out of the midtown club. “Not just yet. I’m doing some important work there, for the moment.”
The first man chortled. “Chicago? Too damn cold,” he said, once again catching his irreverence too late.
“Maybe he has family there,” the woman suggested to her companion.
“I don’t,” Carter corrected. “I just can’t make a move right now.”
“Give me a call when you come back,” said the woman, smiling at Carter coyly. “Let’s get together.”
“Yeah, let’s do that,” one of the men added.
Carter watched until all three had left the salon before turning to look for Grace once more, Benson’s former coworkers immediately forgotten.
She was shaking the hand of a relative from Benson’s side of the family and kissing another, who was also preparing to leave. Then a couple, neighbors from the Westchester enclave where Grace and Benson lived, approached, waiting for Grace’s attention. Carter silently monitored the interaction and her response. While Grace appeared sad and pensive—even numb with grief, which was perfectly understandable—it was hard for him to tell how she was really doing under the strain of the past week.
He tried to imagine what it must have been like getting the call that notified Grace of her husband’s collapse while at work and then rushing to the hospital an hour later, only to be told he was already gone. Carter wondered how she’d felt learning that Benson had died almost instantly, felled by an aneurysm, even before the call to her had been placed. Afterward, she would have had the terrible task of calling her mother-in-law, Marjorie, to tell her that her only child, her beloved, handsome and brilliant son, was dead. And there was Grace herself. How was she doing?
Carter looked at the time and checked out the remaining guests. He saw Grace’s father, Ward Mathison, chatting and laughing with several former classmates of both Benson and Grace from NYU, where they’d gotten their undergraduate degrees, and where they’d met. Ward caught his gaze and nodded briefly, continuing with his conversation. Carter paced along the side of the room, thinking that he should leave as well. He guessed that after a week of ceremony, testimony, tears and the prevailing shock that hovered over everyone, Grace probably just wanted to be alone.
Grace’s simple two-piece black ensemble made her look elegant and slender, and offset her tan complexion. Her only makeup, lipstick, had worn off during the past few hours. Her hair, which was as long as when he’d first met her five years earlier, was brushed back from her face and rolled into a neat twisted knot at the back of her head. She wore no other jewelry besides her engagement and wedding rings, and both sparkled on her left hand, an ever-present reminder. She had been appropriately named, Carter thought, as she gracefully handled everyone else’s surprise, grief and memories. What would she do with her own?
Carter raised his gaze to Grace’s face to find her studying him as well. He looked for signs of distress but saw only wide-eyed bewilderment, a kind of stunned appeal. Their mutual regard narrowed the distance between them across the salon, but only for a few seconds as someone else claimed her. He watched as Grace sat with the guest, patiently attentive while they expressed their condolences about her husband.
Carter stood alone. He knew he should be leaving. He wasn’t sure what more he could do here now that the memorial service was over. But something kept him slowly circulating around the room, reluctant to say goodbye. He looked around for Benson’s mother, Marjorie. Not seeing her, he was sure that she was sitting alone somewhere, closeted with her pain. He’d always liked Marjorie. Perhaps she was a little too devoted and maternal, a bit too much the stage mother to an ambitious son, but Carter admired what she’d managed as a single parent. She’d raised a son and kept him out of the seductive clutches of street life and away from other bad influences.
Suddenly, Carter saw Marjorie emerge through a door that he thought led to a small library in the vast complex of the club. She was blowing her nose in a wad of tissues balled in her hand. A stout woman of average height and in her sixties, Marjorie was considered a pretty and curvaceous woman in her youth. She had given her life to nurturing her only child and with him gone, Carter knew Marjorie had aged virtually overnight. She straightened her back, but her shoulders were still curved from the weight of her loss. The perfect hairdo of her stylish wig was the only thing about Marjorie that was not in disarray.
“Can I get you anything?” Carter asked, placing a solicitous hand on Marjorie’s back and bending slightly toward her.
“All that food going to waste. It’s a shame, but I really couldn’t eat a thing,” Marjorie said, looking distressed at the very idea.
“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get you something to drink. How about hot tea?”
Marjorie nodded and gave her consent with an absent gesture of her hand.
Carter walked silently across the carpeted floor. The room seemed so much bigger now that most of the guests had left. On his way, he once again searched out Grace. Finding her, he could see the first signs that the long afternoon, indeed the past ten days, was taking its toll. He could detect strain between her eyes and a tightening of her mouth, which prohibited a natural smile. She was absently twisting her wedding ring round and round her finger, sliding it up to the knuckle before pushing it back into place. Halfway across the room, Carter hesitated a moment before continuing. At the console table, which was laden with light refreshments, Carter poured hot water and made a cup of tea for Marjorie Haley. He carefully carried it back to her. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a seat by her side.
“Thank you, Carter,” she murmured. Her voice was hoarse and deep from crying. “I appreciate that you stayed to help with everything.”
Carter took her hand. “Benson was my best friend. He knew I’d do anything for him. I’m sorry that it came down to this.”
“Yes,” Marjorie said, her voice warbling and her hand trembling around the cup of tea.
“You’re going to be fine,” he soothed.
Marjorie raised her head proudly, her eyes red and watery and filled with despair. “The good Lord willing. He saw fit to take my child, but I’m blessed to have Madison and Becca. I don’t know what I’d do without my grandbabies.”
“And Grace,” Carter added, watching the older woman. “You know she’ll be there for you always.”
“We’ll see,” Marjorie said cryptically.
“I wish there was something more I could say to you besides I’m sorry. Benson was a good man, and he did you proud.”
“He could have become a judge one day,” Marjorie prophesied. “Maybe a senator.”
“Maybe.” He glanced around. There were only a handful of people left, but Grace was nowhere in sight. He stood up. “Will you be all right for a while? I’m going to check to make sure that everything’s taken care of.”
Marjorie silently nodded as she sipped her tea.
Carter headed to the same room that Marjorie had appeared from, but it was empty, as were the two small alcoves next to the fireplace. He proceeded through a passageway leading to a series of rooms. One was being used as a staging area for the preparation of the refreshments for Benson’s memorial service. A second room housed a photocopier, fax machine and several cartons of paper. The door of the third room opened, and a man stepped out, closing it behind him. He was carrying a sheaf of documents
