by Kate White
And then, nearly in unison, both our phones ring. Without thinking, I back a few steps into the front hall to answer mine. Gabe’s name is on the screen, and my heart skips as I answer. All I hear from the other end is a low, guttural sound, like an animal in pain.
“Honey, what’s happening?” I say. “Tell me.”
“Oh god,” he exclaims. “Mom didn’t make it. She’s dead, Summer.”
10
My knees buckle. No, I think. This can’t be true. But I hear my husband choke back tears and know it must be.
“Oh, Gabe,” I tell him. “I’m so sorry. Where are you—in the ER?”
“Yeah. She had a whole team working on her, but they couldn’t save her. They said it was a massive heart attack.”
I start to cry, the kind of hard cry that makes my shoulders shake, but I take a couple of fast breaths and force myself to pull it together. My sobbing won’t help Gabe a bit.
“What can I do?” I ask. “Want me to come down there? I could take one of the cars that’s still here.”
“No, don’t. I mean, it would be good to have you with me, but there’s no point. Blake and my dad are going to stay for a while to handle the paperwork, but the rest of us are heading home in a few minutes.”
“Okay. How’s your dad holding up?”
“He’s still in a state of shock. I guess we all are.”
“God, I, I—”
“I know,” he says, his voice cracking. “It’s so hard to grasp.”
“What about Henry? You want to tell him yourself, right?”
“Yeah, I will as soon as I’m there.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in a little while. And call me if there’s anything I can do between now and when you get home.”
“Yup.”
He hangs up, and as I stuff the phone into my pocket, I notice that my hand is trembling.
My poor husband. He may be in a state of shock now, but when reality sinks in, it will be shattering for him.
And for me, too. Claire’s been such a key presence and positive force in our lives. We’ve spent so many hours in her company, not only here but back home in Manhattan, too.
I’m jostled from my thoughts by the sight of Keira moving toward me, holding her own phone in her hand, with a heightened watchfulness in her eyes. Maybe she’s got the right approach to life. If you’re always on alert, then you’re better prepared for moments like this.
“Was that Gabe?” she asks.
“Yeah. You heard, too?”
She nods grimly.
“I can’t believe it,” I say. “I feel like I’m going to wake up in a little while and none of it will be true . . . . How did Marcus sound?”
“He’s devastated, but he knows he has to stay strong for his dad.”
“I’m sure Gabe is feeling that way, too.”
“Are we supposed to do anything, call anyone?”
“Not for the time being, I’d say—What happened to Hannah, anyway?”
“I have no clue. I’m sure Nick will call her.”
There’s a trace of dismissiveness in her tone, suggesting she hasn’t abandoned her concerns about Hannah and Marcus.
“I should tell Bonnie. She’s putting together a cold buffet.”
“It’s hard to imagine anyone having an appetite tonight.”
“True, but they’ll still need to eat. By the way, Henry doesn’t know yet. Gabe wants to be the one to tell him.”
“Understood.”
I make a move to return to the kitchen but catch myself. “How about you, Keira? Are you okay?”
Though I sense she’s feeling a mix of shock and grief, I couldn’t guess the ratio. From what I’ve gathered, she wasn’t particularly close to Claire, but they seemed to like and respect each other.
“Yes, thanks for asking. I just feel so sad for Marcus—and for everyone, of course.”
“Me, too . . . . I guess I’d better break the news to Bonnie. See you in a little while.”
I return to the kitchen, but don’t go past the doorway. Henry’s still at the table, his little head bent over as he noisily drains his Coke with a straw. Bonnie looks up from a conversation with Jake, and I motion silently that I need to talk to her. She quickly steps into the dining room, closing the door behind us.
She breaks down when I tell her. “Poor Ash,” she says, using the bottom of her apron to dab at her eyes. “Poor all of us. I can’t imagine life without Claire.”
“I know. Me, either.”
“Does this mean she did have heart problems? She never said a word.”
“Maybe she didn’t know.”
“Well, this week certainly didn’t help.” My face must have fallen, because she adds, “Oh, please don’t take that the wrong way, honey. But you know how she was. She tried so hard to make everything perfect, and sometimes I think it stressed her out.”
“I’m sure,” I say, but I doubt being a gracious hostess this weekend stressed Claire out any more than normal. If there’s any culprit, it’s Hannah.
Bonnie dabs more tears away.
“Should I lay out the food in here?” she asks, indicating the sideboard. “I doubt anyone will want to eat on the patio.”
I think she’s referencing the mugginess, but how could any of us bear to eat under the pergola tonight, no matter how glorious the weather was? It’s the place where Claire made so much joy happen—and it would be a harsh reminder of what’s been wrenched away.
“Yes, in here is good.”
My phone pings with a text and I glance down to see it’s from Gabe.
Headed home now. Meet you at the cottage.
“You ready to head back?” I ask Henry once Bonnie and I are back in the kitchen. He’s on the floor now with Bella and Ginger, and quizzing Jake about his canine knowledge.
“Now? We just got here. And Bonnie said I could have ice cream.”
He’s rarely whiny like this, and I know it’s probably a sign he’s picked up on the tension in the air. The dogs seem to sense it, too, looking up at me imploringly.
