It Isn't Cheating if He's Dead (13 page)

She ran every moment of passion, every not-crazy
Gerald time they shared, through a mental projector. She remembered each one in
detail, what he wore, what he said, how he smelled. Those occasions weren’t especially
memorable, but they were rare. His real passion was reserved for his research,
for his life’s goal. She was an afterthought. Always had been. She just didn’t
realize it until he was gone.

Was that why she held on so tight to hip
hop sex and ass slapping moments? Had she replayed them so often they’d become
the legend of their relationship? The fantasy that was her version of Gerald — not
the reality. Those moments weren’t him, only small bits of him. The best bits
that he meted out in tiny doses. He didn’t withhold them on purpose. It was who
he was. He didn’t know any better. Didn’t know how to not be a genius, not be
gifted.

When he started to dip his toe into mental
illness, all the signs were there. She saw them. But she misinterpreted them,
didn’t recognize them for precursors to schizophrenia. No, she thought they
were signs he was learning to relax. Learning to be silly and enjoy life’s goofy
moments. With her.

But that wasn’t what happened. It was his
brain on schizophrenia. The early symptoms of the greater problems to come.

In the years before the mental break, the
Jem that used to be disappeared into the Gerald that was. Her ideals and career
became secondary to his. He never understood why she spent her time defending
criminals and hoodlums. No matter how she explained he didn’t listen. It wasn’t
a higher calling like his. Wouldn’t save millions of lives, even though he only
wanted to save one. He was more like his mother than she’d ever realized.

Why did he love her? Maybe he never did.
Maybe his love for her was a reflection of her adoration of him.

Maybe it was time to rediscover who she
used to be.

Finn’s face took over her thoughts and she
smiled. She was coming back. He was bringing her back. But he didn’t even know
it.

Perhaps she should give herself more
credit. She was bringing herself back. Back into life. With him as the
incentive to rejoin the bigger world. To leave all the Gerald stuff behind.

Forty minutes later she found herself at
the entrance to the Georgia Hotel, her feet aching and filthy. She ducked into
the lobby bathroom and washed them before sliding back into her shoes. It was
harder this time, her feet swollen from the high heels and the walk. Maybe she
should pull her sneakers out of her luggage. No, Finn had to see her like this,
at least once.

She collected her overnight bag from the
concierge, pulled up the handle and rolled the bag behind her. The wheels clacked
against the lines in the sidewalk. At the church, the vestibule was empty. The
church was empty. Where was everyone? She wandered the halls until the minister
came out from behind a door.

“Are you looking for the Wolfe reception?”

“Yes, thank you. I guess I got turned
around.”

“We’ve just come back from the interment.
Go around the corner here and it’s the second door on your left.”

Jem stepped around the corner. A crowd
neared from the other direction. She'd made one wrong turn and ended up full
circle, almost to where she’d started.

She stepped into the room and headed to a
far corner. Tables butted up against each other made a long buffet in the
middle of the mourners. A cacophony of voices and laughter and slurping and
chewing assaulted her. How soon could she escape and return to the safety of
her little aging two-story home?

She tucked her bag behind a row of chairs
and turned to find Althea right behind her.

“Jemima, I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t
come to the interment.” Her crossed arms shielded her from any potential hug
Jem might offer. Had they ever hugged before yesterday?

“We all grieve in our own way. That would
have been a bit too much to witness. Did it go well? Were you pleased with this
celebration of Gerald?”

Althea softened, her shoulders relaxed and
her arms fell to her sides. “Yes.” Tears sprung from her eyes. “It was almost
perfect.”

Jem wasn’t going to ask what ‘almost’
meant. Instead she set aside their differences, if even for that brief moment.
A mother who’d lost her only child stood in front of her. A mother in pain. She
put her arms around Althea’s frail frame and hugged her. “I’m so sorry, Althea.
So very sorry.”

Her hug was not returned, but Althea’s head
rested on her shoulder. The clips in her hair poked Jem through her suit.

