by Emily Giffin
Lucy stared down at the girl-angel in disbelief. “Well, son of a gun. You’re right!” she said with a little laugh. “But are you sure it’s not a tiara?”
“It’s a halo, dammit,” Lawton said.
Caroline giddily covered her mouth, thrilled with all the swearwords, as Lucy squinted further. “Well. Now I love her even more. She’s an angelic little shopper!”
“Just like you, Luce,” Coach Carr said, putting a hook on a snowman ornament. “I bet there’s some Channel and Vespucci buried somewhere in that cart.”
Everyone laughed at his joke, knowing that he was intentionally butchering Chanel and Versace, as I turned to Lucy and asked where the angel came from. I knew that she was eager to share any story related to her mother, and it was my job, I decided, to give her ample opportunity.
“Mom got it when she lived in Austria,” Lucy said. “When she was a little girl. It was one of her favorites. Right, Dad?”
“That’s right,” he said, although we all knew that Lucy was the authority on family heirlooms, and that he was likely just agreeing with her.
Caroline lunged for it while Lucy admonished her to be careful and said that she was going to hang this one because it was “very breakable and very, very special.” She placed the angel near the top of the tree in the glow of a white light, then gave her cart a little push, watching it swing for a few seconds before returning to her bins.
And so it went, Lucy unveiling ornament after ornament, tweaking our placement, telling stories about her mother. I never would have predicted it, especially based on her mood around Thanksgiving, but she seemed to be genuinely happy, no trace of melancholy despite the intense sights, scents, and sounds of Christmases past pummeling us with the reminder that something—someone—was missing. Harry Connick, Jr., was crooning in the background. The aroma of snicker-doodles, Mrs. Carr’s specialty, wafted from the kitchen. It was even turning blustery outside, wind beating at the windowpanes, which Lucy mused her mother would have loved. In fact, her mood was so unexpectedly stable that I started to suspect her little white pills were involved, or at least an extra kick in her eggnog. Then again, maybe she had simply reached another small turning point in her grief. Maybe time really did heal all wounds.
Just a few minutes later, however, I landed upon another theory—that it was only a very convincing con job—when I heard Lucy say to Caroline, “Honey, isn’t this a magical night?”
Caroline said it was, taking another cookie from the snowflake plate while Lucy fired off a frantic few digital photos, close-ups of her daughter’s profile, her own eyes glistening with a faraway sadness. Of course she wasn’t feeling any better, not on the very first Christmas without her mother. She was simply doing her best to head-fake her daughter, put up a brave front, follow the advice her mother would have given her: Make things perfect for your family, never mind your own feelings. Her mood was as contrived as their fake tree, but still artful and beautiful in its own way. Later, when she and Neil were alone in their bedroom, I suspected that the tears would flow, but, for now, she had embraced her solemn duty to diligently construct and create memories for Caroline. I felt my heart fill with admiration for her and wondered if I could be so strong in her shoes. I didn’t think so, but I suspected that motherhood has a way of bolstering your emotional reserves.
We all kept working until we neared the bottoms of the bins, where only the scruffy, trivial, recently acquired ornaments that Lucy humorously dubbed nouveau accoutrements remained.
“Time for the star. Neil, go get the stepladder.” She clapped twice as Caroline said, “Chop! Chop!”
“Wow. Did you hear that, guys? Chop, chop? See how my wife’s rubbing off on our child?” Neil announced to no one in particular. He clearly loved their mother-daughter sass, proud of the bossy women in his life, and he dutifully retrieved the ladder, setting it up as close to the tree as the branches would allow. He climbed three steps, then said, “Caroline, would you like to do the honors?”
She nodded and eagerly scrambled up the ladder, then swiped the star from her father and fearlessly reached for the top of the nine-foot tree.
