The Good Daughter (41 page)

No, there were definitely more important things to worry about than groupies and girls chasing Boone. There was her widowed father, and timid, clingy Ella, and eight-year-old Brennan, who could be an incredible athlete if he’d just swing the bat when he was supposed to, instead of swinging it at other kids because he had no self-control.

Eventually, Sarah cried herself out and looked up at Jack, her face wet, nose streaming. Horrified with herself, Sarah turned away to hunt for tissue. “Okay, that was embarrassing.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m a mess.”

“We all are.”

“Yeah?” she asked, locating the Kleenex box under the sink and grabbing handfuls of tissue to blow her nose and scrub her cheeks dry.

“Yeah,” he answered, taking the stool she’d vacated a few minutes earlier.

Something in his tone caught her attention and she gave him a close look. “You and Meg okay?”

He hesitated. “What do you mean? As a couple?”

She nodded.

His shoulders twisted. “I don’t know. Things are what they are.”

That did not sound good. Sarah frowned. “Things still rocky?”

He made a face as he shrugged again. “We have our ups and downs. Sometimes it feels like more downs than ups.”

“But you haven’t thrown in the towel yet,” she said, trying to be encouraging.

“Not yet.”

“That’s good.”

“Is it?”

Sarah heard the weariness in his voice, and her chest tightened. She and Boone had been through so much and yet she couldn’t imagine life without him. He was as important to her as oxygen—not that her sisters thought she should love any man that much. But Boone wasn’t just any man. He was Boone. And when things were good with them, things were heaven.

Her phone suddenly vibrated on the counter, signaling an incoming text.

Jack handed Sarah the phone. “It’s Boone,” he said.

“He’s landed,” Sarah said, reading the text. It was short, just one word, but it was all she needed.
Here
, it said.

Sarah texted Boone back.
Glad you’re safe.

You okay?
Boone replied.

Yes. Just wish you were here
, she answered.

Me, too, babe. Give my love to everyone, especially the kids.

As if on cue, Meg entered the kitchen carrying a weeping Ella. “There’s your mommy,” Meg crooned, kissing Ella’s wet, flushed cheek. “I told you we’d find her. Your mommy didn’t go anywhere. No need to cry. She’s right here talking to Uncle Jack.”

Ella leaned out of Meg’s arms, reaching for her mother. “Momma!” she wailed. “I want Daddy. I want to go home. I want to go to bed. I hate Brennan. He’s so mean.”

Sarah took her kindergartener from Meg and cuddled her close. “What did he do this time, sweet pea?”

“He said he was going to bury me like Grandma—”

“He’s not,” Sarah interrupted sternly, meeting Meg’s eyes above her daughter’s head. “And he shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I don’t want to go in the ground and be covered up with dirt. Why did they cover Grandma with dirt?”

“Because Grandma went to Heaven to be with God and Jesus and Mary and all the saints and angels.” Sarah kissed Ella’s cheek and smoothed her hair. “Now, stop crying, because if we cry, we might make Grandpa sad, and we don’t want to leave him here tonight sad, okay?”

“Are we going home, Mommy?”

“Not to our house. We’re staying with Aunt Meg and Uncle Jack for a few nights, remember?”

“Without Daddy?”

“Daddy had to go back to Tampa Bay, but we’ll see him soon.”

“I want to go home now.”

“I think you’re tired, sweetheart. I know I’m tired. It’s been a really long day.” Sarah glanced over at Meg, who was leaning back against Jack as he sat on the stool, and mouthed to her sister, “Do you think we can leave soon?”

Meg nodded and glanced up at Jack, who also nodded. “Let’s round up the kids,” she said, straightening.

“We’ll go say our good-nights, then,” Sarah added, grateful
that they’d soon be in the car, driving to Meg and Jack’s big handsome house in Santa Rosa.

An hour later, Meg left her youngest sister, Sarah, tucked in the guest room bed with five-year-old Ella sharing her bed, and Brennan in a sleeping bag on the floor, before moving down the hall to check on her kids.

Tessa and Gabi were both in bed talking in the dark, but JJ was at his desk, Skyping with his girlfriend, and when he spotted his mother in the doorway, he tersely signaled for Meg to leave.

“Simply saying good night,” she said mildly, refusing to take offense. “Just making sure you’re okay…with the funeral and all.”

