First Comes Love by Emily Giffin
chapter twenty-three
JOSIE
Meredith calls my cell the following morning while I’m still curled up with Harper in her twin bed.
“Did you find Rabby?” she demands before even saying hello.
“No,” I whisper, rolling over toward the wall and keeping my voice low, though Harper could sleep through an air raid. “Not yet.”
“Shhit,” Meredith sighs. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s fine. Still asleep. I’m here with her now….”
“In her bed?”
“Yes.”
“Did she kick you all night?”
I laugh and say it wasn’t too bad.
“Where’s Nolan?”
“I don’t know….I haven’t gotten up yet.”
There is a long pause before she says, “I texted you both last night. Did you not get the message?”
“Harper and I went to bed early,” I say. “Nolan went out.”
“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask….” I hesitate, then ask as gently as I can, “Is everything okay with you and Nolan?”
“Yes,” she says. “We’re fine.”
Her terse retort, combined with Nolan’s rare moodiness last night, only adds to my suspicion that some sort of trouble is brewing. But I know how private and guarded Meredith is about her marriage—and that it’s pointless to press her on something she doesn’t want to talk about. So I change the subject. “I bet Rabby’ll show up today. But just in case…I did go ahead and order another one.”
“Another Rabby?” she asks.
I tell her yes, that I recalled the Jellycat tag, and after a quick Google image search, located the same beige bunny on Nordstrom’s website. “I’m having it overnighted,” I say.
“But she’ll totally know the difference,” Meredith says. “Remember how Mom tried to replace Bongo?”
I smile, thinking of the completely random name I gave our blue-and-yellow betta fish. “Yeah. That didn’t fly.”
“It sure didn’t,” she says. “And Harper’s savvier than we were….”
“I know,” I say. “But I figured it was worth a try. I was thinking I could let Revis play with it for a few days…roll it in the mud…throw it in the dryer on a high setting….”
“She’d still know,” Meredith says with a sigh.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” I say, wishing she’d at least give me a little credit for the idea and effort. For the fact that I’m here in bed with her daughter. “So what are you up to today?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she says. “What about you?”
I tell her I’m not sure, either, but that I planned to spend it with Harper. “If that’s okay with you?”
“Of course it’s okay,” she says, her voice softening a little. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. “And, Mere?”
“Yeah?”
I hesitate, searching for the right words. “Please let me know if you want to talk…about anything.”
“Thank you,” she says again. “I really appreciate that, Josie.”
—
LATER THAT DAY, after Harper has broken down over Rabby about three times (fortunately never on the phone with Meredith), Nolan walks in the family room, where I’m folding laundry, and asks how I’d feel about visiting Daniel.
“You mean at the cemetery?”
It’s a stupid question—where else would we visit Daniel?—but Nolan is gentle with his response. “Yes….I was going to take Harper….I’d love for you to come, too. Will you, please?”
I look at him, so surprised by the directness of his request that I find myself reluctantly nodding. “Okay,” I say, my heart filling with dread.
—
A FEW HOURS later, despite my multiple attempts to divert us, Nolan, Harper, and I slow to a stop along the circular drive of Arlington Memorial Park. Our three car doors open, then close, in rapid succession, echoing in the serenity of the scenic cemetery. My stomach clenches as I steel myself against an onslaught of memories from December 26, 2001, the last time I was here. They come anyway, of course. The biting cold. The sensation of my heels sinking into the wet earth. The gaping red-clay hole in the ground. That solitary bluebird in the barren oak tree overlooking my brother’s coffin.
We walk in silent single file toward Daniel’s grave, Nolan leading the way, Harper between us. She is holding a bouquet of flowers. I have a lousy sense of direction, but I could find this spot without any assistance, that old oak giving me my bearings. Sure enough, I spot my brother’s name, his headstone in the partial shade of the tree. A few leaves have fallen on his plot, and I watch Nolan brush them aside. Meanwhile, I stand awkwardly to one side, clueless about cemetery etiquette, but feeling certain that you’re not supposed to stand directly over a grave.
The sun has been in and out all day, but the sky is overcast now, a slight chill in the air. I shiver, then zip my fleece up the whole way, hugging my arms across my chest before I force myself to look down at my brother’s headstone. The flat gray granite marker bears his full name, the dates of his birth and his accident. Below that is the engraving of a cross and the words my mother came up with sitting in the kitchen with my dad and our pastor. Beloved son, brother, friend.
I remember thinking that the epitaph was too simple. That it left a lot of things out—grandson, nephew, cousin, boyfriend, to name a few. I very nearly pointed this out, in a burst of what felt like post-traumatic stress Tourette’s, but managed to restrain myself. Instead, I went up to my room, where I pretty much remained until the funeral, out of everyone’s way.
Nolan clears his throat now and says in a low, soothing voice, “Harper, honey, do you want to put the flowers down?” He points to the base of the headstone.
