdy. If anyone implied that crumbs from my scones had killed Boggy, Jimmy would put that silly notion to rest in a heartbeat. His presence would cushion me from the shallow Debbie Keatings and the dopey Cousin Stevies of the world.

It’s the widow’s burden and blessing, too. For the rest of my life, I’ll picture Jimmy everywhere. He did love me so. And God knows I loved him, too.

“Hi, Lucy.”

I look up at Ethan, and for a heartbeat, it’s almost as if he’s the one I’ve been missing all these years. “Hi,” I whisper through the fog of emotion that’s enveloped me.

“I hear those were some killer scones,” he whispers, then dissolves into silent laughter, sinking into the chair next to me and covering his face with his hand.

The tenderness in my heart drops with a thud. It’s the last straw. Hard to imagine I was just wanting to sort things out with him, to make him smile again. Without a word, I stand up and move past him.

“Lucy, I’m sorry,” he says, catching my hand. “Don’t be mad.”

I pull free. I am just not in the mood. Emotions churn in my heart, good, bad, ugly, and I need a little space.

In the back of the room is Stevie, acting out Boggy’s last moments from the look of it, his hands on his throat, tongue extended as Father Adhyatman watches in horrified fascination. There were no crumbs involved, I mentally tell the priest, then weave my way past them. Veering down the hall toward the bathroom, my throat is tight, my eyes sting.

Then, out of the bathroom comes Debbie who was once my friend. She gives me that vacuous smile she’s perfected, shifts her eyes to the left of my head and tries to slither past.

“Hello, Debbie,” I say, blocking her way. My voice may be a little too loud.

“Oh! Um…Lucy!” she says as if she hadn’t recognized me. Her eyes dart away, a deer caught in the headlights. No. A possum in the headlights. She always had a sneaky little face. “Hi! How have you been?”

“Well, funny you should ask, Debbie. My husband died five years ago. I know you were quite sad. But guess what? So was I. It would’ve been nice if you called me even once. Since you were supposedly my friend and all.”

She stares at me, her face twitching in surprise. Her mouth opens wordlessly, but whatever she may or may not have to say, I don’t want to hear it. Instead I step aside to let her scuttle past. My breath comes hard and fast, and I look around for a hiding place, knowing I’m irritatingly close to tears.

The coat room. Great. No one’s in there. I step in and close the door behind me, take a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest. Three large racks of coats surround me, the empty metal hangers clanging softly in the wind current caused by my arrival.

“Lucy? You in there?” It’s Ethan. Of course.

I don’t answer. The coat room door doesn’t have a lock. Ethan comes in and shuts the door quietly behind him.

“First you make out with Charley Spirito, then you tell off Debbie Keating,” he muses. “Busy night.”

“Please don’t,” I whisper.

He nods and looks at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he says. “The scones comment was in poor taste. Forgive me?”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

“Come on back out, then. Your mom is looking for you.”

“Ethan,” I attempt, my voice cracking. My mouth wobbles and I clamp my lips together.

“Hey,” Ethan says, his eyebrows rising in surprise. He steps closer, erasing the small space between us, and takes my upper arms, his hands warm and strong. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

Tears slop out of my eyes, and I find that my face is suddenly pressed against Ethan’s shoulder, my arms around his lean waist, and I’m crying. Rather hard. “I was so proud, Ethan,” I choke. “To be the first face she saw after all this time. That maybe something I said, or those damn scones…maybe I triggered something. She was talking and smiling and everything, and it was like the old days, you know? The Black Widows were so happy, and it was like a party and everyone was so amazed, and then…it’s so stupid, but why does everyone have to die?” I hiccup on another sob.

“Honey, she was a hundred and four,” Ethan says against my hair. His arms are around me, and one hand is rubbing between my shoulder blades, where there are knots the size of acorns. He feels so good. Smells so good. “She just…wound down. That’s all. And you had this incredible day with her, this one last day where she was back to her old self.” His voice is gentle. “You should be happy, sweetheart. That was a gift. You got to talk to her one last time. I can’t tell you what I’d give—”