The Baby (The Boss #5)

by Abigail Barnette

  From the chair beside my shoe rack, I fastened the ankle straps of my pumps and watched him knot his tie. Each piece of clothing he put on seemed to weigh him down more. He donned his jacket and buttoned it, then stood back, giving himself a final look over. He went still, horror transforming his expressionless face.

  He fell forward more than stepped, bracing himself against the mirror with an arm above his head as those raw cries of agony tore from him. I leapt to my feet and rushed to his side, pulling him into my arms.

  This had happened so often this week. He sleepwalked through his days, until something inevitably woke him and plunged him back into this nightmare. And he’d just realized he was dressing for his daughter’s funeral.

  “Come on,” I said softly. “Let’s go get your Valium.”

  Though I secretly feared loading Neil up on benzos was a bad idea and would just help him to avoid reality, Dr. Harris had assured me it wouldn’t interfere with the grieving process. It was so important to Neil that he maintain his composure in public, and I couldn’t take that away from him.

  Though neither Michael nor Emma were religious, the services would be held in the Woolworth chapel in Woodlawn cemetery. We arrived an hour early, and the funeral director met us there. He took us to a small office where Neil, as executor of the estate, signed some forms for the cremation that would take place immediately after the service.

  “I want to stay here,” Neil said, his hands trembling as he handed back the clipboard and pen. “Until it’s finished.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?” I asked, one hand on his shoulder. I rubbed his arm and linked my fingers with his.

  “I want to know that it’s done, and it’s been done properly.” He took a breath and straightened his spine, settling the matter.

  We waited in the office while mourners arrived. Neil sat in silence, elbows on his knees, head bowed.

  “Do you need anything?” I asked after a while.

  He nodded. “I need my daughter.”

  Valerie and Laurence arrived shortly after, Valerie carrying a small bundle in her arms that I immediately recognized as a baby blanket. My throat stuck shut.

  “Valerie,” Neil said, putting his arms out to her, and she stepped into them, her face scrunching up in what looked to be just the latest in the line of painful crying spells scheduled for the day. Neil squeezed his eyes shut, too, but was surprisingly even as he spoke. “Chin up. You’re going to hate yourself later if you fall apart, now.”

  Laurence cleared his throat. “If her daughter’s funeral isn’t a good enough time to cry, then what is?”

  I stiffened. I hated conflict, and I certainly didn’t want one to take place, right here, right now. Laurence was seeing Neil the way I’d once seen Valerie. He didn’t know that Neil wasn’t a threat.

  Are you sure? A little curl of fear nagged at me.

  I reminded myself that any time I was most emotionally vulnerable, all my bad feelings about Valerie and Neil would come back to attack me. The birth of their daughter hadn’t brought Neil and Valerie together, and her death certainly wouldn’t.

  Just entertaining thoughts about jealousy made me worry I was a terrible person. How could I be thinking of such a thing when Emma and Michael were dead? But I’d worked too hard on myself to let tens of thousands of dollars in therapy bills just circle the drain in a moment of doubt. Nobody can control their emotional reactions. We can only control our actions. And my current action was to slap my jealousy in the face and shove her into a vat of shut-the-fuck-up.

  I hoped Laurence would be able to do the same thing, for Valerie’s sake.

  “I’m sure it’s a British thing,” I tried to joke, but Laurence’s steely expression didn’t change.

  Valerie stepped back from Neil and, to my surprise, hugged me, as well. “How’s Olivia?” she asked when she released me.

  “She’s with the au pair, right now,” I said, with a little stab of guilt.

  Neil put his hand on my shoulder. He knew how I felt about leaving her behind when it would have been a chance for the other grandparents to see her. “Today is going to be difficult enough for all of us. I didn’t think it was fair to subject her to all of this…emotional turmoil,” he explained.

