The Good Wife (2 page)

Sarah looked down her nose at her sister. Brianna might be older, but she was tiny, barely reaching Sarah’s shoulder. “I have nothing to say to you, Bree.”

“You’re being such a drama queen.”

“Go away. I’m sure there is someone in the house you can torment.”

“This is stupid. You do know that, Sarah?”

“Of course it’s stupid to you. You were the one who was there with Mom. And you were the one who got to say good-bye.”

“Mom needed to go. She was in pain.”

A thick knot filled Sarah’s throat. She swallowed hard, but it just grew bigger. “Please just go away.”

Brianna’s delicate features tightened. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Sarah. Wasn’t trying to hurt any of you. I was just focused solely on Mom that night, wanting what was best for her—”

“Death?”

“She was
dying
.”

“And you hurried it along.”

“What?”
Brianna’s voice spiked, echoing too loudly in the period living room, momentarily silencing all other conversation.

Sarah saw the Martins, Hughes, and Keegans—all friends of her parents—glance at her and Brianna before quickly looking away.

Brianna leaned toward Sarah and dropped her voice. “You make me sound like Dr. Kevorkian!”

“If the shoe fits . . . ?”

“All I did was hold her hand, and tell her how much she was loved—”

“And what a good job she’d done, a
great
job, but she’d fulfilled her responsibilities, and now she was free to go.” Sarah blinked, clearing her vision, furious, so furious. “And she did.”

“She
needed
to go. She was hurting.”

“I get that. But you should have called us. You should have given us a chance to say good-bye, too.” Her voice broke. “At the very least, you should have called Dad. You owed it to Dad . . . to all of us.”

Brianna jerked her chin up. “She couldn’t have gone, not with us all around the bed, hanging on to her for dear life.”

“You don’t know that. We will never know that—”

“Get over yourself!”

“Myself?
Myself?
” Sarah clapped a hand to her forehead and laughed. “You’re the one who lives on the other side of the world, only flying in for the big moments, and then only on Mom and Dad’s dime—”

“I have never taken their money,” Brianna snapped, folding bony arms across her thin chest. She’d returned from Africa two weeks ago emaciated, her slender frame downright skeletal. Everyone had been alarmed, and no one more so than Mom. There had been endless discussion about Bree’s health, behind Bree’s back: Did she have cancer? Was she dying? What had happened to her in the Congo?—even as Brianna insisted she was fine. “Nor have I ever asked for financial support, not even to go to college, unlike you, who had them pay for your undergraduate education, as well as law school.”

“I didn’t go, but they’d hoped I’d go, and they wanted to do it for me. They were proud of me—”

“Let’s just hope you don’t ever need a real job—”

“I
have
a job, Bree. I’m a wife and a mother—” She broke off, silenced by the pressure of her brother’s hand bearing down on her shoulder.

“What’s the matter with you two?” he demanded curtly, his broad shoulders rigid inside his black suit jacket. “Everyone can hear you. Dad can hear you. I bet even Mom can hear you.”

Brianna managed a tight-lipped apology and walked away, leaving Tommy with Sarah.

He glanced toward Brianna, who was rounding the living room corner to disappear into the entry hall, and watched her a moment before turning to Sarah. “What’s going on? You and Bree are usually thick as thieves.”

“Not anymore.”

He frowned. “Have you been drinking?”

She flushed. Was it that obvious? So annoying. “I just had a glass. But I need to eat. Haven’t eaten today.”

“Then don’t drink anymore.”

“I’m not.”

“Good.” He glowered down at her, his expression bemused. “So when did Bree stop being your favorite sister?”

Sarah groaned inwardly, wanting Advil. Three of them and a huge glass of water might help the pounding in her head. “I hope you don’t say that sort of thing in front of Meg or Kit. It’d hurt their feelings.”

“No, it wouldn’t. They know it’s true.”

“Even if it
used
to be true, it’s still not something you should say in front of them.” She ran a trembling hand down her hip, lightly smoothing the black velvet fabric. She’d found the dress with the burnout design and three-quarter sleeves on Amazon. It’d looked comfortable and was affordable, which was good, because Sarah didn’t intend to ever wear it again.

