Jack allowed himself to be led into the living room, where Faith sat, a plate of cake balanced on her baby bump, pastel-colored wrapping paper and tiny outfits strewn around her.
A dozen or so women talked at once, sounding like a slew of metal trash cans bouncing down a brick staircase. “Jack, how are you? Jack, you were amazing! Jack, thank God you were there! Jack, Jack, Jack!”
“Ladies,” he said. The bobcat started ramming the door again, over and over and over. “Hey, sis.” He bent down and dropped an obligatory kiss on his sister’s head.
“Jack!” Faith said, reaching up to pat his arm. “Thanks for coming, buddy.”
“Sure. Which sister are you again?”
“The pregnant one. The queen.”
He smiled. See? Perfectly normal. Faith was funny, and he reacted appropriately. Honor flashed him a smile, telling him he was doing okay.
“Well, I hope your labor will be better than mine, Faith,” their grandmother said grandly. “Three days. No painkillers back then, either. It was the ether, or you toughed it out. Sometimes you died. John! Where are you, son?” Dad appeared in the kitchen doorway, already looking guilty. “Three days of labor with you.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said. “Still.” He sent Jack a pained look.
“I loved giving birth,” Prudence said. “Ned slid out like a little otter, and with Abby, I didn’t even have time to get to the car. She was born on the kitchen floor. Ass-first, no less.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Abby said. “I’m so glad everyone got to hear that.”
“It explains a lot,” her brother yelled from the kitchen.
“Make sure you get an episiotomy, Faith,” said another woman. “Otherwise, you tear, and you wouldn’t believe how much. Anyone else have stitches in their butts?”
Sadly, Jack had heard it all before. Three sisters who took no prisoners when it came to “sharing.” It was like comparing war stories, he guessed, though his own stint in the navy hadn’t resulted in any; he’d been in research down in D.C.
It was a little weird being in the New House—so called because it was newer than the original house built on the property, which had burned down last year. Honor had overhauled the New House this past summer, and while it was still the same friendly, sprawling old place Jack had grown up in, it took some getting used to. More power to her, but still a little disconcerting.
Or maybe that was just how everything was these days. The same, but off.
Levi came over and sat down next to him. “You hear some of those stories? Good God.”
“Yeah, well, I grew up with three sisters. They can’t be in the same room without talking about blood and ovaries. And then there was the crying and snarling when they were teenagers. Terrifying.”
“Makes me glad I was in Afghanistan when my sister went through puberty,” Levi said. “Probably a lot safer there.” He was quiet for a minute. “You doing okay, Jack?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Sleeping all right?”
“Pretty much,” he lied. Levi shouldn’t have to worry about him.
“Well, even with a good outcome, sometimes these things can be...traumatic.”
“Yep. Sure.”
“If you ever want to talk, just say the word.”
“Thanks, pal. I appreciate it.” The bobcat was back. Thud. Thud. Thudthud. Thud. He wondered if Levi could see the pulse in his neck.
Jack stood up as another peal of laughter came from the living room. “All right, I’ve had my estrogen dose of the day.” He paused. “Have you heard anything about the Deiner kid?”
Levi looked up. “No change.”
“Okay. Thanks.” He tried to take a deep breath, but the air wouldn’t fit in. Nodded at Levi, waved to the women, then made his way into the kitchen, where the other guys were now playing poker.
“Pull up a chair, Jack,” said his grandfather. “We can deal you in.”
“I have some stuff to do at home,” he said, squeezing Pops’s shoulder. “Dad, we should check the pinot tomorrow, okay?”
“Whatever you say, son.” His father smiled at him, and Jack made sure he smiled back.
He went out to his truck. The sky was nearly dark. Another day past, so that was good. Not that the nights were easier. Just the opposite, in fact.
The door closed behind him. Tom this time.
“Hang on, mate,” he said. “Just wanted a word. How are things?”
“Thanks, Tom. Things are fine.”
His sister’s husband was a good guy. In fact, all his sisters’ husbands were good guys. They were even his friends, though he hadn’t known Tom, a transplanted Brit, as long as he’d known Carl and Levi.
“If you need anything, say the word, yeah? You’re always welcome here, of course. Honor’s hoping you’ll come watch one of those disgusting medical shows with her.” Tom smiled, his eyes kind.
“I definitely will,” Jack said. He probably wouldn’t. “Thanks, Tom.”
He got into his truck and headed down the driveway.
The road crew still hadn’t repaired the guardrail, and a makeshift memorial had sprung up there the first night. Now the flowers were dead, rotting in their plastic florist wraps. A sodden teddy bear holding a heart had tipped over in the snow.
Don’t look.
The truth was, he thought as he drove up the road, turning onto the long driveway that wound through the woods to Rose Ridge, he didn’t want all the concern and attention and questions and hugs. He wanted not to think. He wanted Josh to get better. He wanted to have a do-over.
He put his key in the door and stopped dead in his tracks.
The house smelled like perfume.
Candles were burning on the table, and a fire flickered in the fireplace.
A beautiful woman unfolded herself from the couch. “Jack. Oh, baby, how are you? I’ve been so worried.”
Shit.
