It’s not antique, it’s secondhand.
Stop. Now you’re embarrassing me, because I married you.
Mike tried not to think about Chloe, but it was impossible. He walked into the family room, aching inside. She’d picked out most of the furniture, and he’d been happy to let her do it, not only because she loved to go antiquing but because she could put different things together and make them look like they belonged that way.
He crossed to a pine chest they used as a coffee table, which held last week’s newspapers. The entertainment section lay on top, because she’d always read the gallery openings, circle some, and never have time to go. To test himself, he picked up the paper, turned to the gallery openings, and sure enough, there were three ballpoint circles. He stared at the circles, imagining Chloe making them. He wondered if there had been a mug on the table beside her and whether it held coffee or vodka. He wondered why she drank, and if it was because she was unhappy that she didn’t get to go to art shows, or had quit teaching when the baby came. Or simply because she missed him, or all of the above. His chest constricted, and he dropped the newspaper.
He left the family room for the sunroom, which Chloe had made into a studio of sorts. Her artwork was everywhere, lying propped against the walls, and there was an easel set up with a half-finished watercolor of the cat. Coffee cans of brushes sat on a shelf, and trays of paints were stowed in their own special area. Chloe had told him that she didn’t miss painting, because creating a baby was the most fulfilling thing she had ever done. He had believed her until he found the bottles. Now he didn’t know what to believe.
He turned away, walked to the kitchen, and stopped at the threshold. The bloodstain was still there, and even if he replaced the floorboards, he would always know it had been there. He had seen her standing at that spot a thousand times, rinsing a glass, getting water for a recipe, or filling a vase of roses from their garden. Chloe had died in her own kitchen, and Mike realized all of a sudden that he could never live in this house again. He’d price the house to sell and take the first offer that came along.
He turned his back on the kitchen, walked to the front door, and twisted the knob. He said a mental good-bye, and the front door closed behind him.
Chapter Twenty
Mike held open the door to the funeral home, letting Bob and Danielle go inside with Emily, bundled up in her puffy pink jacket. The baby had stopped crying at the sight of him, but he was keeping his distance to play it safe. He let the door close behind them and shook off the cold.
“Welcome.” Scott Beeberman strode toward them, in his dark suit. “Hello, Dr. Scanlon, Mr. and Mrs. Ridgeway.”
Mike gestured at Danielle. “Scott, I don’t think you met Chloe’s sister Danielle or our daughter, Emily.”
“No, I haven’t.” Scott smiled sympathetically at Danielle. “Please accept my condolences on the loss of your sister. The baby is adorable.”
“Thank you.” Danielle hoisted Emily higher, cradling her.
“Please, walk with me, and you can spend some time together, privately.” Scott led them down the hall, stopped at a small sign that read VOULETTE, and opened a set of curtained French doors. “Would you like me to take your coats?”
“We’ll keep them, thanks,” Mike answered for Bob and Danielle, whose attention had turned to the front of the room, where Chloe lay in her casket. He realized that they hadn’t seen her yet, and they looked stricken. Their foreheads buckled, their eyes filmed, and their lips parted at almost the same time, their expressions matching so perfectly it almost looked rehearsed.
Danielle hiccupped a sob, turned to Bob, and handed him the baby. “Bob, take her out of here. Go.”
Mike stepped over. “Here, let me,” he said, but Emily started to whimper, and Bob took the baby.
“Mike, I got her. You go with Danielle to the casket.”
“Okay,” Mike said, because Danielle was already walking toward the casket, beginning to cry.
“Oh no, Chloe. This can’t be. This can’t be true.” Danielle knelt on the pad in front of the casket, her hands clutching its polished side. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Chloe. I should’ve been there, I should’ve been there.”
Mike put his arm around Danielle’s shoulder, anguished. He thought he’d saved her from the what-ifs, but he hadn’t.
“I should’ve been there, Chloe. If we’d been together, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Danielle, no.” Mike reached for her as she burst into hoarse, choking sobs that wracked her small frame, coming from deep within. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Chloe’s body again. The scent of refrigerated flowers filled his nose.