  Valerie nodded. “I wanted to tell you, just in case…” She paused for a breath. “I don’t have any ill feelings about you being Olivia’s guardians. Emma made that choice, and I have every intention of respecting it. I just hope…”

  She broke down, again, and I couldn’t help myself. I put my arms around her, the way she’d comforted me when Neil had nearly overdosed after the death of his mother. I knew, without her even having to say it, what she feared. “Of course you’ll be a part of her life. And Michael’s parents, too. Family is so important to me. I would never, ever want to keep Olivia from having as much love as she could possibly have in her life.”

  Neil turned away, covering his mouth with one hand.

  Though I meant what I’d said about Michael’s family, I knew Neil didn’t feel the same way. We hadn’t even met Michael’s parents until the wedding had rolled around, and they’d only seen Olivia once so far in her life. They were busy, career-minded people, but so were Neil and Valerie. It was difficult not to judge the Van der Grafs for not being involved in their child’s life, but I bet they were kicking themselves for that more than Neil ever could.

  As if summoned by my thoughts, Mr. and Mrs. Van der Graf arrived just in time for the service to begin. Neil would have something to say about that later, but he greeted them both respectfully and expressed his condolences, which they returned in kind.

  It was odd, making small talk with these people who shared our pain, but whom we didn’t know that well.

  “The casket is beautiful,” Mrs. Van der Graf said, trying for a smile. It really was beautiful, if a casket could be called that. Neil and Valerie had decided on a pale blonde wood with a rose-tinted finish that Emma would have loved, and it complemented the dark walnut Michael’s parents had chosen for him. They were adorable together, even in death, and that thought burst through my pain like a comforting wash of warmth and love.

  I wasn’t sure what I believed about the afterlife, but I knew that was Emma’s presence I felt.

  The funeral director knocked on the door before entering. “The mourners are all seated, barring any late comers. I think we should proceed, if you’re all ready.”

  Valerie and Laurence would walk in first, followed by Mrs. Van der Graf, and then, me. Neil and Mr. Van der Graf were serving as pallbearers. I turned to Neil and took his hands in mine.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I searched his face for some telltale sign that he might catastrophically break. Not that I would be able to do anything about it. But there wasn’t a single crack in the façade. I’d always thought of it as stern British stoicism, when really, he just didn’t want to make any of this harder on anyone.

  I knew the feeling.

  “No.” His voice shook, and he looked down. A tear splashed from the tip of his nose to the back of my hand. “I dare say I’ll never be okay, again.”

  “You can do this.” I squeezed his fingers. “Neil. You can make it through this funeral, I promise you.”

  “Thank you.” He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket for his handkerchief. “Thank you.”

  As Valerie and Laurence walked through the chapel doors, Mrs. Van der Graf took my arm. “Don’t let me walk down alone, will you?”

  “Of course not.” I didn’t know her, but I linked arms with her. I was glad to have someone to lean on, and to lean on me, as we made our way to our seats in the front.

  It had been Mr. Van der Graf’s idea to hire a small string ensemble to accompany the service, as well as a singer to perform Fauré’s “Pie Jesu” as the caskets came in. We all stood as they entered, first, Michael’s, carried by friends and his father, then Emma’s, supported on the shoulders of her uncles, her godfather, Rudy, and her father. Neil carried
a front corner on his right shoulder, his jaw set, eyes straight ahead. When they placed the caskets side-by-side in the front of the chapel, Neil leaned down to kiss the lid before straightening and coming to the empty seat beside mine.

  The soaring soprano voice that filled the chapel would have sounded hopeful, if everyone’s hearts hadn’t been made of lead.

  Sitting there, feet from his daughter’s casket, Neil wasn’t trying to keep up polite appearances. It had never been about that. He hadn’t cried at Emma’s wedding because he’d been afraid that, if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop, and it would ruin her day. He didn’t cry now, not out of pride, but because, if he did, he couldn’t stop. This was still Emma’s day, and Michael’s. It belonged to them more than it belonged to any of us.

  All through the service, I held my breath, bit my cheek, dug my fingers into my palm. I blocked out the words of the minister. It was the only way I could get through it, and besides, I didn’t need anyone to convince me how amazing Emma and Michael were. I knew they were great parents, and they would have done anything for each other.

