Happily Never After. Kathleen O'Brien
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Though she couldn’t see his face, she could tell by the movement of his shoulders that he was crying. The four notes grew louder, more strident.
“Jacob.” She put her hand on his arm, which was as hard as rock. “Jacob, don’t.”
His fingers paused, and as the seconds ticked away she felt the tension drain from his muscles. He lifted his head, and his face was running with tears.
“I haven’t slept, Kelly,” he said, as if they were alone in the room. “I can’t. I wake up, and she’s not there.”
“I know,” she said. Had he really not slept in four days? No wonder he couldn’t cope. “You miss her. But you need to sleep, Jacob. She wouldn’t want you to make yourself sick.”
“I don’t care what she wants,” he said, his voice harsh, though new tears kept coursing down his flooded cheeks. “She left me. She didn’t care what I needed.”
“Oh, Jacob. You know that’s not true.”
He buried his face in his arm again, unwilling to listen. Kelly scanned the room, checking all the shocked and pitying faces. Was Jacob’s doctor here? His minister? This was grief more profound, more complex, than she had any idea how to handle.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up.
Tom was standing behind her. He tilted his head slightly, asking her to move away and let him in. Reluctantly, she did so. At the very least, it would free her to call the doctor.
“Jacob, listen to me,” Tom said with a voice that was amazingly gentle. “Let’s go upstairs. You’re falling apart, pal. You’ve got to get some sleep.”
Jacob frowned, but to Kelly’s surprise he seemed to be listening. “How?” he asked, sounding like a child who would like to obey but doesn’t understand what’s required. “How?”
“Simple.” Tom held out his hand. Dangling from two fingers was a big gold-labeled bottle of scotch. He must have grabbed it from the liquor cabinet beside the sofa. “We’ll get wasted. We’ll drink till we drop, just like the old days.”
Jacob blinked. Tom reached out, hooked one hand under his friend’s elbow and urged him to his feet. Jacob nodded wearily. He rubbed his hand over his face, wiping away the tears just as if he had a handkerchief, though his palm was bare.
He put his other hand on Tom’s shoulder. He already looked a little drunk, though Kelly knew it was simple exhaustion.
“Did I tell you?” Jacob frowned hard, staring with glazed eyes at Tom. “Did I tell you Lily was going to have a baby?”
In the back of the room someone sobbed softly.
“No,” Tom said, never relinquishing eye contact with Jacob. “You didn’t tell me. Come on upstairs, and let’s talk about it.”
When they were gone, and the voices in the room began to murmur again, Kelly turned and shoved through the swinging door into the kitchen. She put the heels of her hands on the blue granite counter and tried to take deep breaths. Help him, Lily, she prayed silently. Help him to go to sleep.
“You should stay away from that one.”
Kelly’s head jerked up. She had come stumbling in here, half-blinded by emotion. She hadn’t considered the possibility that the kitchen was already occupied.
What awful luck. It was Trig Boccardi, who lived next door to the Mellons. He had gone to high school with Sophie and Kelly, where he’d been the wrestling team’s star. His friends called him Trig, short for Trigonometry, the same way they might call a fat boy “Slim.”
He’d always been slow, but Kelly always wondered if he might have found himself in one headlock too many, because by the time he had gotten out of high school he was downright weird.
And he’d carried a torch for Sophie for about fifteen years now, although she’d never given him a single ounce of encouragement. The day Sophie’s wedding fell through, Trig had been so angry with Tom that they’d had to call a doctor to sedate him.
She’d never been comfortable around him, but she tried to compose her features. “What do you mean, Trig? Stay away from what one?”
“It’s not safe to be with any of them now,” he said, and the flat warning in his voice made her skin crawl. He frequently didn’t quite make sense. Was this just another of those times?
He still wore his sandy-brown hair in the buzz cut the wrestling coach had required and his muscles were still cut sharp and powerful, as if he thought he might be called on to throw down a few opponents on the mat at any moment.
“People have to pay for their sins,” he said. “And you’d better stay away from him. He’s dangerous when he’s angry. He’ll make you pay.”
Usually she tried to be pleasant to Trig when she encountered him, but today she’d had enough. Today she had nothing left.
“Who?” Her voice was sharp. “Who is dangerous? Who will make me pay?”
Trig rolled his eyes upward.
“Someone upstairs? Who? Do you mean Jacob? Do you mean Tom?”
Trig shook his head slowly. “I mean God.”
WHEN JACOB WAS SUFFICIENTLY talked out and liquored up, which took about three hours, he collapsed into a deep, noisy sleep. And then, wishing he could do the same, Tom went back downstairs.
Everyone was long gone, the house straightened up to perfection. All that remained was a refrigerator full of plastic-covered food and a note from Kelly that read simply “Jacob’s friend Joe will be coming over at nine. I’d appreciate it if you can stay till then. If you can’t, please call me.” And then her telephone number.
It was eight o’clock already. And he didn’t have anywhere to go—just an empty hotel room that he hadn’t even checked into yet. So why not stay?
He started to throw away the note, but he changed his mind and pocketed it instead. He didn’t delude himself. He liked knowing he had her number, even though he’d be a damn fool if he ever called it.
Fresh air. That’s what he needed. Jacob’s pain had filled that bedroom like a poisonous gas, and Tom had been breathing it for hours now. He didn’t know how Jacob had survived the past four days, with nothing but agony for air.
Just one more reason never to get married. Tom had been keeping a list for a decade—and he was up in the hundreds now.
The backyard garden of the Griggs’ house was beautiful, but right now Tom needed open spaces with no walls. He made himself a cup of coffee and went out front to drink it.
He plopped down on the stoop, undoubtedly verboten in a swank neighborhood like this, but so what? He put the coffee on the step below him, between his feet, and stared out into the cool, clear evening.
He liked autumn in Georgia. He liked the crisp little silver stars, swimming in the black sky like minnows. He liked the breeze in the Chinese elm, which hadn’t lost its leaves yet. He liked the smell of wood fires burning in nearby houses.
He shut his eyes. Several streets over, someone’s dog was barking. The sound echoed on the sides of hills three miles away, and the dog must have enjoyed that, because he kept barking. Maybe he imagined he was a wolf.
After ten minutes or so, when the coffee was drained, Tom felt better. His head had cleared enough that he could think.
And the first thing he thought of was Kelly.
On the surface, she hadn’t changed much at all. Still skinny and unaffected, still not quite sure how to control her long, curly hair. Still an honest look in those wide blue eyes, and a vulnerable bow at the top of those full, pink lips. Still about ten times sexier than she had any idea she was.
But on the inside, things had definitely changed.
For one thing,