“Where are you?” he asks.

I don’t like the frantic sound of his voice.

“Um, I’m talking to you from my kitchen. What’s wrong? What’s happened?” Deep down, I think I was expecting this call. My mind races through a million scenarios. The stock stopped selling, someone ran a negative story on EventCo. Some scandal, made up but credible, had taken us down.

“Are you alone?”

“No, Ashlyn is here. What the hell is wrong?” I yell into the phone.

“It’s John. He’s . . . he’s dead.” Lance sobs into the phone.

My knees buckle, and I slide down the cabinet onto the kitchen floor. “No, this isn’t true.”

“I’ll come over. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Oh my god, I’m so sorry, but it’s true.”

“How do you know?” I wrap my arms around myself. I am shaking.

“Tish called me from the hospital. They just declared John dead. I don’t know what else to say. I’m so sorry.”

I knew John’s heart was trouble. I pinch myself. This is real.

“Kate. Are you there?”

“Yes,” I manage.

“I’m coming over.” Lance hangs up.

John’s dead. My brain is having trouble accepting the fact of it. Not yet. So far it’s just Lance’s words.

My mind shifts to John, nervous, on one knee, proposing to me. We’d been dating and living together, working on the company. We were in Maine, at a small bed-and-breakfast he’d heard about from a mutual friend. It was private and isolated and tiny. At Small Point Inn, I learned how to properly eat a whole Maine lobster, how to appreciate a purple lupine, how to dress for a forty-degree temperature shift. And on the last evening of our visit, before we joined the other guests for cocktail hour on the screened porch, I learned how romantic John could be.

“Will you marry me, Katie?” he said as he dropped to one knee on the moonlit path outside the inn.

I was stunned. Not because he was proposing, but because he was proposing here, in this strange place full of history that wasn’t mine and never would be. Here, and yet, it was magical, out of time, out of place. A place we didn’t belong and would never visit again.

I looked into his twinkling blue eyes and knew he was the one. It wasn’t about where we were, it was about being together, always. I knew we would build a big life together. He’d already proven his work ethic. EventCo was better because of him, because of our teamwork.

“Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.” I was drinking a strange cocktail, something traditionally East Coast, something pink. An old-fashioned? I remember the promises of forever, and loyalty, and until death do us part.

The doorbell rings.

I push myself to stand and walk on wobbly legs to the front door.

“Mom? Do you want me to get it?” Ashlyn calls from upstairs. It’s too soon. She can’t know this. Not yet. Not until I have more details.

“I’ve got it. It’s Lance. Work stuff,” I yell. The lie rolls off my lips easily.

“Of course. Work stuff. It’s always fucking work stuff!” Ashlyn slams her door.

My mind flashes back to the dinner when John told me he was moving out, leaving me for Tish. That night changed my world forever. Changed me forever. I push those thoughts away and focus on now. John is dead.

I hold Tish responsible for this, even as part of me sees it’s what he deserved. He left me for a woman half his age, a woman who used the oldest trick in the book to seduce my husband, right under my nose. So yes, I hold him responsible, culpable. Liable. Lie-able.

But it’s my fault, too. Why didn’t I see her coming? See the threat more clearly? Was I so blinded by ambition, by our race for success and the promise of big money on the horizon, that I didn’t care enough about our personal life together any longer? I mean, when John stood up and walked out of that restaurant, we hadn’t been intimate in months. Nothing but quick kisses, brief hugs, promises of tomorrow night, or the agreement that we needed a date.

He was trying to work his way back to me, to his family. I just know it. He was seeing me again, and he liked what he saw. John was ready to reconnect. He wanted to come back home. That’s what he wanted.

It’s time to let Lance inside, as much as I want to avoid this moment, the reality of what has happened. I take a deep breath and open the door.

Lance embraces me. “God, Kate, I’m so very sorry.”

I lead him into the living room. I’m in shock, I know. I also know I need to tell Ashlyn. John’s death is news. Our company just went public.

