"We're starving." Gavin piled in, slamming his cars together. "How come we can't eat something when we're hungry? Why do we have to eat the stupid fredo anyway?"
"Because." She'd always hated that answer as a child, but it seemed all-purpose to her now.
"We're all eating together when your father gets home." But she glanced out the window and worried
that his plane would be delayed. "Here, you can split an apple."
She took one out of the bowl on the counter and grabbed a knife.
"I don't like the peel," Gavin complained.
"I don't have time to peel it." She gave the sauce a couple of quick stirs. "The peel's good for you." Wasn't it?
"Can I have a drink? Can I have a drink, too?" Luke tugged and tugged. "I'm thirsty."
"God. Give me five minutes, will you? Five minutes. Go, go build something. Then you can have some apple slices and juice."
Thunder boomed, and Gavin responded to it by jumping up and down and shouting, "Earthquake!"
"It's not an earthquake."
But his face was bright with excitement as he spun in circles, then ran from the room. "Earthquake! Earthquake!"
Getting into the spirit, Luke ran after him, screaming.
Stella pressed a hand to her pounding head. The noise was insane, but maybe it would keep them busy until she got the meal under control.
She turned back to the stove, and heard, without much interest, the announcement for a news bulletin.
It filtered through the headache, and she turned toward the set like an automaton.
Commuter plane crash. En route to Detroit Metro from Lansing. Ten passengers on board.
The spoon dropped out of her hand. The heart dropped out of her body.
Kevin. Kevin.
Her children screamed in delighted fear, and thunder rolled and burst overhead. In the kitchen, Stella
slid to the floor as her world fractured.
* * *
They came to tell her Kevin was dead. Strangers at her door with solemn faces. She couldn't take it in, couldn't believe it. Though she'd known. She'd known the minute she heard the reporter's voice on her little kitchen television.
Kevin couldn't be dead. He was young and healthy. He was coming home, and they were having chicken Alfredo for dinner.
But she'd burned the sauce. The smoke had set off the alarms, and there was nothing but madness in her pretty house.
She had to send her children to her neighbor's so it could be explained to her.
But how could the impossible, the unthinkable ever be explained?
A mistake. The storm, a strike of lightning, and everything changed forever. One instant of time, and the man she loved, the father of her children, no longer lived.
Is there anyone you'd like to call?
Who would she call but Kevin? He was her family, her friend, her life.
They spoke of details that were like a buzz in her brain, of arrangements, of counseling. They were
sorry for her loss.
They were gone, and she was alone in the house she and Kevin had bought when she'd been pregnant with Luke. The house they'd saved for, and painted, and decorated together. The house with the
gardens she'd designed herself.
The storm was over, and it was quiet. Had it ever been so quiet? She could hear her own heartbeat, the hum of the heater as it kicked on, the drip of rain from the gutters.
Then she could hear her own keening as she collapsed on the floor by her front door. Lying on her side, she gathered herself into a ball in defense, in denial. There weren't tears, not yet. They were massed into some kind of hard, hot knot inside her. The grief was so deep, tears couldn't reach it. She could only lie curled up there, with those wounded-animal sounds pouring out of her throat.
It was dark when she pushed herself to her feet, swaying, light-headed and ill. Kevin. Somewhere in her brain his name still, over and over and over.
She had to get her children, she had to bring her children home. She had to tell her babies.
Oh, God. Oh, God, how could she tell them?
She groped for the door, stepped out into the chilly dark, her mind blessedly blank. She left the door
open at her back, walked down between the heavy-headed mums and asters, past the glossy green leaves of the azaleas she and Kevin had planted one blue spring day.
She crossed the street like a blind woman, walking through puddles that soaked her shoes, over damp grass, toward her neighbor's porch light.
What was her neighbor's name? Funny, she'd known her for four years. They carpooled, and sometimes shopped together. But she couldn't quite remember....
Oh, yes, of course. Diane. Diane and Adam Perkins, and their children, Jessie and Wyatt. Nice family, she thought dully. Nice, normal family. They'd had a barbecue together just a couple weeks ago. Kevin had grilled chicken.
He loved to grill. They'd had some good wine, some good laughs, and the kids had played. Wyatt had fallen and scraped his knee.
Of course she remembered.
But she stood in front of the door not quite sure what she was doing there.
Her children. Of course. She'd come for her children. She had to tell them___
Don't think. She held herself hard, rocked, held in. Don't think yet. If you think, you'll break apart. A million pieces you can never put together again.
Her babies needed her. Needed her now. Only had her now.
She bore down on that hot, hard knot and rang the bell.
She saw Diane as if she were looking at her through a thin sheen of water. Rippling, and not quite there. She heard her dimly. Felt the arms that came around her in support and sympathy.
But your husband's alive, you see, Stella thought. Your life isn't over. Your world's the same as it was five minutes ago. So you can't know. You can't.
When she felt herself begin to shake, she pulled back. "Not now, please. I can't now. I have to take the boys home."
"I can come with you." There were tears on Diane's cheeks as she reached out, touched Stella's hair. "Would you like me to come, to stay with you?"
"No. Not now. I need ... the boys."
"I'll get them. Come inside, Stella."
But she only shook her head.
"All right. They're in the family room. I'll bring them. Stella, if there's anything, anything at all. You've only to call. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
She stood in the dark, looking in at the light, and waited.
She heard the protests, the complaints, then the scrambling of feet. And there were her boys—Gavin
with his father's sunny hair, Luke with his father's mouth.
"We don't want to go yet," Gavin told her. "We're playing a game. Can't we finish?"
"Not now. We have to go home now."
"But I'm winning. It's not fair, and—"
"Gavin. We have to go."
"Is Daddy home?"
She looked down at Luke, his happy, innocent face, and nearly broke. "No." Reaching down, she picked him up, touched her lips to the mouth that was so like Kevin's. "Let's go home."
She took Gavin's hand and began the walk back to her empty house.
"If Daddy was home, he'd let me finish." Cranky tears smeared Gavin's voice. "I want Daddy."
"I know. I do too."
"Can we have a dog?" Luke wanted to know, and turned her face to his with his hands. "Can we ask Daddy? Can we have a dog like Jessie and Wyatt?"
"We'll talk about it later."
"I want Daddy," Gavin said again, with a rising pitch in his voice.
He knows, Stella thought. He knows something is wrong, something's terribly wrong. I have to do this.
I have to do it now.
"We need to sit down." Carefully, very carefully, she closed the door behind her, carried Luke to the couch. She sat with him in her lap and laid her arm over Gavin's shoulder.
"If I had a dog," Luke told her soberly, "I'd take care of him. When's Daddy coming?"
"He can't come."
" 'Cause of the busy trip?"
"He ..." Help me. God, help me do this. "There was an accident. Daddy was in an accident."
"Like when the cars smash?" Luke asked, and Gavin said nothing, nothing at all as his eyes burned into her face.