Death had ripped that part of our life away from us. No one asked our opinion about it. There wasn’t a second chance to undo it, no appeal, no going back.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Sophie!” Neil’s chair scraped as he shot out of it. Of course he was alarmed; I was having a full on gasping meltdown. He took me into his arms and crushed me to his chest. I clung to him, because if Emma and Michael could be taken from us, we could be taken from each other, too. Oh, god, one day we would. This would be all over. Everything about my life would be all over. All that existed, everything I was living for, would be gone in an instant. Yeah, I’d known all that before, but now, it was there, refusing to be ignored.
Neil’s arms closed around me, and even though I was supposed to be the one who was strong, I was supposed to be supporting him, I let him hold me up. I buried my face against his chest—and probably smeared foundation all over his jacket—and sobbed hard, while he stroked my hair.
“I know,” he whispered against the top of my head, his voice strangled by his own tears. “I know.”
* * * *
On the way home, Mom rode with Tony in the front. We kept the partition rolled up. I held Neil’s hand in mine as he dozed in the seat beside me, and occasionally, he roused and squeezed my fingers. Maybe, if I kept his hand in mine, it could be a leash to keep him tethered to life, and us to each other.
When we arrived at the apartment, I gave Mom an awkward hug through the passenger window, then followed Neil inside. We rode up in the elevator in exhausted silence. Laura met us in the foyer as we took off our coats and hung them in the closet.
“Olivia is sleeping right now, but she’s been really cranky all day. She doesn’t have a fever, so I don’t think it’s teething.” Laura stopped herself there.
I wanted to snap at her that we just needed a goddamn minute to come home from Emma’s funeral and wallow in our sadness. Then, I remembered why she was telling us all this. Olivia’s problems were our problems, now, and babies didn’t wait for a convenient time to need you.
“Thank you, Laura,” Neil said, the dark circles under his eyes explanation enough for his weary tone.
Laura handed me the baby monitor. “I’ll go, then, if you don’t need anything else.”
“Thanks. Really, thanks so much for helping out.” I felt like I should have given her a hug, but I was so, so done with people touching me.
She took her coat from the closet and was pulling it on when she said, “Oh, a delivery came while you were gone. Baby stuff? There were some duplicates of things she already has at the house. If you want, I could make a list of what she already has, so you’re not buying everything a billion times.”
Neil’s expression softened. “Thank you. That would be very helpful.”
“Okay, well.” She backed toward the door. “I’ll see you…later.”
“We’ll be in touch,” I assured her. We had to give her a paycheck and references.
The apartment was so quiet. Everything was quiet lately. The noise and excitement of the gala last week seemed like a dream I’d had, and I’d woken up to this sad, tired vacuum where sound ceased to exist. I never thought my nerves would be so shot from too much quiet.
“I’m starving.” Neil’s announcement woke up my stomach, too.
“Do you want me to order something in?” I asked, almost giddy at the idea of talking on the phone to a stranger, just for the contact with the outside, non-grieving world.
“No. No, I think I’ll make something,” he said, his voice lifting at the prospect. “We’ve been eating so much take out this week. And to be quite tastelessly honest, I’m…bored.”
“Oh?” My eyebrows shot up. “I guess I figured since we’ve been so busy—”
“Busy isn’t necessarily interesting,” he pointed out, loosening his tie. “I didn’t find a moment of this week enjoyable or entertaining.”
“I didn’t think you did.” It felt safe to smile now, like we could take our devastation faces off in private. But we kept them handy, like sunglasses we’d just pushed onto our heads. “Let’s get changed first, though. Because these shoes are killing me.”
“Yes, and I feel as though funerals follow you home on your clothes,” he said as we went to the bedroom. “Every time I look at my cufflinks, I remember that I was just at my daughter’s funeral. I might just throw this pair in the bin.”
I toed off my pumps and wriggled my stockinged feet against the carpet. “It would be a shame to see them go. But it’s up to you.”
“Oh, Sophie. Please stop,” he said softly.
My heart leapt to my throat. I’d done something wrong, said something, when all I’d wanted was to be supportive and—
“You needn’t be so cautious with me,” he went on. “I’m not going to burst into hysterics if you tell me not to throw away my cufflinks. You’ve been walking on eggshells with me for days, now.”
“I was trying to be respectful of your feelings and your… I don’t know, I just don’t want to hurt you more,” I sputtered.