Blueprints

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Yes.”

  “How’s Granddad?”

  “Terrible. The house is swarming with people.”

  “Roy’s, too. It’s overwhelming.”

  “Here. Brad wants to talk.”

  “Wait—” Jamie wasn’t ready to let her go, but Brad must have grabbed the phone.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Can you meet us at the funeral home?”

  “Right now? I, uh, no.” She cleared her throat. “I’m with Tad.” She peered around her arm. Tad was holding his own.

  “Can’t someone watch him? Someone at the house?”

  “I can’t leave him right now.”

  “What about the housekeeper?”

  Yes, Desideria would watch Tad, but Jamie needed to be with him. “I’ll have to let Mom and Theo handle it. Gotta run, Brad. Talk later.”

  Ending the call, she pocketed the phone and, hugging her stomach, huddled into herself. Tad continued to play, not so much with as alongside the other child. From time to time, he sat back on his heels, but even then, he wasn’t looking for Jamie.

  She half-wished he was. She half-wished she was so instrumental to his existence that he couldn’t bear to have her out of his sight for more than a minute. That would justify her not going to the funeral home. But the truth? With Jess declared dead and Tad her own child forever more, she was having trouble breathing. Dealing with the reality of a funeral—burial clothes, hymns, obituaries—would have been way too much. She couldn’t even think about picking out a dress to wear herself.

  When her eyes filled with tears, she pressed a hand under her nose to squelch out-and-out crying.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Jamie,” came a new female voice. “What a fluke accident. If only that tree had come down in the hurricane we had two years ago—” The voice suddenly stopped.

  Startled by the abruptness, Jamie looked up, then followed the woman’s gaze to the man at the other end of the bench. His hand was raised off his book just enough to say, Enough. Leave her alone.

  Amazingly, the woman pressed her fingers to her mouth, nodded, and, seeming duly chastised, left.

  * * *

  The angst of the past few days notwithstanding, Caroline would have driven over to see Jamie if there hadn’t been so much to do here. Each time she went looking for Theo to say she was leaving, the front door opened, and more people arrived. She knew them all, if not through work then through Williston, and if not through the town then through her marriage to Roy. With Theo looking as fragile as the antique French armchair on which he sat—“Patricia’s favorite,” he said each time she suggested he might be more comfortable elsewhere—she couldn’t desert him. She guided friends his way. She reassured him that the picture of Roy in the newspaper obit would be a good one. At his urging, she dug through files in the library to read the write-up of Patricia’s funeral and see which hymns were played.

  She also brought him water and tried to get him to eat. “You need strength,” she told him in a private moment, squatting beside his chair with her back to the room. “Roy would not want you to starve. Here’s tuna salad. You like tuna.” When he waved the plate away, she set it on the lamp table. “You’re exhausted. Why not go up and rest for a few minutes? We’ll all understand.”

  Seeming not to hear, he said in a rough murmur, “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. This wasn’t in the plan. You think about the life you want, and you follow the rules and try to do the right things.”

  Caroline squeezed his hand. “You’re a good person, Theo.”

  “And still he died.” Sad eyes met hers. “Roy had his faults. But he was my son.”

  “He had many strengths. You raised a good man. He loved his family.”

  Indeed, she had never once doubted his love for Jamie. Wondering if Jamie knew that, she thought again about going to Roy’s, but as she stood, Theo’s eyes went to the door. “There’s the president of the bank. Talk to him, Caroline. Answer his questions. I can’t go through that again.”

  So Caroline talked with the president of the bank. When Brad showed up, she drew him in to take her place. This time, when she went to tell Theo she was leaving, he came up with another person she needed to call, so she went into the library to use the phone.

  While there, she left another message for Dean. It was the third one. He would want to know what had happened, and though she knew that cell reception was iffy on the river, she also knew that he would connect to a hot spot at least once a day for emergency’s sake.

