Jack nodded again. He stood up, and Dad did, too, and Jack hugged his father. Dad, who was as solid and enduring as an oak tree. “I don’t want you to worry about me, Dad,” he whispered.
“That’s ridiculous,” Dad murmured, hugging him back. “I’m your father. Mrs. J.’s your stepmother. Your sisters adore you, and you’ve always been here for us. Let us take care of you for once.”
* * *
HONOR HAD A LIST, of course, complete with phone numbers, emails and office hours. “Come on, brother,” she said after she handed it to him. “Let’s walk up to the cemetery.” She clipped the leash on Spike, who bounced and pranced and bit Jack’s boot.
The night was cool, but spring was coming. Tomorrow, Ned was planning to tap the trees so they could make maple syrup, and in another month, the Hollands would gather for the blessing of the crops. Pops was still with them, Faith and Levi’s baby would be here, Tom and Honor were married now and Charlie was living with them full-time.
Josh would be dead by then, Jack guessed.
Honor opened the gate to the cemetery, and they sat on one of the benches. There were flowers on Mom’s grave. There always were.
“You gonna lecture me, too?” Jack asked.
“I’m so good at it,” Honor said, linking her arm through his.
“True.” Her dog nuzzled its way into Jack’s coat. “You and Tom seem happy.”
“Thanks. We are.”
“Charlie, too.”
“He’s pretty great.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I was surprised you and Em broke up,” she said. “She seemed kind of perfect for you.”
An image of Emmaline coming through his door, a smile on her face, rolled over Jack like a truck. Her in the bathtub, up to her neck in suds. In the hotel room in Malibu, that smear of chocolate on her cheek. Laughing with her teenagers.
“I didn’t really plan on this,” he admitted. “It’s not like it was with Hadley.”
“Thank God,” Honor said, her tone dry.
“If I ask you a question, will you tell the rest of the Coven?”
“It depends on how much you spend on my next birthday present.” She nudged his arm. “No, of course I won’t tell.”
“How did you know with Tom?”
She didn’t answer right away, which was good, because unlike his other two sisters, it meant she was actually thinking. Pru would say something about the raw animal attraction between her and Carl. Faith would say something dreamy and mushy.
Honor would tell him the truth.
“I guess it was pretty simple. I pictured what I wanted in the future, and he was it. His smile, his laugh, his voice. I couldn’t see me with anyone else. We, um...we didn’t have the most typical start, but when it came down to it, he was just...the one.”
There had been a night with Emmaline...a completely unremarkable night at his house. He’d cooked dinner, and she told him about a call involving a squirrel that had somehow gotten into Barb Nelson’s china cabinet, and the subsequent rubble the rodent caused. Jack had laughed long and hard when she told him how she had to trip Everett and take his gun so he wouldn’t shoot the wee beastie, Barb snapping pictures for the newspaper. They’d watched a movie after dinner. Well, half a movie. Maybe a third, because they’d ended up doing it on the couch, Em’s skin so soft, her eyes big and dark.
An unremarkable night, except it was perfect.
“I screwed up with her,” Jack said. “I’m not sure how to fix that.”
“Well, you’re a guy. Of course you screwed up. It goes with the territory.” She straightened up. “But you’ll make things right.” She stood up. “I have to get back to the house. Tree Bark Man is on, and I don’t want to miss it. Why don’t you come watch it with us?”
At that moment, his phone rang.
Jeremy Lyon. “Hey. What’s up?” Jack asked.
“Can you get to the hospital?” Jeremy said. “Gloria Deiner wants to see you, and you should come now.”
“On my way,” he said, hanging up. “Sorry, Honor. I have to run. Another time, okay?”
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“I think so. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
* * *
THE ELEVATOR DOORS OPENED to the fourth floor. Jeremy was right there, waiting, looking oddly official in his white doctor’s coat. “Josh is winding down,” he said without preamble. “His parents are going to take him off life support, and Gloria asked to see you.”
“Okay.”
“You ready for this, Jack?”
“No. But yes.” In fact, his heart was pounding, and his T-shirt was damp with sweat.
Jeremy smiled sadly, gave his shoulder a squeeze and led the way down the dimly lit hallway. “Gloria? Jack’s here,” he said outside room 405.
There was a whispered exchange, and then Mr. Deiner came out. He nodded at Jack, his eyes wet, and went down the hall.
“Come in,” Mrs. Deiner said.
“I’ll go stay with Alan,” Jeremy said. He lowered his voice. “Good luck.”Jack went in.
And there he was. For the first time in all these weeks, Jack saw Josh Deiner, the boy whose life he didn’t save.
What was left of Josh, that was. Weeks on a feeding tube, weeks of profound brain damage and respirators and muscle wasting had reduced Josh to near-skeletal proportions.
Jack looked at Mrs. Deiner, who was staring at her son. “Mrs. Deiner?”
She didn’t look at him. “I thought you might want to see him,” she said.
“Yes,” Jack said, then cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“Then have a seat,” she said. Her voice was oddly calm. “You can talk to him if you want. They say hearing is the last thing to go.”
Jack sat on the hard wooden chair. Mrs. Deiner didn’t say anything else. The rhythmic wheeze of the respirator counted the seconds.
