The Good Wife (10 page)

“Will I have my DS?”

“Yes. And the laptop with your movies.”

“So?”

“You’re not scared?”

“Why would I be scared? Dad’s going to come get me. And I’ll have food, right? Goldfish, Oreos, stuff to eat?”

“Yes.”

“Just make sure there are lots of Oreos. That’s all I really need.”

* * *

T
he next morning Dad and Brianna left as soon as commuter traffic eased, and then Sarah headed out with Brennan while Ella stayed at the house with her cousins.

At the airport, they played cards at the gate while waiting for his name to be called for early boarding.

Brennan jumped to his feet when he heard his name. “That’s me,” he said.

“Yes.” Sarah gave him a big hug. “I love you. And Dad will be there at the gate when you land.”

He looked nervously at the agent who was waiting for him. “You really aren’t coming with me?”

“No. But I’ll be home this weekend.”

Suddenly tears filled his eyes. “I don’t want to go without you.”

“You’ll be home in hours. And you’ve got your DS and movies and Oreos—”

“But I won’t have you.”

Sarah’s eyes burned and her throat ached. “There’s nothing to be sad about. Dad said the Neeleys can’t wait to have you come over, and the day after tomorrow you’ll go to the opening night game with them.”

“Against the Yankees?”

She nodded, and caught the eye of the gate agent, who gestured that it was time.

The lump in her throat grew and Sarah gave Brennan one more quick hug, kiss, and then stepped away, handing him his backpack even as she steered him briskly toward the agent. “Your games are in the front pocket. The DS is in the middle pocket, and the computer and snacks and juice are in the back.”

The agent took him from her.

“Love you, Brennan!” Sarah cried, waving.

He looked back at her, small, forlorn, and lifted his hand to wave, but the agent was moving him forward, herding him into the jet ramp way.

Sarah pressed her fist to her mouth, struggling not to cry. He was going to be fine. He was. It was just five hours and then he’d be with Boone.

Her vision blurred and she drew a quick breath and wiped her eyes dry. To distract herself, she reached for her phone and texted Boone.
He’s on the plane. Text me as soon as he lands.

Her phone rang. It was Boone.

“Hey,” she said thickly.

“You’re not crying now, are you, babe?”

She exhaled in a whoosh. “No.”

“He’s a big boy. He’s flown hundreds of times.”

“But he’s never flown alone.”

“There’s a first for everything.”

True. And there would be a lot more firsts ahead of them. “Promise to call me the moment you have him?”

“I promise. Now relax. Everything’s going to be fine, darlin’.”

Her chest squeezed, heart aching. God, she loved him. Loved her family. Loved the four of them together. They were good together. A family.

Sarah was just fifteen minutes from Meg’s house when her phone rang. It was Brianna. “What’s up?”

“What happened last night between you and Kit? Because she just texted me that due to a situation you created, she won’t be able to attend the funeral Friday.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sarah snapped. “She can attend. I just told Meg it would be better if Jude didn’t.”

“How do you even have a say in the guest list for Jack’s funeral?”

“There’s no reason for you to get involved, Brianna. This is between Kit and me.”

“You have no right to dictate who should, or shouldn’t, attend Jack’s services.”

“I’m not comfortable having Jude around my kids.”

“What do you think he’s going to do? Molest them?”

“Maybe.”

“Jesus.”

“You don’t have kids, Bree, you don’t understand.”

“Tell me you didn’t say this to Kit.”

“Which part?”

“Any of it. That she wasn’t a mom, and therefore she wouldn’t understand that little girls can be hurt by men.”

“Not hurt. Molested.”

“Got it.” Brianna’s voice hardened. “Sarah, if this gets back to Kit, I swear I will tear you apart limb from limb—”

“You’re half my size and weigh about ninety pounds—”

“Kit was molested as a little girl.”

Sarah nearly missed her exit and slammed on the brakes.

“I was, too,” Bree added flatly, “but that’s neither here nor there. The important thing is that you figure out how to fix this so Meg can have her family with her on Friday.”

Brianna hung up.

Sarah dropped the phone into the car console, stunned, shattered.

For five minutes she just drove, unable to think, absolutely reeling. And then she grabbed her phone and called Brianna back.

