Heart Like Mine (8 page)

My voice rattled in my throat as I told him about Kelli. He let out a low whistle. “Oh my
god
, honey,” he said. “That’s so
awful
.”

“I know. I’m just . . . blown away.” I sniffed and swallowed hard. “And now I’m on my way to pick up the kids and I don’t know what to
tell
them. I’ve never been in a situation like this. I don’t know how to act.”

“I don’t think there’s any specific way you
should
act, sweetie.” He paused. “You don’t have any idea how she died?”

“No,” I said, then pushed my lips together to fight a sob I felt building in my throat. “Victor didn’t have any details yet and he’s the one who should talk to them, but I’m going to
see
them.” I paused again. “They’re not stupid, you know? They’re going to sense something’s wrong. I
never
pick them up from school.”

“Can you play dumb?” Sam asked.

“Maybe.” My throat began to close up again, and I couldn’t stop it. The sobs I’d been fighting came hard and fast, filling my chest with sharp, painful edges in every breath. “Sorry,” I finally managed to gasp. “I don’t know why this is hitting me so hard. It’s not like we were friends. But I just . . . I just . . .” I trailed off, unable to find the words to describe how I felt.

“Oh, Gracie,” Sam said. “Don’t apologize, honey. It’s tragic, what’s happened. Of
course
you’re upset. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t. And you love Victor and the kids. You’re feeling
their
pain.”

I shook my head, as though he could see me, then took a deep breath, only to exhale it slowly. “I’m scared,” I whispered. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Sweetie,” he said, his voice swelling with concern. “Think about what you do every day. Everything you handle for your clients. You’ll be fine, I
know
it.”

I smiled weakly. He was an old soul, my brother. “Thanks, Sammy. I love you.”

“Love you too,” he said. “Call me when you can.”

I hung up, then scavenged for a tissue in my purse to blow my nose. It suddenly struck me that telling the kids about our engagement the same weekend they’d learn their mother had died was not exactly perfect timing. I knew this much about having kids in your life—their needs came first, no matter what. I quickly took the ring off my finger, staring at it again for a moment before slipping it into the zippered compartment in my wallet, suffering a sharp pang of sadness with the act. I prayed it wouldn’t get lost.

After another deep breath, I shot a quick text off to Melody asking her to call me. She didn’t respond right away, so I knew she was in the middle of an appointment with a massage client and couldn’t answer her phone. Then I pulled back into traffic and drove the rest of the way to Seattle Academy. On the way there, I attempted to give myself a pep talk. Sam was right. I could do this. I could maintain whatever front I needed to with the kids. I was the adult; they would trust me. I’d adopt the same demeanor I’d learned to use when first talking with a domestic-abuse victim—I’d be calm and collected. I’d listen more than I’d speak.

The office was on my left as I entered and I approached the front desk, letting the secretary know who I was and why I was there. She was a plump, older woman with bluish-gray hair the same airy texture as cotton candy. “Mr. Hansen said to expect you,” she said, frowning. “It’s just so
sad
. I can barely believe it. Kelli was the
best
mother.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling impossibly inferior.
Of course she was the best. Of course I could never live up to her.

“Can I see your driver’s license, please?” the secretary asked. “It’s our routine security check.”

I pulled out my ID and showed it to her, thinking how my license broke me down into such simple parameters: age, height, weight, and eye color. I wondered if this was how the doctors
who took care of Kelli defined her when she came in.
Thirty-three-year-old woman, approximately five-one, one hundred pounds, blue eyes
. I flashed on what she might look like laid out on a gurney. Her skin pale and cold. Those blue eyes shut. Not moving. Not breathing anymore.

“Thank you,” the secretary said, placing my license back in my hand and snapping me back to the moment. I blinked and tried to erase Kelli’s image from my mind.

“Are they still in class?” I asked.

She nodded. “I’ll buzz their teachers and let them know to send them to the office.” She glanced at the clock above the door. “We weren’t sure exactly when you’d get here. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Again, I nodded, and I plopped myself into a hard, black plastic chair, anxiously gnawing on my fingernails, a childhood habit that only returned when I was nervous. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and the secretary’s powdery perfume. A few minutes later, Max entered the office, and I stood to greet him.