It was hard to see past the medical equipment, and the spooky, half-closed eyes. The respirator obscured much of Josh’s face. His hands curled inward, and his arms seemed too long, they were so thin.
But his eyelashes were long and blond, and he looked more like a child than the eighteen-year-old Jack had pulled from the lake. He had a freckle under his ear.
“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He put his hand over Josh’s. The skin was cool and too smooth.
And then Jack bent his head and covered his mouth with one hand so Josh’s mother wouldn’t hear him crying. But the hot tears spilled out of his eyes, and even though it had been twenty years since Jack had cried, he couldn’t now seem to stop. The best he could do was try to keep quiet, even as his shoulders shook.
This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
“Was he scared?”
Jack straightened up and cleared his throat. “No,” he said, his voice husky. “He was unconscious.”
Mrs. Deiner adjusted the blanket, pulling it over Josh’s sunken chest. She smoothed his hair back, her hand lingering for a minute on her son’s forehead. “I don’t want him to die,” she said, then gave Jack an almost embarrassed smile. “Obviously.” Her eyes filled. “Even if he stayed like this, I’d take care of him. I wouldn’t mind. I’m his mother. That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
Jack nodded, unable to speak.
“But he’s dying anyway. He never did listen to me.” She stared at her son, petting his too-long hair. “I know you did your best, Jack,” she said without looking up. “Thank you for trying.”
Once again, Jack bent his head and gripped the cold metal bar of the bed hard.
And then Gloria Deiner came to his side of the bed and put her hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You should go now,” she said.
Jack nodded. He stood up, then kissed Josh on the forehead. He turned and hugged the boy’s mother, felt her sob against him. Tears sliced down his face again. “I’m so sorry,” he said once more.
“I know,” she whispered. “Me, too.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
ON AN OBSCENELY sunny day in the last week of winter, when it seemed impossible that the birds could be singing and the sky so pure and blue, Josh Deiner was buried.
The whole town turned out for his funeral. Em was on traffic duty and led the procession to the cemetery. She parked the cruiser outside the gates, leaving the lights flashing, and got out. Right behind her was the funeral home limo, and as Mr. and Mrs. Deiner got out, Em swallowed hard. Mr. Deiner was bent by the weight of his grief, bowed like an old tree that would fall in the next storm, and Gloria looked right through Em without a flicker of recognition, her face tight, lips trembling.
Em’s chest ached with suppressed sobs.
The entire senior class was there, each kid holding a white rose. Alyssa Pierson walked past, flanked by her parents, tears streaming down her face. Mr. Pierson nodded to Em, and Em murmured a hello. Mrs. Pierson had called Em to tell her Alyssa was doing better, and, indeed, the girl looked less unkempt. Devastated, of course. Everyone was, because though Josh wasn’t the best kid, it was an unavoidable, wrenching truth—today, two parents were burying their only child. Josh would never get to be more than a reckless kid who broke his parents’ hearts, ruined their lives, leaving a legacy of “don’t be like me.”
Emmaline lifted her sunglasses and wiped her eyes.
There were the Hollands, and her heart ached even more.
Jack’s blond hair shone in the sunlight. He wore sunglasses and a suit, easy to spot, since he was taller than most. Did the Deiners know he was here? Please, God, there wouldn’t be another scene like the one at the hospital, when Mrs. Deiner had screamed at him. He was too far away for Em to tell if he had that awful haunted look in his eyes that she’d seen so many times these past couple of months. This funeral must be agonizing for him.
Levi stood next to him, maybe as a guard, handsome and solemn in his dress uniform. He said something, eliciting a nod from Jack. Faith was right there, as well, recognizable by her red hair and enormous belly, and she put her hand on her brother’s arm. Any day now for her, and it was good, a new baby in that family. Something for Jack to smile about, because that smile was one of the best things in the world, and, God, Emmaline missed seeing it, missed it so much in that second that it was hard to breathe.
Reverend White began the prayers, and Em looked down. She could hear the muffled sobs of some of Josh’s classmates.
“Em?” Everett’s voice was a whisper over the radio. He was at the tail end of the funeral procession, which curved around the cemetery.
“Yeah?” she whispered back.
“This is so sad.” It sounded like he might be crying.
“I know, buddy. Hang in there.”
A short time later, the crowd began walking slowly back to their cars. A few people stopped at other graves, brushing off some leaves or bowing their heads in prayer. A little boy, maybe four years old, ran ahead of his parents, laughing. He grabbed a pinwheel off one grave, and his mother ran up to him and put it back, then knelt down for a lecture.
Was that what Josh had been like? His mom had said he’d been full of mischief, always naughty, but with a smile that let him get away with it. From now on, Gloria Deiner would have to look at other children, and Em knew she’d always compare them to her son, her lost boy.
“Hi, Emmaline.”
Em started a little. “Hey, Jack,” she whispered around the lump in her throat. “How are you?”
He took off his sunglasses, and, though he looked tired, his eyes were clear. “I’m doing okay. Better.”
“Good. That’s...that’s good, Jack.” She paused, her hand going to her Taser. Nervous habit. God, she was as bad as Everett. “It’s nice of you to come today.”