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“I haven’t called Darcy or stopped by her house.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“I don’t want to bother her.”
“Try again.”
I glared at him. “I don’t know what to say to her…”
“You don’t have to say anything to her. You can just sit with her.”
“Wouldn’t that be weird?”
“Might be weird, but it’s better than trying to ignore her loss altogether.”
“I’m not ignoring it.”
“Maybe not, but you haven’t gone over there because you’re thinking about how all this affectsyou. But it’s not about you—it’s abouther.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m right, aren’t I? You don’t want to see her because you’re worried about what you’ll say, not how she’ll feel.”
“Well, it’s official I feel even worse now. Thanks.”
“But you’ll go over to her house tomorrow, won’t you?”
“Yeah, I will.”
By nine the next morning, I was standing on Darcy’s porch steps. I paused for a moment and then took a deep breath before knocking on the door.
When no one answered, I rang the bell.
It took a few minutes before the door opened. Darcy was in a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt and had answered the door without a stitch of makeup on.
She blinked exhausted eyes. “Hey.”
“Hi. Sorry to show up unannounced.”
“Oh. That’s okay.” She stepped back. “Come on in.”
The house was somber and quiet. “Where are the kids?”
“Day camp,” she explained.
We stared at each other and then I said, “I’m sorry I haven’t called.”
“It’s fine. You helped Brooklyn with the food. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“Doesn’t feel like enough,” I murmured.
She rubbed her eyes. “There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do. It is what it is. The only one who gets it is Rach, and frankly, she’s the only one I can tolerate being around right now. The rest of you guys are so damn happy it makes me homicidal.”
I swallowed.
She cracked a smile. “It was a joke.”
“It was funny,” I said with a straight face.