  And I knew they’d been loved by their families. It was evidenced in the way Neil’s hand crushed mine as he held it, the way his brothers wiped their eyes and Rudy bowed his head to regain his composure. Every minute of the service was torture. Neil was holding himself together for Emma. I was holding myself together for Neil.

  I’d never been to a cremation service before. It seemed weird to not follow a body to the gravesite. Instead, a net curtain slowly closed around the catafalque as the musicians played a somber “Nearer My God to Thee,” another hymn chosen by the Van der Grafs. When the curtain had closed, the lights behind them slowly dimmed. Valerie sobbed and hugged Emma’s blanket to her chest. Mr. And Mrs. Van der Graf held each other, weeping. Neil took a ragged breath, and tears shone in his eyes. It was the most outward display of emotion he’d made so far. I was painfully attuned to the jerking inhales he tried to control. He bent his head, his hands closing to fists on his thighs. His knuckles were white.

  It freaked me out to think they might be wheeling Emma and Michael to be burned up while we sat there listening to a song. It didn’t feel like the funeral Emma would have wanted. It all seemed cheap and rushed, but then, most funerals seemed that way to me. Everyone wanted to get it over with.

  After the parents and I filed into the vestibule, we waited in a ghoulish receiving line for mourners to give their condolences. Neil’s brothers and their wives hugged me. When Geir reached Neil, he fell apart, blubbering and squeezing him hard. I expected Neil to lose it, too, but he didn’t. Maybe the overt display of brotherly emotion had shocked him into keeping himself together.

  Mom and Tony came near the end of the line. Tony shook Neil’s hand. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Elwood. Emma was a great girl.”

  “Come here, honey,” Mom said, pulling me into a hug. She moved on to Neil, who for once didn’t look vaguely uncomfortable when my mom put her arms around him. Then, she stepped back. “Sophie, let’s talk a minute.”

  I looked to Neil, and he nodded in response to the questions I hadn’t spoken. Is it okay? Can I leave you? Will you be all right, just for this minute?

  Mom and I walked outside, and the January cold was a relief after being crammed in the tiny vestibule with the body heat of so many people. Nearby, a few men had grouped together for cigarettes, which struck me as morbidly funny. Smoke, outside a crematorium. I was a total sicko for internally laughing.

  “How are you holding up, sweetheart?” Mom couldn’t resist straightening the shoulders of my dress. “You look good.”

  “I look good. I feel like shit,” I said with a half-hearted laugh.

  Mom’s brows drew together in sympathy. “How’s Neil? Tell me the truth.”

  “Scary. Neil is scary.” At Mom’s alarmed expression, I clarified, “He’s so stoic. I get why. He’s private, and he doesn’t like showing a lot of emotion. But I’m worried about him. After what happened when his mom died…”

  “Do you think he’s going to hurt himself?” she asked, her voice low.

  I answered her honestly. “I don’t know. I’m worried that it’s a possibility.”

  “Maybe not. You two have Olivia, now.” Even she didn’t sound convinced.

  “I don’t know if that will be enough.” God, what if he did… My stomach roiled. I’d already almost lost Neil once. There was no way I could let something as horrible as suicide happen to him. “I’m keeping an eye on him. I’ve got this.”

  I so didn’t have it.

  After most of the mourners left, Valerie’s car arrived. She turned to Neil. “We’ll see you at the dinner, then?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’m staying here with her. Until…”

  Valerie nodded. She looked down at her hands. “I just… I wanted to say…” She pressed a tissue to her nose.

  “Oh, Vee,” he said softly, putting a hand on her upper arm.

  She raised her head. “Thank you. For our daughter.”

  I had to turn away, my ribs aching from holding my breath. If I didn’t breathe, I couldn’t cry.

  When it was just Neil and me left, we went back into the sanctuary. The lights in the chapel had been dimmed, and the musicians had left long ago. The curtains were open. Michael and Emma were gone.

  Neil seemed to deflate as he sat down, like there was nothing left in him. I stood beside him, my hands on his shoulders, which were hard as iron beneath his suit. I kneaded his neck gently. When he’d been in the hospital recovering from his scary post-transplant crash, he’d gotten horrible tension headaches. I would rub his neck and try to soothe away the pain, and it had always seemed to help. But there was nothing to be done for the emotional and psychological agony he was going through, now.