  As the afternoon passed, exhaustion crept up, but her own strain was nothing compared to what she heard when Jamie finally called. Given that, she was annoyed when Brad suggested Jamie join them at the funeral home. She wasn’t needed there. Nor was he, actually, and though he offered to drive, Theo insisted Caroline do it. He claimed she knew as much about Roy as anyone, and he was likely right. As distant as they had grown personally, she knew about the work that he did, could list projects that he had single-handedly made happen and charities that he championed.

  Jessica was more of an enigma. Her mother had little to offer beyond basic biographical facts, given tearfully and tersely. Caroline texted Jamie a few questions, like whether Jessica was an avid athlete and what flowers she liked. The feminist part of Caroline regretted that Roy’s life so overshadowed his wife’s. But there was no help for it now.

  As she talked about Roy at the funeral home, something else hit her. She had been so focused on everyone else’s loss that she hadn’t considered her own. Reminiscing with Theo and the funeral home director, she realized that a person who had been a part of her life for more than thirty years was suddenly gone. Love him or not, his death left a void.

  She was feeling that emptiness when they returned to Theo’s, which made Dean’s call perfectly timed. They talked as she stood at the kitchen window, overlooking the lush beauty of Theo’s backyard patio.

  “Just like that, Dean. In a heartbeat, he’s gone. I haven’t loved him for years, but we shared a lot once. I’ve never lost a friend before. I’ve been lucky, I guess.”

  “You and me both,” Dean remarked. He had asked question after question at the start of the call. Now he was subdued. “The guy was my age.” He fell silent. Still, Caroline took comfort from knowing that he was there. Finally, quietly, he said, “I’m just … stunned.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “Me, too.”

  “How’s Jamie?”

  “Hanging on, I guess. She’s young. She’s busy. Theo’s the shaky one. He has me driving him places. I’m not sure he’d get to where he’s going alone.”

  “Is he confused?”

  “Distracted.”

  “Well, you’re doing a good thing, sweetheart. I’m coming back. I’ll help.”

  “Oh no, Dean. Don’t come back early. That’s not why I called. I just felt you’d want to know.” She had also needed to hear the voice of a friend.

  “I should be there out of respect.”

  Well, there was that. But had Roy earned it? Dean didn’t yet know about the Gut It! fiasco. When he learned about that, he would be livid.

  So Caroline said, “There are too many people here already, Dean. Wait. Stay there. Stay fresh. That way you’ll be even more of a help when you get back.”

  eleven

  That night, once Brad had returned and she was sure Tad was asleep, Jamie clipped the baby monitor to Brad’s belt and dashed back to her condo for toiletries and clothes. By the time she returned, guests were gone, food was stowed, and the monitor was on the kitchen counter.

  Brad was slouched on a stool nearby. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she tried to focus on the familiarity of his warmth, but the old comfort wasn’t there. Oh, the house was quiet and under control, but nothing else was. Not really. Death didn’t stop at the end of the day; it was the one guest that refused to leave for the night.

  Jamie’s life had changed forever. She wasn’t sure Brad was on board.

  “Nig
htmare,” she whispered and felt him nod against her cheek. “Want to stay?” Sex was the last thing she wanted, but maybe in bed she would feel his warmth? She kind of needed that. Yes, he was feeling the shock of sudden death and perhaps even instant parenthood, but it was her father who had died, her friend who had died, her half brother who was orphaned. Okay. Brad needed time to adjust. She didn’t have that luxury, and if he didn’t see that, if he couldn’t rise to the occasion and be supportive, what hope did they have?

  But he shook his head. “I need my own space for a few. I have to go the office early tomorrow, then to Theo’s. Can you handle things here?”

  * * *

  Jamie thought she could. But Monday was a repeat of Sunday, the only difference being that she started it worn down by the house, the guests, the mood. When it became clear that even with the onset of the workweek, even with mourners at Theo’s and at the funeral home, Roy’s was still the go-to place, she knew she had to move. Tad was growing confused, his little brow increasingly furrowed, his baby voice crying for his mommy more often, his eyes filled with something just shy of fear. The constant flow of people in his home who weren’t his parents had to be upsetting.

