There were six or seven people here. Two men, one extremely attractive... Too soon to fix Kate up? Yes, of course it was. Jeesh. I sounded like Gram-Gram. The rest were women, one about Kate's age, one older, one younger.
"Hello, I'm Lileth," said one of women in a smooth voice. "I'm a licensed clinical social worker, and I run this group. You're welcome here, and I'm so glad you came. Here are the rules." She smiled sadly, a professional mourner's smile, and handed us a ream of papers.
"Wow. Lots of, uh, information. I'm Ainsley, and this is my sister, Kate," I said. Kate said nothing, so I felt obliged to fill the gap. "Her husband died a few weeks ago."
Kate cleared her throat. "Yes. April 6."
"Nathan Coburn?" one of the women asked.
"Yes."
"I know his sister." She smiled.
"Hey, Kate," the hot guy said. "Sorry you belong to this shitty club. Jenny told me you might show up." He smiled.
"Hi, Leo," she said.
Right, right. He'd come to the wake with the wedding dress designer.
Who wouldn't be making my dress, as I wasn't engaged.
But it was Kate's turn to be miserable. "Is it okay if I stay? Since it's Kate's first time?" I asked Lileth.
"We prefer that you don't," she said.
Leo sighed dramatically. "It's fine with me," he said.
"Me, too," said one of the women.
"Me, too," said another.
"I don't mind," said a little old man.
"It's just that you don't share the experience," Lileth said. "And the group might not be comfortable with someone who's not a widow."
"So she's not a widow," a woman said. "Good for her. It's not like we're going to stone her."
"That's a relief," I said.
"The rules-which exist for good reason-say only widows and widowers." Lileth cocked her head, fake-smiled and waited for me to leave.
"Are you widowed?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"No. But I'm a licensed clinical social worker."
I felt myself bristling. Kate was still clutching my hand, and I liked the sense of being needed. "Think of me as a therapy dog," I said.
"Oh, let her stay, Lileth, for God's sake," one of the women said. She had a glorious Bronx accent, the orangey skin of a tanning addict and crispy dyed black hair. "We're all bored with ourselves and our whining, anyway." She patted Kate's shoulder. "So sit already, tell us your story."
Lileth didn't look happy. I hated her already.
We sat on the cold, hard folding chairs. "A few ground rules," Lileth said. "Which are covered in the information packet I just gave you. One. Our group, One Step Forward-"
"Two steps back," Leo interjected. Lileth ignored him.
"-is a safe place, and everything we share is meant for this group only. Two. Confidentiality is expected." She glared at me, as if I was live Tweeting already. "And this one time, I suppose it's all right if-I'm sorry, what's your name?"
"Ainsley."
"-if Ainsley stays. Unless anyone has a problem with that? This is your group, and if anyone has even the slightest bit of-"
"Let her stay," said the man who was not Leo. "She's pretty."
He was about eighty and gave me a smile. I smiled back. Take that, Lileth.
"Three. We take turns. Each person may choose how much to share, but everyone-"
"It's not rocket science, Lileth," Leo interrupted. "Kate, if you feel like talking, talk. You already know me a little, so I'll go first. Here's the sad story in a nutshell. My pregnant wife-Amanda-died in a car accident. I was driving. They both died, our unborn son and her." His face seemed to change without actually moving, and suddenly his tragedy, easily spoken of, filled his eyes. Filled the whole room. I teared up, trying not to picture what that day, and all the days after, must've been like.
Leo cleared his throat. "That was three years ago. And now I'm with Jenny, and she's really fantastic, but I have my moments of deep dark despair. She thought this group might help. And it has." He smiled, the sorrow shifting, if not leaving, and I found myself liking him.
I looked at my sister. Still had that deer-in-the-headlights look.
"I'm LuAnn," the orangey woman said, her Bronx accent so thick you could practically taste the Yankee Stadium hot dogs. "Cop's wife. Widow. God, I hate that word! Anyways, last year, Frank, my husband, he goes on a DV, right? Domestic violence for you civilians. Worse kind of call. Knocks on the door, the husband answers, shoots him point-blank, dead. We got four kids."