“Careful, careful,” Lucy commanded as Neil gripped Caroline’s torso, lifted her slightly, and helped guide the star into place. We all oohed and aaahed and praised Caroline’s tree-topping prowess. Then, as Caroline and Neil descended, Lucy stood, cleared her throat, and said, “So now … Caroline has something to tell you … Caroline?”
Jumping and dancing and twirling about the room, Caroline screamed something about a sister, before falling to the ground in a dizzy heap. Lawton and Coach stared at her, confused, but I caught on instantly, my heart skipping a hopeful beat. Lucy was pregnant!
“Say it again, honey, slower,” Lucy said.
Caroline got up and tried again, forming her words more clearly. “I’m going to be a big sister!”
This time, Coach and Lawton understood, both of them belting out their congratulations while I simply smiled in the background. I allowed myself to study Coach’s face for the first time all evening, and could tell by his conflicted expression that he was thrilled by the news but also heartbroken that Connie wasn’t here to share it. Or maybe he was just digging down, doing his best to rise to the occasion, give Lucy what she needed, say and do all the things that his wife would have so effortlessly said and done.
He took a deep breath, as if gathering himself, then stepped forward to shake Neil’s hand and clap him on the back. “Congratulations, son,” he said, beaming. Then he pulled Lucy into a big embrace, holding her for several seconds while I heard him say, “Sweetheart. This is wonderful news. Just wonderful.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” Lucy said, giggling and blushing as they separated. “We’re really excited.”
Coach kissed Lucy’s forehead, then chased after Caroline, who was still dancing around the room, and asked her if she wanted a brother or sister—a question as obvious as “Do you want Walker to win it all?”
“A sister!” Caroline screamed at Lucy’s stomach, as if volume could mandate gender, then allowed herself to be caught and scooped up by her grandfather.
“Do you know what it is?” Lawton asked, copying his dad’s manly handshake and clap on the back for Neil, and big hug for his sister.
“No. We’re still really early. I’m only eight weeks,” Lucy said. “But I wanted you to know now. I thought tonight would be the perfect time to share our news.” She faltered a bit but remained calm, steady, purposefully joyful.
“Are you going to find out again? Like you did with this one?” Coach said, tweaking Caroline’s nose before freeing her.
“No. Not this time. Mom will be the only one to know,” Lucy said, glancing up at the star before looking at me. “What do you think, Shea?” she asked, as if making a point to fully include me in the family moment. Guilt-filled, I chose my words carefully, in a way I hadn’t done nearly five years ago when I heard the news about Caroline.
“I think that’s a wonderful plan. Be surprised this time,” I said and could feel myself getting choked up. “I’m so happy for you, Luce.”
“I’m happy, too,” she said. “I’m finally a little bit happy.”
I smiled, then inadvertently made eye contact with Coach, who was now standing just beyond Lucy. He gave me a look that seemed to say the same thing that I was thinking, Thank goodness we didn’t tell her yet.
I wish I had left then, on a high note—the advice that Mrs. Carr had always given us. Instead, I lingered, staying after Lawton departed, while Lucy and Neil went upstairs to put Caroline to bed, unable to resist Coach’s magnetic pull.
“Another baby. Wow,” Coach said when we were alone, cleaning up the kitchen.
“I know. I didn’t see that one coming … At all,” I said, though I wasn’t sure why I was so surprised when I always knew that Neil and Lucy wanted more than one child.
“Me either,” he said, rinsing a cookie sheet, then putting it in the dishwasher while I wiped down t
he island.
“Do you think it’s a boy?” I asked him.
“I do,” he said, turning to glance at me over his shoulder before returning his gaze to the sink. “Which is weird because I never get feelings about this stuff. I’d love a grandson, but another girl would be great, too. And a little sister would be wonderful for Caroline.”
I nodded and studied Coach’s back, as my mind selfishly raced with implications for our situation. Would Lucy’s news make it easier or harder for us? There was no way to predict it, as babies had a way of making things better and worse at once. Lucy would have a distraction, but she would also have raging hormones stirring up her grief. And nothing, including holidays, would highlight the hole in her life like a newborn.