Lance drops into a chair in the family room. “We’re in trouble. The IPO. John.”

I ignore Lance for the moment. I open my laptop and scroll to the news. And there it is. EventCo CEO dead at age fifty. Apparent heart attack. News travels fast. Bad news, faster. Tragic news, the fastest. We need to get in front of it. Stay in front of it. We cannot allow this tragedy to ruin the company. It won’t.

I take a deep breath. “I’ll be right back. I need to tell Ashlyn.”

I climb the stairs slowly, thoughts racing through my mind. I need to bring John home. I need to be the one in charge of his body, of his proper burial. We’d had it planned, morbidly I suppose, for years. And now, it’s my role as the mother of his only child, as the wife—his first wife, with whom he spent twenty-three years.

I say a silent prayer as I reach the top of the stairs. Don’t worry, John. I’ll handle everything. You’ve done enough. Rest in peace.

I knock on Ashlyn’s bedroom door, knowing after I walk across the threshold, John’s death will be real. And things will never be the same.

“Mom, what’s wrong? Are you crying? You never cry.”

“Oh, darling.” I fold her into my arms. This will be the hardest moment in her young life. I take a deep breath. “Your father has died.”

“Mom? What? No!” I hold her tight. I’ll help her through this. She’ll need me more than ever. The company will need me more than ever.

I kiss the top of my daughter’s head as she sobs. “Shhh, Ashlyn. I’m here. I’m so sorry. It’s going to be all right.” As I say those words, I resolve to make them true.

My daughter is shaking. “Dad missed us.”

“I’m not sure of that, honey, but I’m here. I’m always here for you. We have each other,” I murmur, knowing it’s not enough in her mind, but it will have to be from now on. Was John’s plan to attempt to reconcile? Maybe so, but it doesn’t matter now.

The house phone begins ringing downstairs, and I hear Lance answer in the hallway.

“No comment. Please respect the family’s privacy.” I hear the phone drop back onto the cradle. The media wants a comment from me about John’s death. I wasn’t there, what can I add? We’ll need to prepare an official statement.

Ashlyn leans against me, sobbing. “Have you talked to Tish? Was she there, with him? Did he suffer?”

A gruesome image of John dying burst into my imagination: bug eyes, foaming mouth, choking sounds. Accompanied by the vision of Tish standing over him. I shake my head. “I don’t know, honey. I don’t have any details, but I’ll get them. I will find out what happened. I promise.”

CHAPTER 15

ASHLYN

I fall into my mom’s arms. I can’t stop shaking. This isn’t happening. My dad and I talked last night. My mom is wrong. She must be. It doesn’t make sense. My heart beats so fast I think it might break.

“I talked to Dad last night. He was so sad. He said he was coming home to us.”

“What do you mean? What exactly did he say?” Mom asks me.

“He was slurring his words. But he said he wanted to come home, he didn’t feel good. And then she came out on the deck and made him hang up,” I say, fighting to talk through my tears. “I hate her. I hate what she’s done to our family. I hate what she did to Dad.”

Mom pulls me tighter. “Yes, she’s horrible. But Dad’s an adult. He made his choice, honey.”

“He made a bad choice,” I say. There is a dark and angry pit growing in the bottom of my stomach. “What are we going to do now?”

Mom pulls away. “What do you mean? We’ll be fine. We have been fine ever since your dad left us. Don’t worry about a thing. I will handle everything.”

“OK,” I answer. I know Mom is in charge, she always has been. I guess I meant what will I do without my dad? He was the one in charge of fun. He used to be the one who could make me laugh. Since Tish came along, all he did was grow more and more distant. And now, he’s gone. A sob shakes me to the core as my mom holds me tight.

“Listen, honey, come with me. We need to make arrangements. Lance is waiting,” Mom says. “Doing something for your dad will help you feel better.”

“No, hugging Dad right now would make me feel better. I need a minute alone.” Mom nods and kisses the top of my head.