The Good Wife (3 page)

“But you haven’t thrown in the towel yet,” she said, trying to be encouraging.

“Not yet.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

Sarah heard the weariness in his voice and her chest tightened. “I think so,” she answered, knowing that she and Boone had been through a difficult couple of years, but she couldn’t imagine life without him. He was as important to her as oxygen—not that her sisters thought she should love any man that much. “Boone always says—” She broke off as Kit entered the kitchen carrying Ella, who was crying inconsolably.

“There’s your mommy,” Kit crooned, kissing Ella’s wet, flushed cheek. “I told you we’d find her. Your mommy didn’t go anywhere. No need to cry. She’s right here talking to Uncle Jack.”

“Come here, baby,” Sarah said, taking her daughter from Kit. “What’s wrong? Why such a sad face?”

“I want Daddy,” Ella wailed. “I want my house. I want to go home. And I hate Brennan. He’s so mean.”

Checking her smile, Sarah cuddled her five-year-old. “What did Brennan do this time, sweet pea?”

“He said he was going to bury me like Grandma—”

“He’s not!” Sarah interrupted, looking at Kit over her daughter’s head. “That’s a terrible thing for him to say.”

“I told him the same thing,” Kit said with mock sternness, her blue eyes warm. “He’s with Dad, having a time-out in the dining room right now.”

“I don’t want to get buried!” Great crocodile tears rolled down Ella’s face. “I don’t want to be covered up with dirt. Why did they cover Grandma with dirt?”

“Because Grandma died,” Sarah said gently.

“And so she went to heaven to be with God and Jesus and Mary and all the saints and angels,” Meg added, entering the kitchen and leaning against the doorframe.

“Is Grandma with angels now?” Ella asked, looking into her mother’s eyes.

Sarah nodded. “Yes, and they’re going to keep Grandma company and make sure she won’t be lonely.”

Ella reached up to touch Sarah’s face, her small hand gentle on her mother’s cheek. “Can we go see her?”

“Someday.” Sarah kissed Ella. “But not now, because Daddy would miss us, and Grandpa needs us. Maybe we should go see Grandpa now?”

“And then we can go home?”

“Not to our house. But maybe to Aunt Meg and Uncle Jack’s. We’re staying with Aunt Meg and Uncle Jack for a few nights, remember?”

“Without Daddy?”

“Daddy had to go back to Tampa, but we’ll see him in a few days.”

“I want to go home now.”

“I think you’re tired, sweetheart. I know I’m tired. It’s been a really long day.” Sarah glanced at Meg, and then Jack. “Do you think we could leave soon?”

Meg glanced at Jack, and he nodded.

“I’ll round up the kids,” Meg said. “Let Dad know we’re leaving.”

“Great.” Sarah kissed Ella’s cheek, snuggling her closer, needing her sweet girl’s warmth tonight. “I’ll get Brennan and we’ll say our good-byes.”

Two

A
n hour and a half later, Sarah was in her pajamas in bed in the guest room on the second floor of Meg and Jack’s big shingled house in Santa Rosa. Ella slept next to her, and eight-year-old Brennan was on the floor in his sleeping bag, wearing headphones and watching a movie on his laptop.

“Need anything?” Meg asked, hovering in the doorway. “Water, tea, something to eat?”

Sarah shook her head and pushed heavy honey-blond hair from her face, wishing she’d pulled it back in a loose ponytail for bed. “I’m good, Meg.”

“You’re sure? I can go make you something—”

“I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry so much.”

Meg’s shoulders lifted and fell. “I just want you comfortable.”

“And I am.” Sarah glanced down at Ella where she slept curled on her side, facing Sarah, her thumb popped into her mouth. Ella only did that when she was stressed and it made Sarah’s chest ache. “What a strange, long day.”