“You can bring it with you, okay?”
Henry shrugs in resignation, clearly confused, and I scoop the chocolate ice cream myself so that Bonnie can return to her dinner prep. As I do so, my gaze falls once again onto the row of empty vases on the side counter. Suddenly my mind catches on a memory from this morning, the faint sound of Claire in the garden behind the cottage, the snip-snip of flowers being clipped.
“What happened to the flowers Claire picked today?” I ask Bonnie.
She turns toward me, her face pinched. “Flowers? I don’t think she got a chance to do any cutting today.”
It must not have been Claire who I heard, then. Maybe it was a deer rooting through the garden and helping itself to the flowers. Claire always used to say they were the bane of her existence.
No more, I think woefully.
With the bowl of ice cream in one hand, and Henry’s soft palm in the other, I lead him back to the cottage. He kicks stones absentmindedly along the path and watches them skip across the flagstone. My heart aches. In a matter of minutes, his small world will be turned upside down.
As I wait for Gabe on the couch in the sitting room, with Henry beside me, I realize how this is one of those pivotal moments in a marriage—when you have the opportunity to provide your spouse with the comfort he craves. I want to do the best job possible at that.
Before long I spot Gabe through the window, hurrying along the path. His shoulders are sagging, his expression heartsick. Leaving Henry to his movie, I pop out of the cottage, hurry toward my husband, and hug him tightly.
“Oh Gabe.”
“It’s totally surreal,” he says, his lips against my hair. After a minute he pulls back. Every muscle in his face is taut, as if he’s doing his damnedest not to sob. “Last night she’s passing potato salad around the table and cutting a blueberry crumble, and now she’s just gone. Gone.”
“Sit for a moment, will you?”
�
��Yeah, good idea,” he says and collapses onto the wooden bench outside the cottage. “I need to pull myself together a little before I talk to Henry.”
“Do you want to speak to him alone?”
“I think it might be best. Would you mind?”
“Not at all. But if there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”
“Thanks. I’m sure he’ll need comforting over the next few days.”
“We’ll go back to the city for the service, right?”
“Uh, doesn’t look that way. According to Dad, my mom made it clear over the years that she wanted a very private memorial service out here—for family, mostly.” He snorts, sadly. “Oh, and get this. She told him she wanted one of those natural burials, where they put you in some kind of shroud and drop you in a hole in the ground.”
“Well, it’s not what we’re used to, but it’s fitting for someone who loved nature as much as she did . . . . So they think it was definitely a heart attack?”
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“Had she ever had any heart issues?”
“Not that I knew of, but Blake told them in the ER that she’d been on medication for high blood pressure—a diuretic and something called a calcium channel blocker. A couple of years ago, my mom had asked for his professional opinion about taking them.”
“But those drugs didn’t do their job?”
“It’s not clear exactly what happened. Maybe she didn’t take her meds religiously. The ER doctor said that she might have actually developed a pulmonary embolism that caused her heart to stop—or even had a stroke.”
Gabe drops his head into his hands.
“Oh honey,” I say, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It just doesn’t make any sense. She looked so great over the weekend. Like she was in perfect health.”
I don’t want to upset Gabe any more than necessary but I decide it’s best to mention what I’d noticed earlier. I bring up his mother’s lack of interest in eating, the indication of fatigue, ordinary details that only with hindsight appear to be warning signs.
“And she told you she was going up to take a nap? What time was that?”
“Around two thirty.”
“My mother never takes naps, so yeah, that clearly meant something.” He shakes his head in despair. “If only she told one of us she wasn’t feeling right.”
“Maybe it didn’t seem that significant at first.”
Gabe releases a gust of breath.
“What?” I ask. I sense words on the tip of his tongue, perhaps a thought or emotion he wishes he could convey.
“I . . . I guess I’d better get to Henry.”
“Just so you know, I didn’t let on to him how serious the situation was, only that Gee was feeling unwell. But he seems to have picked up on the sadness in the air.”
Gabe nods solemnly. “Why don’t we meet you over at the house,” he suggests as he rises from the bench. “My dad and Blake ended up leaving right after us.”
When I enter the main house through the side door, it’s Ash whom I spot first, standing at the end of the corridor that leads to the main hall. I care a lot for my father-in-law, but I’ve never been as close to him as Claire, and our typical friendly banter hasn’t exactly prepared me for this moment. I gird myself, though, and rush forward.
“Ash, I’m so sorry,” I say, tears springing into my eyes as I embrace him.
“Oh, sweetheart, I know you are.” He holds me tightly. “Claire was crazy about you, you realize that, of course.”
“Yes, I know. And the feeling was so mutual.”
He nods. “Will you excuse me for a minute? I need to call my sister, Jean, and break the news, and I want to get it out of the way while I’m still standing.”
“Of course.”
I follow him down the corridor and as he veers right, probably pointed toward his study, I head to the dining room, where Gabe’s brothers are milling around with Wendy, Keira, and Hannah, who’s surfaced again, now wearing a somber look. A few people have helped themselves to food, others just to wine. I embrace each of my brothers-in-law, without bothering to stifle my tears. Marcus and Blake seem to be trying hard to hold themselves together, while Nick’s eyes are rimmed with red. As soon as I release him from a hug, Hannah snakes an arm possessively around his waist again. Maybe I should remind her I already have a Keaton and I’m not in the market for a second one.