Looking over-the-top solemn, like a child actress in a funeral scene, she nods and kneels, slowly lowering the bouquet to the ground. A mix of carnations and roses, the Publix flowers look cheap, borderline garish, the green cellophane wrapper and flimsy rubber band not helping matters. If Meredith were with us, it would be different: the flowers would have been purchased at a fancy florist, and Harper would be wearing a dress, not a stained T-shirt. The biggest difference, though, is that I would not be here—the burden of her expectations too great for me to bear.
“Good job, sweetie,” Nolan whispers, kneeling down beside her, then carefully angling the blossoms toward the stone. “Do you want to pray?”
Clearly accustomed to the drill, Harper presses her palms together, scrunches her eyes closed, and says, “God bless Uncle Daniel.”
“God bless Uncle Daniel,” Nolan echoes.
Although I often think of my brother’s unborn children, I have never really considered the loss from my niece’s perspective. I put it on my long mental list of things to feel sad about later. But for now, I do my best to stay as numb as possible.
Meanwhile, Nolan says the Lord’s Prayer—which I find oddly formal or at least old-fashioned. I know I should say it along with him, but do not. I don’t even close my eyes, which remarkably Harper does for the entire prayer, right down to his Amen. Then she says it, too, a long drawn out Ahhh-men.
Afterward, they both stand, and Harper wanders off, a carefree child again. Nolan’s arm wraps me in a quick but tight, sideways embrace.
“Are you okay?”
Realizing that I’ve been holding my breath, I exhale and tell him yes, I’m fine.
“When’s the last time you’ve been back here?” he asks, as I wonder if he knows the answer.
A breeze blows my hair into my eyes. I corral the strands behind my ear before confessing. “I haven’t,” I say.
“Not ever?”
“No. Not since the day he was buried,” I say, feeling ashamed.
“Oh,” he says, his lips remaining parted.
“You think that’s awful, don’t you?”
Finally closing his mouth, he shakes his hea
“I just don’t think he’s here. In the ground,” I stammer. It’s the excuse I always give when I’m justifying the decision not to visit my brother—whether to myself or to my mother and sister.
Reliably kind, Nolan nods and says he understands.
I squint up at the sky and say, “I like to think of him up there.”
He follows my gaze and nods again. “I know what you mean…but I still feel him more strongly when we come here….They say a portion of the soul is always present at the grave site….”
I nod, listening to the sound of silence, then realizing that it’s not silent at all. Leaves rustle in the breeze. A dog barks in the distance. A car engine turns over. Meanwhile, I feel Nolan looking at me, and know that he expects a reply.
“To each his own,” I finally say, worrying that I might sound flippant. Meredith would definitely hear it that way.
But Nolan isn’t Meredith, fortunately, and only murmurs his agreement. “Yes, everyone is different about these things…but you definitely do believe he’s somewhere, right?” His brow furrowed, he looks directly into my eyes.
I hesitate, thinking that sometimes I do, but sometimes I do not. “I don’t know,” I finally say.
He looks at me, aghast. “But, Josie…you have to,” he says. “Otherwise…”
“Otherwise what?” I retort.
“Otherwise, how do you make sense of it?”
“I don’t make sense of it,” I say under my breath, thinking that more than anything, I hate that notion of “God’s plan.”
Before I can say more, his phone rings, saving me. He pulls it out of his front pocket, glancing at the screen. I think we both expect it to be Meredith—at least I do. But he holds it up, showing me an unprogrammed 404 number. Mumbling that he has no idea who it is, he answers it anyway.
“Hello?” he says, his voice as anxious as I feel.
I hear a woman’s high voice droning and assume it’s a telemarketer. Until Nolan begins to grin.
Watching him smile is like watching the sun come out, I remember my mother once saying, before Daniel died, back when she used to make such poetic observations. It was and still is true.
“That’s awesome! Thank you,” he says excitedly. “We’ll be right there! Thank you so much.”
He hangs up, slides his phone back into his pocket, and looks up with tears in his eyes. “Harper, sweetheart! Guess what?”
“What?” she yells back, shielding her eyes with her hand.
“They found Rabby! He’s safe and sound at Legoland!” Nolan shouts to both of us.
As Harper cheers and sprints toward us, Nolan beams, giving me an I-told-you-so look. “See?” he says.
“See what?” I reply, though I know what he’s thinking because I’ve heard him say it many times before. Something about Daniel being Harper’s guardian angel. Something about him looking out for all of us.
As if “God’s plan” would ever, in a billion years, include taking a young man but saving a stuffed rabbit.
—
LATER THAT NIGHT, after I’ve rather easily put Harper to bed (with Rabby’s assistance), I come downstairs to find Nolan eating the remains of Harper’s macaroni and cheese directly from the pot with a big wooden spoon. He gives me a sheepish smile, wiping his mouth with his hand.
I smile back at him and say, “Don’t worry. I do it, too. Why is food always better when you eat it right off the stove?”