“And a strange, long year,” Meg agreed, her voice husky. “This time last year we thought everything was wonderful. Mom was healthy. We were all good, and then just weeks later at our Girls’ Getaway, we found out the cancer was back and there was nothing to be done.” Suddenly she crossed the room, adjusted the heavy pale green velvet drapes, which had been drawn for the night, making sure there was no crack between fabric panels. “It was brutal . . . all those months waiting for Mom to die.”

“Praying for a miracle,” Sarah added.

“She deserved one,” Meg said, exhaling hard as she crossed her arms over her chest.

Sarah reached out to her. “Come, sit,” she insisted, waiting for Meg to take her hand and then take a seat on the edge of the bed next to her. “You okay?”

Meg blinked away tears. “No. You?”

Sarah’s throat and eyes burned as she shook her head. “No. Miss her, Meg. Miss her so much already—” She broke off, sucked in air, tears trembling on her lashes.

“She was my best friend. She gave the best advice. And even though I live on the other side of the country, she still managed to be part of everything. Calling, sending cards, little texts, and her Facebook messages . . . those updates . . . hilarious.” Sarah wiped away tears, trying to smile through her tears and failing. “What are we going to do without her?”

Meg’s lower lip quivered. “Try to make her proud.”

“Yeah.” Sarah was quiet a moment, thinking about her mom, her sisters, the whole family. “What do you think Dad’s doing right now?”

“Probably watching TV with Tommy,” Meg said.

Sarah nodded. It’s how she pictured him right now, too. Dad was a simple man. He liked his routine. “I wonder how he feels . . . not having had a chance to say a last good-bye.”

Meg shot Sarah a swift glance. “It was probably hard for him, not being there at the very end, but I don’t think he blames Brianna.”

Unlike me,
Sarah thought fiercely, meeting Meg’s gaze. “Yes, I am upset with Brianna. Yes, I feel cheated. I needed that final good-bye. I wanted to be there at the end with Mom, too.”

“But maybe Brianna was right,” Meg said carefully. “Maybe Mom couldn’t let go when we were all there. Maybe it was too hard for her to leave us, when we were around the bed, hanging on to her for dear life.”

“Of course we were hanging on to her for dear life. We loved her.” Sarah drew her knees up to her chest, defensive, even as the ache filled her chest, heavy, suffocating. “I just can’t believe she’d want to . . . go . . . without me there.” There was a defiant note in her voice but she didn’t care. “I thought I’d be the one, holding her hand, at the end.”
Not Bree
.

“We’ll never know why Mom chose to let go then, but she had to have a reason. You know Mom never did anything by chance.”

Suddenly Sarah didn’t want to do this anymore, talk about Mom anymore, talk about death and dying and letting go. She’d spent so much of her life letting go, saying good-bye, leaving friends, starting over in new cities with new teams. Since she’d married Boone he’d been traded five times, which meant five huge moves. But even when they were settled with one team, she wasn’t. Because Boone wasn’t settled. He was constantly traveling and training and nursing a real, or perceived, injury. And when he was home, she fluttered around him, alternately thrilled and resentful. And when he was gone, she was constantly trying to stay busy, trying to kill time, trying to feel stable and content even though in her heart, she was lonely and empty and just getting emptier . . .

“It doesn’t matter,” Sarah said roughly, collecting her long hair and drawing it over her shoulder. “It’s not as if we can bring her back. All we can do is move forward.”

Meg reached out to cup Sarah’s cheek. “You were always Mom’s baby. She absolutely adored you, Sarah. You know that, don’t you?”

Uncomfortable, Sarah pulled back, leaning away from Meg’s touch, but not before she saw the flicker of hurt in Meg’s eyes. “Sorry, Mags,” she mumbled. “Just . . . overwhelmed.”

“I understand,” Meg said, rising, smiling, and yet the shadow remained in her eyes.

Sarah’s chest squeezed tight. “You’re a great big sister, you know that, don’t you?”

Meg was silent a moment. “I’ve tried. But I don’t think I’ve always succeeded. Like last year when I—”

“That’s the past.”

Meg’s brow creased. “Is it?”

