The Good Wife (9 page)

“Jack’s parents asked Meg about arrangements. Meg told them she hasn’t made any yet.”

“I’ll help Meg with that stuff. I helped Dad with Mom’s arrangements and know what needs to be done.”

“You coming up today?”

“Just need to get a sub to cover my classes and I’ll be on my way.”

Sarah returned to the kitchen and sat with Meg at the kitchen table, neither saying much of anything for a few minutes. Unable to sit still, Meg jumped up, heading for the laundry room to start a load of wash.

* * *

A
half hour later they were both back in the kitchen when footsteps sounded on the stairs. Meg looked up at her, her expression stricken.

“I don’t want to do this,” she whispered.

“I know. And I’m sorry, Meg. I am.” Sarah went to her sister, gave her a hug. “Do you want me to go? So you can have some privacy.”

Meg squeezed Sarah’s hand. “No. Stay. Just in case.”

Sarah had no idea what “in case” meant, but of course she’d remain and she crossed the kitchen, finding a position next to the wall, needing something solid behind her.

And then Tessa entered the kitchen, with a grumpy Gabi behind her.

“Gabi refused to get up,” Tessa said sharply, going to the refrigerator, opening the door, and taking out a container of milk. “She hasn’t even showered.”

Gabi made a face and reached past Tessa for the orange juice. “I showered yesterday. I don’t need to shower today.”

“You’re hitting puberty,” Tessa said with a sniff, closing the door hard, almost catching Gabi’s hand. “You don’t want to stink.”

“I don’t stink.”

“You will if you don’t bathe, and use deodorant.”

“Girls!” Meg’s voice rang out in the kitchen.

Tessa and Gabi both stopped and turned at the same time to look at their mother.

Meg shot Sarah another panicked glance. Sarah gave her a small nod, trying to encourage her, even though on the inside, she wanted to throw up.

What a terrible, terrible day and night it’d been, and it was just going to get worse.

“Girls, I have something to tell you,” Meg said, gesturing to the chairs around the kitchen table. “Please, sit down.”

Tessa glanced at Gabi. “Are we in trouble?”

“No.” Meg took a seat in one of the kitchen chairs, facing her daughters. She drew a slow breath, and then another. “Your dad was in an accident last night, driving to the airport. It was a very bad accident—” She paused, held her breath, before adding, “He didn’t make it.”

The girls just stared at her. Tessa looked confused. Gabi was still. But then it was Gabi who grasped the implications. “Daddy’s
dead
?” she asked.

Meg nodded.

“How do you know?” Tessa asked, voice wobbling.

“I went and saw him earlier this morning. JJ went with me. It’s Daddy.” Meg took a breath and swallowed hard. “They say that he died instantly. He didn’t suffer.” Her voice broke. “He probably didn’t even know what hit him.”

Five

T
he Brennan family had descended, Sarah thought wearily, listening to the din coming from the family room, where everyone had gathered late Monday morning.

Dad, Bree, Tommy Jr. and Cass, Kit, Mom’s brother Uncle Jack and his wife, Aunt Linda, as well as two of Dad’s three brothers.

At noon Dad, Tommy, and the uncles rounded up the five kids and took them out to lunch to give Meg some quiet so she could focus on making decisions for Jack’s service.

Meg wanted to schedule the service for Saturday noon, allowing friends and family on the East Coast to fly in, and giving them Sunday to get home again. Brianna agreed with her, but Kit gently reminded them that Sunday was Easter, and it might be a difficult and expensive travel day.

“But we can’t have a service on Good Friday, can we?” Meg asked.

“Not a Mass. But you probably could have a prayer service.” Kit hesitated. “But Jack wasn’t Catholic. He was Episcopalian. Would the Episcopal church in Santa Rosa be willing to hold a service for him on Friday?”

“I can call and ask,” Meg said.

“Or I can call for you,” Cass offered.

Meg nodded gratefully. “Could you?”

