“Are you sure you don't want to go to a doctor?” Liz asked her again, but the young woman smiled, grateful that nothing worse had happened.
“I'm fine. The worst I'll get is a bruise. We were both lucky … or at least, I was.” They sat there together for a little while, exchanged names and telephone numbers, and a few minutes later the young woman got up and went on her way, and Liz went home, still shaking. She called Victoria from her car and told her what had happened, since personal injury had been her specialty. Victoria whistled through her teeth when Liz told her.
“If she's as nice as you say, which I doubt, from experience, you were goddamn lucky. You'd better give up driving for a while, Liz, before you kill somebody.”
“I've been okay … it was just today. … I went out to the cemetery … it's Valentine's Day. …” She started to sob and couldn't say more.
“I know. I'm so sorry. I know how hard this is.” But she didn't. No one could possibly know, Liz knew now, unless they'd been through it. She realized that all the times she had told people who had lost someone how sorry she was, she hadn't been able to dream, for a single instant, of what it meant to them, or what it felt like.
She told the children about the accident that night, and they looked frightened, they were clearly worried about her. But when she called the young woman to see how she was, she still insisted she was fine, and she sent Liz flowers the next morning at the office, which stunned her. The card read “Don't worry, we're both going to be okay.” Liz called Victoria as soon as she got them.
“You must have hit an angel,” Victoria said in disbelief. “All of my clients would have sued you for emotional distress, brain damage, spinal injuries, and I'd have collected ten million dollars for them.”
“Thank God you retired.” Liz laughed for the first time since it had happened. There was nothing to laugh about these days.
“You're damn right. And damn lucky. Now are you going to stay off the road for a while?” She was genuinely worried about her.
“I can't. I've got too much to do.”
“Well, you'd better be careful. Take this as a warning.”
“I will.”
She was exceptionally cautious after that, but it sobered her a little, and made her realize how distraught and out of touch she was. And for the next month, she made a bigger effort to cheer up for the children. She took them to the movies on weekends, went bowling with them, encouraged them to invite their friends for dinner and the night. And by St. Patrick's Day, another of Jack's favorite holidays, they weren't in great spirits, but they were better. It was nearly three months, and the children at least seemed to be happier, even Jamie. There was laughter at the dinner table again, they played their music as loud as they ever had, and although their faces were still too serious from time to time, she knew that they had turned the corner. But her nights were still long and dark and lonely, and her days filled with stress at the office.
But on Easter weekend, she surprised them. She couldn't stand the thought of another dismal holiday, filled with memories of Jack, wandering the house in agony and trying to overcome it. She took them all skiing at Lake Tahoe, and the kids really loved it. They looked relieved to see her back out in the world with them, skiing with them, and laughing as she raced Megan down the bunny slope, or collided with Jamie. They all loved it. It had been just what they needed.
And on the drive home, they talked about the summer.
“That's months away, Mom,” Annie complained. She had a crush on a boy close to home, and didn't even want to think about going away that summer. Peter already had a summer job lined up, at a nearby veterinary hospital, which wasn't a career path for him, but at least it would keep him busy. And all she had to do was organize the three girls and Jamie.
“I can only get away for a week this year, I've got too much to do now that I'm working alone. How about camp for a month for the three of you? Jamie can stay home with me and do day camp.”
“Can I bring my own lunch?” Jamie asked, looking concerned, and Liz smiled at him. He had hated the lunches at the last day camp he went to, but he loved the kids and the activities and she thought it would do him good. He couldn't go away to sleepover camp like his sisters.
“You can bring your own lunch,” Liz promised, and he beamed.
“Then I want to go.”
Two down. Three to deal with, Liz thought to herself as they drove home from Tahoe. The other three discussed it all the way to Sacramento and decided that camp sounded like a good idea after all. In July. And Liz said she'd take them all to Tahoe for a week in August, and then they could hang around at home, and use the pool with their friends.
“Are we going to give our Fourth of July picnic this year?” It was an annual tradition that Jack organized every year. He did the barbecue, ran the bar, and was a one-man band. Just thinking about it depressed her. There was a long silence and Liz shook her head. No one argued with her, and then as she glanced over at him, she saw that there were two tears sneaking down Jamie's cheeks as she watched him.
“Are you sad about the picnic?” she asked softly, but he shook his head. It was something else. Something much more important.
“I just remembered. Now I can't do Special Olympics.” It was an event he loved, that Jack had done with him. They had “trained” for months, and Jamie usually came in last, or close to it, in whatever events he entered, but he always won a ribbon of some kind, and the whole family went to watch him.
“Why can't you?” Liz refused to be daunted. She knew how much Jack had put into it, and how much it meant to Jamie. “Maybe Peter can train with you.”
“I can't, Mom,” Peter said regretfully. “I'm going to be working from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. at the pet hospital, and I'll even have to work some weekends.” But it was great money, which was why he had agreed to do it. “I won't have time.” There was a long, long pause, as the tears continued to roll silently down Jamie's cheeks, and Liz felt as though her heart had been ripped out of her chest as she watched him.
“Okay, Jamie,” she said quietly, “that leaves you and me. We'll have to work on this together. We'll figure out what events you want to be in and qualify for, and we'll work our asses off, and this year,” she said, fighting back her own tears, “I think we ought to go for a gold medal.” Jamie's eyes grew wide at the words.
“Without Daddy?” Jamie looked startled as he turned to see if she meant it or was just teasing. But she wouldn't have done that to him.
“With me. How about it? Let's shoot for the stars.”
“You can't, Mom. You don't know how to do it.”
“We'll learn together. You can show me what Daddy used to do. And we'll win something, I promise.” A slow smile dawned on Jamie's face, and he reached out a hand and touched hers, without saying another word. They had solved the problem. And the summer was organized. All she had to do now was enroll the girls at camp, sign Jamie up for day camp and Special Olympics, and reserve rooms or a house for them in Tahoe for a week in August. It wasn't easy, any of it, figuring it out, meeting their needs single-handedly, living up to their expectations, trying to make up to them for what they had lost, but she was doing her best, and for the moment they were surviving.
They were all doing decent work in school, they smiled a good part of the time now, they'd had a great time skiing with her, and all she had to do now was keep them on track till they grew up, carry a double load in their law practice, and learn how to get jamie through Special Olympics, and with luck, even win a ribbon. She felt like a juggler in a circus act, as they drove home toward San Francisco, and Megan turned the radio on full blast. But it was familiar at least. Jack would have had a fit over it, and made her turn it off. But Liz didn't. She knew it was a good sign, and they needed all the good signs they could grab now. There had been damn few of them in the past three and a half months, but things were slowly beginning to look up. Liz glanced at Megan with a small smile, and as their eyes met, Liz turned the radio up even slightly louder. And as Megan watched her do it, she started to laugh, and so did her mother.