“Thank you, Jemima.” Althea recoiled and
straightened as if she realized she’d slept with the enemy. “Go ahead and have
some tea. Maybe a sandwich or two. There are some low-fat options. Maybe steer
clear of the dessert trays.”

Ten seconds. The full length of their truce
and shared moment of grief. And she survived it with only one sideswipe at her
weight.

 Althea moved through the crowd. Warm hugs
and sympathetic coos were heaped upon her. Jem stood alone.

She’d never known any of the family but
Marjorie. Never met any of the family friends. When Gerald went home to visit,
she usually stayed in Calgary, too busy with cases to get away. Too happy to
avoid his mother’s constant barbs. He never noticed them. It was always Jem
that overreacted, misunderstood, read things into his mother’s words. He was
blind to Althea’s poison.

An arm slid around her waist and a dry kiss
graced her cheek.

“How you doing, hon?” Dean’s wife, Anna
squeezed her ribs. “About ready to bolt?”

“You got it.” She reached out and took
Dean’s hand, then accepted a warm hug. Gerald’s partner couldn’t have been more
different than Gerald. Suit pressed and starched, double Windsor at the Adam’s
apple, hair trimmed close around his ears and held in place with some kind of
greasy product. Not funeral wear for Dean. It was his daily uniform.

Jem struggled to make small talk or even
care how he was doing. “Dean, did Gerald ever tell you about his dad? He only
ever told me about the heart attack. What was he, thirty-four?”

“That’s what I understand.”

“My dad died the same way. At forty-two. I
always thought that was too young for heart problems, but thirty-four? Seems
unreal.”

Dean tucked his hands in the front pocket
of his pants and rocked on his heels. “Yeah. Unlikely. But I guess it could
happen. I mean it’s not unheard of.”

“Sounds like you don’t believe it.”

He sighed. “When Gerald started to… you
know. Lose it.” He smoothed the sides of his hair and rubbed his hands. “Look,
he never wanted you to know. But his dad didn’t have a heart attack.”

Her focus narrowed, the only thing in her
vision was Dean’s face which was crimson. Sweat beaded on his forehead. She
grit her teeth. “What do you mean?”

Anna placed a gentle hand on her husband’s
arm. “Darling, this isn’t the time nor place.”

Marjorie popped her head over Dean’s
shoulder. “How you all doing? Can I get tea or a lemon square for anyone?”

“Marjorie.” Jem’s teeth were clenched, her
body stiff. “How did Gerald’s father die?”

Marjorie looked sideways at Dean and then
scanned the room. “Jem, can we discuss that another day? You promised, nothing
upsetting today.”

“Well, I’m pretty upset. To learn that for
nine years I’ve been told a lie. Believed it. The only reason to lie about it
is because the truth is too terrible to tell.”

“What is too terrible to tell?”

Jem spun around to find Althea right behind
her, arms crossed and fists clenched.

“How your husband really died. It wasn’t a
heart attack, so what did happen, Althea?”

“Jem, please.” Marjorie gripped her arm and
tugged her away but Jem stood in place and yanked her arm free.

Althea tapped one sensible shoe against the
short pile carpet. “A heart attack stole him from us far too soon. He was a
wonderful man, Jemima, a wonderful father and husband. How dare you question
that?”

“I’m not questioning that. I never
questioned anything about him until today. Until I learned that your son knew he
didn’t die of a heart attack but never told me the truth. Why?”

“Maybe it’s time you went home. You don’t
belong here. You never did.”

Marjorie stepped between them. “Althea,
stop. She’s lost the love of her life, you’ve got to realize that. She’s
grieving too. We all are. You are not the only one in pain, not the only one
who loved him. And you are not the only one that he loved.” She took her
sister’s hand. “Jem has a right to know.”

Althea pulled away. “Not from me she
doesn’t.” She walked away.