"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Kate said, her voice tight and strained.
LuAnn shook her head. "Here's the thing, Kate, hon. I am so mad at Frank, okay? Seriously. How the hell could he do this to me? If he was alive, I would kill him. I would kill him in cold blood."
"Of course you don't mean that," Lileth said, "though it's natural to indulge in-"
"Oh, give me a break here, Lileth! I'm in the anger phase today, because our son? Frankie Junior? He comes home with an F-an F!-on his math test, and I'm like, ‘If your father knew how you were screwing around, he would smack some sense into you and don't you roll your eyes at me!'"
Lileth made a sympathetic sound. "Hmm. Mmm. Children can-"
"-And Frankie Junior, he says, ‘Ma, who even cares? Dad's dead, you can't use the guilt card on me forever.' So that's what I'm dealing with. A no-good son. Who even knows with the girls? They'll probably be pregnant before long. My twelve-year-old, Marissa? She tells me she has a boyfriend, and I'm like, ‘Not while I draw breath, you don't,' and then it's tears and drama, and shit, I could use a vacation already!"
I loved her. I grinned at Kate, but she just sat there, a little frozen.
"I'm George," the older guy said. "My wife and I were married for forty-three years, and she just slipped away in her sleep. Bad heart. That was last year." He paused. "It doesn't seem possible that I've made it this long without her. Every day is so long. But I can't complain. We were lucky, Annie and me. We had a lot of good times."
My sister gave a small squeak, and I squeezed her clammy hand.
The other women went. Janette's husband died of pancreatic cancer on their fifteenth anniversary. "His last words to me were ‘I'm sorry to be dying on our special day,' and I said, ‘Well, you've always been a selfish bastard,' and he laughed, and then he just...sank a little into the pillow. He died at that exact moment. And I panicked, you know? Like, seriously? Those were my last words to him? So I grabbed him and shook him and said, ‘Hey! I love you, idiot!'" She laughed through her tears.
My sister's forehead was shiny with sweat.
"You okay?" I whispered.
She nodded.
Bree's husband died after a sheet of ice flew off the truck in front of him on Interstate 87 last winter. "It's hardest when I try to talk about him with the kids," she said to Kate. "Camden is four, Fiona's eighteen months. I don't know how to keep his memory alive. The other day, I asked Cam if he remembered the time he went fishing with Daddy, and he didn't. He's forgotten. And Fiona thinks Daddy is the word for picture. We went to Target the other day, and in the frame section, she kept pointing at the shelves and saying ‘Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?'"
Someone was panting.
It was Kate.
At first, I thought she was crying, but no, she was hyperventilating. Drenched in sweat, too. "Uh-oh," I said. "Okay, slow down. In for three, hold for three, out for three, hold for three." There was the rare occasion when Candy's profession came in handy. Panic attacks had dotted my early childhood, and she'd taught me how to breathe through them.
Kate sounded like an overheated dog in the middle of summer. "In for three, hold for three, out for three-Okay, she's gonna faint. Lean over, Kate."
Leo helped me maneuver her head between her legs. "I'm s-s-so-sorry," she managed. She gripped my hand hard enough that bones crunched. "I think I'm having a heart attack."
"Nah. Just hyperventilating," I said. "Remember me and the thunderstorms?" She nodded. "Does anyone have a paper bag?"
George (I was already crushing on him) found one, and Kate held it against her mouth, her eyes wide, face white. "In for three, hold for three, out for three, hold for three," I said, rubbing her back.
"We all lose it at one point or another," LuAnn said. "Me, the first time after Frank died, I was watching Real Housewives. We watched it together, right? So it's two weeks, maybe three, after he died, and I sit down and I say, ‘Frank! Housewives is on!' and then he doesn't come, and I actually call him again. And then it hits me. He's dead. No more TV watching together. I freak out, just like you."