“I never should’ve left her alone.” Danielle pulled some Kleenexes from her coat pocket and cried into them. “What kind of sister am I?”
“It was an accident. Don’t blame yourself.”
“No, Mike, you don’t understand. It is my fault. I did this. She’s dead because of me. I killed my own sister.”
“No, don’t say that.” Mike rubbed Danielle’s back in the thick tweed coat. “You didn’t do this. Nobody did this, it was an accident.”
“Mike, no. You don’t know everything. You don’t know the truth, not all of it.” Danielle looked up at him, her eyes flooded with tears and her cheeks streaked with mascara. “I was supposed to be home earlier, but I was late. I picked up Thai food, and I should’ve gone straight home, but I didn’t get home until late.”
Mike listened, agonized. Now it would come out, about why she got home late the night that Chloe died.
“I was supposed to be home at five, we agreed. But on the way home, I was driving down Lancaster Avenue, and I saw this antique store in Paoli, you know that one, near the Rita’s?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, I saw they had this hutch in their window, and I wanted to get it, but I couldn’t decide.” Tears flowed down her cheeks into the Kleenex. Her words and the sobs seemed to run together. “I went and looked at it, then the baby had to be changed and fed, and I didn’t want to make her wait until we got home, you know I like to keep the schedule. I was so wrong, I was late, and I’m never late. The one day I’m late, my sister … my sister…”
“It’s okay, I understand.” Mike hugged her around the shoulders, trying to calm her down. “What’s done is done. It’s not your fault, it just isn’t.”
“Yes, it is, Mike. I was being selfish. It wasn’t even for her. It was for me. I was going to ask Bob to give it to me for Christmas.” Danielle held the soggy Kleenex to her nose, and Mike could see she was heartbroken.
“Danielle, don’t blame yourself, people are late every day, it happens.”
“You have her phone, and if you listen to her messages, you can hear me calling her. I even said I was coming home at five.” Danielle wiped her nose with the Kleenex. “I didn’t even bother calling to say I’d be late. I figured we’d have to microwave the food anyway, and I thought it didn’t really matter what time I got home, but it did, it did.”
“I understand, you don’t have to explain it to me.” Mike gentled her to her feet. “Don’t blame yourself, you have to stop this now.”
“I can’t, I can’t. I did this. I’m so selfish. She’s my sister. My little sister.” Danielle took a final sniffle. “Oh, no, I’m a mess, I need to go to the ladies room.”
“I’ll help.” Mike steered Danielle out of the room and into the hallway, where Scott joined them, taking her other arm.
“The lounge is this way.”
“Lead us, please.” Mike kept Danielle on her feet and going forward down the hall as she sagged between him and Scott.
“I never should’ve done it, I never should’ve done it.” Danielle sobbed, sniffling. “I wish I could take it all back. I wish I could take everything back.”
“Right this way.” Scott led them to a paneled door that read LADIES LOUNGE. “Dr. Scanlon, it’s empty, so if you would like to go in with her, you may. I’ll stay here in c
ase any guests come early.”
“No, don’t.” Danielle sobbed, shaking her head. “I want to be alone. I need to be alone.”
“Okay, just take it easy, we have plenty of time.” Mike let Danielle go, and she pushed open the door and went inside. He spotted Bob in the hallway and crossed to him. The baby was on his shoulder, but turned away. “Oh boy, she’s really upset.”
“I know.” Bob nodded sadly. “She’s been beating herself up since it happened.”
For the next few hours, Mike greeted a teary blur of mourners, hugging him, telling him they were sorry, saying they were praying for him, and he felt awash in the comfort and love of so many people. “Sara, Don,” Mike said, hugging them both. “Thank you for coming, I really appreciate it.”
“You know we love you, Mike.” Sara wiped her eyes, grief-stricken. “We’ll be praying for you.”
“Thank you.” Mike felt relieved he hadn’t told Sara about the vodka. It wasn’t the way he wanted her to remember Chloe. The reception line shifted, and Jim appeared with his wife Laura, throwing open his arms in his dark topcoat, his eyes pained and his face ruddy from the cold.