“What?” Sarah choked, panicked, unable to say more than that.

“What do you mean, what?”

“What you just said. That . . . Kit . . . and you . . .” Sarah shook her head, trying to clear the fogginess in her brain.

“Were molested?” Brianna supplied.

“Yes.”

“And . . . ?”

Sarah’s eyes burned. “Why did you say it like that? Why did you tell me like that?”

“Because it’s true. And you hurt Kit—”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt her. I was trying to be a good mom!”

Brianna said nothing.

Sarah blinked, her throat aching. “I’ll call her after school. I’ll apologize. Okay?”

* * *

S
till reeling, Sarah entered Meg’s house only to discover that things were in absolute turmoil.

Meg was in the living room with JJ. She was pacing back and forth while JJ slouched in a chair next to the sofa.

“How do you think I felt, going into your room and finding it empty?” Meg demanded. “Your bed not slept in? What do you think I thought happened?”

“I sent you a text that I was staying at Heather’s,” JJ answered shortly.

“I didn’t get it,” Meg snapped.

“Well, I sent it.”

Sarah slowly put her purse down on the hall table, listening for a moment, before heading for the stairs, thinking she should probably go check on the girls.

“Why didn’t you come home?” Meg asked as Sarah slunk up the stairs.

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“You’re sixteen, JJ.”

“Almost seventeen.”

“And way too young to be staying out all night.”

“I thought it was better staying there than drinking and driving.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Just a couple of beers.”

“You’re sixteen!”

“You know I drink. And smoke—”

Meg let out a shriek and Sarah quickly turned around and came right back down, entering the living room in time to hear Meg say, “I expect more from you, JJ. A lot more, considering the fact that you are
almost
seventeen.”

JJ rolled his eyes. “You’re losing it for no good reason—”

“No good reason? Maybe you weren’t aware that I just lost my mom, and your dad, and I really don’t need you, Jack Jr., being a smart-ass when my life has fallen apart.”

“Well, my life isn’t any better, Mom. It was my dad who died, and I can’t get that picture of Dad lying there on that metal tray or bed or whatever it was, with just half a face—”

“Jack Thomas Roberts!”

“So yeah, I had a couple of beers last night and then made out with Heather and decided to camp out with her because when I’m with her I feel good. Sorry you didn’t get my text. Sorry you don’t like me drinking. Sorry I’m not the perfect, stand-up son you wanted, but this is me, Mom. This is who I am.”

JJ stalked out of the living room, passing Sarah in the doorway, to tear up the stairs three at a time.

Sarah heard his bedroom door slam shut and turned to look at Meg, who was standing, shell-shocked, in the middle of the living room.

Sarah didn’t know what to do, or say. “Teenagers are fun, huh?”

Meg’s eyes shimmered with tears. Shaking her head, she exhaled slowly and then tried to speak but couldn’t.

“Meg, he’s a great kid. He loves you so much—”

“Sure has a funny way of showing it.”

“It’s only been two days since Jack died. He’s reeling.”

Meg swiped at the tears, drying them before they could fall. “We’re all reeling.”

“Exactly. So don’t take it personally. He probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying.”

“Great.”

“Where are the girls?”

“Upstairs watching a movie in Tessa’s room.”

“Has everyone had lunch?”

Meg nodded. “That’s how I found out JJ wasn’t here. Sent Gabi in to wake him up for lunch.”

“But he’s back now, and safe, and you deserve some time to yourself.”

“Ha!” Meg’s voice quavered.

“You won’t get much time once Jack’s parents arrive tomorrow. Why don’t you go lie down for a while . . . or take a bath. I’ll manage the kids.”

“I was going to boil some eggs. The girls want to decorate them later.”

“You go upstairs. I’ve got the eggs covered.”

* * *

T
hree hours later, Sarah and the girls covered the farm table in the kitchen with a layer of newspapers and then Tessa measured out the vinegar and water for the dye while Gabi showed Ella how to organize the plastic cups and tablets of dye. “Orange goes with orange,” Gabi said. “Blue with blue. And green with green. See?”

Ella wrinkled her nose. “But that pill doesn’t look green.”

