“He’s not here,” Liz said honestly, fighting to keep control. “Where are the girls?”
“Upstairs,” Peter said, with worried eyes. “What’s wrong, Mom?”
“Go and get them, sweetheart, will you please?” He was the head of the family now, although he did not yet know it.
Without a word, Peter bounded up the stairs, and a moment later, returned with his sisters. They all looked serious, as though they sensed that their lives were about to change forever, and they stared at their mother sitting on the couch looking dazed and disheveled.
“Come and sit down,” she said to them as gently as she could muster, and instinctively, they huddled close to her, and she reached out and touched each one, as tears began to slide down her cheeks despite all her efforts to stop them. She was touching all of their hands as she looked from one to the other, and pulled Jamie close to her.
“I have something terrible to tell you … something awful just happened …”
“What happened?” Megan spoke with a ring of panic in her voice, and began to cry before any of the others. “What is it?”
“It’s Daddy,” Liz said simply. “He was shot by the husband of a client.”
“Where is he?” Annie asked, starting to cry, like her sister, and Peter and the others were staring at her in disbelief, as though they couldn’t fathom what had happened. But how could they? Liz still couldn’t understand it either.
“He’s at the hospital,” but she didn’t want to mislead them, she knew that however terrible, she had to tell them, and deliver the blow that they would never forget. Forever-more, they would each have to live with this moment, and relive it a million times in memory … forever … “He’s at the hospital, but he died half an hour ago … and he loved you all very much …” She clutched each of them close to her, in a bunch, her arms around all of them, pulling them toward her as they screamed in anguish. “I’m so sorry …” Liz said through her own sobs “I’m so sorry …”
“No!” the girls screamed in unison, and Peter was wracked by sobs, as Jamie stared at his mother and stood up, pulling free of her embrace, and backing away from her slowly.
“I don’t believe you. That’s not true,” he said, and then ran up the stairs, as Liz quickly followed. She found him crouched in a corner of his room, curled into a ball, crying, with his arms over his head, as though to shield himself from the blow of her words and the horror of what had happened to them. And with difficulty she picked him up and sat on his bed with him, cradling him as they both cried.
“Your daddy loved you very much, Jamie … I’m so sorry this happened.”
“I want him to come back now,” Jamie said through his sobs, and Liz continued to rock him.
“So do I.” She had never known an agony such as this, and she had no idea how to bring them comfort. There was none.
“Will he?”
“No, baby, he won’t. He can’t come back. He’s gone.”
“Forever?” She nodded, unable to say the word herself. She held him for a few minutes more and then set him down gently, and stood up, as she took his hand in her own.
“Let’s go back to the others.” Jamie nodded, and followed her downstairs, the others were holding each other and crying, and Carole and Jean were with them. It was a room full of tears and sorrow and anguish, and the Christmas tree and opened gifts looked like an offense now. It seemed incredible that two hours earlier they had all opened presents together and had breakfast, and now he was gone. Forever. It was unthinkable, unbearable. Where did one go from here? How did one do this? Liz had no idea what to do now. But inch by inch, piece by piece, bit by bit, she had to do what she was supposed to, and she knew it.
She shepherded them all into the kitchen, and she began to sob again when she saw that his coffee cup was still there, and his napkin. Carole put them away quietly, and poured a glass of water for each of them, and they sat crying together for what seemed like hours, and then finally, she took them all upstairs so Liz and Jean could talk about the arrangements. People had to be called, his parents had to be notified. They lived in Chicago and would want to come out. His brother in Washington. Her mother in Connecticut, her brother in New Jersey. Friends had to be called, the newspaper, the funeral home. She had to decide what she wanted to do. Colleagues and former associates and clients would all have to be called. Jean made rapid notes as they talked. Liz had to decide what kind of service she wanted. Did he want to be cremated or buried? They had never talked about it, and Liz felt sick as they did now. There was so much to think about and do. Hideous details to be coped with. The obituary had to be written, the minister called, the casket chosen, all of it so grim, so unbelievable, so terrifying.
And as Liz listened to Jean, she felt a wave of panic wash over her, and she suddenly stared at the woman who had worked with them for six years and all she wanted to do was scream. This couldn’t be happening to them. Where was he? And how was she going to live without him? What would happen to her and her children?
All she did in the end was bow her head and sob, as it hit her with full force again, like an express train. Her husband had been shot and killed by a lunatic. Jack was gone. And she and the kids were alone now.
The House On Hope Street
Chapter 3
For the rest of the day, Liz felt as though she were moving under water. People were called. Faces came and went. Flowers arrived. She was aware of a pain so enormous it was physical, and waves of panic washed over her with such force she was sure she would drown in them. The only reality she could relate to now was her constant worry about her children. What would happen to them? How could any of them live through this? The agony on their faces was a mirror of her own. This couldn’t be happening to them, but it was, and there was nothing she could do to stop it or make it better for them. Her sense of helplessness was total and overwhelming. She was being driven by a life force so powerful it had no limits, and it felt as though she was being washed toward a brick wall, and could do nothing to stop it. But they had already hit the wall, the morning Phillip Parker shot her husband.