By noon, word of Jack’s accident had spread, and flowers began arriving at the house.

By two, most of the big decisions regarding the funeral arrangements had been made and Meg went upstairs to take a bath and lie down and rest before the kids came home.

By three, when Dad, Tommy, and the kids returned to the house after hours walking around Santa Rosa Plaza, the house was full of people and flowers and food piling up in the kitchen.

At four, Sarah cracked open a bottle of white wine and drank a glass fast, standing in the mud room by herself, then poured herself another, bigger glass to take with her into the family room.

Even with the wine to take the edge off, Monday evening felt endless, as Jack’s accident made the evening news, and the phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and flowers continued to arrive what felt like every fifteen minutes.

Dad’s brothers left before dinner, and then Uncle Jack and Aunt Linda left immediately after eating a dish of Aunt Linda’s warm berry crumble, which she served à la mode.

Meg hadn’t eaten more than a couple of bites all day and passed on dessert, but she gratefully accepted a cup of tea from Dad. While Meg sipped her tea, Dad, Kit, Tommy, and Cass kept her company in the dining room, with Dad and Cass making most of the small talk so Meg didn’t have to.

Brianna joined Sarah in the kitchen, drying the dessert plates as Sarah washed, since the dishwasher was already full and running.

Brianna reached for the next rinsed plate and, glancing behind her to make sure no one else was in the kitchen, asked, “Has there been any explanation as to why Jack crashed?”

Sarah shook her head. “I haven’t heard anything.”

Bree dropped her voice even lower. “Had he been drinking? Was he distracted by something? Maybe texting, or on his phone?”

“I don’t know. No one has said anything.” Sarah’s stomach churned. “But you know he left angry last night. They’d been fighting. Meg and Jack. And then JJ got involved, and Tessa, too—”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. And Jack said some pretty harsh things to Meg before taking off. And he literally took off . . . racing down the driveway like a bat out of hell.”

“Shit. I hadn’t realized he left upset.”

“I’m worried about Meg and the kids. It was such a scene—” Sarah stopped talking as footsteps sounded behind them.

“Tommy and Cass are leaving,” Kit said. “I might as well head out now, too, as I’ve got to teach in the morning.”

“I’m almost done. Have them hold up a moment so I can say good-bye.”

“I’ll tell them,” Brianna said.

“Let me take the towel,” Kit said. “I can finish drying. It’ll give me a chance to talk to Sarah.”

Sarah glanced at Kit, hearing her sister’s serious tone. “What’s wrong?”

Kit didn’t immediately answer, taking her time to find the right words. “Did you tell Meg that you didn’t want Jude to join me for Jack’s service on Friday?”

Sarah turned the water off and swallowed, blindsided. “I . . . uh . . . may have.”

“
May
have? Sarah, you either did or you didn’t.”

Sarah wished she could just vanish into her room with the rest of the white wine. “I did, but it wasn’t a big deal—”

“If it wasn’t a big deal, then why did you say it? Because Meg just pulled me aside and asked me not to bring Jude on Friday as he made
you
uncomfortable.” Kit enunciated each vowel and consonant so clearly that the words seemed to bounce, even as her blue eyes blazed, her gaze holding Sarah’s. “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing. I’m honestly hoping that in Meg’s grief and exhaustion she misunderstood.” She paused, waiting, one dark eyebrow arching higher. “Did she misunderstand?”

Sarah winced. “No.”

“No.”

Sarah drew a deep breath. “I don’t think it’s good to have Jude around the kids. And that’s what I told Meg.”

“Why?”

“I . . . don’t . . . like him.”

“You don’t know him.”

“True.”

“Nor have you even tried to get to know him.”

“Kit, he doesn’t talk. And he doesn’t smile. He just watches people, and I’m sorry if it hurts your feelings, but I find him . . . creepy.”

“Jude’s not creepy.”

“Then scary?”