JJ’s glare suddenly softened, and he said something to his girlfriend before hitting the disconnect on the computer. Springing from his chair, he went to his mom and wrapped his arms around her in a quick, guilty hug. “Sorry. And I’m sorry about Grandma,” he muttered. “Sorry for you, too. It must be awful losing your mom. I would hate to lose you.”

Meg, who’d kept it together for much of the day, blinked to clear the hot, stinging sensation from her eyes. “Well, I have no intention of going anywhere, and Grandma was a really good mom.”

“I loved Grandma.”

“I know. And she loved you.”

JJ pulled away and folded his arms across his chest. He’d grown five inches in the past six months and had filled out through the chest and shoulders, showing an early hint of the Brennan brawn. Not that he was a Brennan, but he had her brother’s and father’s athletic ability, and JJ hoped to make it to the pros, like Boone, Sarah’s husband. “Why did she have to die?” he demanded.

Meg shrugged. “Something about God’s plan.”

“Don’t get mad at my language, but I think it’s a fucked-up plan.”

“Can’t disagree, babe, but let’s not use foul language.”

“But it is. She suffered so much—” He broke off, took a step away, and rubbed at his watering eyes. “So not right.”

“No.”

“Grandpa’s going to really miss her, won’t he?”

Meg swallowed around the lump filling her throat. It’d been such a long, hard couple of months, but hopefully Mom was in a better place. Or at least, a place without pain. “Yeah. They’ve been together a long time.”

“And they were happy, weren’t they? They always seemed to be in a good mood when they were together. Always laughing and joking around.”

She nearly reached out to touch his jaw with the straggly chin stubble, his facial hair still light and thin, but crossed her arms instead, not wanting to invade his space. She’d learned that it was better to let him come to her, to reach for her, otherwise she could end up rejected. “They definitely enjoyed each other.”

“Did they ever fight?”

“Oh, most definitely. They had their moments. Grandpa isn’t always easy to live with, and Grandma was never a pushover, but they were committed to each other, and very committed to the family. It’s why their marriage worked.”

“They were best friends, weren’t they?”

“Yes.”

JJ’s forehead creased and he stared across the room, to his desktop computer. “Were you and Dad ever like that?…Best friends?”

Meg’s mouth opened, then closed. It took her a second to think back, to the early days of her marriage, and her first thought was how new and exciting it had all been, that big move with Jack to California, her state, which then made her reflect on how different it’d been for him, and how uncomfortable he was with her big family. From the start he’d been overwhelmed by the tight-knit Brennan family, and resisted their many traditions—family summers
and holidays in Capitola at the beach house, big gatherings for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, winter ski trips to Tahoe, weekly Sunday brunches, Saturday barbeques, baptisms, and ball games, never mind casual family dinners.

No, Jack hadn’t enjoyed her family holidays and traditions. He’d never come out and said so, but she’d suspected that he found them a little too loud, a little too blue collar, a little too Catholic. Jack’s family—the Roberts family, which could trace its ancestors to the Mayflower—had been educated, affluent, and aloof, as well as fractured by a highly contentious divorce and custody battle that lasted for years, scarring Jack permanently.

Meg had loved Jack anyway, adoring his brilliant mind and his talent for sensitive architectural preservation and design. She’d learned that he needed his space, and he was most creative when left to himself, and so she gave him his space and told herself that the space was good for her, too. She was, and always had been, very independent. She didn’t need a lot of attention. Mary Margaret Brennan Roberts excelled at self-sufficiency.

“Your dad is still my best friend,” she said now to JJ, which stood for Jack Jr. “He’s amazing. There aren’t many people as smart as he is.”

“I thought Aunt Kit was your best friend.”

Meg’s throat worked, and she felt the weight of the last week settle in her gut, and burn in her chest. There were few people as loving and supportive as her sister Kit. She struggled to smile. “We are really close.”

“So she is your best friend?”

“Can’t a girl have two best friends?”

“I guess.”

Needing to escape, she kissed JJ’s cheek. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“I won’t. I can’t. We’ve got that double-header tomorrow. Remember?”

In her bedroom, Meg discovered that the lights had been dimmed, and Jack was already in bed, on his side, his back to her.

