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“Yes. I set the alarm off by accident. Please make it stop.”
“What is your safe word?”
“Ashlyn.” Ironic. His daughter is the safe word. If there is trouble, the panic word is “Kate.” He thought that was funny, at the time.
“We’ve notified the authorities this is a false alarm. Thank you, Mrs.Nelson. Have a great night.”
The sirens have stopped, and the lights return to normal nighttime setting, but the music is still blasting. “I don’t know the password. John must have changed it.”
“Can you call him? Get him to tell you the new one.” He’s yelling, and he looks at me like I’m an idiot.
“He’s dead,” I yell.
Just then the music stops. Thank goodness.
“Praise the Lord,” the guard says simply while shaking his head. “You gonna be OK?”
“Yes, thank you.” I close the front door. I turn to the stairs and note the wine mess everywhere. Sonja will be here tomorrow.
She can deal with it.
I’m beginning to hate my life about now, and that’s not good for anybody. Just ask John.
CHAPTER 27
KATE
It’s one habit I cannot break. Every morning I roll to my right, and I’m stunned when I feel the cold sheets and realize John’s side of the bed is empty. I have to remind myself John is gone. It’s funny how much muscle memory guides us. I know, intellectually, he’ll never be coming back. Ever. Yet I reach for him.
I don’t want to imagine John as a pile of ash. But I can’t help it. I do. I know he didn’t feel anything, especially not the fire. I want to know if he felt the pain of a heart attack—the official cause of death according to the death certificate—but no one knows. Tish told us she was asleep upstairs. That she left John asleep on the couch downstairs, passed out because he drank too much. Poor John.
I make my way out of bed and into the bathroom. I avoid looking into his empty closet because it is a reminder that he is gone forever, the shelves holding only a thin layer of dust.
I’m brushing my teeth when I see Ashlyn’s reflection in the bathroom mirror. She’s already dressed in a black suit, her long hair pulled into a high ponytail.
“You’re ready early,” I manage before finishing up.
“I’m going to go over to the cemetery. I’ll meet you there,” she says, and there won’t be a discussion.
“No problem. I’ll catch up with you. I know it’s a tough day, honey,” I say, careful to keep my tone neutral. I don’t want a fight, not today.
“You’ll be OK getting there?” She is about to add something else but shakes her head.
“Yes, no problem.” I check my makeup and decide to apply more. My typical minimalist approach doesn’t cover the sudden loss of color in my cheeks, the circles under my eyes.
“I love you, Mom,” she says, and then she’s gone.
My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter. It’s Bob Atlas, our corporate attorney and longtime friend to both John and me.
“Glad I caught you. We need to talk.” Bob doesn’t waste time on niceties. That is fine with me. Today, I welcome the business distraction.
“Bob, John’s funeral is in an hour.” I take a breath and let out a sigh.
“Yes, I know. I’ll be there.” Bob sighs in return. “Can I give you a ride over?”
That sounds much better than driving and arriving alone. Corporate counsel seems the perfect escort today. “Sure.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. And Kate. I am so sorry. Heart attacks sneak up on people all the time. I just never pictured that could happen to John.” He hangs up before I can reply.
