I fill the next hour tidying up the cottage, checking twice on Henry, trying to read the news on my phone, and wishing I could dash over to the house. But what if Henry woke up, came downstairs, and found himself alone? I don’t want to add any stress onto what he’s already dealing with tonight.
Finally, the door creaks open and Gabe trudges in looking wearier than I’ve ever seen him. He has an update on the memorial service. It’s going to be held on Tuesday morning at eleven here at the house, attended only by immediate family and Claire’s closest friends, and followed by a simple outdoor luncheon that Bonnie will put together. Ash is also thinking of asking a meditation instructor friend of Claire’s to offer a spiritual reading. As for the burial, that will most likely be Thursday, down by the lower woods where the stream is.
“There are probably a few other things I’m forgetting,” Gabe says, “but my brain has stalled.”
“No problem, honey. Let’s go to bed.”
We collapse onto the mattress, though not before I’ve mustered enough energy to switch on the AC.
Gabe sleeps fitfully through the night, moaning incoherently at times, and at six, after his constant thrashing’s woken me for the third time, I slip out of bed and steal downstairs.
I feel more ragged than I did last night, and my heart’s even heavier. So many hurdles loom ahead this week—helpingGabe and Henry cope with their grief as well as dealing with my own, weathering the memorial service and burial. And there’s stillHannahto contend with.
As if caught in an undertow, my thoughts are dragged back to the missing foxgloves. I realize I won’t be able to clear my mind until I’ve discovered where they went. Maybe someone who didn’t know better really did clip them for a bedroom bouquet. Unlikely, but in order to eliminate that as a possibility, I’ll have to figure out an excuse to snoop around, especially in the carriage house. After a couple of seconds, I come up with one.
I’m setting out breakfast when the stairwell door creaks open, and Henry pads into the kitchen, wearing his Incredible Hulk pajama top with the matching green shorts.
“Hey, Hen.”
“Morning. Is it still true? Is Gee dead?”
“Yes, honey.” I wrap my arms gently around him. He smells that lovely rumpled way kids do in the morning. “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t want her to be gone,” he says, sinking into my embrace.
“I know. We’re all going to miss her so much.”
“Does this mean we won’t have a vacation?”
“No, we can still stay here. And though you’ll feel sad, you can do the things you planned on—like swim and play with the dogs. In fact, the dogs look really sad themselves, so the more you hang with them, the better.”
I fix him a slice of peanut butter toast and let him playSubway Surferson my phone until Gabe materializes, bleary-eyed and barefoot.
“Morning,” he murmurs.
“Morning,” I say and give his arm a squeeze. “Did you get much sleep?”
“A few hours.” He turns toward Henry, who’s immersed in the game. “Buddy, give me a hug, okay?”
Henry obliges with an extra-long one, and when he finally pulls away, Gabe settles at the table, too. I pour him a cup of coffee.
“You need anything else?” I ask. “I thought I’d go over to the house now and check what’s happening in the kitchen.”
“Nah, I’ll probably just have coffee anyway.”
I come up behind his seat, wrap my arms around his chest, and kiss the top of his head. “I love you, honey.”
“Me, too. I’m so glad you’re here.”
When I reach the main house a few minutes later, I enter through the side door rather than the kitchen and immediately do a lap through the downstairs, hunting to see if foxgloves have somehow ended up in a bouquet on a table or shelf. Other than a mason jar filled charmingly with rosemary, sage, and mint in the powder room off the main hall, there’s not a vase in sight.
The one first-floor room I don’t inspect is the study because the door is closed, meaning Ash is most likely ensconced in there. As I start to back away, I pick up the deep timbre of his voice, and I assume he’s on a phone call. But then, after a pause, I hear another voice, which I think belongs to Blake. It makes sense that he’d be the one Ash is relying on—he’s the oldest child and plays that role—but I hope Gabe isn’t going to be excluded from chunks of the memorial planning, or the twins, either.
As I’m returning to the front hall, I spot Keira descending the staircase from the second floor, dressed in crisp pants and with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail.Good, I think,this saves me from having to find an excuse to knock on her bedroom door.
“Morning,” we say in unison, each offering a wan smile.
“How’s Marcus doing today?” I ask.
