Sunset in St. Tropez (6 page)

“Just tell her to get her money back,” John said firmly.

“I can't. It's not refundable, they explained that before I had her pay it.”

“Oh for chrissake, Pascale, why the hell did you do that?” He was furious with her, but, he was obviously far more upset over Anne's death, and didn't know how to express it. “Well, you can just damn well pay for it yourself, out of your own money. No one is going to want to go there now, and Robert certainly won't without Anne. It's over. Forget the house.”

“Maybe not,” Diana said quietly. “It's six and a half months from now. Robert may be feeling a lot better by then, and it might do him good to get away, to someplace he's never been before, with all of us to keep him company and comfort him. I think we should do it.” Eric looked pensively at her, and nodded.

“I think you"re right,” he seconded her opinion, but John didn't. “And if he doesn't want to go? Then we get stuck with two very expensive shares. I"m not going. And I"m not paying.” John glowered.

“Then I will,” Pascale glared at him as she said it. “You"re just so cheap, John Donnally, you are using this as an excuse not to spend money. I'll pay our share, and you can stay home, or visit your mother in Boston.”

“Since when did you get so grand?” he said in a tone that upset her profoundly. But like the others, she was upset about Anne, and not her husband.

“I think we need to be together, and Robert will need us more than ever,” Pascale insisted, and both Morrisons agreed with her, and tried to get John to go along with it, but he was too stubborn.

“I"m not going,” he insisted.

“Then don't. The four of us will,” Pascale said calmly, smiling sadly at Eric and Diana. “We'll send you postcards from the Riviera.”

“Take your mother.”

“Maybe I will,” Pascale said, and then turned to the others. “It's agreed then. We'll go to St Tropez in August.” It was the least of their problems for the moment, but it was comforting somehow to think of something more pleasant.

All they could think about other than that was the loss of their beloved friend, and Robert. There wasn't much they could do for him, but they could offer him their support. And although it felt like something of a betrayal to go to St Tropez without Anne, Pascale said she had the feeling that Anne would have wanted them to do it, and take Robert.

“We may have a tough time convincing him to go with us,” Diana suggested reasonably, “but we"ve got plenty of time to talk about it. Let's just go ahead and rent it, and discuss it with him later.” And by then, she suspected, John would have relented too. But it was so sad to think of the five of them going, and not Anne. It was inconceivable to think that she would no longer be with them.

The Donnallys went home shortly after that, and they called Robert at Jeff's and told him that they were thinking of him. But he was too upset to talk to them for very long, and Pascale could hear that he'd been crying. All day in fact, and she wished there was something she could do for him, but there wasn't. She promised to meet him at the funeral home the next day for the “viewing.” The funeral had been set for Tuesday. Robert had had Jeff call Anne's partners in the law firm, and his daughters-in-law had called long lists of people to tell them, before the obituary came out the next day, on Sunday. Robert had written it himself, and Mike had dropped it off at The New York Times that afternoon.

It was incomprehensible, Robert thought to himself, as he got into the bed in Jeff and Elizabetf's guest room. He felt completely disoriented from grief, and crying, and lack of food, and as he lay there thinking about her, he had never in his entire life felt so devastated or so lonely. Thirty-eight wonderful years had ended in a single instant. And Robert was absolutely sure, without a specter of a doubt, that his life was over too.

Anne's funeral was held at St James Church on Madison Avenue on Tuesday afternoon. Robert sat in the front pew with his children, his daughters-in-law, and all five of his grandchildren were there, as were his four best friends.

The church was filled with people who knew both of them, people Anne had worked with, clients, classmates, and old friends. And Robert looked grief-stricken as he entered, with his daughter on his arm. They were both crying, as were his sons. And in the silence of the church, the people closest to them could hear Pascale sob. John sat stoically next to her, with silent tears coursing down his cheeks.

The Morrisons sat next to them in the second pew, with damp eyes, silently holding hands. It was inconceivable to all of them that Anne was gone. The sacred circle of their friendship had been disrupted, an important piece was missing now. They had all lost a cherished friend.

