The children returned to school at the end of April and the girls’ lunches resumed. Angelica settled into her writing groove and inspiration flowed. Her Troilers and Dazzlings took on lives of their own beyond the pages and began to dominate her thoughts. Dreams of her book on happiness were forgotten in the flurry of her new fantasy. She didn’t know what the secret was; if anything, her affair with Jack had left her more confused than ever. What she did know was that loving her work, her children, her husband, and her friends gave her a cozy sense of contentment. If it wasn’t for the little nugget rubbing on the tender tissue of her flesh she would have believed herself as happy as any person could hope to be.
But then Anna gave her the news she had dreaded.
Angelica was alone at her desk. The children were at school, Olivier at work. She had felt uneasy all morning, unable to write for a heavy sense of foreboding that strained every nerve, unable to decipher why she felt so low and so flustered. When the telephone rang, she knew. Her throat had constricted with grief even before she heard Anna’s voice.
“Angelica? It’s Anna.” Angelica sensed her sorrow bleeding down the line from Rosenbosch, and tears rose from behind her carefully constructed dam and spilled freely onto her cheeks. “Jack passed away this morning.”
“Oh God.” Angelica’s hand shot to her heart.
“He was very calm and very submissive. I held one hand, the girls the other. We told him how much we loved him and that, although we wouldn’t be able to see him anymore, we’d feel his spirit here among the vines and in the sunsets he so loved. He smiled. He had no strength left, but he smiled, and I saw our old familiar Jack there for the briefest moment. Then he took his last breath, peacefully, without any pain.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s worse for the girls. They loved their daddy so much. I knew you’d want to know.”
“I should have called him . . .”
“Don’t say that. Put your energy into positive things. Send him loving thoughts for he hasn’t gone far, just out of sight.”
“I deserted him at his most needy.”
“He understood.”
“I think of him every day, Anna.”
“And he thought of you. He talked about you often, but never with regret. So you must do the same. Treasure the memories. Your short time together was precious. Love and longing will be the forces that reunite you one day. Don’t worry about that. You will meet again.” She laughed in that light, untroubled way of hers. “I hope we do, too, Angelica. You’re more than welcome here at Rosenbosch whenever you feel ready. Jack would want you to come back.”
She swallowed hard. “When’s the funeral?”
“Tomorrow. We’re going to bury him on the hillside above Rosenbosch.”
She knew it was impossible for her to be there. “Will you do something for me, Anna?”
“Of course.”
“Put a sprig of sage on his coffin.” She closed her eyes. “With that I’ll bid him good-bye.”
Angelica spent the rest of the day crying into her pillow. She had accused him of selfishness, but her own selfishness was shameful. Would it really have hurt to have telephoned him once in a while and e-mailed her love? Surely, the wishes of a dying man were more important than her own. She had the rest of her life to give to Olivier and their children; Jack had had only months.
At three she went to pick up the children. Candace was standing talking to Scarlet and Letizia, waiting for the big doors to open and release their offspring into the bright spring sunshine.
Candace hurried over when she registered Angelica’s stricken face. “What’s happened?” she demanded. “Who’s died?”
“Jack . . .” Angelica could not speak.
“Oh my God. Jack’s dead? Truly?”
Angelica nodded and fell against her, sobbing.
Letizia and Scarlet gathered round, concerned. “What’s happened?”
“Jack Meyer has died,” Candace replied, wrapping her arms around Angelica.
“Christ!” Scarlet swore, blanching. “I don’t believe it.”
“Who’s Jack Meyer?” Letizia hissed.
“A South African friend of ours,” said Scarlet. “The people Angelica stayed with on her book tour. I knew he’d had cancer, but I thought he was in remission.”
“It came back,” said Angelica, pulling away and wiping her eyes. “He died this morning.”
“You remember, he had the hots for Angelica,” Scarlet reminded Letizia.
“But of course,” said Letizia emphatically, putting her hand on Angelica’s shoulder. “Why don’t you let me take Isabel and Joe?”