Sarah nodded, definitely not wanting to go there either, since the whole affair thing was still a sensitive topic for everyone. “Jack was really helpful tonight. He did all the dishes at Mom and Dad’s . . . mountains of dishes.”

“I saw.”

“You don’t think it’s good?”

“It’s great. And it’s what you or I or any of us would do at a family member’s funeral.”

“What’s wrong?”

Meg shook her head. “Nothing. Just tired. I should probably go check on the kids and go to bed.”

As if on cue, Sarah’s phone vibrated on the nightstand. “Boone,” she said, reaching for her phone, reading his one-word text.
Here
.

“He’s landed,” she added, glancing up at Meg, feeling as though an immense weight had tumbled from her shoulders.

“That’s good. I know you never relax when he’s in the air.”

“It’s silly. I know nothing’s going to happen,” Sarah answered, quickly texting Boone back.
Yay! Glad you’re on the ground. Call me when you can.

Meg smiled indulgently as she watched Sarah text her husband. “You know air travel is so safe these days. There hasn’t been a big accident in the U.S. in years—”

“Don’t say that. You’ll jinx him for sure that way.”

“Come on, you’re not superstitious.”

Sarah looked up, eyes wide. “Of course I am!”

“Since when?”

“Meg, I’m married to a professional baseball player. Ball players are incredibly superstitious—”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to be.”

Sarah’s phone rang. “Boone,” she said, grinning.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Take the call. I’m heading to bed. See you in the morning.”

Sarah blew her a kiss. “Sleep good. And thanks, Meg. For everything.”

* * *

I
n the hall, Meg quietly closed the guest-room door so Sarah could have some privacy and headed toward her girls’ rooms. Tessa and Gabi were both already asleep, but sixteen-year-old JJ was at his desk, Skyping with his girlfriend, Heather. When he spotted his mother in the doorway, he tersely signaled for her to leave.

“Simply saying good night,” she said mildly. “Just making sure you’re okay . . . with the funeral and all.”

JJ’s glare suddenly softened and he said something to Heather before hitting the disconnect on the computer. Springing from his chair, he went to his mom and wrapped his arms around her in a quick, guilty hug. “Sorry. And I’m sorry about Grandma,” he muttered. “Sorry for you, too. It must be awful losing your mom. I would hate to lose you.”

Meg, who’d kept it together for much of the day, blinked to clear the hot, stinging sensation from her eyes. “Well, I have no intention of going anywhere, and Grandma was a really good mom.”

“I loved Grandma.”

“I know. And she loved you.”

JJ pulled away and folded his arms across his chest. He’d grown five inches in the past six months and had filled out through the chest and shoulders, showing an early hint of the Brennan brawn. Not that he was a Brennan, but he had her brother’s and father’s athletic ability and he hoped to make it to the pros, like Sarah’s husband. “Why did she have to die?” he demanded.

Meg shrugged. “Something about God’s plan.”

“Don’t get mad at my language, but I think it’s a fucked-up plan.”

“Can’t disagree, babe, but let’s not use foul language.”

“But it is. She suffered so much—” He broke off, took a step away, and rubbed at his watering eyes. “So not right.”

“No.”

“Grandpa’s going to really miss her, won’t he?”

Meg swallowed around the lump filling her throat. It’d been such a long, hard couple of months, but hopefully Mom was in a better place. Or at least, a place without pain. “Yeah. They’ve been together a long time.”

“And they were happy, weren’t they? They always seemed to be in a good mood when they were together. Always laughing and joking around.”

She nearly reached out to touch his jaw with the straggly chin stubble, his facial hair still light and thin, but crossed her arms instead, not wanting to invade his space. She’d learned that it was better to let him come to her, to reach for her, otherwise she could end up rejected. “They definitely enjoyed each other.”

“Did they ever fight?”

“They had their moments. Grandpa isn’t always easy to live with and Grandma was never a pushover, but they were committed to each other, and very committed to the family. It’s why their marriage worked.”