“They have to dissolve, and it’s not a pill. It’s a tablet.”

“A tablet,” Ella repeated.

“Yes.”

Ella frowned. “What is a tablet?”

Gabi shrugged. “It’s like a pill.”

Ella said nothing, even more confused than before, and Sarah reached over to hug her.
Welcome to the world,
she thought.

The two dozen eggs were drying in the open cardboard cartons and Sarah was at the sink, rinsing out the extra glasses they’d used for some of the dye, when her phone rang.

She quickly wiped her hands and reached for her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. Boone. Which meant Brennan had landed.

“I’ve got him,” Boone said when she answered.

“Wonderful. Now I can relax.”

“Now you can relax,” he agreed. “How is Ella?”

“Good. She just finished dyeing two dozen eggs with her cousins. Ella made one for all of us.”

“What did she put on mine?”

“‘I heart Daddy.’” Sarah crossed the kitchen, glanced into the family room to make sure the kids were doing all right. The three girls were crowded onto the couch watching the Disney Channel. “So what are you doing now?”

“Driving home.”

Sarah pulled out one of the stools at the island and sat down. “Can’t believe that Friday is opening day and I’m missing it. Against the Yankees no less!”

“Wish you could be there.”

“Me, too. Can’t wait to come home.”

“What day will that be?”

“Saturday. I’m hoping.”

“That’s not too soon?”

“I can’t stay here forever.”

“No, I hear that. And it’ll be good to have you home.”

“I’ve been looking into flights. Ella and I would get in around ten. If you’re still at the park, we will just cab it.”

“You don’t need a cab. If I’m still at the park, I’ll have a car sent for you.”

“How did Brennan do on the flight?”

“He said it was fine. He’s looking forward to the game tomorrow. Alyssa is going to take him to the park with her kids.”

“That’s nice of her,” Sarah said, grateful that Alyssa Neeley always included Brennan. Her husband, Jeff, was the Rays’ new shortstop, joining the team a year ago, and when the Neeleys moved to Tampa Bay, they bought a house on the same cul-de-sac as Sarah and Boone.

“Alyssa has offered to watch Brennan until you’re back.”

“She’s a sweetheart,” Sarah said.

“We owe her big-time.”

“Remember that when I treat her to a spa day later.”

Boone laughed. “I promise I won’t complain, ’cause, baby, you’ve earned it.”

Sarah closed her eyes, savoring the way Boone’s deep voice rumbled through her. She loved his voice, both the tone and the Louisiana drawl. She didn’t know how he did it, but when he laughed he managed to sound sexy and innocent all at the same time. “Excited for tomorrow night?”

“Men don’t get excited, babe.”

She grinned. “Looking forward to tomorrow night, Boone?”

“Yeah, I am. The Yankees have CC Sabathia on the mound and we’ve got to take Shields. Should be a good game.”

“Nervous?”

“Nah. Just ready to get the season going.”

“Come on. No butterflies? None at all?”

“Shields is probably feeling a little puky, but not me. I’m good. I just want to get out there and hit the ball.”

“That’s what I love about you.”

“That’s it?” he asked innocently.

She laughed softly, amused. “Well, there is something else . . .”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

Ella suddenly appeared next to the kitchen island, blue eyes wide, worried. “Mommy?”

Sarah covered the phone. “Yes, sweetie?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, why?”

Ella wrinkled her nose. “’Cuz Gabi told me I’m supposed to tell you I had an accident.”

“Oh.” For a second Sarah just looked at her and then she stood up. “Boone, I better go.”

“What’s happening?”

“Ella had an accident.”

Boone laughed, a low, husky laugh, on the other end of the line. “It’s all you, babe.”

“I know.” Sarah held out a hand to Ella, uncertain whether she should laugh or cry. “It usually is, hon.”

Six

M
eg lay in bed, eyes open, eyes burning, chest burning, feeling dead. No, not dead. She hurt too much to be dead.

She’d been doing this for the past couple of nights, all night. Lying awake. Feeling too much. Thinking too much. Thinking of Jack and the previous weekend, and that last night they were all together. Replaying that final scene over and over in her head, wondering if she could have stopped him from leaving angry, wondering if he’d be alive now if she’d smoothed things over . . . made amends.