“Mike, we’re so sorry, we both are.”
“Thanks.” Mike released him, then Laura hugged him, too.
“Oh, Mike, we’re just beside ourselves. Please accept our deepest sympathies. We can’t imagine how awful this is for you, and we love you.”
“Thanks so much.” Mike managed a smile, then hugged the next person and the next, until he caught sight of his partners Tony and Dave, with their wives.
“Mike, we’re so sorry.” Tony gave him a hug, and so did his wife Jill, then so did Dave and Bonnie, then all four stood around him in a teary circle.
“It was so nice of you guys to come.” Mike hadn’t realized how much he missed them, and it was surreal to be among them without Chloe. He felt suddenly shaky. “Is it hot in here, or is it me?”
“Mike, you okay?” Tony took his arm, his brown eyes filled with concern. He had thick black hair and a large nose. “You want to sit down, man?”
“Let’s go outside, get some air.” Mike glanced at the reception line, which was basically over.
“Sure, good idea.” Tony, Dave, and Mike left the room while their wives went to talk to Danielle and see the baby. The three men made their way down the hall and to a screened-in porch outside, with patio chairs around a table.
“Great, that feels better.” Mike eased into a chair at the table.
“You needed the break. That’s a lot of people in there.” Tony sat down, plunging his hands into his pockets and drawing his coat around his compact frame. “We’re so sorry about Chloe.”
Dave sat down next to him, nodding. “Yeah, Mike, if there’s anything we can do, let us know.”
“Thanks.” Mike liked them both, so much. Dave was tall, skinny, and African-American, and Tony was short, dark, and Italian. They couldn’t have looked more different, but they called themselves brothers-from-another-mother.
“Sorry I missed you yesterday.” Dave frowned behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “I heard you came in.”
“Yeah, sorry I missed you, too. I was surprised by the changes in the office, though. It was more than I thought from the emails. How are you guys working with that?”
“Let’s not talk about that now.”
“It’s okay, I want to. What’s going on? Fill me in.”
“No, don’t worry about it tonight.” Dave shook his head, his expression pinched. “The last thing you need now is shop talk. We can talk another time.”
“No, I might not have another time, and I want to know. I wish you had told me already.”
“We didn’t want to worry you over there. We figured you had enough on your plate.”
“I get that, and thanks.” Mike knew they were being considerate by not telling him, just like Chloe had been, but he felt better knowing the facts. He appealed to Tony, the more talkative of the two. “What’s going on? I want to know.”
“Fine.” Tony’s dark eyes flashed with anger. “Our business fell off, but Jim’s using that for an excuse to start a new practice. It’s all about sports medicine for him, and our side is like a ghost town. We’re both looking to get out.”
“Leave the group?” Mike shook his head, incredulous. “We’ve been together almost a decade.”
“I know, I’m sorry, but I’m out. I’m hoping I can join a group in Bryn Mawr.”
“But why break up? Why don’t you join Jim and Lyon? They’ll take you, won’t they?”
“In a word, no.” Tony shook his head, his feathered hair blowing in the wind. “We asked him, and he said no.”
“No way,” Mike said, appalled. “He’s not just gonna ditch us.”
Tony snorted. “Mike, you’re the nicest guy in the world. This is why I miss you, man.”
Dave smiled sadly. “Mike, we’ll keep our eyes open for you, but I doubt there will be a practice when you get back.”
“Why throw it away?” Mike wanted to change their minds. “We’re making money, and I love working with you guys. If we make less, we make less. It’s still enough, right? Jim said you’re getting bonuses over base, and I’ll be home in no time.”
“Sorry, but no.” Tony’s lips buckled. “It’s not only the money, Mike. I refuse to be treated like dirt in my own practice.”
Dave shook his head, resigned. “I found a new group of orthopedists who left Rothman. They’re in East Goshen, out of the system.”
“Out of the system?”