The service was brief and touching, and when they emerged from the church to follow the casket to the hearse, it was snowing outside. It had already been a hard winter, but this particular day seemed exceptionally bleak. Robert went to the cemetery with his children, and left Anne there, after a few brief words from the minister, who had known them since they were married. And then Robert said his last good-byes. He looked like a zombie as he finally walked, with blind eyes, toward the car.

And after the cemetery, all of them went to the Morrisons", to have lunch with the people the Morrisons had invited to be with them. Robert looked as though he was on autopilot as he moved through the crowd, and before anyone left, he disappeared. He didn't even tell his children when he left. John Donnally took him home, and hated to leave him there, so he stayed.

Robert sat down heavily on the couch and stared into space. He was too bereft at that moment in time to even cry.

He just sat, with unseeing eyes.

“Can I get you anything?” John asked quietly, wishing Pascale were there. She was so much better at this kind of thing. But he had sensed correctly that Robert hadn't wanted anyone else there, probably not even John.

“No, thanks.” John wasn't sure if he should stay for a while, and just sit with him, or leave. And Robert said nothing at all. Not knowing what else to do, John got him a glass of water and set it in front of him, which Robert appeared not to see. And then finally, he leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. He spoke in the silence of the room, with his eyes closed, feeling the full agony of his words. “I always thought I'd die first. She was younger, and she always seemed so strong. It never occurred to me that I'd lose her.” People had been telling him for four days that he would never lose her, that her spirit would live on, but in fact it was all too clear that he had. And then he looked at John with immeasurable pain. “John, what am I going to do now?” He had no idea how to live without her. After thirtyeight years, she was an integral part of him, like his soul.

“I think you get through it day by day,” John said, sitting down next to him on the couch, “that's all you can do. And one day, you feel better. Maybe it's never the same, but you go on. You have your kids, your friends. People survive it.” He didn't want to tell him that he might even remarry one day, though in Robert's case that seemed unlikely. He had loved her for too long, and he wasn't that kind of man. But even without someone else in his life one day, he had to go on. He had no choice. All John could do was pray that it didn't kill him, that he didn't just give up on his own life.

“Maybe I should retire. I can't imagine going back to work.” He couldn't imagine doing anything without her now.

His most important reason for living was gone.

“It's too soon to make that decision,” John said wisely. “Don't do anything yet.” If nothing else, he needed the distraction of his work, or he himself might die. John had seen that happen to others before, and he was seriously worried about his friend.

“I should sell the apartment. How can I live here without her?” His eyes were open and rilled with tears again.

“You can stay with us for a while if you like, till you figure out what you want to do.” But in truth, Robert wanted to be here with his memories of her. Pascale and Diana had already offered to help Amanda go through her mother's clothes, but even that seemed too much to face, and Robert had said he didn't want anything disturbed. It was a comfort to him to see her things in the closet, her dressing gown on the hook in the bathroom, her toothbrush in the cup. It allowed him to delude himself that she was just away somewhere, at a conference maybe, and coming back.

But the brutal fact they all knew he had to face at some point was that she was gone for good.

John sat with him for a long time, and they said nothing, and then finally as the room grew dark, Robert drifted off to sleep on the couch. John didn't want to leave him, and he sat quietly in Robert's study, glancing through some of his books. And at six o"clock he called Pascale. “How is he?” As they all were, she was desperately worried.

“He's asleep, he's emotionally exhausted. I didn't want to leave him. What do you think I should do?” He relied on Pascale's judgment in matters of the heart.

“Stay there with him. I think you should spend the night.” John had already considered the same thing. “Don't wake him up. Do you want me to bring food?”

“There must be something here,” he said vaguely, but he wasn't sure and hadn't looked.

“I'll bring some sandwiches over, and some soup,” she said firmly, and for once he didn't make any cracks about her cooking, he was grateful to her. Losing Anne had reminded all of them how precious life and their partners were.