The very last person on earth he needed.
“Hadley,” he said, and with that, his ex-wife wrapped her arms around him.
SHE WAS HERE, she said, because of course she’d seen the coverage on TV and come as soon as she could. What a wonderful, amazing thing he’d done! The Midwinter Miracle indeed! Daddy was so proud, all of them were, of course it was just like Jack to—
“Hadley, what are you doing here? Really?” he interrupted.
She settled back on the couch, wrapping the throw around her. He’d have bet that she’d checked herself out in the mirror before he got home. Blanket on or off? Do I want to look waifish and lost, or confident and strong? Hair up or down?
She sipped her wine (which she’d helped herself to, he noticed). “I just had to come,” she said. “And I don’t want you to worry about a single thing. I took a leave of absence from my job, and I’m here for as long as it takes.”
“As long as what takes?”
She took a deep breath. “Jack, I know how hard this all must’ve been for you, and I know we’ve had our problems—”
He laughed. That was one way of spinning it.
“And I want to be here for you. Take care of you.” She paused, looking him directly in the eye. “Make things up to you.”
“I haven’t seen you for two years, Hadley.”
“I know exactly how long it’s been. I can’t tell you how much I’ve regretted what happened between us. I’ve done some serious growing up these past couple of years, and I want to show you I’m not that person anymore.”
It was a pretty good speech, he thought. “That’s nice, but I’m not interested.”
She looked down at her hands. “Can’t say I blame you one bit.”
She’d always had a way of making everything she did look beautiful.
“You need to leave now,” he said. “Thanks for coming by.”
“I understand,” she said, and her voice was husky. She stood up and folded the throw. “Well, I’m staying in town for a little while, at any rate.”
“Why?”
“Because even if you don’t see it yet, I know we have unfinished business. And I want to help, Jack. I do.”
“I don’t need help. But thank you and good luck in the future and all that crap.”
“You’re angry. I don’t blame you. Be that as it may, I’m here for the duration. Besides, it’ll give me a chance to be closer to my sister.”
Right. Frankie Boudreau, the youngest of the four Boudreau sisters, was in her final year at Cornell, getting her veterinary degree, which Jack knew quite well, since he still had the occasional dinner with his former sister-in-law.
“Well, don’t let me keep you,” he said. “Have a good night.”
“That’s fine. I...I just need to call a cab. I haven’t rented a car just yet.”
He closed his eyes briefly. Manningsport didn’t have cab service in the winter. She’d have to wait a half hour, maybe more, for one to get here from Penn Yan. “I’ll drive you. Where are you staying?”
“The Black Swan. Oh, Jack, thank you. You’re such a gentleman.”
Her suitcases were by the front door. Four in all, enough for her to stay for months. He grabbed them and went back to the truck. Hadley followed, shivering delicately. He held the door for her, the politeness ingrained.
“Thanks.” She gave him a soft smile as she climbed into the passenger seat.
Jack had a feeling his life had just gotten considerably more complicated.
CHAPTER THREE
“WHAT THE HELL are those?” Emmaline looked in horror at the...the...the things in Shelayne’s hands.
“Trust me,” Shelayne said. “They’re gross, but they work.”
The Bitter Betrayeds had taken her clothes shopping, because, yes, she was going to the Wedding of the Damned. Every time she thought of it, she was tempted to channel Edvard Munch’s painting The Scream, but she was going.
It would be worse to stay away. Kevin would think that she still wasn’t over him. Naomi would gloat.
The thing was, way back when Emmaline and Kevin had first become friends, so had their parents, both sets so relieved their kids had found someone. When Em’s parents had divorced ten years ago (yet remained in the same house, how was that for Dysfunction with a capital D?), the Bateses and the Neals would have dinner every third Saturday of the month. They went to Alaska together and¸ a few years later, to Paris.
So Emmaline’s parents would be going to the wedding, as well as Angela. And if Em didn’t go, there was a strong chance that both psychologist parents would analyze her motives in front of anyone who asked, saying that Em hadn’t mustered the emotional fortitude to undertake this painful journey and find closure. Mom had already called three times this week to share her thoughts, and that would break the strongest resolve.
Allison Whitaker, unofficial leader of the Bitter Betrayeds, had leaped on the chance to avoid discussing another book no one had read and arranged an en masse shopping trip to the mall.
The Bitter Betrayed Book Club wasn’t really about reading. As the name implied, you had to have been dumped. Allison, a Southern transplant and pediatrician, had divorced her husband after he became consumed with a passion for collecting antique cookie jars “and didn’t even have the decency to turn g*y, the way that hot Jeremy Lyon did.” Shelayne Schanta, the head nurse at the E.R., had been thrown over for her own aunt. Jeanette O’Rourke’s husband had impregnated a much younger woman some years back. Grace Knapton, who ran the community theater group and directed the school play, had been tricked into giving five grand to a Pakistani man she’d met online who professed to be in love with her, never to hear from him again. Granted, Grace wasn’t really bitter—she laughed about the experience more than anything. But she was gifted in the art of cocktails (her Peach Sunrises were the stuff of legend) as well as cheese puffs, so they let her join.