  After a while, he reached for one of my hands and brought it to his lips to kiss it. When he released me, I stepped away, taking the hint. He loved me, but he didn’t want to be touched, right now.

  I wandered the chapel, forcing myself to be interested in the architectural details that made the whole place look like a cross between Independence Hall and the interior of a half-cut up birthday cake. The silence was overwhelming, so I listened to the ticking of my heels against the floor to break the monotony.

  “I held her before she was a minute old,” Neil said softly.

  I turned, startled by the sound of his voice after such a long time. I couldn’t think of anything to say, other than, “Yeah?”

  “I was there when they delivered her. And they put her in my arms, and I held her up to Valerie, so she could see her while she was still under the—” He made a cutting-off motion in front of his chest to indicate a surgical drape. “I carried Emma from the surgery to the nursery. And, today, I carried her here.”

  “You were there for the whole thing.” I didn’t want to sound like I was trying to put a positive spin on his daughter’s death, or cheer him up. I knew he saw himself as a failure because he hadn’t been able to protect Emma. No one who knew him, who really knew him, would have to ask him to know that was true. “You were full time. If she needed you—”

  “When I wasn’t working.” He scoffed. “God, I was a fool. All that time she spent with nannies, with tutors, at camp and at school… I could have had them all.”

  “And you wouldn’t have been able to give her the amazing life that you did. You and Valerie both. You made a person who was the very best parts of both of you. Without your influence, she wouldn’t have been as driven, or as kind or…” My chest squeezed. “You did what you were supposed to do, and she turned out…she…”

  All of the emotions I’d been carefully packing down to deal with later were like, surprise, bitch! Later is now! The tightly compressed ball of hurt trapped in my ribs let go, and a shocked wail burst from me. All at once, the horrible realization that this was it, that Emma and Michael were really dead, knocked the wind out of me. This wasn’t a matter of a few shitty days, and then it would be over, and eve
rything would be back to normal. Emma and Michael were gone forever. She would never roll her eyes at me, again. He would never surprise us all with a rare comeback to Neil’s fond hostility.

  Death had ripped that part of our life away from us. No one asked our opinion about it. There wasn’t a second chance to undo it, no appeal, no going back.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “Sophie!” Neil’s chair scraped as he shot out of it. Of course he was alarmed; I was having a full on gasping meltdown. He took me into his arms and crushed me to his chest. I clung to him, because if Emma and Michael could be taken from us, we could be taken from each other, too. Oh, god, one day we would. This would be all over. Everything about my life would be all over. All that existed, everything I was living for, would be gone in an instant. Yeah, I’d known all that before, but now, it was there, refusing to be ignored.

  Neil’s arms closed around me, and even though I was supposed to be the one who was strong, I was supposed to be supporting him, I let him hold me up. I buried my face against his chest—and probably smeared foundation all over his jacket—and sobbed hard, while he stroked my hair.

  “I know,” he whispered against the top of my head, his voice strangled by his own tears. “I know.”

  * * * *

  On the way home, Mom rode with Tony in the front. We kept the partition rolled up. I held Neil’s hand in mine as he dozed in the seat beside me, and occasionally, he roused and squeezed my fingers. Maybe, if I kept his hand in mine, it could be a leash to keep him tethered to life, and us to each other.

  When we arrived at the apartment, I gave Mom an awkward hug through the passenger window, then followed Neil inside. We rode up in the elevator in exhausted silence. Laura met us in the foyer as we took off our coats and hung them in the closet.

  “Olivia is sleeping right now, but she’s been really cranky all day. She doesn’t have a fever, so I don’t think it’s teething.” Laura stopped herself there.

  I wanted to snap at her that we just needed a goddamn minute to come home from Emma’s funeral and wallow in our sadness. Then, I remembered why she was telling us all this. Olivia’s problems were our problems, now, and babies didn’t wait for a convenient time to need you.