“He’s not scary either. He’s a really, really nice guy. You just have to give him a chance. Like the kids. They all love him.”

“But I’m . . .” Sarah closed her eyes, screwed up her courage, and blurted, “. . . not good with him being around the kids. At least, not around my kids.”

“What?”
Kit’s voice rose a full octave.

Sarah shuddered inwardly, hating that they were doing this but thinking it better to at least get it out now before something happened later. “Try to see it from Meg’s and my point of view. We don’t know anything about him—”

“I do!”

“Okay, but do you know everything about him? Is it possible he has a criminal record?”

“No.”

“How do you know that? Have you run any reports, bought one of those search things on the Internet? He might have a record.” Sarah silently added,
He certainly looks like he has a record
. “You should at the very least find out.”

“I have. And he’s not a criminal, or a pedophile, or whatever you think he might be.” Kit drew a short breath, eyes too bright, cheeks flushed pink, making the smattering of freckles on her nose seem to pop. “Just because he has tattoos and a motorcycle—” She exhaled sharply. “Christ, Sarah! Do you think I’d ever, ever put your kids, or Meg’s kids, or
any
kids, in danger?”

Sarah held her breath, aware that Kit wanted children and a family badly, but she didn’t have kids yet. She didn’t understand how one had to be constantly vigilant, especially when one had young children. “No, but—”

“No,”
Kit interrupted. “And I get that you don’t like Jude. But I do. He’s a good person. Someone
I
love. Someone
I
trust. And that’s all that matters.”

“You’re right.”

“Yes, I am.” Kit tossed the dish towel onto the counter and walked out, back stiff, lips pressed into a thin, hard line.

Sarah sagged weakly against the edge of the sink.

Kit was pissed.

Meg was a widow.

Mom was dead.

Awesome. Things were going really well.

* * *

W
ith Jack’s funeral service set for Friday and the formal obituary sent off to the paper, Meg spent Tuesday morning tackling the reception that would follow the service. She’d been going back and forth about having it at the house. She really didn’t want to hold it at the house, in part because they were a good ten-minute drive from the church and parking would be a hassle. And then there was the real issue of having people filling the house Friday afternoon, eating, drinking, and then leaving . . .

Sarah helped her call the various hotels and event spaces in Santa Rosa, but either nothing was available or the space was too small, or the room was too plain, and finally Meg had had enough. “Forget the reception,” she said, pushing away from the kitchen table to take care of the laundry in the mud room. “I don’t care anymore. It’s stupid. And I don’t even want to talk to people. I don’t want to hear how they’re sorry, and how wonderful and inspirational Jack was . . .”

Her voice faded and Sarah followed her into the mud room, where her sister began shoving wet towels into the dryer.

“. . . but he wasn’t all that wonderful,” Meg continued breathlessly, furiously. “He was selfish and self-absorbed and couldn’t lift a hand to do a lick of housework. I don’t think he unloaded the dishwasher more than a half-dozen times during our marriage, and if he ever did the laundry, it was because he was out of socks! It wouldn’t have crossed his mind to do any of the kids’ laundry, or my laundry. My God, he’d rather die than do my laundry. No, that was woman’s work. My work. Even though I had a full-time job and three kids and meals to prepare!”

Sarah heard a door open and shut and could see Dad outside through the mud room window, dragging all five kids with him onto the driveway, a basketball under his arm.

Good old Dad. He was going to make the kids exercise.

Sarah began folding the clean, dry load of colors piled on the marble counter. Small purple T-shirts and pink-and-white-striped shirts and boys’ boxers and men’s dark T-shirts.

Meg made a soft choking sound as Sarah reached for a brown knit collared shirt. “Jack’s,” she said, taking it from Sarah. She balled it against her chest. “He just wore it Saturday.”

Sarah hated feeling so helpless. “I’m sorry, Meg.”