Still, I have to applaud her acting skills. The corners of her deep brown eyes are turned down, and so are the ends of her mouth, as if she’s devastated on Nick’s behalf—and her own, too. And her straight-backed posture suggests she feels she has every right to be standing smack in the middle of our group, grieving, even though most of us have known her for only two days.
Does she have any idea, I wonder, that the stress she subjected Claire to might have played a role in her death? Doubtful. Hannah’s got too big of an ego for a thought like that. She might even be secretly gloating over the fact that she’s been handed a get-out-of-jail-free card after her stern talking-to by Claire last night. There must be just one niggling worry: that Ash is wise to whatever Claire threatened her about.
“Here you go, love,” Blake says to Wendy, handing her a large glass of sparkling water. “You need to stay hydrated.”
“Thanks,” she says. She looks not only sad but tense, making me wonder if she’s second-guessed her decision to have accompanied people to the hospital. That kind of stress can’t be good when you’re newly pregnant.
“How’s Henry doing?” Blake asks, directing his attention to me.
“Gabe’s telling him now. I’m sure he’ll be really upset.”
“She was an incredible grandmother. It’s terrible to realize that our own child will never meet her,” he says, looking at Wendy.
And neither, I think, will the ones I hope to have with Gabe.
“I’m glad she learned about the baby, Blake,” I say. “It must have made her so happy.”
“I only wish I’d gotten to her sooner today,” he says, taking the conversation in a different direction. “God knows how long she lay there while we were all outside the house, including my dad and the dogs.”
“I saw her around two thirty in the kitchen, and she said she was going up for a nap. So maybe she’d come downstairs right before you found her.”
He nods soberly.
“I should probably force myself to eat a little something,” Wendy interjects. “And then go to bed.”
“Yes, sweetheart, I think that’s best,” Blake tells her. “Make sure you get some protein, and let me know when you’re ready to head to the carriage house.”
Wendy starts off toward the sideboard, and my phone pings again. When I see it’s a text from Gabe, I excuse myself and step aside to read it.
H is pretty upset. Gonna stay for a while, help him fall asleep. Can you relieve me in a bit so that I can head back over to the house?
Of course. I’ll be back soon.
I say good night to everyone, and after smearing a wedge of blue cheese onto a piece of bread to go, exit the way I came. It will take Gabe a while to get Henry to sleep, so I linger in the dusk along the path, admiring Claire’s large garden near the boxwoods. The landscape people who work the property will continue to maintain everything, but as certain plants die, they’ll be replaced with less imaginative choices, and these gardens are bound to lose their uniqueness before too long. Over the next day or two, I decide, I’ll take pictures of them with my phone so I can capture them as they are right now.
When I reach the cottage, I round the building to the little patio in the back. The border garden here is much smaller than others on the property, but no less enchanting. I pause in the fading light, admiring the ingenious mix of bold and subtle colors, soft and thorny textures.
There are definitely some flowers missing from it, though. I stare at a small, ragged gap in the garden, one, I realize, that a hungry deer couldn’t actually be to blame for. As Claire always told
me, deer usually gobble blossoms, not the stalks, too. The missing flowers appear to have been clipped off at the very base.
I step closer. The flowers surrounding the gap are foxgloves, tall stems lined with purple, trumpet-shaped blossoms. Which means the missing ones must be foxgloves, too.
How weird, though. Because as I heard Claire tell Hannah, foxgloves shouldn’t be used in bouquets. They’re deadly to animals. And to humans, as well.
11
In the fading light, it’s hard for me to see. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I activate the flashlight and direct it toward the stumps of the missing flowers, then run the beam over the surrounding clusters of foxgloves to get a closer look at their stalks. It’s pretty clear that they match up.
Since Claire would never have picked the foxgloves herself, someone else must have. But why? They’re poisonous. Unless . . . My skin crawls. Unless someone picked them because they’re poisonous.
That’s crazy, I tell myself. No one here at the house would choose to hurt someone else. Unless they secretly despised that person, or felt threatened by them.
Well, Hannah has surely felt threatened lately, right? You do the right thing—or I will.
No, it’s not possible, I chide myself again. There’s got to be another explanation for the missing flowers. Maybe someone who didn’t know better clipped them for a bedroom arrangement.
A soft neighing sound startles me, and I nearly drop the phone. Tightening my grip, I spin around and point the beam outward. All I can see are yards and yards of lawn, and farther away, shrubbery bleeding into the edge of the woods. The neighing comes again, plaintive this time, and I realize it’s from high up in one of the trees. It must be a screech owl, a sound Marcus identified for me once.
I quickly snap a photo of the gap in the flowers and scurry around to the front of the cottage. As I swing open the front door, Gabe’s emerging from the stairwell.
“Was that you in the back of the cottage just now?” he asks. “I thought I heard someone.”
“Yeah, it was only me.”
“What were you doing?”