But how many ways were there to make amends? How many times did you apologize before the words just didn’t mean anything anymore?

And now he was gone and tomorrow his parents would arrive—they were staying in two separate Santa Rosa hotels—but they’d both come to the house for dinner, and then there was his church service and reception on Friday.

Except she still hadn’t booked anything for the reception and she was beginning to run out of options . . . never mind time.

Just this morning she’d called her favorite caterer, Summer Bakery & Café in Napa, and practically begged Lisa Summer, the older of the two Summer sisters, to cater the reception, but Lisa explained, most apologetically, that with Lauren moving to the East Bay for the year, and with so many of the café staff gone for spring break, she was shorthanded.

“I hate saying no to you, Meg. You’re one of our favorite people, and definitely our best client—”

“It’s okay.” Meg gently cut her short. “I understand. And it’s a lot to ask of Lauren, even if she hadn’t gone. Although I hadn’t realized she’d moved away. When did that happen?”

“Last fall. September. But it’s just temporary.”

“That’s good. Napa wouldn’t be the same without her.”

“And that’s what we keep telling her.” Lisa drew a quick breath. “Meg, honestly, I’d cater the reception myself, if it weren’t for this darn pregnancy. It’s been difficult and I’ve been on and off bed rest the entire time.”

“You’re pregnant, Lisa?”

“Eight months.”

“How wonderful!”

“Thank you. Matthieu and I are really looking forward to meeting our little one.” Lisa paused and the silence stretched over the line. “I’m so sorry, Meg, about Jack. I can only imagine how difficult this time is for you. Please know that our thoughts and prayers are with the whole family.”

“Thank you,” Meg whispered, her voice failing her.

“I’ll make some calls. Talk to my friends who are in the business. Maybe I can find someone who can help you on Friday.”

“That’d be great.”

“It will come together, Meg.”

“Yes. It will. And thank you.”

That had been twelve hours ago, and so far, nothing from Lisa, and no nibbles from any other caterers.

Too bad Jack hadn’t checked his calendar before crashing, realized that spring break wasn’t a great time for dying . . . far better to wait a couple of weeks.

Grimacing at her gallows humor, Meg left her bed and walked to the window with the view of the hills and valley, the sky a black canvas dotted with stars.

Looking up into the sky, she thought of her mom, and wished desperately that Mom were here with her now.

Meg sat down on the upholstered cushion of the window seat, amazed that just a year ago everything had been calm, uneventful. Mom had been healthy. Meg’s marriage had been solid. Life was good.

Maybe too good, because she hadn’t even known it. Hadn’t appreciated it. Hadn’t realized that she was living a fairy tale, because now it was a nightmare.

Forgive me, Jack.

Help me, Mom
.

Her eyes stung, and her insides felt sore, shaken, broken.

Across the room, on the nightstand, her phone suddenly buzzed.

God calling, maybe?

Meg retrieved her phone. A text from Lauren Summer, Lisa’s little sister.
Have you found a caterer yet?

Meg suppressed panic as she texted back,
No.

Moments later her phone rang. It was Lauren. “Meg, I am so sorry.”

Meg gulped a breath. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t know. I only found out this evening when Mom forwarded me the obituary from the paper. I called Lisa and she told me you’d asked us to help—”

“It’s fine,” Meg said in a rush, embarrassed. “I didn’t realize you’d moved to the East Bay.”

“I’m managing a little place called Mama’s Café in Alameda. It’s different from our restaurant in Napa, but it’s what I needed.”

“Change,” Meg said.

“Yes.” Lauren paused. “So. The reception. What time is? How many people are you expecting, and what would you like for the menu?”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“Yes. So . . . how many? What time is the reception? What do I need to know?”

Overwhelmed, Meg closed her eyes. “It’s a noon service,” she said huskily, “very short, approximately thirty minutes. Everyone is invited to the house immediately after. I’m thinking we’ll have at least one hundred people, maybe one fifty, although it could be more, so a buffet, and maybe something sweet.”

“Will you want to serve alcohol?”

“I’m Irish, and it’s a funeral, so my family will definitely drink. But I think we should just stick to beer and wine.”

