about knowing where your life was going. It was new for Zee.
But somewhere along the line, she had stopped talking to Michael. Maybe it was because he was no longer listening, or maybe she’d never really talked to him that much. She had certainly never told him her dreams. But that was largely because she didn’t know what they were. Beyond completing grad school and getting her license to practice, she hadn’t really allowed herself to dream much at all. She knew that this was a product of childhood, of living with Maureen’s illness and not ever being able to make plans. But the fact was, from the moment they met, Michael had always just assumed that he knew Zee. He had never asked her what she wanted out of life. Which was probably a good thing. Though she might have known when she was twelve, these days she had to admit that she had no idea.
TONIGHT MICHAEL WAS DRINKING TOO much. He had finished the bottle of port and had found and opened a Cotes du Rhone. As he drank, his face reddened, and she could feel the tension building.
He reached to pour another glass and caught the lazy Susan with his sleeve, setting it spinning, sending the salt and pepper shakers and Finch’s prescriptions flying.
She started to reach for them.
“I’ll get them,” he said angrily.
She waited while he retrieved the bottle of Sinemet and the salt shaker.
“This is a dangerous drug,” he said. “I don’t understand how anyone could be stupid enough to leave it on the table.”
Zee said nothing. She knew he was trying to start a fight.
“Stupid,” he said again. He got up and walked to the bathroom and put it in the medicine cabinet. “Someone should have done that a long time ago,” he said as he sat back down at the table.
Zee said nothing for a moment. Then, instead of engaging him, she asked a direct question. “When did we get so angry with each other?”
“You may be angry. I’m not,” he said.
“Please,” she said. “I’ve never seen you so angry.”
“I was angry this weekend,” he admitted. “But you explained and apologized, and I totally understand what happened.”
“You were angry the night Lilly jumped off the bridge.”
“That wasn’t anger, that was frustration.”
“Semantics,” she said.
“I had to pay the wedding planner six thousand dollars.”
“I’ll pay the wedding planner,” she said. “I told you that.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I hated the wedding planner. She was bossy and intimidating, and I didn’t like her taste.”
“You liked the sushi.”
“Of course I liked the sushi. Everyone in Boston likes O Ya sushi. I didn’t need a six-thousand-dollar wedding planner to tell me I liked O Ya’s sushi. Which, by the way, we never would have served to over a hundred people. I don’t even think O Ya caters.”
“So we’ve established that you didn’t like the wedding planner.”
“Did you?”
“Not really,” he admitted. Then he thought about it. “Actually, I couldn’t stand her.” As soon as he said it, he started to laugh.
“Then why the hell did you hire her?” Zee smiled back at him.
“It’s what you do. You fall in love, you propose, you hire a wedding planner.”
“Simple, simple, case closed,” she said, quoting Mattei.
“For most people,” he said.
“Evidently not for my people,” she said.
“True enough,” he said.
His glass was empty, and he filled it again. He started to fill hers, but she put her hand over the top. “I’ve had enough,” she said.
“So what do we do now?” he asked.
“I don’t have any idea,” she said.
“Do you want to postpone the wedding?” he asked. “I mean, in light of what’s going on with your father.”
“We probably should,” she said.
“But you still want to get married,” he said.
“I never said I didn’t,” she said. “You were the one who said that.”
“Okay,” he said.
“Okay what?”
“Okay, we can postpone,” he said.
She wanted to say something else, something definitive. She knew she should, that he was waiting for something more from her, but nothing came. She was exhausted. “I’m going to bed,” she said. “Are you coming?”
“No,” he said. “I think I’ll stay up for a while.”
She could hear him pouring himself another glass as she walked down the long hall to the bedroom.
LATE THAT NIGHT MICHAEL FINALLY crawled into bed next to her, rolling them both into the sagging center of the old mattress. Zee awakened to the smell of good wine turned sour on breath. Michael was kissing her.
Instinctively, before she was awake enough to catch herself, she turned her head away.
“I’m sorry,” she said when she saw the hurt look on his face and realized what she had done.
She knew he was angry, but he was also very drunk. And she was too exhausted to talk about it now.
She picked up her pillow and went to the den to sleep, leaving him the bed.
By the time she woke up the next morning, Michael was gone. The note on the table was short but clear.
Dear Zee,
You were right. I am angry. I’ve had enough.
21
ZEE CRIED MOST OF the day on Wednesday. More than a few of the tears were relief; because it was over now, she had no big decisions to make. Some of the tears were for the last three wasted years of her life. Some were for Finch, some for Maureen and The Great Love, and some were for Lilly Braedon.
She listened to her thoughts roll around her achy brain. Her sinuses were swollen from crying, she didn’t dare look in the mirror. She went into the bathroom, ran cold water in the sink, and splashed it onto her face.
Outside, she heard the sound of Finch’s walker. Jessina was in the kitchen making breakfast. Zee dried her hands. She noticed the engagement ring on her left hand, wondered what she should do with it. Should she send it back to him? Should she even call him? She didn’t want to, realizing on one level how relieved she was not to have to call and, at the same time, understanding that she would have to get in touch with him eventually to pick up her things. Eventually, but not now.
WHEN SHE COULDN’T STAND BEING in the house any longer, she decided to take a ride, driving Lafayette Street into Marblehead, then taking a left onto West Shore Drive. There was something she’d been meaning to do, and now was the time. She stopped at the Garden Center and picked out a grave planter basket, with geraniums, trailing petunias, and dracaena spikes. Then she kept going until she reached Waterside Cemetery.
She pulled the Volvo down the narrow, tree-lined lane and up to the office, where she parked and walked inside.
“Hi,” she said to the woman sitting at the desk. “I hate to bother you, but do you think you could direct me to Lilly Braedon’s grave?”