He felt a little out of his depth in terms of how best to help Robert. They all did. “I'll see you in a while.” And when Pascale arrived carrying a shopping bag and a baguette under her arm, Robert had just woken up. He looked disoriented and exhausted, but the long nap had done him good. He hadn't slept properly since Friday night.

But when he saw the soup and sandwiches Pascale had set out for them in the kitchen, he said he couldn't eat. She could see easily that he had already lost weight, and seemed too thin.

“You have to. Your children need you, Robert. And so do we. You can't get sick.”

“Why not?” he asked grimly. “What difference does it make?”

“A lot. To us. Now be good, and have some soup.” She spoke to him as though he were a child, and he sat down at the kitchen table, and began eating the soup. He only got halfway through it, and refused the sandwiches she'd made, but at least he'd had some nourishment. And then she suggested that John spend the night with him.

“He doesn't have to do that. You two should go home. I"m fine.” It was not a word anyone would have used to describe him, but it was a noble thought.

“John wants to stay here,” she urged, but Robert was insistent, and the Donnallys finally left at ten o"clock. They both looked drained in the cab on the way home. “I"m so worried about him,” Pascale said. “What if he just gives up and dies? People do that sometimes.”

“He won't,” John answered, trying to believe what he said. “He can't. He'll get over it eventually, not completely maybe, but enough to function reasonably well. Maybe that's all we can expect.” It seemed a sad statement on Robert's future life.

“I"m not so sure,” Pascale said, wiping tears off her cheeks again. It was all so sad. Who could have known that tragedy would strike them, that Anne would leave them, without warning, and so soon? It made Pascale snuggle closer to her husband, as the cab drove them home. It was a brutal reminder of how ephemeral life was, how quickly interrupted, how fragile, of their own mortality. And the message had not gone unheard.

Pascale and John, Eric and Diana, each called him every day. But none of them saw him for the next three weeks.

He couldn't bear being alone in the apartment and slept at Jeff's for the first few weeks. He kept to a schedule centered around his children, and stayed home from work – he didn't go back to the bench for a month. And when he did, finally, he saw the Donnallys and Morrisons again. He had just moved back into his apartment that week.

And Anne had been gone for a month.

They were all shocked when they saw him, he had lost a lot of weight, and his eyes looked ravaged. All Pascale could do when she saw him was hold him tightly and fight back her own tears. His grief was a raw reminder of the loss of their friend. And their hearts went out to him.

“So, what have you all been up to?” Robert tried to sound interested, but his eyes said he didn't care. It was hard to relate to their doings, to think of their lives with each other, without feeling the knife stab of pain over the enormity of his loss. But in spite of that, he was happy to see them again. They brought him comfort, and by the end of the evening, he was even smiling at some of John's tasteless jokes, and renewed complaints about Pascale. But they all seemed mellower, gentler, and more loving to each other, and to him, than they had before. The message of Anne's death had been loud and clear to all of them.

“I got more pictures of the house in St Tropez yesterday,” Pascale said casually over coffee, testing the waters, although she knew it was still too soon, and their rental was still five and a half months away, a long distance still to travel on Robert's map of grief.

She chatted on for a few minutes about the house, and then Robert looked at her quietly with eyes filled with sorrow.

“I"m not going with you” was all he said. It would have reminded him too much of the summer he wanted so much to spend with Anne in France, and had once before.

“You don't need to make that decision yet,” Diana said softly, glancing at Eric, as he nodded, and joined in.

“If you don't come, John will make life miserable for the rest of us. He's too cheap to pay for the house split two ways. You may have to come, for our sakes,” Eric said with a grin, and Robert managed a small, wintry smile.

“Maybe Diana can organize a fund-raiser to pay for the rent,” he suggested.

“Now there's an idea,” John said, brightening at the suggestion, and all five of them laughed. “Maybe your mother could stand on the corner with a cup filled with pencils, and give us a hand,” he said to Pascale as her eyes flashed.