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“It will get better,” Johnny said, hating his weakness.
“Will it?” Wills said. “How?”
Lucas looked up at him. “Yeah, how, Dad?”
He looked at Marah, who looked so cold and pale she might have been carved of ice.
“Sleep will help,” she said dully, and Johnny was pathetically grateful to her. He knew he was losing it, failing, that he was supposed to provide support, not accept it, but he was empty inside.
Just empty.
Tomorrow he’d be better. Do better.
But when he saw the sad disappointment on his children’s faces, he knew what a lie that was.
I’m sorry, Katie.
“Good night,” he said in a thick voice.
Lucas looked up at him. “I love you, Daddy. ”
Johnny dropped slowly to his knees and opened his arms. His sons pushed into his embrace and he held them tightly. “I love you, too. ” Over their heads, he stared up at Marah, who appeared unmoved. She stood straight and tall, her shoulders back.
“Marah?”
“Don’t bother,” she said softly.
“Your mom made us promise to be strong. Together. ”
“Yeah,” she said, her lower lip trembling just a little. “I know. ”
“We can do it,” he said, although he heard the unsteadiness of his voice.
“Yeah. Sure we can,” Marah said with a sigh. Then: “Come on, boys, let’s get ready for bed. ”
Johnny knew he should stay, comfort Marah, but he had no words.
Instead, he took the coward’s route and left the room, closing the door behind him.
He went downstairs, and ignoring everyone, pushed through the crowd. He grabbed his coat from the laundry room and went outside.
It was full-on night now, and there wasn’t a star in the sky. A thin layer of clouds obscured them. A cool breeze ruffled through the trees on his property line, made the skirtlike boughs dance.
In the tree limbs overhead, Mason jars hung from strands of ropy twine, their insides full of black stones and votive candles. How many nights had he and Kate sat out here beneath a tiara of candlelight, listening to the waves hitting their beach and talking about their dreams?
He grabbed the porch rail to steady himself.
“Hey. ”
Her voice surprised and irritated him. He wanted to be alone.
“You left me dancing all by myself,” Tully said, coming up beside him. She had a blue wool blanket wrapped around her; its end dragged on the ground at her bare feet.
“It must be intermission,” he said, turning to her.
“What do you mean?”
He could smell tequila on her breath and wondered how drunk she was. “The Tully Hart center-of-attention show. It must be intermission. ”