“Hey there, Maximilian.” I used the familiar nickname his father used, then suddenly wished I hadn’t. It was theirs, not ours.

He stopped short in his tracks and stared at me with his mother’s eyes. “Why are you here? Where’s Mom?”

I smiled. “Your dad asked me to pick you guys up. We’re going back to our house, okay?” It still felt a little strange to call it “our” house, even though I’d lived with Victor for several months now. The kids were only there on the weekends and I wasn’t sure they were all that happy to have me be there for breakfast when they woke up. I reached out and put what I hoped was a reassuring hand on Max’s shoulder. “He’ll be there soon.”

“But where’s Mom?” Max asked, dropping his backpack to
the ground. His brown hair was mussed and a curious expression quickly etched itself across his freckled face. He was small for seven, his frame delicate—almost birdlike—and the top of his head barely reached my chest. “When am I going to get my growth spurt?” he often asked Victor, who was just over six feet tall. “Next Wednesday, three
A.M
.,” Victor always joked in return, and Max would giggle—a bubbly, guttural sound.

“She couldn’t be here to pick you up today,” I said carefully. “Your dad will talk with you about it when he gets home, okay?” I forced a smile, feeling the stiffness of the motion in the muscles of my cheeks. “Look, there’s Ava.”

Max’s sister entered the office and stared at me, too. “Grace.” Her tone was flat. “Where’s my mom?” She wore slim-fit jeans, a purple fleece jacket, and knee-high black boots that appeared too big and too grown-up for her skinny legs. I wondered if they were Kelli’s. Ava was petite and pretty like her mother, but I could definitely see the shadow of her father in her dark brown hair and the almond shape of her eyes.

I sighed internally, keeping that fake smile on my face, and told her the exact same thing I’d just told her brother. “We can make cookies this afternoon, if you want,” I said, desperate to find some way to get them out of this school and into an environment with which I was at least familiar.

“You don’t bake,” Ava said quietly.
Man
, I thought.
Too perceptive for her own good.
Still, they both picked up their bags and followed me out to my car.

We arrived at our house after a silent car ride, and the kids trudged inside, eyeing me. “When is Dad going to be here?” Max asked. “Doesn’t he have to be at the restaurant tonight?” Victor usually worked at the Loft on Friday nights, then picked up the kids from Kelli’s place first thing Saturday morning. I knew from
taking care of my brother that kids do best when they know what to expect, so both were clearly thrown off by this deviation from their normal routine.

“And why aren’t you working?” Ava said before I could respond to Max. “You’re
always
working. Mom says so.”

I’ll bet she does
, I mused silently, then immediately chided myself for thinking ill of the dead. “I’m my own boss, so I gave myself the afternoon off,” I said, each of my words feeling precariously forced. “What do you guys feel like doing?”

“I’ll be in my room,” Ava said, and she walked slowly down the hallway. I heard her bedroom door click softly shut. She definitely sensed something wasn’t right.

“What about you, Max?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Dunno. Can I watch TV?”

“Sure,” I said. I knew he was supposed to read before he plopped in front of
Phineas and Ferb
, but I figured if any day should be one for breaking the rules, it was today. My cell phone vibrated in my purse, and I grabbed for it, thinking it might be Victor.

“What’s up?” Melody asked. “Your text was only three words long. Are you okay?”

“Just a sec,” I told her now. I looked at Max. “I’ll just be down the hall, okay, buddy?” He nodded, then headed into the den. I rushed to our bedroom and locked the door behind me, just in case either of the kids came to look for me. I didn’t want them to overhear. “Kelli died,” I said breathlessly.

“What?” Melody exclaimed. “Oh my
god
. Are you serious? When? How?”

I filled her in on what I knew, which wasn’t much. “And now I’m in the house with the kids and they know something’s up.” I paused, another sob threatening to take me over. “Well, Ava does. Max is watching TV.”