“They were best friends, weren’t they?”

“Yes.”

JJ’s forehead creased and he stared across the room, to his desktop computer. “Were you and Dad ever like that? . . . Best friends?”

Meg’s mouth opened, then closed. It took her a second to think back, to the early days of her marriage, and her first thought was how new and exciting it had all been, that big move with Jack to California, her state, which then made her reflect on how different it’d been for him and how uncomfortable he was with her large family. From the start he’d been overwhelmed by her tight-knit Brennan family and resisted their many traditions—family summers and holidays in Capitola at the beach house, big gatherings for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, winter ski trips to Tahoe, brunches every Sunday, Saturday barbecues, baptisms, and ball games, never mind casual family dinners.

No, Jack hadn’t enjoyed her family holidays and traditions. He’d never come out and said so, but she’d suspected that he found them a little too loud, a little too blue collar, a little Catholic. The Roberts family, which could trace its ancestors to the
Mayflower,
had been educated, affluent, and aloof, as well as fractured by a highly contentious divorce and custody battle that lasted for years, scarring Jack permanently.

Meg had loved Jack anyway, adoring his brilliant mind and his talent for sensitive architectural preservation and design. She’d learned that he needed his space, and he was most creative when left to himself, and so she gave him his space and told herself that the space was good for her, too. She was, and always had been, very independent. She didn’t need a lot of attention. Mary Margaret Brennan Roberts excelled at self-sufficiency.

“Your dad is still my best friend,” she said now to JJ, which stood for “Jack Jr.” “He’s amazing. There aren’t many people as smart as he is.”

“I thought Aunt Kit was your best friend.”

Megs suddenly felt the weight of the last week settle in her gut and burn in her chest. There were few people as loving and supportive as her sister Kit. “We are really close.”

“So she is your best friend?”

“Can’t a girl have two best friends?”

“I guess.”

Needing to escape, she kissed JJ’s cheek. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“I won’t. I can’t. I’ve got the last SAT study session and still have to take a pre-test in the morning.”

“You mean, after Mass.”

“I’m taking the test in the morning.”

“JJ, it’s Palm Sunday tomorrow.”

“So?”

“It’s a holy day.”

“Went to church today, don’t want to go tomorrow, and technically it’s not a holy day, but the start to the Holy Week.”

Meg stared at him for a long moment, flattened. She was too tired to do this. Too tired to do anything but go to bed. Sleep. “Fine. Stay home, and take the test. You just better ace the SAT.”

He grinned a lopsided grin. “I’ll do my best.”

“Night, JJ.”

“Night, Mom.”

In her bedroom, Meg discovered that the lights had been dimmed and Jack was already in bed, on his side, his back to her.

She gently closed the door, retreating to the master bath to wash her face and brush her teeth. She performed her nightly routine swiftly without looking at herself. She was too tired to look at herself, not interested in seeing her face, not wanting to see her fatigue, or her sadness.

Impossible to believe Mom was gone. Mom couldn’t be gone. There was still so much life ahead. Still so much time. Baseball games and ballet recitals and high school graduation and weddings . . .

Her girls would one day walk down the aisle and her mom wouldn’t be there to see it. Her mom wouldn’t be there for any of it.

Meg cried, bent over the bathroom sink, splashing water on her face. Tired. She was just so tired. And sad. But that was natural. This was all natural. Part of life. Birth and death and change. She didn’t have to like it, just accept it. And adapt.

In bed, she quietly slid into her spot, carefully fluffing and adjusting her pillows as she eased under the duvet. The sheets were cool and smooth, the softest, lightest cotton. Her favorite indulgence. She didn’t care about expensive clothes or jewelry or cars, but she loved quality sheets. Good sheets made a great bed.

“You were gone awhile,” Jack said, breaking the silence. His voice was clear, firm. He hadn’t been asleep.

“Talked a long time to Sarah, then to JJ,” Meg answered, rolling over to look at him. His eyes were open, his gaze fixed on her.