“Okay.” I lift one shoulder. “You?”
Her face has aged a decade overnight, giving her bags under her eyes and jowls that are suddenly soft, as if she hasn’t slept since Augustus died. “Not good. I mean, he was a dick, but he was like my brother, man.” Her face crumples and she covers it with a hand, trying to hide her grief.
“Oh, Kara,” I say, flowing toward her, gathering her close. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
She resists at first, taut and aloof, but then a cry rises from her throat and she leans into me, her arms tight around my body. I hold her as harsh sobs explode from her like they’re ripping holes in her skin. In all the years I’ve known her, she’s never once wept. It makes my heart burn, but I don’t offer any platitudes or meaningless phrases. Sometimes there’s nothing to say. The best I can do is give her some room to let go.
After a long while she sighs against me, then straightens, wiping her face with her palms. I reach for a box of tissues from behind me in the office and hand them over. “Thanks,” she says. “Sorry about that.” She wipes her face, almost harshly, leaving behind a couple of pieces of lint.
I pluck them off. “Don’t be sorry.”
“I guess you loved him as much as I did, once upon a time.”
“Yes.” I look toward the area where the medical debris is scattered, thinking of his body lying there lifeless, and a pain burns through my lungs. “Did they release his body yet?”
“I don’t think so.” She blinks.
“Is there a cause of death?”
“The EMTs were pretty sure it was a heart attack, but I guess you never know.”
“There were no drugs or anything in evidence?”
“No, I made sure to look. And I paid off the girl. I don’t think she’d been with him before, so she was really freaked out. I sent her packing with an NDA, so we’ll be fine.” She eyes me. “Though I’m surprised you cared about protecting Norah.”
“Not Norah.” I shake my head. “Maya and Rory.”
She snorts softly. “You think they don’t know their daddy was a player?”
“They know,” I say. “But why rub it in their faces?”
“You’re a good mom,” she says. “Let’s get some coffee and sit down. Make a plan. You think we can keep the place open?”
“I have no idea. We need to look at the books and figure it out.”
Kara heads into the bus station, where the coffee machines are, and I start to follow, but something catches my eye, a flash of red by the stove, and I turn, startled. For a moment I stand there, sure I saw something. Was it a rat? Something that fell from the counter? I step closer, looking, but there’s nothing.
Maybe only his aura, left behind where he spent so much time. I shake my head and follow Kara.
We pour coffee and spread out at one of the tables in the dining room. Kara has opened her laptop with the accounting spreadsheets and we’re talking about the possibilities of reopening. “We need a memorial,” she says.
“He was adamant. Nothing like that. We discussed it only a few weeks ago.”
Her gaze sharpens. “You did?”
I lie easily, even though he doesn’t strictly deserve it. “It came up when Maya went to rehab. He really doesn’t want a funeral.”
“That’s a mistake.” She takes a sip of coffee. “Your daughters, the employees, the press—everybody will want to pay their respects.”
I lay my hand over hers on the table. “You want a memorial, and I get it, but I just feel like he’d haunt me.”
“Is it written down somewhere? Because I’m really not feeling it, to just let him go, do nothing.”
Here again, I run into the reality that I just can’t get used to, even after so long—that I don’t actually have any legal sway over anything to do with him. “I don’t know.”
She drinks coffee. “When they release the body, what then?”
“Cremation.”
“And the ashes?”
“He wanted to be scattered in the ocean.”
“Fair enough.” She ducks her head to hide the tears that shine in her eyes again.
“You can be there. When we do it.”
She sniffs, and I can tell she’s formulating her own plans. A wake, I’m guessing, full of raucous toasts and a lot of hard drinking. “All good.”
I let it go. “Let’s see about reopening.”