We could hear the clamor of bedtime antics upstairs, Neil and Lucy loudly negotiating with Caroline, and I knew that it would take them at least another thirty minutes to get her to bed. Coach must have been thinking that we were safe, too, because he bit his lower lip and took a few steps toward me. “I need to kiss you again,” he whispered, glancing toward the front hallway. “Everywhere.”
I shivered, then whispered, “Let’s go back to the family room. Safer.”
He nodded, leading me to the sofa, where we sat at a close but still strategically safe distance. We chatted about Lucy’s baby for a few minutes more, before his face grew grave and he said, “I need to talk to you about something important …”
“What?” I said, wondering if it had anything to do with the NCAA investigation.
He shook his head and said, “Not now. Later.”
His expression concerned me, even more so when he touched my hand and said, “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “I just need to … tell you something. That’s all.”
I said okay, now thinking it had to do with Connie. Perhaps a confession that he still felt loyal to her. That he could move his wedding ring to his right hand but could not take it off altogether. He could kiss me, maybe even one day make love to me, but that he wasn’t ready for a full commitment because he would always love her the most. My mind raced with other possibilities, all related to Mrs. Carr, until he said, “Stop worrying, honey.”
Then he wrapped my hand in his, brought it to his face, and tenderly kissed it. I felt myself melting, my vision blurring, my ears ringing, until everything froze and shattered with the sound of Lucy’s voice behind us.
“Hi,” she said as Coach and I both jumped, then turned to look over our shoulders, in tandem.
“Hi,” I said, realizing that he was still holding my hand. I pulled it away. A clumsy, delayed reaction.
“Why did you just kiss Shea?” she said, her voice so sweet and innocent that she reminded me of Cindy Lou Who in How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
“I didn’t,” Coach stammered.
“Yes, you did.”
“I kissed her hand. Not her.”
“Well, why did you kiss her hand?” Lucy said as Neil appeared next to her. She turned to him, crossed her arms, and announced, “Dad just kissed Shea.”
No one spoke or moved for several seconds, until Lucy circled around the sofa and sat on a chair across from us, the tree to her back. Neil joined her, sitting at her feet, looking completely discombobulated. I waited in agony, could feel my cheeks burning, sweat dripping down my sides.
“Is something going on between you two?” Lucy finally asked. She still didn’t sound angry, but she was becoming less bewildered, more stern.
Neither of us replied, which was louder and clearer than any answer we could have given her.
“Oh. My. God,” Lucy said, looking at me, then her father, then me again.
I decided I had to speak since her gaze was now fixed on me.
“It’s not like … that,” I said, although it was exactly like that. I reminded myself not to lie to my best friend. Not to make it worse than it already was.
“What is it, then? What is it like?”
Coach said, “Luce. We’re close friends. You know that.”
“I have never been kissed like that by a close friend. That’s how Neil kisses me.”
Coach cleared his throat. “It was only her hand.”
“Okay … well, have you actually kissed her, then?” Lucy asked with laser focus.
I looked at Coach, grateful that she was posing the questions to him, and I said a dreadful little prayer that he would lie, just a bit. But, once again, his silence spoke volumes about the truth.
“Oh, God, Neil,” she said, looking at her husband. “They’ve kissed.”
“Just once,” I said. “I swear.”
“When?”
“A few days ago,” Coach said.
“Where?”
“In my office,” he replied.
Lucy stared at the ceiling, then dropped her head in her hands, her voice coming back muffled. “I can’t … I can’t handle this. I can’t …”
When she uncovered her face, she looked pleadingly at Neil and mumbled something I couldn’t make out. Something like Find out what’s going on.
Neil gave us a helpless, devastated look, then said, “So you two … you have feelings for each other?”
Silence.
“Look. I think it’s best if you tell us the truth … And then we’ll handle it from there. Just tell Lucy the truth,” Neil said.
