*
For the next few days, Jude made a herculean effort to act like her old self. She wasn’t that woman, of course, but she wanted—this one time—to think about her son instead of her daughter. In the old days—only months ago now, a lifetime—she would have thrown a huge “good luck in college / going away” party for her kids. Now, it took everything inside of her to invite a few friends over to say good-bye to Zach. Honestly, she didn’t want to do even that, but Miles insisted.
On the big day, she took a shower and washed and dried her hair. When she looked in the mirror, she was surprised by the thin, fragile-looking face that stared back at her. Too many sleepless nights had left dark circles under her eyes, and even in this final week of August, after a long, hot summer, she was as pale as chalk.
She brought out her makeup kit and went to work, and by three o’clock, when the doorbell rang, she looked almost like her old self.
“They’re here,” Miles said, coming up behind her. He slipped his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her neck. “Are you ready?”
“Sure,” she said, forcing a smile. In truth, she felt a fluttering of panic. The thought of people around her, of having to pretend she was okay, getting over it, moving on, made her hyperventilate.
Miles took her by the hand and led her down the hall to the front door.
Molly and Tim stood on the front porch; both were smiling just a little too brightly. They had come bearing food, with their kids in a group behind them. The freezer was already full of foil-wrapped food that people had brought after the accident. Jude couldn’t look at any of it, couldn’t eat a bite of it. Just the sight of foil made her queasy.
“Hey, guys,” Miles said, stepping aside to let them in. “It’s good to see you.”
Instead of welcoming them, Jude crossed her arms and glanced out at her garden.
Prickly, ugly weeds grew everywhere. Her once-beloved plants seemed to be climbing over one another in a rush to leave their confinement.
“Jude?”
Jude blinked and saw Molly standing beside her. Had she been talking? “I’m sorry,” she said. “Senior moment. What did you say?”
Molly and Miles exchanged worried glances.
“Come on, honey,” Molly said, putting an arm around her.
Jude let her friend sweep her up like a warm tide and carry her into the front room, where a Good luck, Zach banner hung across the mantel. Miles put music on the stereo, but at the first song—Sheryl Crow singing “The First Cut Is the Deepest”—he snapped it off and turned on the television instead. The Seahawks were playing football.
One by one, Zach’s friends filed into the house. They took up space, these boys and girls she’d known for so long. She’d been with most of them since kindergarten. She’d fed them and driven them to and from events and even occasionally advised them. Now, like Zach, they were getting ready to leave the safety of the island and go off to college.
Minus one.
Miles came up beside Jude, touched her arm. “Is he going to come down?”
She looked up at him, and in his eyes she saw the same thought that dogged her: the old Zach would never have been late to his own party. “He said he would. I’ll go get him,” she said.
She nodded and left, realizing too late that she’d just walked away from Molly. She should have excused herself.
Honestly, it was hard to remember things like that these days.
At Zach’s closed door, she reached into her pocket—always full now of aspirin—and she chewed one. The terrible taste actually helped.
Then she knocked on the door.
There was no answer, so she knocked again, harder, and said, “I’m coming in.”
He was slumped in his gaming chair, wearing headphones and wielding a controller like a fighter pilot. On the TV screen in front of him, a remarkably realistic tank rolled down a barren hillside, gun blazing.