“I think I know why you’re fighting. Cass told me. And I can’t believe it’s true. Hope it’s not true that you’re blaming Brianna for Mom dying when you weren’t there.”

“First of all, it’s none of your business, and secondly, I’m not blaming Brianna for Mom’s death. I’m just really pissed off that Brianna wouldn’t call any of us when she saw that Mom was getting ready to go. She could have called us. We were just minutes away—”

“So you
are
blaming Bree.”

“I just don’t think it’s fair that Brianna was the only one who got to say good-bye—”

“But life isn’t fair! You of all people have to know that by now.”

She stiffened, shoulders drawing back as she pressed her fingers against her throbbing temple. “What do you mean, me of all people?”

“Being married to Boone. His career as a major league baseball player. The whole professional sports world.” He gave her a puzzled look. “What do you think I meant?”

“I don’t know.” She rubbed at her brow, starting to feel sick. “I don’t feel so good.”

Tommy’s gaze rested on her face. “You need to eat.”

“I do.”

“Do you want me to get you something?”

“No, I’ll find something.”

“Most of the food has been put away, with just desserts now in the dining room. But you don’t need a cookie. You need a sandwich, or some lasagna, something—”

“I know what I need,” she said, gagging at the idea of eating lasagna. That would make her throw up. But maybe a sandwich, or a toasted bagel. Something light, something to cut the acid from all that wine on an empty stomach.

Entering the kitchen, Sarah found Meg’s husband, Jack Roberts, at the old farmhouse-style sink, elbow-deep in hot sudsy water.

“Hey, look at you,” Sarah said, surprised to see him alone. “Where is everyone? Who is helping you? You shouldn’t be in here by yourself.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need help,” he answered, rinsing the pan he’d just washed and placing it on the counter to his left, where it joined a dozen other Pyrex dishes, ceramic casseroles, and wooden salad bowls. “If you’re looking for something to drink, I think there’s an unopened bottle of wine in the fridge—”

“I’m good,” she said, cutting him off, embarrassed. Make that horrified. Did everyone associate her with wine these days? “Actually I wanted something to eat. But let me give you a hand first—”

“Don’t. Honestly. I’m good, Sarah. I really don’t want help. I like doing this, makes me feel”—he broke off, his expression suddenly wistful—“better. I need to do something. For your mom. Your family.”

Sarah went to her brother-in-law and gave him a swift hug. He endured it with good grace. Jack wasn’t particularly touchy-feely. According to Meg, his family hadn’t been very affectionate. “I appreciate you,” she said, giving him another quick squeeze before going to the refrigerator to see what she could find.

The refrigerator was packed. Plastic containers of every size and shape filled every shelf. So that’s where the leftovers from all those casseroles and salads and pasta dishes had gone. Dad would have food for days. “Can you recommend anything?” she asked Jack, wondering what would be good.

“The chicken Caesar salad and the lasagna. But I think the lasagna is gone now.”

“Tommy was pushing the lasagna.”

“I’m not surprised. He was the one who ate it all.”

“I think I’ll just do toast,” Sarah said, closing the fridge door and opening the breadbox. She popped a slice of cinnamon bread into the toaster and reached for the kettle on the stove. “Want a cup of tea?”

“Actually, I’d love one,” Jack answered, taking the kettle from her and filling it.

Once the kettle was back on the stove, Sarah went in search of tea bags and told Jack his options. “Green, black, chamomile, mint, peach mango, orange something?”

“How about orange something?”

“You got it,” she said, flashing him a crooked smile. She liked Jack, always had. He was smart, funny, with a dry sense of humor. So different from Boone. Boone was Southern, born and raised in New Orleans’s fabled Garden District; he oozed warmth, charm, and oh, how women loved that warmth and charm . . .

“Am I really just supposed to stand here and watch you?” she asked, once the mugs were filled with steaming water and she’d set his at his elbow.

“No. You’re supposed to sit and watch. Your feet have to be killing you in those shoes. Four inches. Ridiculous.”

She glanced at her feet as she pulled out the counter stool. “I always wear heels.”

“Why?”

“They make me feel pretty.”

“You
are
pretty. So stop crippling your feet.”

Sarah blew on her tea. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I have a date night with Boone.”