“I know, I’m going to find life beyond this galaxy.” Dave smiled tightly. “I’m boldly going where no black man has ever gone before.”
Mike reeled. “I figured you were unhappy, but not this unhappy.”
Tony interjected, “I’m not unhappy, I’m homicidal.”
Dave squinted against the cold. “Look, I’m really sorry, Mike. If room opens up for you, I’ll let you know. We’ll stay in touch, I have your email.”
Mike tried to keep it together. All he felt was loss, on top of loss.
“Hell, we’ll always be friends.” Tony smiled, gesturing at Dave. “We’ll still golf. We’re going to Pebble next month.”
Mike didn’t golf. They must’ve forgotten.
“I’ll teach you to play,” Dave offered, reading his mind.
“Okay.” Mike rose stiffly, forcing a smile. “I should go inside,” he said, chilled to the bone.
Chapter Twenty-one
Mike rested in the rocking chair, sitting in the darkened bedroom while Emily slept. Bob and Danielle had gone to bed, and he’d sneaked in, in his borrowed bathrobe. He closed his eyes, trying not to think of the wake and the news from his partners. There came a snuffling sound from the crib, but he didn’t think Emily would wake up and he wanted to be in her presence.
He eased out of the rocking chair, crossed to the crib, and peeked inside. Emily was lying on her back again, her head to the side. She was sucking a pacifier, and he stood as still as he could, his eyes taking in every detail. He was trying to memorize the way she looked, so he could carry the image back with him. It hadn’t worked when he deployed the first time, and Chloe had told him he was silly to try.
I’ll send you a picture, every day. You won’t have to remember, you’ll have the real thing.
Mike had disagreed. The picture wasn’t the real thing, even the memory wasn’t the real thing. He was in the presence of the real thing, this baby who didn’t want any part of him but who was a part of him, and all that he had left in the world. It would be so hard to leave her, and he couldn’t imagine letting her go without having held her. He’d kept checking on her at the wake, and she’d fallen asleep on Tony’s shoulder, whom she barely knew.
Mike saw himself flunking as a father, the proverbial slow-motion wreck that he was powerless to stop or derail. Maybe he didn’t have what it took. If he was naturally good at surgery, then he could be naturally bad at parenting. He wondered if his father had felt that way
or never realized it. He didn’t know if lousy fathers knew they were lousy, or whether they were spared by their own selfishness. His father hadn’t stayed long enough to answer these questions.
He remembered the morning his father had left for work, on the day he never came back. Mike had watched him walk down the street, his bearing characteristically erect, heading to the train station to catch the 7:15, his newspaper under his arm. Mike had replayed that scene so many times since then, not only as a child, but even, embarrassingly, as an adult, hoping it would come out a different way. And each time, he’d say the same thing, like a secret prayer.
Don’t go.
Chapter Twenty-two
The funeral procession began, and Mike walked with Danielle behind the polished casket, which was being rolled down the center of the church on an elevated metal gurney. He still couldn’t believe that Chloe was sealed inside, but he had seen it with his own eyes, when he’d said good-bye, one last time. He’d cried himself out, leaving him with an emotional exhaustion and an agonized love for his wife.
Danielle walked next to him, numb and teary, carrying Emily, precious in a little red coat, white tights, and pretend shoes. Bob was one of the pallbearers and he looked stricken beside her casket, at the back, and the other pallbearers were Jim, Tony, and Dave, Sara’s husband Don, and Scott from the funeral home. Even Father Hernandez, their elderly priest whom Chloe liked, looked teary-eyed as he swung an ornate brass censer on a clanking chain, trailing thick black smoke and wreathing the air with burning incense.
Mike focused on putting one foot in front of the other, the smoke filling his nostrils and his head pounding with the powerful notes of the organ. The congregation turned as he walked by, and he spotted Laura, Jill, Bonnie, and Sara, so distraught on his behalf. He saw himself through their eyes, objectified, a father left alone to raise a little girl. He vowed to himself before God that he would be better than his own father, and it struck him that there was no better place to start than here, in the presence of the holiest of fathers.