She couldn’t even remember the last real conversation they’d had, before he’d become muddled and angry. How she wished she could rewind the video of her life and watch just that snippet. To see if she’d smiled at him, or touched his hand, or done anything to show him how much she loved him.
She held his hand now, and cried.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
New York City, 2016
Arrangements were made; kind words were said by the nurses and doctors who’d tended to Rose’s father over the past few years. His normally easygoing nature had turned obstinate and changed as his disease had progressed, so it wasn’t surprising how few of his former friends showed up to his memorial service. The nursing home sent flowers, as did one or two of the students he’d stayed in touch with.
His death was a shock, even though Rose had been preparing for it for a long time. The pain was surprisingly physical, as if her inner organs had liquefied and all that was left was a hard outer shell that protected a dull, pulsating ache.
After the service, she packed up her belongings, knowing Darby would be back in three days. Maddy had offered to spend the afternoon with her, but Rose wanted to say a quiet good-bye to Darby’s spirit before she left the Barbizon for good tomorrow morning. She’d wait out the next couple of days at Maddy’s apartment and hand over Bird without asking any further questions. Just a good neighbor helping out in a pinch, that’s all. She’d miss Bird. They’d come to appreciate each other as roommates. She was sure he’d even smiled at her once when she came home. In a toothy, doggy way, but still.
She placed the small copper urn with her father’s ashes on the windowsill while she tidied up. Her plan was to wait until spring to scatter them, when the lilac bushes were fragrant and thick with blooms. The winter would seem very long, but having a set period of mourning somehow seemed appropriate.
The book of spices went back on the top bookshelf where she’d found it; same with the copy of Romeo and Juliet. It was time to let Sam and Darby and Esme go, let them be at peace, wherever they were.
Her phone rang. Griff again. He’d been calling Rose regularly since their awkward chance meeting in front of the building, trying to explain how sorry he was and asking if they might “grab a coffee and really talk.” She let the call go to voice mail without an ounce of regret. At the very least, the past few weeks had freed her from her bond to Griff. She didn’t miss him anymore.
She did think about Jason, though. Which was annoying, as she had no desire to replace one man with another. Maddy had advised her to slow down and stay out of the game for a while, and she agreed. Too much had happened for her to be running into the arms of another man. No matter how tempting those arms might be.
For the first time in her life, she was free from everything. No family, no lovers, no job. Maybe she’d travel the world, write freelance pieces from faraway places that mashed up the best places to eat with some kind of soul-searching epiphany. No, that’d been done already. Besides, she was always the type to dig in, to nest. What made Rose happiest was sitting in a comfy armchair on a rainy day, reading a good book. Crossing China by train or driving the Mongolian deserts paled in comparison. She was a homebody at heart, like her father.
Unsure of what to do next, and reluctant to go, she lay facedown on the sofa. Maybe Jason was right. She’d been living Darby’s life instead of her own. Much easier to stay buried in the past, particularly someone else’s past. Her phone rang again and at first she ignored it, expecting it to be Griff once again.
But it was Jason. She knew she shouldn’t talk to anyone, considering the state she was in. But she couldn’t resist.
He spoke quickly. “Look, I was awful to you the other day. I was angry about the story and that you quit.”
Rose sighed. “You said it yourself, it was better that the story was killed. We didn’t even have Darby-slash-Esme lined up; it was a disaster waiting to happen. I handled it terribly, lost my bearings.”
“Maybe, but there was a lot of pressure on you. I’ve seen journalists lose their minds plenty of times, believe me.”
“In war. Not doing a feature on old ladies. Pathetic, really.”
“You and I both know it was a great story, nothing pathetic about it. And I’m sorry I said you were no smarter than Tyler. You’re way smarter.”
She laughed for the first time in days. “Apology accepted. I know you were only trying to look out for me.”
“Hey, your instincts are great. You fell into the trap of overempathizing with your source. Happens all the time.”
“But I barely even knew her.”
“Which meant you were able to project everything you wanted onto her. She was a scary vision of your future, everything you were worried about turning into.”
“You’re quite the therapist, Dr. Wolf.”
“I like that. ‘Dr. Wolf.’ Maybe I should switch careers.”
“I’m thinking about doing the same.”
“How’s your father?” His voice was tentative, careful.
“He passed away three days ago. Peacefully.” She couldn’t say anything else or she’d burst into tears.
“Oh, Rose. I’m so sorry. Jesus. I know what you’re going through, I really do.”
“We had a lovely memorial, with all five of the friends he had left. Funny, it made me wonder who would turn up at my funeral.” The dog looked up at her and panted. “Bird, maybe.”
“I miss you.”
Her heart turned over a couple of times. “I miss you, too.”
“Listen, I just noticed that Malcolm is playing at Dizzy’s at Lincoln Center tonight. Some kind of tribute to the old stars of bebop. I think we should go.”
The chance of listening to the music live was tempting. “I thought we were going to drop the story. I’m moving out first thing tomorrow morning, just so you know.”
“Where are you going?” His voice carried a hint of concern.
Perhaps he was worried that she’d be going back to Griff. “To my friend Maddy’s. Should be a circus. Two kids, husband, me on a couch.”
“You can stay here, if you like, until you figure things out.”
“It’s nice of you to offer, but I can’t; we barely know each other.”
“We know each other better than you think. For example, I know what the spot on your lower back, right where your spine curves, tastes like.”
She shivered. “And what does that taste like, exactly?”
“Sweet, like honey.”
“However tempting your offer, I have to take some time and think things through.”
“You’re not thinking about going back to the Ken doll, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
“Good. So let’s go out and hear some music tonight, all right? It’s a great venue, musicians who’ve been around the block and will blow our socks off. Your dad would want you to try to enjoy life, right?”
The last thing he’d want was her lying around on the couch like a mopey teenager.
That much was true.
“I wonder how long it’s been since Malcolm performed.” Rose turned to Jason as the musicians walked onto the stage to the sounds of whistles and clapping.
“That’s a good question. You can ask him afterward.”
The quintet was a little creaky in the joints, from the look of it, and for a moment Rose worried that Malcolm wouldn’t be able to get himself behind the drum set without tripping. Once they were all safely in place, the trumpet player counted off and they launched into “52nd Street Theme.”
She was glad she’d come. Instead of the typical dark jazz club, Dizzy’s was located on the fifth floor of a massive skyscraper overlooking Central Park. The room was all strange angles and curves, with huge windows that soared behind the musicians. The dusky sky acted as the backdrop, changing slowly throughout the set from azure to navy. And the crowd was an eclectic bunch, ranging from large tables of Asian tourists to serious jazz aficionados who punctuated the solos with determined approval.