The House on Hope Street - By Danielle Steel Page 0,18
James, after whom Jamie had been named, his parents, her own brother, John, whom she had never been close to, Peter's girlfriend, Jessica, a friend from L.A. that Jack had gone to school with, and the children. Other faces came and went, the doorbell rang, flowers and food arrived. It suddenly seemed as though the whole world knew, and Jean was successfully keeping the press at bay. It was the headline in the evening paper, and the kids had watched the story on the news on TV, but Liz had made them turn it off when she saw them watching.
And as they talked about arrangements for the funeral at the dinner table after the kids went back upstairs, the doorbell rang, and Carole an swered it. It was Liz's mother, Helen, just arriving from Connecticut, and she started to cry the moment she saw her daughter.
“Oh, my God, Liz … you look awful….” “I know, Mother, I'm sorry … I …” She didn't know what to say to her, and the relationship they shared had never been overly warm, or comfortable for Liz. It was always easier dealing with her from a distance. Jack had always been the buffer for her when her mother disapproved of what they were doing. Liz had never forgiven her for her lack of support or compassion for her youngest grandson. Her mother thought it had been foolish of them to have a fifth child anyway. Four already seemed too many to her, and five was “ridiculous and excessive,” according to Helen.
Carole offered her dinner, but Helen said she'd eaten on the plane, and she sat down at the kitchen table with the others, and let Jean pour her a cup of coffee. “My God, Liz, what are you going to do now?” She dove right to the heart of the matter, without waiting to take her first sip of coffee. The others had all been crawling through the day, inch by inch, and minute by minute, trying to look no further ahead than the next hour, or voice any disturbing questions. But Liz's mother was never one to mince words or hesitate to tread where she shouldn't. “You'll have to give up the house, you know. It'll be too hard for you to handle it on your own … and close your practice. You can't do it without him.” It was just exactly what Liz felt and was afraid of. As usual, her mother had gone straight to the heart of the terror and stuck it right in her face, shoved it down her throat and up her nose, until she could hardly breathe thinking about it. It seemed like an echo of what she'd heard nine years before … you're not going to try and keep that baby at home, are you? My God, Liz, having a child like that in the house will destroy the other children. Her mother could always be counted on to voice everyone's greatest terrors. “The Voice of Doom” Jack had always called her, but he laughed when he said it. She can't make you do anything you don't want, Jack had reminded her. But where was he now? And what if she was right? … What if she did have to give up the house, and close their practice? How was she going to exist without him?
“All we have to do right now is get through Monday,” Victoria interrupted firmly. They had arranged to have the viewing at the funeral home over the weekend, and the funeral on Monday at Saint Hilary's. “The rest will take care of itself.” The funeral on Monday was their goal, the place where Liz had to focus. After that, they would all help her pick up the pieces, just as they were there for her now, and everyone at the table knew she didn't need to worry yet about the big picture. This was bad enough, and as they sat there, Liz's mind kept drifting back to Christmas. It really was a nightmare that would live on for them forever. The children would never again put up a Christmas tree, or hear a Christmas carol, or open a gift without remembering what had happened to their father on Christmas morning, and what it had been like for each of them right after it happened. Liz looked ravaged as she looked around the table at the people who had come together to help her.