Meg nodded and walked out of the mud room, still clutching the shirt. Sarah continued to fold clothes, her hands moving even though the rest of her was numb. It was time to go home. She wanted to go home. She wanted to hug Boone and never let him go.

Sarah folded until the pile was gone and then stayed in the mud room, watching Dad and his five grandkids shooting hoops. Ella was too small to get any shots in, but Brennan was surprisingly good. Really good. He was nailing the baskets, one after the other, and Sarah could tell from JJ’s expression that he was impressed, too.

Good for Brennan. He was far more often criticized or corrected than praised, and so it was really wonderful to see him getting pats on the back and enthusiastic high fives from JJ and his grandpa.

Sarah couldn’t wait to compliment him. But she didn’t get the chance. Just minutes later she heard loud voices, angry voices, and the kids were in a knot, fighting.

By the time Sarah got outside, Gabi had Brennan on his back, on the driveway, in a headlock.

“Shut up!” she was shouting at him, her knees on his chest. “Shut up about my dad. He’s my dad, not yours. Don’t talk about him. Not one more word!”

Everyone was still yelling. JJ, Dad, Tessa, Ella. It was an absolute zoo.

“Let him go, Gabi,” her dad said.

“Get off my brother, Gabi!” Ella shrieked, bordering on hysterical.

“What are you doing, Gabi?” Sarah demanded, pushing through the kids and trying to lift Gabi off her son, but the girl refused to let go of his neck.

“Shutting his mouth,” Gabi said. “He keeps talking about Dad. Saying he got smashed like a pancake—”

“Well, he did!” Brennan cried, wiggling fiercely beneath his cousin. “The car was flat, so he had to be flat—”

“Brennan!” Her dad’s roar silenced everyone.

Dad didn’t usually roar. He rarely raised his voice. The fact that he just had was not a good omen.

Gabi meekly released Brennan.

Brennan silently stood up.

Everyone stared at Tom Brennan, waiting for whatever would come next.

“Next one that lets out a peep will be doing laps up and down the driveway for twenty minutes, understand?”

Five heads nodded.

“Now go wash up and settle down.”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

The kids headed toward the house. Sarah’s dad grabbed the basketball and started dribbling and shooting. Sarah opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, but judging from his fierce expression, he wasn’t. He was probably missing Mom. Probably wondering what the hell had happened to his family.

Sarah understood. She was wondering the same thing herself.

The kids lined up in the mud room to wash their hands. Sarah stepped around them, thinking she’d go check on Meg, but Gabi and Brennan were still having words.

“I hate you,” Brennan said under his breath to his cousin.

“Good,” Gabi sneered, “because I hate you, too.”

Gabi sailed out, shoulders back, head high, and Brennan kicked the wall and burst into tears. “I want to go home! I hate it here. I want to see Dad.”

Sarah grabbed him before he could kick the wall again, and wrapped him in her arms. “Easy, bud. This isn’t our house. We don’t want to put dents in the wall.”

“I want to go home!”

“We are going home this weekend.”

“How many days until the weekend?”

“Four. Five.”

“I don’t want to be here for five more days. I want to go home
now
.”

“But I’ve got to stay for Uncle Jack’s funeral.”

Brennan struggled in her arms. “I don’t want to go to another funeral. I’m sick of them.”

So was she, but that didn’t matter when you were an adult. “Let me talk to Dad,” she said instead. “We’ll see what can be done.”

That evening, after talking it over with Boone, she bought Brennan a ticket back to Tampa in the morning, booking him as an unaccompanied minor.

Brennan had never flown alone and Sarah wasn’t sure how he’d handle a five-hour flight without anyone familiar next to him, but he didn’t seem concerned when she told him he’d be flying out in the morning.

“Good,” he said, snapping some Legos together. “I’m sick of my cousins. They’re stupid and mean.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “They’re not stupid or mean. But I do want to be sure you understand that I’ll drive you to the airport in the morning, and check you in, but when it’s time to board the plane, the gate agent will take you on without me.”