children need you, Robert. And so do we. You can't get sick.”
“Why not?” he asked grimly. “What difference does it make?”
“A lot. To us. Now be good, and have some soup.” She spoke to him as though he were a child, and he sat down at the kitchen table, and began eating the soup. He only got halfway through it, and refused the sandwiches she'd made, but at least he'd had some nourishment. And then she suggested that John spend the night with him.
“He doesn't have to do that. You two should go home. I"m fine.” It was not a word anyone would have used to describe him, but it was a noble thought.
“John wants to stay here,” she urged, but Robert was insistent, and the Donnallys finally left at ten o"clock. They both looked drained in the cab on the way home. “I"m so worried about him,” Pascale said. “What if he just gives up and dies? People do that sometimes.”
“He won't,” John answered, trying to believe what he said. “He can't. He'll get over it eventually, not completely maybe, but enough to function reasonably well. Maybe that's all we can expect.” It seemed a sad statement on Robert's future life.
“I"m not so sure,” Pascale said, wiping tears off her cheeks again. It was all so sad. Who could have known that tragedy would strike them, that Anne would leave them, without warning, and so soon? It made Pascale snuggle closer to her husband, as the cab drove them home. It was a brutal reminder of how ephemeral life was, how quickly interrupted, how fragile, of their own mortality. And the message had not gone unheard.
Pascale and John, Eric and Diana, each called him every day. But none of them saw him for the next three weeks.
He couldn't bear being alone in the apartment and slept at Jeff's for the first few weeks. He kept to a schedule centered around his children, and stayed home from work – he didn't go back to the bench for a month. And when he did, finally, he saw the Donnallys and Morrisons again. He had just moved back into his apartment that week.
And Anne had been gone for a month.
They were all shocked when they saw him, he had lost a lot of weight, and his eyes looked ravaged. All Pascale could do when she saw him was hold him tightly and fight back her own tears. His grief was a raw reminder of the loss of their friend. And their hearts went out to him.
“So, what have you all been up to?” Robert tried to sound interested, but his eyes said he didn't care. It was hard to relate to their doings, to think of their lives with each other, without feeling the knife stab of pain over the enormity of his loss. But in spite of that, he was happy to see them again. They brought him comfort, and by the end of the evening, he was even smiling at some of John's tasteless jokes, and renewed complaints about Pascale. But they all seemed mellower, gentler, and more loving to each other, and to him, than they had before. The message of Anne's death had been loud and clear to all of them.
“I got more pictures of the house in St Tropez yesterday,” Pascale said casually over coffee, testing the waters, although she knew it was still too soon, and their rental was still five and a half months away, a long distance still to travel on Robert's map of grief.
She chatted on for a few minutes about the house, and then Robert looked at her quietly with eyes filled with sorrow.
“I"m not going with you” was all he said. It would have reminded him too much of the summer he wanted so much to spend with Anne in France, and had once before.
“You don't need to make that decision yet,” Diana said softly, glancing at Eric, as he nodded, and joined in.
“If you don't come, John will make life miserable for the rest of us. He's too cheap to pay for the house split two ways. You may have to come, for our sakes,” Eric said with a grin, and Robert managed a small, wintry smile.
“Maybe Diana can organize a fund-raiser to pay for the rent,” he suggested.
“Now there's an
“Why not?” he asked grimly. “What difference does it make?”
“A lot. To us. Now be good, and have some soup.” She spoke to him as though he were a child, and he sat down at the kitchen table, and began eating the soup. He only got halfway through it, and refused the sandwiches she'd made, but at least he'd had some nourishment. And then she suggested that John spend the night with him.
“He doesn't have to do that. You two should go home. I"m fine.” It was not a word anyone would have used to describe him, but it was a noble thought.
“John wants to stay here,” she urged, but Robert was insistent, and the Donnallys finally left at ten o"clock. They both looked drained in the cab on the way home. “I"m so worried about him,” Pascale said. “What if he just gives up and dies? People do that sometimes.”
“He won't,” John answered, trying to believe what he said. “He can't. He'll get over it eventually, not completely maybe, but enough to function reasonably well. Maybe that's all we can expect.” It seemed a sad statement on Robert's future life.
“I"m not so sure,” Pascale said, wiping tears off her cheeks again. It was all so sad. Who could have known that tragedy would strike them, that Anne would leave them, without warning, and so soon? It made Pascale snuggle closer to her husband, as the cab drove them home. It was a brutal reminder of how ephemeral life was, how quickly interrupted, how fragile, of their own mortality. And the message had not gone unheard.
Pascale and John, Eric and Diana, each called him every day. But none of them saw him for the next three weeks.
He couldn't bear being alone in the apartment and slept at Jeff's for the first few weeks. He kept to a schedule centered around his children, and stayed home from work – he didn't go back to the bench for a month. And when he did, finally, he saw the Donnallys and Morrisons again. He had just moved back into his apartment that week.
And Anne had been gone for a month.
They were all shocked when they saw him, he had lost a lot of weight, and his eyes looked ravaged. All Pascale could do when she saw him was hold him tightly and fight back her own tears. His grief was a raw reminder of the loss of their friend. And their hearts went out to him.
“So, what have you all been up to?” Robert tried to sound interested, but his eyes said he didn't care. It was hard to relate to their doings, to think of their lives with each other, without feeling the knife stab of pain over the enormity of his loss. But in spite of that, he was happy to see them again. They brought him comfort, and by the end of the evening, he was even smiling at some of John's tasteless jokes, and renewed complaints about Pascale. But they all seemed mellower, gentler, and more loving to each other, and to him, than they had before. The message of Anne's death had been loud and clear to all of them.
“I got more pictures of the house in St Tropez yesterday,” Pascale said casually over coffee, testing the waters, although she knew it was still too soon, and their rental was still five and a half months away, a long distance still to travel on Robert's map of grief.
She chatted on for a few minutes about the house, and then Robert looked at her quietly with eyes filled with sorrow.
“I"m not going with you” was all he said. It would have reminded him too much of the summer he wanted so much to spend with Anne in France, and had once before.
“You don't need to make that decision yet,” Diana said softly, glancing at Eric, as he nodded, and joined in.
“If you don't come, John will make life miserable for the rest of us. He's too cheap to pay for the house split two ways. You may have to come, for our sakes,” Eric said with a grin, and Robert managed a small, wintry smile.
“Maybe Diana can organize a fund-raiser to pay for the rent,” he suggested.
“Now there's an
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