“I can’t believe Boone cares about what shoes you wear,” Jack said, glancing at her over his shoulder.

“He doesn’t. I just want to look hot for him. Remind him that he’s already got his number one fan, and she’s right at home waiting for him.”

Jack frowned and seemed as if he was going to say something before shaking his head. He rinsed off a platter and then a wooden salad bowl, and placed both on the counter. “So how is Boone?”

Her heart ached a little. “Good.” It killed her that Boone had to leave right after the service at the cemetery. She’d wanted him here for the reception at the house. She’d needed him here. But he’d already missed two days of games, so he jumped on a plane and was rushing back to Florida for the end of spring training.

“It’s good he came for the services,” Jack said quietly, as if he were able to read her mind.

Sarah swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I’m glad his manager let him come.”

“Your dad was glad to see him.”

She nodded. Dad loved Boone. But then, Boone was a man’s man. Big, tough, uncomplaining. Dad always said Boone would have made a great fireman.

“I just wish he could have stayed for the whole day and gone home tomorrow or with us on Sunday. It’s so much easier flying when Boone’s along. He’s so patient with the kids and he can manage all the bags—” She broke off, hating that she was beginning to sound pathetic. She had a great life, a great husband, great kids—so much to be thankful for—but she did wish she had more time with Boone. It was the one thing she couldn’t seem to get enough of, with him always packing and unpacking, his suitcase a constant on the bench at the foot of their bed.

But it wouldn’t be long before he retired. He’d be thirty-nine soon, in just a couple of weeks, and that was ancient in baseball. Grandpa, the rookies called him. The rookies weren’t far off. There weren’t many players Boone’s age in the majors who could still hit the ball like Boone. But then, Boone was special. He always had been.

“Heard he had a great spring training,” Jack said.

She nodded, relaxing a little. “It was a great spring training.”

“JJ said Boone had three home runs last week.”

“He hasn’t hit this well in a long time,” she said, wanting to be excited about the new season but dreading it, too. There was always so much to worry about. Team politics, trades, injuries, Boone’s performance at the plate, the fickle fans, the groupies.

Sarah shuddered and stopped herself there, not wanting to think about the girls or groupies tonight. They were part of baseball—a fact of life—but they didn’t have to bring her down tonight. It’d been such a hard week . . . a hard year . . .

“How’s your dad holding up?” Jack asked, glancing at her as he rinsed a massive Pyrex bowl that had been filled with potato salad.

“Okay. I think he’s reverted to his firefighter role—focus and get through it.”

“I’ve been amazed at his composure.”

“So have we,” she said, remembering the noon funeral Mass at St. Cecilia, and the graveside service after. The church had been packed, and almost everyone followed over to the cemetery. Dad had been quiet and attentive during both services. It wasn’t until the end of the graveside service, when the casket was lowered, that he went down on one knee, bent his head, and cried.

Those who’d remained left for the house then, everybody moving on to the reception, except for Boone and Tommy Jr., who stayed behind with Dad. Eventually they’d accompanied him back to the house for the reception, and then Sarah had just enough time to give Boone a quick hug and kiss before he jumped in a cab and took off for the airport.

Jack reached for a damp dish towel and dried his hands one final time before crossing the floor to toss the wet towel into a white plastic basket in the laundry room next door. “I think that’s it,” he said.

“You deserve a medal of valor,” Sarah said, sliding off the stool and stretching.

“I’m a hero?” he teased.

“You are,” she answered. “Absolutely. You’ve been there for Meg, and that’s what counts.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I do. Meg told me how amazing you’ve been. You’ve canceled your trips to D.C., and you’ve been managing the house and kids so Meg could be with Mom as much as possible. That’s pretty cool.”

He shrugged uneasily. “I cared about your mom. And I care about Meg. It’s the least I can do.”

Sarah frowned, thrown by the way he said “I care about Meg
.
” It didn’t sound right. Shouldn’t he have said, “I love Meg”? “You and Meg okay?”

He hesitated. “What do you mean? As a couple?”

She nodded.

His shoulders twisted. “I don’t know. Things are what they are.”

That definitely did not sound good. “Still rocky?”

He made a face as he shrugged again. “We have our ups and downs. Sometimes it feels like more downs than ups.”