She gently closed the door, retreating to the master bath to wash her face and brush her teeth. She performed her nightly routine swiftly without looking at herself. She was too tired to look at herself, not interested in seeing her face, not wanting to see her fatigue or her sadness.

Impossible to believe Mom was gone. Mom couldn’t be gone. There was still so much life ahead. Still so much time. Baseball games and ballet recitals and high school graduations and weddings….

Her girls would one day walk down the aisle and her mom wouldn’t be there to see it. Her mom wouldn’t be there for any of it.

Meg cried, bent over the bathroom sink, splashing water on her face even as tears fell. Tired. She was just so tired. And sad. But that was natural. This was all natural. Part of life. Birth and death and change. She didn’t have to like it, just accept it. And adapt.

In bed, she quietly slid into her spot, carefully fluffing and adjusting her pillows as she eased under the duvet. The sheets were cool and smooth, the softest, lightest cotton. Her favorite indulgence. She didn’t care about expensive clothes or jewelry or cars, but she loved quality sheets. Good sheets made a great bed.

“You were gone awhile,” Jack said, breaking the silence. His voice was clear, firm. He hadn’t been asleep.

“Talked a long time to Sarah, then to JJ,” Meg answered, rolling over to look at him. His eyes were open, his gaze fixed on her.

“Everything okay?”

“Sarah’s a wreck, and JJ just wanted to talk.”

“What did JJ have to say?”

Meg hesitated, studying Jack’s strong, patrician features and unsmiling mouth. He didn’t smile much anymore, and suddenly
she wondered if he ever had. “He talked about Grandma and Grandpa, and how much Grandpa would miss Grandma. He said they were best friends. I agreed. And then he asked…” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to voice JJ’s question. “He asked…. if we had ever been like that. Best friends. And I told him yes.”

Jack didn’t say anything. His expression didn’t change. But Meg felt that acidic knot return to her stomach, the one that seemed to live there all the time, making her reach for Tums and Rolaids several times a day.

“What?” she prompted, trying to see into Jack’s brown eyes, trying to read what he was thinking.

“A long time ago,” he said finally.

She pressed the pillow closer to her cheek. Her face felt so hot and yet on the inside she felt so cold. “Not that long ago.”

“Seems like forever.”

“We’ve had a hard year.”

“It wasn’t good before that.”

He was referring to her affair. Her affair, her fault, her responsibility. And it was no one’s fault but hers. She’d be paying penance forever, not because anyone asked it of her, but because she owed it. She’d messed up, badly; and nine months later, she still found it impossible to forgive herself. Maybe one day she could. Maybe when she and Jack were good again, solid again. She looked forward to the day. Prayed for the day. It was hard living with so much self-hatred. “It’ll get better.”

“I’m not happy.”

Meg exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“Are we working?” he asked.

“I’m not unhappy.”

“But are you happy?”

Her eyes stung and the acid from her stomach seemed to be bubbling up her esophagus and into her throat. “This is a kind of
tough time to be talking about happiness. Mom’s just died. The funeral was this morning. We had two hundred and fifty people over to the house—”

“But that’s the point. We’re all going to die. Death is inevitable. In fact, some would say we’re dying every day.”

“I disagree. As long as you’re alive, you’re alive. When you’re dead, you’re gone—”

“Unless you’re not really alive. Unless you’re just going through the motions.” Jack’s mouth flattened, and a small muscle pulled and popped in his jaw. “Like we are.”

You mean, like you are,
Meg silently corrected, closing her eyes, shoulders rising, up towards her ears.

“This isn’t working with us, Meg.”

She didn’t want to hear this, not now, not today. She was too sad. Things had been too hard. “We’re tired, Jack, worn out—”

“I leave tomorrow for DC, and I think we need to really think about the future, and what we want. We’re not getting any younger. We deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy—”

“I’m not unhappy, Jack!” she cried, sitting up, knocking away a tear before it could fall. “I’m just tired. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, and a very long day, and I will not lose you now, not after everything we’ve been through. We’re good together. We have the kids. We have a history. We have a future.”

“But maybe it’s not the one I want,” he answered quietly, his voice cutting through the dark room, and her heart.

Meg’s lips parted but no sound came out. She balled her hands into fists and pressed them against her thighs. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Things would work out. They always worked out. She just had to be strong. Had to stay calm. “We will get through this.”