  Or so Jamie guessed. She couldn’t ask. How could a two-year-old understand the questions, much less articulate answers? She was on such shaky ground here. She needed a book on parenting. She needed ten books on parenting. Actually, she needed her mother, but Caroline was tethered to Theo.

  The longer she stayed at Roy’s, though, the more oppressive it grew. His assistant helped pick burial clothes and ran them to the funeral home, which was a huge help to Jamie but brought little lasting relief. As soon as the woman returned to help Desideria at the house, Jamie packed several duffels of clothing, baby supplies, and toys and took Tad to her place. Short-term, that was always a novelty for him, and at least it was quiet. They played on the patio, went to the market for milk, mac ’n’ cheese, and mangos, and returned for lunch. This was familiar, she decided, thinking of other times she’d had him here, and refusing to think beyond.

  Once he was down for a nap, though, she had no choice. She couldn’t hide behind him forever. She was a MacAfee. Totally aside from the issue of responsibility, she wanted to see Theo, who was suffering. She also wanted to see Caroline, if only for a few minutes. They were at the funeral home, which was the last place she wanted to be. But Roy had attacked her during their last awful talk. If you can’t behave like a grown-up …

  She could. She would.

  She had a sitter. The receptionist in her department, a longtime family loyalist, had a grandchild Tad’s age and a sincere need to help Jamie. When she showed up at the condo with the makings for chocolate chip cookies, Jamie quickly showered, dressed, and left. She wished she had her convertible. It would have made her feel more herself. But how absurd a thought was that? Her convertible was at Roy’s and not much good to her now, which raised a lifestyle issue she couldn’t begin to deal with yet.

  Heart heavy with dread, she approached the funeral home all too soon and parked the SUV beside Theo’s Cadillac sedan. Once through the front door, she was surrounded by townsfolk, but her eye kept going to the pair of coffins at the end of the room. They were closed. The reason why was chilling. She went to the one with her father’s picture on top, touched the polished wood with one hand and her mouth with the other, and began to cry.

  Firm arms came around her shoulders, bringing a familiar scent that was so woodsy and light and perfectly Caroline that it brought more tears. Jamie had no idea how long she stood there sobbing quietly—two minutes, five, ten—only that there was nowhere else she could fall apart but in her mother’s arms. When a tissue materialized, she pressed it to her nose, blotted her eyes, and released a shuddering sigh.

  Turning Jamie’s face up, Caroline kissed her forehead and gave her a sad smile. “Better?”

  “Yes,” Jamie whispered. “I’m not very good at this.”

  “Nor am I. Or Theo.” Her gaze crossed the room and returned. “He’s anxious to see you. Are you ready yet?”

  Jamie took a breath and nodded, at which point Caroline guided her to her grandfather, who held out his arms. Jamie hugged him and clung. He was such a part of her heritage, and with an even bigger part of that now gone, she couldn’t let go. His body wasn’t as solid as Caroline’s; she felt a tremor in the arms that held her. When she finally drew back and focused on his wrinkled face, those teary blue eyes were hollow, and Caroline was gone.

  * * *

  Though Jamie stayed for a time, Caroline always seemed to be engaged with others. By choice? Jamie wondered, and quickly dismissed that thought. Whatever problems they had with Gut It! paled in the face of untimely death. It was enough, Jamie told herself, that Caroline had held her for those few minutes. There was hope here, at least.

  She returned to Roy’s more for the sake of politeness than necessity. No one seemed to need her, and Brad was a far better host than she could be. He was content to stay until the last of the guests left Monday night, go home to his own apartment to sleep, and return Tuesday morning. Though appropriately subdued, he filled Roy’s social shoes with ease.

  Jamie was alternately pleased and annoyed. On one hand, in stepping up so comfortably, he made a statement about continuity at MacAfee Homes. On the other hand, his dismissal of Tad was increasingly disturbing. He didn’t ask how the child was, didn’t offer to help with him, didn’t praise her, as so many others did when she said Tad was hers, other than to say that she had been wise to leave him at the condo before coming to the house.