“Anything else?”

“Maybe your soup, salad, and sandwich buffet . . . you did it for me a couple of years ago at Halloween, and everyone thought it was wonderful.”

“You want soup?”

“Since it’s Easter . . . I was thinking carrot might be nice.” Meg hesitated. “It was Jack’s favorite.”

“Right.”

“Do you mind handling the rentals, too?”

“We’ve got it covered.”

Meg could suddenly breathe again. Finally. Something good. “You’re a godsend.”

Lauren made a soft, rough sound on the other end of the line. “I’ll see you Friday. Take care of those kids.”

* * *

H
anging up, Lauren Summer sat higher in bed, curled her legs under her, thinking and not thinking, feeling and not feeling, hoping she wasn’t in over her head.

This wouldn’t be easy.

This wouldn’t be fun.

This wasn’t something she wanted to do.

Reluctantly she called her sister. It was late, but Lisa was a night owl. “I talked to her,” Lauren said, when Lisa answered. “One hundred and fifty people. Twelve thirty start time. We’ll do a buffet and offer cold drinks, dessert, and a simple bar of beer and wine.”

“I thought you were calling her to offer sympathy, not agreeing to cater the event.”

Lauren rubbed the back of her neck. “She needed us.”

Lisa was silent, struggling to choose the right words. “You can’t even come home to see us, hon. How are you going to come home to cater a funeral?”

Sighing, Lauren pressed the comforter down over her legs, thinking Lisa had a good point.

She didn’t know how she’d do it. She’d been to Napa only once since leaving in September, and that had been for Thanksgiving, and just sitting at the table with her family had been more than she could handle.

“And I’m huge, Lauren,” Lisa added. “I’m not going to be able to get out of the kitchen.”

“Hope you’re not that big. You still got six weeks to go, which means you could be putting on a pound a week from now—”

“Don’t go there. Can’t even fit into maternity extra large as it is.”

“You’ll lose the weight later.”

“I better,” Lisa said. “But you know, I mean it about not being able to do a lot. I’ve been on and off bed rest. I won’t be able to do more than man the kitchen on Friday.”

“That’s okay.”

“And the prep, and the cooking, and the—”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Lauren swallowed, remembering how devastated she’d been last June when Blake had died, remembering the shock and the grief, which had been so consuming. “This is Meg. How could I tell her no?”

Lisa had nothing to say to that, because really, it was the bottom line. They’d both worked with Meg frequently over the past six years, catering numerous events at Dark Horse Winery as well as holiday parties at the Robertses’ house. But Lisa knew that for Lauren, Meg wasn’t just a customer, she’d become Lauren’s friend, stopping by the bakery every week to pick up something special to take home to her family—flaky dinner rolls, warm, gooey cinnamon bread, or one of their special-occasion cakes—and when Meg came in, Lauren always came out from behind the counter to sit with her at a table by the window. They’d sip coffee and talk about life and work and kids. Meg had a son just a year younger than Blake and he played baseball, too. JJ was an outfielder, while Blake had been a pitcher. And how Blake could pitch. Scouts had been watching him for two years—

“So what are we serving?” Lisa asked quietly.

“A selection of our miniature sandwiches on our homemade breads. Soup. Salad. Dessert tray. But I really don’t think we should do soup.”

“Then don’t,” Lisa answered.

“But Meg requested carrot soup. Apparently it was Jack’s favorite.”

“Oh. Soup it is.” Lisa hesitated. “This is just so much work for you, Lauren.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it. I’m on my feet all day at Mama’s Café.”

“How is that going?”

“It’s an experience.”

“Still in the red?”

“Hoping we’re going to start turning a profit soon.”

“How?”

“Going to make some changes to the menu starting Sunday—”

“This Sunday?”

“Yep.”

“But you’ll be in Napa this weekend, catering Jack’s reception.”

“On Friday. I’ll drive back to Alameda Friday night, or Saturday morning.”

“That’s too much. Honestly, Lauren. When do you rest?”

“I don’t. But that’s because I don’t want free time. I don’t need free time. I’m better off being busy.”

“So, what changes are you making to the menu?”

