Five
Diana popped her head into the office of her department head, a woman named Sheila. She could see from Diana’s expression
that she was in some distress.
“Family emergency,” Diana said. “I’m gone.”
“What’s happened?” Sheila asked. “Is there anything I can—”
Diana kept on walking. She hurriedly crossed the municipal building’s parking lot, phone in hand, bringing up Gage’s number
on her cell. Once in her car, she tapped it and let it ring five times before it went to voicemail. She ended the call without
leaving one and then entered his number again. If he was ignoring her, repeatedly calling would send the message to pick up.
Four rings into the second call, he answered.
“Yeah?”
“You home?” she asked.
“Not exactly.”
What the hell did that mean? Diana wondered. You were either home or you weren’t.
“So you’re almost home?”
“Kind of heading that way.” She thought she could hear the wheels of his skateboard rolling along asphalt. How did he do that?
Talk on a phone and whiz along on that thing at the same time? As dangerous as she considered his skateboard to be, at least
he hadn’t yet saved up enough money to buy one of those one-wheel gadgets, a self-balancing electric skateboard with a single
wheel that he’d been eyeing online.
“Got something else to do first.”
“Do it later. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”
“Aren’t you at work?”
“Your dad called. There’s been some kind of trouble with your grandfather.”
A pause. Then, “What kind of trouble?”
She didn’t hear the skateboard wheels now. He must have stopped.
“It’s not something I want to get into on the phone so—”
“Are you there?”
“Where?”
“At Grampa’s?”
“No. I—but your father called and—”
“Dad’s there?”
“He was. He—”
“Tell me what happened.”
Diana was starting to feel she couldn’t hold the truth back. “Gage, I’m so sorry, but your grandfather passed.”
Nothing.
“Gage?”
Nothing.
“You hear what I said? He’s passed away.”
She was already regretting telling him this way. She wanted to be able to look into his eyes, to take him into her arms if
he started to cry. He liked to think he was an adult, that he didn’t need to be treated like a kid anymore, but he was still
fourteen, and he hadn’t lost anyone this important to him yet. She tried to picture him now, his face cracking, eyes welling
up with tears.
“Gage?”
“I’m here.”
“You okay?”
“Seriously?”
“I know, I know, stupid question. Where are you?”
“Just . . . around. I’ll be home soon.”
“Are you su—”
“Where’s Grandma?”
“Dad’s gone to get her.”
“Grandma didn’t find him?”
“No, she wasn’t—”
“How did— I mean, how did anybody—”
“Your dad dropped by.”
“Shit,” Gage said.
Any other time, Diana might have called him on that kind of language. If there was ever a time to let something slide—
“I gotta go,” Gage said.
“Gage, wait, listen, why don’t—”
He was gone.
“Damn it,” Diana said aloud. I should have waited. Now he was out there, dealing with his grief alone, tears marring his vision as he rode that goddamn skateboard down busy
streets.
Her phone rang.
“Yeah?”
“She’s not here.” Reece.
“Wait, what?”
“She didn’t wait for me. She’s gone.”
Diana’s mind raced. If she were Catherine, what would she do?
“I bet she went home. Didn’t want to wait for you.”
Reece considered that. “Maybe.”
“I got Gage.”
“He’s with you?”
“I got hold of him. On his cell.”
“But he doesn’t know yet—”
“I told him.”
“Over the phone?”
“I didn’t get into details, but I told him his grandfather was dead.”
“Over the phone?”
“You told me to let him know.” Her voice bristled, but she was also feeling defensive.
“No, look, I’m sorry. I’m just— I feel like my head’s gonna blow up. I’m going back. I’ll call if I know anything.”
From across the street, sitting in a coffee shop close to the window, Catherine Chartwell had watched her son arrive at Benjamin’s,
run inside, then emerge a couple of minutes later. He had that exasperated look on his face she knew so well.
She’d ordered a tea as an excuse to hold the table while she decided what to do, but she would have liked something much stronger.
Reece was back in his car now, on the phone. Hers sat on the table and started to buzz. She hit the button on the side to
mute it, watched as it rang several times before going to voicemail. She didn’t need to listen to it. She knew what the message
would be.
Where are you? Why aren’t you here?
Because I’m not ready, she would have said. But that would have prompted even more questions from her son, so it was easier to not answer.
Let him stew.
She didn’t know what, exactly, she’d be facing. Didn’t know how it had gone down. She hadn’t been provided those kinds of
details. But she knew her husband was dead.
Just knew it.
If there was even a sliver of good news, it was that she hadn’t been home when it happened. And not to suggest anyone would,
but no one was going to think she had anything to do with it.
She was at lunch with her arts council friends.
Catherine had witnesses.
And if anyone were to ask them, they’d say Catherine was her usual self. Chatty. Happy. Engaged.
Like she didn’t have a care in the world.
That was Catherine all over. Feeling one way, pretending to be another.