One door of Jem’s life slammed shut at that
moment. She’d never have to deal with Gerald’s mother again. Hooray for small
mercies. She looked from Anna to Dean to Marjorie. “So? Who’s spilling the
beans?”

“Not here.” Dean looked at his watch. “Do
you have time for a coffee before your flight?”

good enough
to eat

Jem dragged her overnight bag behind her. A
blister on the back of her left heel rubbed against the inside of her beautiful,
torturous shoe. She almost couldn’t squeeze her feet back into them when the
flight landed. Almost didn’t want to.

So much for making an entrance. Shoulders slumped,
exhausted by grief and lies, and a blister limp. She'd give Quasimodo a run for
his money.

She stepped through the exit doors and into
meeting place D. Finn leaned against a column, the overhead lights illuminating
him like a beacon. He scanned the crowd. When his eyes caught hers, her heart
soared. It took all of her self-control not to break into a run and jump into
his arms. Instead she smiled and waved and picked up the pace, her stilettos click-click-clicking
on the marble floor.

Finn pushed himself off the column with his
shoulder. When he broke into a jog, she threw self-control out the window and
ran to him. She dropped her luggage and jumped into his arms. He caught her,
held her against him and kissed her with no regard for what anyone watching might
think. It was the most romantic moment of her life.

“Are you up for dinner?” He set her down
and brushed her hair from her face.

“Haven’t you eaten?”

“I had a late lunch.” He ran his hands down
her back and rested them on her butt. “I’d like to skip ahead to dessert. You
look good enough to eat.” He flashed his eyebrows at her. His tie was loosened,
his crisp white shirt unbuttoned to below his collarbone. Maybe she was having
a positive effect on him too.

“I can get on board with that idea.
Dessert.” She ran one finger from his chin to the opening of his shirt. “And
wine. I am in desperate need of both.”

He pushed the handle of her luggage down,
picked up the bag and took her hand. They headed for the exit and he leaned his
head towards her. “You can tell me all about the funeral.”

“Oh, that’s a mood killer. Let’s save that
for nirvana. Tomorrow, okay? I’ve got lots to tell you, but I need to get some
distance from it first. Some perspective.”

“Uh oh. Pretty bad?”

“Pretty surprising. And yet, not at all. On
the plus side, I doubt I’ll ever hear from Althea again. I knew she didn’t like
me. But now I’m sure she hates me.”

“You rabble-rouser.”

“Damn straight.”

keep the
uglies away

The cell phone vibrated against the wood of
the nightstand, followed by one gentle chime. Jem stuck her hand out and
fumbled along the edge, her eyes shut against the rising sun. When the phone
was in her grip, she squinted one eye open. Four-fifty-nine in the morning. One
text waiting. From Finn.

She stacked her pillows behind her and sat
up. The alarm clock agreed, four-fifty-nine. He was punctual, her love machine.
She turned the alarm off and looked at the small screen of her phone.

‘Good morning.’

She grinned and thumbed her keyboard. ‘Good
morning to you. Wish you could have stayed longer.’

‘Sorry. Some partiers found a body floating
in the Bow River.’

‘Gross.’

‘Nirvana tonight?’

‘Yes. Come for dinner?’

‘I can be there about eight.’

‘Can’t wait. I’m going to buy a barbecue.’

‘Tofu burgers?’

Not anymore. ‘T-bones.’

‘Aren’t you a vegetarian?’

‘That was Gerald’s thing. I did it for
him.’

‘Isn’t it better for you?’

‘Screw that. I want meat. You know, the cow
kind.’ She added a winky face.

‘We can arrange for more than one helping
of meat.’ It was followed by a heart.

A heart. Was that a declaration of love? On
a text? No, don’t over think it. Go with the flow and enjoy the ride.

‘Three or four, perhaps?’

‘As much as you wish.’

‘Excellent. See you later.’ Her thumb
hesitated over the send button. She threw caution to the wind and added a
heart. Send.