“Cutting back on some of the Cajun items. Going to serve a little less blackened chicken and fish. Make just one kind of gumbo each day, instead of three. And add some appealing entrées, make Mama’s a little less regional and a lot more mainstream.”

“But Mama’s is supposed to be a New Orleans–style restaurant. People expect Creole and Cajun.”

“And they’ll still find sausage and gumbo and biscuits and think it’s fun, but I guarantee they’ll come back for the prime rib, grilled half chicken, and barbecued steaks we’ll soon be serving.”

“You’re offering prime rib for lunch?”

“No. For dinner.”

“You’re not open for dinner.”

“We are now, starting Sunday.”

“You said a month ago you can barely afford to pay the staff you have. How are you going to stay open even later?”

“I’ll work the evening shift.”

“And cook, too?”

“Not everything, no.”

“Lauren!”

“It’s going to be okay, Lisa. I’ve got it figured out.”
Kind of, sort of,
she silently added.

“And what if it isn’t?”

“Then we’ll go back to just breakfast and lunch.”

Lisa made a tsk-tsking sound. “I can’t believe Mimi signed off on something like this.”

“She doesn’t care, provided the café makes money.”

“But she’s paying for the extra staff, right? She’s paying for the new menus and extra overhead.”

“Um . . .” Lauren tugged on a strand of her long hair. “Not exactly.”

“Oh my God. Lauren!”

Lauren winced. “Mimi’s promised to reimburse me. If we turn a profit.”

“If
.
”

“I like the challenge.”

“It’s insane. You’re insane.”

“The café is in a good location, and the concept of a Southern, New Orleans café is cute, but it could be a lot more appealing. A lighter, brighter décor, better hours, better service, better food—”

“Hello! Hey, sis, remember? We already own a business, you and me. If you want to sink some money into a business, sink it into ours!”

Lauren blinked, taken aback, unable to think of a single response. Because Lisa was right. Lauren couldn’t argue with her.

“I just don’t get it,” Lisa said, her voice sharp with frustration. “We’ve got a great restaurant, one that’s written up in every travel guidebook on Napa, and yet you’ve abandoned it to go slave away at a decrepit little café in the East Bay!”

“I haven’t abandoned our place. I’m just . . . taking a break.”

Silence stretched, an uncomfortable, long silence that put a knot in Lauren’s stomach.

“I hope you mean that,” Lisa said quietly.

“I do.”

“Because Summer Bakery and Café is our business. You can’t be gone for good.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re sure? Because if you’re out, tell me now—”

“Lisa, I’m not. Okay? It’s a sabbatical. That’s it. I promise.”

“Okay.”

But when they hung up, Lauren buried her face in the crook of her arm, heartsick. She didn’t lie to Lisa. She’d always been honest with her sister. But she hadn’t been honest just now.

Lauren wasn’t sure she’d be back. She wanted to return to Napa. She hoped she could return one day. But she didn’t know when that would be. All she knew for sure was that it wouldn’t be soon.

Lauren slept badly that night, repeatedly waking up and then falling back asleep, with Lisa almost constantly on her mind.

Lisa was right.

Lisa was right.

But Lauren didn’t know what to do with the knowledge. What was she supposed to do?

Turning on the light, she went to the kitchen and poured herself a bowl of Lucky Charms, her secret weakness.

She ate the cereal at the small kitchen table and stared at the plain white refrigerator. Such an ugly old refrigerator. But then, her one-bedroom apartment was rather ugly and old, which is probably why it was so cheap.

But it’s close to work,
she reminded herself.
Convenient,
she added, pouring a second bowl of cereal, this time for the marshmallows.

She loved marshmallows. Peeps, chocolate-covered marshmallows, stale marshmallows, marshmallow whip. All good and that’s because she wasn’t a gourmet. She’d never planned to be a baker or a cook. But after she’d graduated from high school and delayed the inevitable by putting in two years at the community college, it was time to get a job.

Her parents had already helped her with Blake for three years. She couldn’t sponge off them any longer. So she juggled part-time jobs and parenting and it was hellish, trying to work twelve hours a day and still find time to be Blake’s mommy. There were only two good things about those two hard years: Blake, and her parents, who’d insisted she continue to live at home so they could help care for Blake when she worked.