“I don’t know, but it really is,” he says, taking one last bite. “Are you hungry? We could throw in a pizza or order something?”
“No, not really,” I say. “I was actually gonna take off….”
“Right now?” he says, looking disappointed. “Do you have plans?”
“No,” I say, though Pete did send me a text about an hour ago asking what I was up to. “But now that we have Rabby back, I figured you didn’t need me….”
“I don’t need you. But why not stay and hang out for a bit?” he says. I remember Meredith once told me that Nolan can’t stand to be alone. “One beer?”
“Sure,” I say. “Why not?”
Nolan smiles, heading straight to the refrigerator. He opens it, grabs two Budweisers from the door, and hands me one before sitting at the kitchen island. I stand across from him, leaning on the edge of the counter, twisting the top off.
“So? How’s life?” he asks, taking the first sip.
“It’s fine,” I say with a shrug. I fleetingly consider telling him about the latest development with Gabe and his offer, but decide against it, knowing he has enough on his mind. “How’s your life?” I ask him.
“Oh, it’s totally swell.” He gives me two thumbs up to reinforce the sarcasm, and I take it as an invitation to ask him point-blank what’s going on with Meredith.
“Who knows?” he says with a long sigh.
I take a sip of beer, choosing my words carefully. “Why is she in New York, exactly?”
“She’s just taking a little break….” he replies, his voice trailing off.
“Is anything…wrong? With y’all?” I press, knowing that the situation must be fairly dire if Meredith is missing Halloween—right up there with Christmas when you have a four-year-old.
Nolan looks up and to the left, which, according to body language experts, is strong evidence of an impending lie. “No,” he says. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Okay. But just so you know,” I say. “Liars always look up in that direction.”
Nolan gives me a halfhearted smile, then says, “Well. I guess it takes one to know one.”
“Seriously,” I gently press. “What’s going on with you and Mere?”
“I don’t know, Josie,” he says, shaking his head. “She’s just not happy….”
“So what else is new?” I say. “Mere’s been in a bad mood since she came out of the womb.”
“I know,” he says. “But it’s worse than usual.”
I ask him why, feeling annoyed that my sister can’t just snap out of it and be happy, especially given all that she has to be happy about. “Do you think she’s depressed? Like clinically?”
“No. I don’t think that’s it….She definitely had depression after Harper was born….” His voice trails off as I remember Mere’s postpartum baby blues. They were mild, but still concerning, especially to my mother.
“But this is different,” he continues. “This is almost like a midlife crisis.”
I stare at him, thinking that it is such a loaded term, almost always referring to infidelity of some kind. I tell him my sister would never cheat.
“Oh, I know,” he says, staring at the label on his beer. “I don’t mean that kind of midlife crisis….I just mean…maybe she’d rather be alone than married to me.”
“She wants a divorce?” I say, floored.
“Yeah. I think she might,” he says, meeting my gaze.
“No way. That can’t be it,” I say, shaking my head.
Nolan gives me a look that can only be classified as sad. Deeply sad. “I think it is, Josie….She pretty much told me that it was.”
“But you’re the perfect husband,” I blurt out, feeling a wave of animosity toward my sister. How dare she do this to him?
He gives me a small smile, but still looks mournful. “Yeah. Well, thanks. But I think we both know it doesn’t work like that….Looking back…I don’t think she ever loved me.”
“Of course she did. Does,” I say, as I’m bombarded with a distant memory of my sister and me sitting in the dressing room of the bridal shop where Meredith purchased her gown. I remember how she talked about having cold feet, being unsure about Nolan. It seemed ridiculous at the time. It still seems ridiculous. She could never do better than Nolan. Nobody could.
“What?” Nolan asks. “What’re you thinking?”
I glance away and say, “Nothing.”
“You just looked up and to the left,” he says. “Now you’re lying.”
“Exactly,” he says. “But Josie—that’s my point….I’m the relationship equivalent of law school. She regrets law school. She regrets me. She regrets her whole life.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say, realizing that I’ve just made him feel worse. “I just meant…Meredith is complicated….She’s always been that way…and she got way worse after Daniel died.”
He gives me a surprised look.
“What? That can’t be a revolutionary concept, can it?” I ask, thinking that we all got worse after Daniel died; Meredith was just a little darker to begin with.
“No…it’s not that,” he says. “I just think this might be the first time you’ve ever brought up Daniel with me. It’s always me bringing him up with you.”
I nod, my stomach clenching like it did in the cemetery. “I know,” I say.
“Why is that?” he asks. “Why don’t you ever want to talk about him?”
I swallow, sweat beginning to pool under my arms. “I don’t know….It’s like we said in the cemetery today….Everyone is different about this stuff. About death…and dealing with it.”
“Yes…but it’s always struck me as odd….I’ve always thought you would be more like Meredith…and she’d be more like you….You know?”
I shake my head, not following. “Why’s that?”
“Because generally speaking, you’re more of an open book…and you’re more glass half full….”