  The little voice in her head went to work.

  Did he not understand that her father had specifically wanted her to raise the child in the event of something like this happening?

  Did he not understand that there were priorities in life, and that, yes, she knew she would have to make changes?

  Did he not understand that she wanted to do this?

  No, no, and no—which meant, bottom line, a storm was brewing.

  * * *

  Tuesday morning found Caroline visiting a succession of major MacAfee construction sites. Given a choice, she’d have been in her own workshop. Her wrist was fine, with little more than a bandage covering the stitches, and she needed the therapy of drilling, shaping, and sanding, needed the smell of sawdust and her father’s old tools. But having been with Theo every waking hour since Sunday morning, she welcomed a break—from Theo, from tragedy, from distress.

  That said, when he asked her to site-hop, she couldn’t say no. The gesture was a good one. Yes, every MacAfee higher-up had been personally called, and most had come to visit, but there were scores of hands-on workers who would be wondering what effect Roy’s death would have on MacAfee Homes. Her personal appearance made a statement that the business would survive.

  Unfortunately, delivering the message meant a juggling of sorrow and optimism on her part, and it was exhausting.

  Emotionally drained, after talking with a group of carpenters who were doing finish work in an office, she walked out into the sun and saw a Harley parked by her truck.

  Dean.

  Her heart lifted.

  She needed a friend, and Dean was that.

  Smiling as much as several days of darkness allowed, she approached him and, shading her eyes with a hand, looked up. “I said you shouldn’t come.”

  Sunglasses hid his eyes but not his smirk. “Since when do I listen to you?”

  Never. But she was too pleased to see him to fight. Wearing a black shirt and midnight jeans, he was certainly dressed right. “Well, thank you for coming,” she said, exhaling tension. “It’s been wild here.”

  “Wild?”

  “Tearful. Tragic. Bleak.” And here was Dean, the antithesis of these things. His nose and cheeks were sunburned, which was saying something about skin that had started with a good base tan. “Looks like you did get some fishing in. I’m sorry it was only two days.”

  “Not your fault. You didn’t make
that tree fall on Roy’s car.”

  “At least if I had, I could say that what I’m doing now is penance.” That sounded bitchy, she realized, and explained, “Don’t get me wrong. I choose to help Theo. He’s like a father to me, and the poor guy is beside himself. No one ever thinks his child will go before he does. But it’s awkward. Roy was my ex twice removed, and Jess was more Jamie’s contemporary than mine.”

  “How’s Jamie doing with all this?”

  Caroline felt Jamie’s agony acutely. “She’s struggling. She has custody of Tad.”

  Dean gave a little start. “Seriously? Did she know she would beforehand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can she handle it?”

  “She’ll have to.”

  He considered that. “Talk about life turning on a dime.”

  “Mmm. Lots of complications hitting at once.” Not the least being the Gut It! change, which would be an even greater challenge for Jamie if she was dealing with new motherhood at the same time. But of course, Dean didn’t know about the show. She wasn’t quite sure how to broach it.

  “Keep frowning like that,” he remarked, “and you’ll need Botox.”

  She tried to think up a smart reply, only her mind went off in a different direction. Botox meant wrinkles, wrinkles meant old, old meant death, and death was as final as those closed coffins at the funeral home, an image that did nothing good for her frame of mind. She had been feeling shaky since Jamie had shown up at her door Sunday morning—had actually been feeling shaky since Claire had shown up Friday—and while’s Dean’s comment was just Dean being clever, something about his presence snapped whatever element had been holding her together. To her horror, her eyes filled with tears.

  He jerked back. “What’s this?”

  It would have been so easy to swipe at her eyes with the heel of her hand and blame the past few days for emotions too close to the surface, but the words wouldn’t come for that either.

  “Hey,” he said more gently, then, “I need lunch. Want some?”

  She nodded.

  “Follow me.”

  * * *