service just because of a business meeting. It was beyond rude, it was unconscionable. Everyone would notice. She couldn’t help the tsk that escaped from her lips. How could he do this to her? This sort of thing was happening far too often lately, and was growing harder to make excuses for. And his hours…Impossible. She really had to talk to him again about his late nights. He wasn’t a young man anymore. At fifty-four, he drank too much and did nothing but push, push, push with his construction company. That was the right formula for a heart attack. If he wasn’t careful, she’d be the grieving widow. All alone, like Eve.
She shuddered at the thought and glanced warily at the casket, then over at Eve. Poor, poor Eve. The black suit dwarfed her delicate frame and the long, lace mantilla accentuated her face’s wintry whiteness. From beneath the veil, Eve’s watery blue eyes stared at the casket with stricken disbelief. She looked so fragile, paper-thin like the shell of a cicada left behind on the trunk of a tree. A sudden gust of air could blow her away. She was flanked on either side by her two children.
With a sudden rush of emotion, Doris reached out to clutch the hands of her own daughter, Sarah, and her son, Bobby, standing at her sides. Teenagers, they tilted their heads to look at her quizzically, then with embarrassment. She saw bits of herself in their faces, and a lot of R.J., living, breathing proofs of their union. She squeezed their hands tightly. Family was everything, she thought. Poor Eve, to have lost Tom. The thought of losing R.J., of being alone, filled Doris with fear.
Annie couldn’t wait to be alone. She stood at the base of the church’s outside stairs tapping her foot, waiting for John to bring the car around. A final few stragglers chatted in small clusters in the open vestibule, but everyone else had left, either for the open house at Eve’s, or home.
Annie felt consumed with an unusual despondency, a strange sense of floundering in rocky waters. Tom’s death came as such a shock. Just a few weeks ago he was laughing as they chased him out of the living room for a Book Club meeting. She’d come home late from the office to hear the news on the phone from Gabriella. It hit so hard that she’d drank too much wine and clung to John all night long. She was an existentialist and didn’t believe in an afterlife, so why his death shook her so deeply she didn’t know. It’s not like they were even close. Eve was her friend, not Tom, though she liked Tom well enough. The Book Club treated the husbands politely and twice a year they partied together. Nice fellows, but in truth, they barely knew them. The husbands were just sort of there, like window dressing. Still, Tom’s death shook her, shook them all.
Someone she knew hailed her as he passed by and mumbled something about what a terrible shock this all was. She responded in kind and sighed in relief when she saw his back.
God, she hated these things. The somber faces, everyone spewing out pat phrases, and Doris lording over them like a high priestess. And who was that redhead carrying on in the vestibule? She wanted to walk right up to her and slap her! Get a life, lady. He wasn’t your husband, for crying out loud.
Eve hadn’t cried; that’s what troubled her. It pained her to see the stricken look on Eve’s face as they wheeled the casket away. Her instincts told her Eve’s feelings ran deeper than grief. Was it fear? Or perhaps guilt? Over what, Annie couldn’t imagine. Eve and Tom had had one of those perfect marriages that gave the rest of them hope. People could always point to the Porters as living, breathing proof that good marriages still survived. Still, as a lawyer she’d handled many divorces, and over the years she’d learned that behind closed doors there were three sides to every story: his, hers and the truth.
Annie sighed sadly and shook her head, sure that the look of utter devastation on Eve’s face as she stared at her husband’s coffin was too raw for an easy acceptance and peace. She’d counseled far too many women over the years to miss that look now.
A brief beep from the curb was a welcome break from this train of thought. She looked up to see John’s long fingers waving her toward their BMW.
“Are you ready to go home?” he asked when she climbed in.
Annie smiled up at John’s solicitous face and nodded, her eyes expressing her gratitude that he could pick up on her needs so effortlessly. John was always there for her, watching out for her, caring for her. He really did spoil her.
“I’m more than ready,” she replied, settling in and closing the door. She was relieved when the car swung away from the curb, leaving the church behind them. “Thank God that’s over. What an ordeal. Who knew Catholic masses could be so long? There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.” She began unbuttoning her suit jacket to the cool air-conditioning. While she did, she recalled the emotional eulogy and the message that one’s time on earth was finite. While the priest implied that one should prepare for heaven, her personal credo was to live each day as if it were her last.
“How’s Eve?” John wanted to know.
“I’m worried about her.” She shrugged. “But there’s nothing I can do for Eve now. Doris has everything under control at the moment. As usual.” The latter, she muttered under her breath. “My turn to help will come later, when she needs legal advice. I hope Tom took care of her, that’s all I can say. Otherwise, it’ll be tough going for her.”
She brought her fingers to her brow and closed her eyes against the sorrow she felt for her friend’s suffering that pierced straight to the marrow. Eve appeared lost; it was clear she was going to need a lot of guidance. Annie knew what that felt like, knew how many hard knocks a woman could receive when she forged a new life of her own. She knew, too, that she’d be right by Eve’s side, every step of the way.
“Let’s get something to eat,” John suggested.
“Right now, I could use a good, stiff drink.”
John’s eyes narrowed and his hands held the wheel tighter. “Isn’t it a bit early for a drink? We haven’t eaten a real meal yet today. How about we go out for a late lunch?” Then seeing her wrinkled nose, he said, “Okay, we’ll call it an early dinner.”
Annie waved away his suggestions, annoyed by his worry about her drinking. “I’m not the least hungry. My craw is crammed full with sadness and death and depression.” She shook her hands in front of her, releasing the tension. “God, that funeral was just too, too sad. It’s really staying with me. I’m sick of death and sympathy. Don’t you feel the need to do something, oh, I don’t know, something to reconfirm life?”
“Eating confirms life….”
“No. What I really want right now is to go to my own home, have a nice, cold drink from my own glass, then make hot, passionate love with my own husband—all afternoon.”
John’s frown turned upward. “Sounds good to me.”
“I thought it might,” she said, catching his smile. Her palms itched to rub over his smooth flesh, to feel the warmth of his life’s blood. To rub skin against skin. He was a beautiful man, inside and out, and she loved him, needed him, more at this moment than ever before. This emotional tide had to be a result of the funeral, she decided. It wasn’t usual for her to have these gushy feelings race through her, but today in church she’d had some kind of epiphany. Watching Eve walk down the aisle of the church behind Tom’s casket, Annie was struck by how fiercely Eve had clasped the hands of her two children. In a flash Annie realized that Eve was gaining as much strength from Bronte and Finney as she was giving to them. There was a bond there, an energy, that was palpable.
For the first time in her life, Annie felt the desire to have a child of her own.
“You know,” she said, leaning over and linking
