The Good Wife(23)
“Not asleep?” she asked when he answered the phone.
“Nope. Just in bed, watching the news. What are you doing?”
“About to help the kids frost cookies.”
“That sounds fun.”
“Yeah.”
“So it was a good day?”
“Pretty good. Overall.” If she didn’t think about Mom, or Meg and Jack, or the fact that Boone was about to start a new season of ball, which meant he’d be traveling a lot again, and in and out of hotels, with girls and groupies camping out in the lobby, hoping to snare a player for a quick lay. Or longer. “Jack and Meg are having some serious problems,” she said, not wanting to think about girls or groupies tonight, or giving her imagination any power. There was enough real drama happening as it was.
“Jack’s not happy,” Boone said.
“Did he say that to you?”
“Yeah.”
“He told me the same thing.” She drew a breath. “He bought a house in Virginia. JJ told me tonight. I guess it’s a new thing.”
“What does Meg say about it?”
“She hasn’t brought it up, and JJ implied that Meg hadn’t made a fuss because she’s afraid Jack will leave if she does.”
“That’s ridiculous. Jack’s not an ogre. He loves Meg, and the kids.”
“You should have heard the fight tonight. It was crazy. Jack lost it. Meg was crying, and the kids were all upset—”
“They heard?”
“They couldn’t help but hear. Jack and Meg were screaming at each other in the living room and on the stairs.”
“Were our kids there?”
“Yes.”
“You should have got them out of there.”
“I wanted to, but there was nowhere to go . . . and it all happened so fast. Jack wants a divorce—”
“He said he wants a divorce?”
“No. But he did say he wants out.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah.”
“Not good.”
“I know.” They were both silent a moment and then Sarah sighed. “I can’t wait to see you, Boone. I miss you. And I hate this. It’s stressful and scary for the kids.”
“I hear that.”
“I wish we were flying home tonight.”
“You’ll be on the plane tomorrow. You’ll be back here, in your own beds tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow seems so far away.”
“It’s been a rough month, babe.”
“It has. But, Boone, everything’s easier when I’m with you.”
“I know it. And I miss you, too, hon. I’ll be very glad when you’re back home with me, where you belong.”
Four
Lauren was in bed, staring at the clock, watching the minutes tick by. 9:23. 9:28. 9:35. 9:36. 9:48. 10:00.
She needed to sleep. Her alarm went off early every morning. She wasn’t good on her feet all day without rest but tonight, the moment she tried to relax, her past returned, haunting her.
Torturing her.
This is why she’d moved. This is why she’d left Napa in the first place. She’d needed the change of scenery. Needed new activities and routines to give herself something else to think about . . . something else to do.
But at night she struggled. At night she had only time on her hands and it was too easy to lie awake in the dark, replaying that last morning with Blake over and over in her head . . . wondering if she could have done something to prevent the accident from happening . . . wishing she’d known it was her last morning with him. . . .
Unable to go there tonight, she grabbed her phone and texted her sister Lisa to see if she was still awake.
Lisa, a night owl, phoned immediately. “I was just thinking about you,” Lisa said. “Mom told me you bailed on meeting them at the cemetery.”
“I couldn’t do it.”
“What point did you turn around?”
Lauren swung her legs out of bed to sit on the edge. “When I couldn’t get out of the car at the cemetery.”
“So you made it all the way there.”
“And then I didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to put flowers on his grave. I don’t want to see his grave. He was seventeen. He shouldn’t be in the ground.”
Lisa didn’t speak for a long minute. “No,” she said heavily, breaking the silence. “He shouldn’t be. And I don’t blame you for not wanting to go. I’ve gone with Mom once, and I cried myself sick. I don’t know how they do it. But it’s important to them.”
“I’m glad they go. Makes me feel better knowing that someone is keeping an eye on things there, but I can’t see the stone. Can’t see his name and his birthdate—” Lauren bit hard into her lip, holding in the grief.