family had already heard the news, stopping by with the intention of helping but clueless as to how to do so as they wrestled with their own grief.
Kennedy had taken Kate up to her parents’ bedroom, where her mom sat unmoving and uncomprehending on the bed, Kate’s sister looking as shell-shocked as Kate had felt. Hours later—Kate had no idea how many—she’d gone back downstairs. Kennedy was gone, as was, thankfully, everyone else.
Days later, Kate’s aunt had told her that a “serious man in a blue suit” had kindly but firmly ushered out everyone in the house with instructions to come back in a day or two. Somehow, Kennedy had known what Kate and her family needed, which was solitude and time, and he’d made it happen. If she had to guess, she’d bet that it had also been him who’d taken charge at Wolfe, finding a temporary replacement for her, as well as getting in touch with Lara and Sabrina to make sure her mail was collected and her plants watered.
She kept meaning to thank him. To thank all of them, but her mom needed her more. Her place was here in Jersey, close to her father’s memory.
“Kate, I think you need to go home.”
Kate blinked and stared at her mom, who seemed to have aged a hundred years in the past few weeks, and yet . . .
Kate looked closer, looking beyond the grief, the slightly red-rimmed eyes, and saw something else she couldn’t quite identify.
“I am home,” Kate said.
Her mom smiled and took Kate’s hand in hers. “Of course you will always have a home here—my door will always be open.”
My door. Not our door. This was her mother’s house now, not her father’s.
Everything had changed. The home that had once seemed to burst with joyous chaos was almost unbearably quiet. Her parents had had the noisy, messy kind of love that never let you doubt it was real because you could feel it. It had been in the unembarrassed kisses in the kitchen, the bear hugs, the little gifts they’d get for each other. Even the way they’d argued about who’d had the car keys last, if Mom had snuck vegetables into the spaghetti sauce, whether Harrison Ford’s most iconic performance was Han Solo or Indiana Jones—it had been full of passion. Kate had always thought she wanted that for herself. Her parents were the very definition of all in—they’d given everything to one another.
But she was seeing another side of that now—the dark side.
Because when you gave everything to someone else, and then it was taken away, what were you left with?
“If this is home, why do I feel like you’re kicking me out?”
“You know your father would be so pleased that you kept me company those first couple days. I don’t know that I’d have had the strength to get up without knowing you would be there to have those first sips of coffee with.”
“And yet still with the kicking me out part . . . ?” Kate said with a smile.
“Your dad would be pleased to know you were by my side those first few days,” Eileen repeated. “And appalled to know you’re still here.”
Kate’s mouth dropped open. “Mom!”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I love you, I love your company, but it’s been almost three weeks.”
“He was my dad. Your husband. I think we’re allowed for the mourning process to last longer than three weeks.”
“The mourning process, yes. The avoidance process, no.”
Kate tugged her hand away from her mom’s, feeling defensive. “Meaning what?”
“We’ve both been avoiding getting back to our real lives, because we know life is irrevocably changed, but it’s not going to get any easier the longer we wait. It’s time for me to start figuring out what my life will look like without my partner. And long-term, that’s not my daughter living in her childhood bedroom. I don’t want that for you, and neither would Dad.”
“But—”
“You can of course take a couple more days if you need.” Her mom reached out and retrieved Kate’s hand once more. “Take a week. I never want you to feel unwelcome, but I wouldn’t be doing a good job as your mother if I didn’t nudge you out of the nest.”
Kate smiled. “You know, I’ve been thinking that I would eventually need to have this talk with you, to gently tell you that your life will still go on, just differently. But it sounds like you’re wiser than I am.”
“Age does that to women.” Eileen smiled.