“And we’re going to get dressed and get some breakfast and go to the park.”
“Can we go to Seward Park?” asked Jack, hugging her legs. He’d become incredibly possessive of her lately. “Don’t kiss Mommy,” he told Ed. “Don’t talk to Mommy.”
“Sure, we can go to Seward Park,” said Ed.
“Why does this keep happening? It’s going to happen here.”
“What, Mommy?” asked Jack.
“It’s not going to happen here,” said Ed, though she knew he didn’t believe that.
“It has happened here. Columbine.”
“That was different,” said Ed. He stood and stretched, revealing the black hairs on his stomach. “You know that.” He pulled her back against him and lowered his voice, speaking into her hair. “Terrorists are not going to storm the My Little Village preschool on Avenue A.” Something prevented her from admitting that this was true. “I think you guys should come to Toronto with me.”
“Okay,” she agreed, though she didn’t want to. It would be she running around after Jack and endlessly nursing Mina, she calling strangers to see if they could babysit.
“And I’m going to put the paper on hold. I read it online anyway.”
“Okay,” she said, trying to inject a bit of lightness into her voice.
But in the end it didn’t matter. When the bad news arrived, it came the way bad news always does: with a phone call at an odd hour. It had been so long since Sadie had spoken to Emily that, for a moment, in her pleasure, she forgot that five in the morning was a bit too early for a catch-up call.
“So, I have some really strange news,” came her friend’s voice, unquavering. “It’s hard to believe.”
And somehow—in the sort of flash she’d read about in countless hackneyed novels, novels she’d rejected without a further thought—she knew that it was Lil, that something had happened to Lil, that it was over, there would be no tense reunion, there would be no triumph over Tuck, that this was the end. No, she told herself. Don’t be stupid, Sadie. “Okay,” she said, her voice still hoarse with sleep. Emily’s, she realized, was not. “What happened? What is it?”
“Lil,” said Emily, and Sadie’s heart began to thrum like a machine. She’d known, she’d known, she’d known, and this was, somehow, her fault, for she had known, even before the call came. All this worry she’d been extending toward her family, her city, the world. It should have been focused on Lil. Lil was the doomed one, the one she needed to watch. If she’d been more tolerant, more forgiving. If she’d paid more attention, if she hadn’t canceled the paper, if she’d made more allowances for Tuck and his book, if her obligation had been, first, to Lil, and second, to her company, her position, her idea of herself as an arbiter of culture, if she had been less hard, hard and unforgiving and inflexible, just like her mother. She’d missed Lil, missed her terribly—the energy and vitality she brought to even the smallest of things; her sharpness, or whatever it was, her, she’d missed her—though she wouldn’t admit it, and couldn’t reconcile with her. Why? Why? Because she had been afraid of Lil, she remembered, afraid of Lil’s capacity to swallow her friends whole, to suck them into the vortex of her life.
No, no, no—what was the truth?—that she had been increasingly vexed by the complications of Lil’s life, the endless dramas and intrigues, the scrutiny of every interaction, the constant threat of histrionics, the narcissism. At the end, the months in which their friendship faded to black, Lil had contemplated an affair with a supposed friend of Tuck’s, some guy from the neighborhood, a would-be screenwriter with a soul patch and trucker hat. It had all been too much for Sadie, all this talk of lust, “connection,” of Lil’s boredom and frustration with Tuck. Just deal with it, Sadie had longed to say, we’re all bored and frustrated. Who was Lil to think that her life could be perfect, that she was exempt from the compromises her friends—everyone in the world—had been forced to make in order to maintain some semblance of happiness, of sanity, in order to live a productive life, a meaningful life? How had Sadie been so hard? How, and why? Lil had been so unhappy. And it had—she had forced herself not to think of this—been her fault, in part. If she had said something about Caitlin and Tuck, the affair, those years ago, could she have prevented everything that ensued? No, Ed would say, had said, when she’d told him about it. But it was easy for him to say.
“This is hard to believe,” said Emily, exhaling heavily, “but Lil has”—she paused—“Lil died. This morning. Lil is dead.”
“What?” said Sadie, trying, she realized, to sound as though she were surprised. “What happened?”
“I’m not actually sure,” said Emily. “It seems like she had the flu.”
“The flu?” said Sadie. She’d expected the back-alley assault, the drunken car wreck, the hijacked plane. “She died of the flu? What happened? That seems impossible.”
“I know,” said Emily impatiently. “They’re doing an autopsy.” She paused. “Can we talk more later? We took her to the hospital and I’ve been up all night. I’ve got to call Beth and Dave. They don’t know yet.”
“I can call everyone. Go to bed.”
“I think we should really try to get in touch with Tal. He would want to know.”
“I can call Tal.”
“And Tuck.” Emily sucked in her breath, then made an odd sound, like a bark. “Oh my God, Tuck doesn’t know. Tuck.”
“I can call Tuck. Go to bed.”
“I don’t know if I can sleep,” admitted Emily. “I just can’t believe this.”
“Lie down,” Sadie instructed her. “I’ll call everyone.” A terrible thought struck her. “Do her parents know?”
Emily sighed. “Yeah. They’re flying in. They knew she was sick. Her dad told her to go the hospital. I thought he was overreacting.” The sound—strangled, guttural—came again and Sadie realized that Emily was crying. “Imagine how they feel. I keep looking at Sarah and thinking what it would be like to lose her.”
“Oh my God, Emily, stop,” said Sadie, though she’d certainly thought such things about Jack and Mina. “Stop thinking about it. Get into bed and try to get some sleep. I’ll call everyone.”
That afternoon Sadie met Emily and Beth—and their children—at her parents’ house, just as (they all tried not to say) they had six years earlier, before Lil and Tuck’s wedding. How long ago that seemed, how impervious they’d thought themselves to the pedestrian dangers of adult life. It had seemed a game to them, Lil’s marriage, a lark. How stupid they had been.
“Is Dave coming?” Beth asked.
“I don’t think so,” said Sadie. “He had studio time booked. You know, he’s recording this solo EP.”
“He couldn’t cancel?” asked Rose.
“He thought it might make him feel better not to miss it.”
“God,” said Beth, her face growing red. “What is wrong with him?” Her voice was rising. “He’s such an asshole. Lil is dead.”
Rose shook her head. “What about Tal?” she asked. “I always liked Tal.”
“Tal,” Emily scoffed.
“He’s flying in,” said Sadie. “He said he’ll call when he gets in.”
“Well, it’s good he’s coming,” said Rose. “Lil was so fond of him.”
“Lil was in love with him,” said Emily.
“No, she wasn’t,” said Sadie.