The Good Wife(50)

Sarah shuddered. She didn’t want to know more, didn’t want any of the details. It was too horrifying, too overwhelming to imagine her sisters going through it, living with it, but then, on the other hand, she ought to know. Weren’t sisters supposed to know these things?

But after two weeks of being here in California, with her sisters, Sarah was tapped out. Families, especially big Irish-American families filled with opinionated sisters, were a lot of work.

Meg’s voice in the entryway caught Sarah’s attention. She glanced at Meg, who stood surrounded by her kids as people pressed toward them, offering condolences.

Sarah didn’t know how Meg did it. Gabi had been hysterical during the funeral service, lying across her mother’s lap, sobbing uncontrollably.

Jack’s parents had been clearly uncomfortable with Gabi’s grief, and Jack’s mother, Abigail, even said something under her breath to Meg about the girl’s excessive display of emotion. Meg had simply looked into her mother-in-law’s eyes until Abigail dropped her gaze.

Score one for Mary Margaret, Sarah had thought.

Meg was just as amazing now with the people gathered around her. She was Mary Margaret at her best, talking, listening, warmly thanking people for coming. It’s what Mom would have done. But then, as the oldest child, Meg had learned from the best.

Sarah put Ella down. “Let’s find you something to eat,” she said, taking her daughter’s hand.

“I’m not hungry,” Ella said, backing closer to Sarah as two big teenage boys passed by. Ella was always more clingy when strangers were around. Sarah hoped she would one day develop more confidence, but she hadn’t yet.

“I bet those are JJ’s friends,” Sarah said, smoothing her daughter’s dark hair. “Do you think they play baseball like JJ and Daddy?”

Ella barely glanced at the boys. “I don’t know.” She tugged on her mom’s hand. “Can I go upstairs? Play with Molly?” she asked, referring to the brown-haired, blue-eyed American Girl doll she got for Christmas and insisted on taking everywhere.

“Do you want to get her and bring her downstairs?”

Ella’s gaze scanned the room. “I just want to go upstairs.”

“Okay. I’ll be down here if you need me.”

* * *

Twenty minutes into the reception, Lauren moved through the crowded living room, doing her first sweep for dirty plates, discarded, lipstick-smudged wineglasses, and balled-up cocktail napkins that would inevitably hide a toothpick or two. But most people hadn’t eaten yet and she succeeded in rescuing only two wine goblets and one lonely plate.

She couldn’t wait to escape the living room, though, and focused on breathing through her mouth to avoid inhaling the fragrant lilies, roses, and gardenias used in the lavish floral arrangements that covered every flat surface.

So many flowers.

So many people.

So much like Blake’s funeral.

But she wouldn’t think about Blake, not today. She was just going to work, and stay busy, and get through the day so she could return to her little apartment in Alameda tonight.

A firm hand reached out, stopping her. “Lauren.”

She looked up into Chad Hallahan’s eyes. “Hi,” she said, surprised, and yet not surprised to see him, as the Hallahans had insisted on donating all the wine for the reception today, and Chad had personally dropped the bottles off this morning. He’d worn jeans and a T-shirt earlier. Now he was dressed in black trousers and a white dress shirt, open at the collar, and looked as blond, bronzed, and ruggedly handsome as ever.

“How’s Meg doing?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Haven’t really talked to her today. There are always so many people around her.”

He looked away, his brow creasing. “Hate this,” he muttered.

“It’s horrible,” she agreed, thinking that tongues would soon be wagging. Over the summer, even though Lauren had been grieving Blake’s death, she’d still caught some of the gossip about Chad and Meg. Napa was a small town and all the locals knew one another’s business, good and bad, and so through the hot summer months, people discussed Meg’s affair with her boss, Chad, speculating about what had happened, as well as what would happen in the future. Would Jack Roberts divorce his wife or would he take her back? Would Meg leave her husband for Chad? Would Meg and Jack be able to work it out?

And now Chad was here, which would result in more gossip.

“I’d heard you’d moved to Berkeley,” Chad said.

“Alameda,” she corrected. “Moved in September. I’m managing a little New Orleans–style café there.”