“Words aren’t what matter. ” Margie tightened her hold on his arm and led him out of the kitchen.
The house was full of people, but even in a crowd of mourners, Tully Hart was noticeable. The center of attention. In a black sheath dress that probably cost as much as some of the cars parked in the driveway, she managed to look beautiful in grief. Her shoulder-length hair was auburn these days, and she must have redone her makeup since the funeral. In the living room, surrounded by people, she gestured dramatically, obviously telling a story, and when she finished, everyone around her laughed.
“How can she smile?”
“Tully knows a thing or two about heartbreak, don’t forget. She’s spent a lifetime hiding her pain. I remember the first time I ever saw her. I walked across Firefly Lane to her house because she’d befriended Kate and I wanted to check her out. Inside that run-down old house across the street, I met her mom, Cloud. Well, I didn’t meet her. Cloud was lying on the sofa spread-eagled, with a mound of marijuana on her stomach. She tried to sit up, and when she couldn’t, she said, F–– me, I’m stoned, and flopped back down. When I looked at Tully, who was maybe fourteen, I saw the kind of shame that marks you forever. ”
“You had an alcoholic dad and you overcame it. ”
“I fell in love and had babies. A family. Tully thinks no one can love her except Kate. I don’t think the loss has really hit her yet, but when it does, it’s going to be ugly. ”
Tully put a CD into the stereo and cranked the music. Born to be w-iiii-ld blared through the speakers.
The people in the living room backed away from her, looking offended.
“Come on,” Tully said, “who wants a straight shot?”
Johnny knew he should stop her, but he couldn’t get that close. Not now, not yet. Every time he looked at Tully, he thought, Kate’s gone, and the wound cracked open again. Turning away, he went up to comfort his children instead.
It took everything he had to climb the stairs.
Outside the twins’ bedroom, he paused, trying to gather strength.
You can do this.
He could do it. He had to. The children beyond this door had just learned that life was unfair and that death ripped hearts and families apart. It was his job to make them understand, to hold them together and heal them.
He drew in a sharp breath and opened the door.
The first thing he saw were the beds—unmade, rumpled, the Star Wars bedding in a tangled heap. The navy-blue walls—hand-painted by Kate to show clouds and stars and moons—had been covered over the years with the boys’ artwork and some of their favorite movie posters. Golden T-ball and soccer trophies stood proudly on the dresser top.
His father-in-law, Bud, sat in the big papasan chair that easily held both boys when they played video games, and Sean, Kate’s younger brother, lay asleep on Wills’s bed.
Marah sat on the rug in front of the TV, with Lucas beside her. Wills was in the corner, watching the movie with his arms crossed, looking angry and isolated.
“Hey,” Johnny said quietly, closing the door behind him.
“Dad!” Lucas lurched to his feet. Johnny scooped his son into his arms and held him tightly.
Bud climbed awkwardly out of the cushy papasan chair and got to his feet. He looked rumpled in his out-of-date black suit with a white shirt and wide polyester tie. His pale face, marked by age spots, seemed to have added creases and folds in the past weeks. Beneath bushy gray eyebrows, his eyes looked sad. “I’ll give you some time. ” He went to the bed, thumped Sean on the shoulder, and said, “Wake up. ”
Sean came awake with a start and sat up sharply. He looked confused until he saw Johnny. “Oh, right. ” He followed his dad out of the room.
Johnny heard the door click shut behind him. On-screen, brightly colored superheroes ran through the jungle. Lucas slid out of Johnny’s arms and stood beside him.
Johnny looked at his grieving children, and they looked at him. Their reactions to their mother’s death were as different as they were, as unique. Lucas, the tenderhearted, was undone by missing his mom and confused about where exactly she’d gone. His twin, Wills, was a kid who relied on athleticism and popularity. Already he was a jock and well liked. This loss had offended and scared him. He didn’t like being afraid, so he got angry instead.
And then there was Marah; beautiful sixteen-year-old Marah, for whom everything had always come easily. In the cancer year, she had closed up, become contained and quiet, as if she thought that if she made no noise at all, caused no disruption, the inevitability of this day could be avoided. He knew how deeply she regretted the way she’d treated Kate before she got sick.
The need in all of their eyes was the same, though. They looked to him to put their destroyed world back together, to ease this unimaginable pain.
But Kate was the heart and soul of this family, the glue that held them all together. Hers was the voice that knew what to say. Anything he said would be a lie. How would they heal? How would things get better? How would more time without Kate soothe them?
Marah rose suddenly, unfolding with the kind of grace that most girls would never know. She looked sylphlike in her grief, pale and almost ethereal, with her long black hair, black dress, and nearly translucent skin. He heard the hitch in her breathing, the way she seemed hard-pressed to inhale this new air.
“I’ll put the boys to bed,” she said, reaching out for Lucas. “Come on, rug rat. I’ll read you a story. ”
“Way to make us feel better, Dad,” Wills said, his mouth tightening. It was a dark, sadly adult expression on an eight-year-old face.