“How long is Victor supposed to take at the hospital?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t heard from him yet. I can’t imagine it would take too long, but I suppose he’ll have to tell them where to take her body and—” My voice broke, as his had earlier, and my pulse suddenly beat in a staccato rhythm. “Mel, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Do what? Tell them? You don’t have to. Victor does. It’s your job to support him, and be there for the kids if they reach out to you. That’s it.” She sighed. “And you guys just got engaged, too.
Geez
.” I’d called Melody immediately after Victor had proposed last weekend, and she’d squealed into the phone, babbling about wedding-dress shopping and finding the perfect venue for the ceremony, but our schedules had been so busy she hadn’t seen the ring yet. I wasn’t sure I could tell people about the engagement now.
Victor’s ex-wife is dead . . . oh, and by the way, we’re getting married.

“That doesn’t seem very important all of a sudden,” I said. The tiniest part of me felt sad my excitement over getting engaged had been eclipsed and I was totally ashamed of this brief, selfish thought.

“Of course it’s important,” Melody said insistently. “It’s just really shitty timing.” She sighed again. “Do you want me to come over and keep you company while you wait? I can cancel my last client.”

“That’s sweet,” I said. “But probably not a good idea. They’d suspect even more if you were here. I’ll call you if I hear anything, okay?” We hung up and I threw myself onto my back on the bed, my gaze traveling the room where Victor and I slept. When I moved in, he insisted I bring everything from my house that I wanted to display and willingly packed away most of his minimal, but clearly masculine, décor.

“This is your house now, too,” he said. “I want you to feel comfortable. If you want to paint, we’ll paint. If you want new furniture, we can do that, too.” The bedroom was the only room where I’d taken him up on his offer, changing his steel-hued color scheme into warmer earthy tones. Together, we picked out a mossy green microsuede comforter set and an additional dresser to accommodate my extensive wardrobe. I didn’t change too much of the rest of the house, since the kids were used to it the way it was. The last thing I wanted was for them to associate losing everything they felt comfortable having in their surroundings with the day I moved in. Since I owned my condo, I decided to lease it for a small profit over selling it outright, telling myself this was a smart fiscal decision instead of a comment on my level of commitment to the man I loved. I put most of my furniture into storage, figuring that we both would eventually sell our individual household possessions and purchase new ones together.

I liked living in Victor’s house—a small 1960s rambler on a hillside overlooking the Puget Sound—but what I liked more was waking up to his warm body next to mine every morning. I liked that he made me lunch while I showered to get ready for the day; I liked that he always cupped my face with his hands when he kissed me good-bye. He worked three evenings a week at the restaurant, so I had plenty of time to indulge my craving for alone time or to spend a few hours with Melody. We had a few squabbles over silly things like where to put the stereo and there was always a bit of tension when the kids came for the weekend, but I told myself it would just take time for us all to adjust to a new routine. Most of the time our world felt balanced and I felt at peace.

And then, just last Sunday, he’d taken me to his favorite spot on Alki Beach. The sun was about to set; the sky was streaked
with brilliant shades of pink, and a warm, golden light pushed in long streams through the clouds. Seagulls screamed all around us, and a cool breeze blew off the water. When we kissed, I could taste sea salt on his lips.

“I used to come here when I was a kid,” Victor told me as we settled on a large hunk of driftwood. He tucked his arm around my waist and I snuggled myself into the warmth of his body. “It was my sanctuary,” he continued, “but now
you’re
my sanctuary.” He stared at me, the evening light glinting off the water and hitting his dark hair, illuminating the sprinkling of silver throughout the scruff of his unshaven beard. After a year together, I had the small, crinkled lines around his eyes memorized; I knew the shape of each tiny fleck of black in his irises, the smattering of freckles that spread out like brown sugar sifted across his nose.

I reached out to touch his cheek. “That’s so sweet. You trying to get laid or something?”

He chuckled softly. “No, I’m asking you to marry me.” He pulled a black box out of his pocket and opened it, revealing a glittering ring. We’d talked about marriage previously—in theory, really—discussing it as an eventual next step after I moved into his house. But still, the timing of his proposal was a surprise—I wished I’d worn something other than sweatpants, that my hair wasn’t whipping around my face like angry Medusa’s snakes. Still, I joyfully accepted and felt the kiss that he gave me to the tips of my toes.