I heard Coach inhale just as I did, but while I held my breath, he exhaled and said, “Yes. I have feelings for her.”
“As more than a friend?” Neil said, as I thought that he had never seemed quite this strong, in control. Not even through his mother-in-law’s death—and he’d been great then.
“Yes,” Coach said. “I really care about her.”
“And you, Shea?” Neil asked, turning to me.
I said yes, but my voice came out in a whisper.
“What?” Lucy said.
“Yes,” I repeated, more audibly.
Neil nodded, accepting the facts, then turned to Lucy, as if to ask her what else she wanted to know.
“When?” she fired off, her cheeks now as red as mine felt. “When did you start feeling this way?”
“Not before …” I said, my voice trailing off.
“Not before what?” Lucy said. “Not before Mom died? Good God, I should hope not. Or else … or else …”
She didn’t finish her sentence, thank goodness, but I imagined that she was thinking Or else you’re both going to Hell.
“Luce,” I said. “This is all really new.”
“Like all of a sudden?” she snapped back at me.
“Well, yes … and no … It happened gradually … The feelings … But the kiss thing … just happened. All of a sudden, yes.”
I was babbling, my insides twisting, as I waited for the inquisition to continue. But instead of another question, Lucy said, “You know what? I’m going to bed. I can’t do this. I don’t want to know. Just … do what you’re going to do … and please leave me out of it.”
She rose as Coach tried to stop her, standing and reaching for her arm. He caught it, but she shook it off and said, “I’m tired, Daddy. Good night.”
“Good night, Lucy … I’m … really sorry if this hurts you …”
“If?” she said, her eyes finally filling with tears.
“I’m sorry that it upsets you,” he said.
Lucy stared at her father, her eyes cold, remote. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t say anything else. I just hope it’s worth it to you both …”
“Lucy,” he said, his voice stronger, more urgent, with just a hint of authority. “Wait.”
She shook her head, then walked out of the room, without so much as a glance my way.
Thirty-nine
“That was brutal,” Coach said when he called me from his cell just a few minutes after we had seen ourselves out of Lucy’s house. In a mild state of shock, I gripped my steering wheel, trailing Coach in my car.
“She h
ates me,” I said, more to myself than to him. Without thinking, I passed the turnoff for my apartment, still following Coach in the direction of his house.
“She hates both of us,” he said, as if this were some kind of solace.
“You’re her father. She can’t hate you,” I said, realizing that that hadn’t stopped me from hating my own dad for the longest time. In some ways, it was easier to hate someone in your family, the smallest betrayals magnified. But it was also far easier to write off a friend, without a bloodline holding you together.
“She has to forgive us,” he said. “Eventually.”
I wondered what he meant by eventually—a couple of days, weeks, or years—and the thought that it could be the last, that it could be never, made me pull over to the side of the road.
Coach must have glanced in his rearview mirror, because he said, “Where’d you go?”
“I stopped for a second,” I said, my hands shaking. I watched his taillights illuminate ahead of me as he pulled over, too.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“What if she never forgives us?” I said, thinking of all the grudges Lucy had held over the years. All the people she had written off for far smaller offenses.
“She will. Of course she will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because … we’re the two most important people in her life after Caroline and Neil.”
“No,” I said, staring at his car. “Her mother’s far more important than we are. That’s the point.”
“But … she’s not here. This never would have happened if Connie were still with us.”
“Of course not,” I said, appalled at the mere idea that anything, even the most minor of flirtations, would have ever begun if Mrs. Carr had been alive. I thought back to that dreadful time when she was really sick, and how I couldn’t even look him in the eye. “Do you think Lucy knows that?”
“Yes. She knows that. She knows us … Nobody cheated here. Nobody lied.”
“We sort of lied.”
“No. We just didn’t tell her right away … This thing just happened … Nobody planned it … Lucy’s just upset … She needs time to process it.”