hysteria that much closer. I turned it into a cough. I wasn’t sure anyone was fooled.
I met Nathan’s Boy Scout troop leader; the woman at the post office; the mayor of Cambry-on-Hudson, who used to babysit him. His cross-country coach from middle school, his cross-country coach from high school, his teammates, his classmates, his college mates, his graduate school mates, his workmates. Everyone knew Nathan. Everyone had a story.
Another person from downtown Cambry-on-Hudson stood in line. Kim from Cottage Confections, who’d made us a tiny, beautiful wedding cake when she heard we’d eloped. She and Jenny the wedding dress designer and I had drinks when I moved into my new studio, all of us linked by the wedding industry. Kim had gone to school with Nathan. She’d told me a funny story about him at an eighth-grade social, when he danced right into a pole and got a bloody nose.
She saw me looking now and gave a little wave, tears in her eyes.
I wasn’t sure how I could keep breathing. The spike seemed to be cutting everything off. Maybe I’d faint. Fainting would be good. I wouldn’t have to be here if I was unconscious.
Ainsley had sent a mass email to my friends, letting them know about Nathan. But Cambry-on-Hudson was far to come for a wake, I guessed. Brooklynites were notoriously reluctant to travel past Manhattan. Out of the entire City of New York? Please. There’d been a lot of emails I hadn’t yet read, and many flower arrangements, some fruit baskets and donations to charities. Cards had been pouring in.
The only representative from my Brooklyn life was Max, my soft-voiced assistant, standing in the back with his wife, eyeing the crowd like a member of the Secret Service. He didn’t like most people, which was ironic, since we were always photographing them. So the fact that he was here...
Ainsley hopped back up like a well-trained service dog and gave me a few more tissues, assuming I was crying. Nope, still no tears. Panic, yes. My skin crawled like fire ants had attacked. Adrenaline, shock, whatever. I took the tissues and balled them in my hand.
Behind me was Nathan’s body, post-autopsy.
“You doing okay?” Ainsley asked.
“Nope. Really shitty,” I whispered. The carpet sucked at my heels again, and I staggered a little.
My father appeared before me. “Hey, sweetie. I’m so sorry.” Then his face crumpled a little.
Sometimes I forgot that Dad had lost a spouse, too.
He composed himself, his face changing back to that jovial how ’bout them Yankees expression he usually wore. Hugged me hard, the kind of hug that I hadn’t had from him in twenty years or so.
“Thanks, Dad,” I whispered. My father had liked Nathan, despite the Mets. Swore he’d win him over to the dark side by taking him to a Yankees game.
So that would never happen, either.
Dad let go of me rather abruptly and moved down the line to Eloise. He hated funerals and wakes. Most people did. I definitely did. I wondered if I could say, “I hate these things. Who wants to grab a burger instead?”
Had Nathan been scared? Did he know? Please, please, don’t let him have been scared, I begged the higher power that I’ve been clinging to these past four days. Heaven, which I never really believed in, had become awfully important this week.
Nathan deserved heaven.
Maybe if I could cry, this horrible spike in my throat would disintegrate. But the tears didn’t come.
Another man stood in front of me. No tie. Kind of refreshing, really. Just an unbuttoned gray polo shirt revealing an attractive male throat, a hint of chest hair. I waited for the I’m so sorry for your loss. It didn’t come. I raised my eyes.
The face was gorgeous. And familiar, but I couldn’t place it for a second. Green eyes. Dimples. Mischievous eyebrows.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said in a low voice, and he gave me a hug, and then I knew who he was, and I was suddenly so unexpectedly happy that it took me by surprise. Someone from my old life was here, someone I would never have expected to see. His neck was solid and warm.
“God, you smell good,” he murmured. “Sorry. Inappropriate?”
“Very,” I said, hugging him back. “What the hell are you doing here, Daniel the Hot Firefighter?”
The room went quiet.
Oh, shit. I mean, that was what we called him, but still.
“It’s the grief talking,” he said to Eloise, releasing me. “Hi, I’m Daniel Breton, a friend from Brooklyn. I’m so sorry.” He looked back at me. “So. Shitty luck, huh?”
“Yep.”
We just looked at each other a second. “How are you?” I asked, not wanting him to go.
“Better than you.” He cocked an eyebrow.
“True enough.” It was so strange to see him in my new life, in Westchester County. Aside from a few parties in the apartment he once shared with Calista, the only time I’d ever seen Daniel the Hot Firefighter was in bars or riding past in a fire truck.
We’d never been friends, exactly. Calista had been my friend before she got so spiritual and limber. Daniel was just her man-child ex, fun eye candy. At most, Paige and I had let him sit with us for a drink while he was waiting for a False Alarm to wander past.
But here he was. And it probably took him two hours to get here.
“Were you happy together?” Daniel asked.
The question brought the spike flying back. “Yes,” I whispered.
“Good. That’s good.”
The line was stopped, the endless mourners waiting. “Thanks for coming, Daniel.”
“You bet. See you around.” He moved on, shaking hands with the Coburns.
For a second, I pictured four of us—Daniel and one of his False Alarms, Nathan and me, back at Porto’s Bar, laughing. We should’ve done that. Why hadn’t we ever done that? They would’ve liked each other, maybe.
Unfortunately, Nathan still seemed to be dead.
So no beers with Daniel the Hot Firefighter.
I glanced at the casket, which I’d been trying so hard not to do.
Nathan wore a blue suit and a tie I’d given him for Christmas. Or had I? He had lots of ties. This one was purple with red polka dots. From now on, I’d be obliged to hate red polka dots.
This was just not funny. Seriously. I was not amused. For a second, I felt like kicking his casket and saying, Wake up, you selfish shit. Look at your poor mother! Look at Miles and Atticus! How is your sister supposed to go through life without you? And what about me, huh? What about our baby? Remember that little project? Huh? Huh? You can’t just run out on all this, you know!
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Another tie. This one was navy
