First Comes Love (30 page)

“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.”

I swallow, almost telling him about that moment in the dressing room, then quickly deciding it isn't my place. Besides, what good would it do at this point? Instead, I take a deep breath and say, “I just think Meredith is hardwired to be dissatisfied…and she always second-guesses herself. Think about her chosen profession….What was that all about, anyway? She
always
wanted to be an actress…so why did she go to law school?”

“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….”

“Maybe,” I say with a little shrug. Then, hoping to change the subject, I ask how we got from his marriage to me.

“I think it's all related,” he says, without missing a beat.

I force a laugh and try to sidetrack him. “What? How do
I
have anything to do with
your
marriage?”

“You don't,” he says, my decoy not working. “I'm talking about your family…what Daniel's death did to your family. To all of us.”

I know what he's getting at, and I desperately don't want him to go there. He does anyway, staring into my eyes in a way that I can't escape. “Can we please talk about that night, Josie?” he asks.

My throat feels too tight to reply, so I just shake my head.

“It's been almost fifteen years…and we've never talked about it….Doesn't that seem strange to you?”

“Not really,” I manage to say, averting my eyes. “I mean…what's the point?” My voice cracks, then trails off.

“Josie,” he says. “I think we both know the
point
. And I think it needs to happen.
Now
.”

My heart starts to pound in my ears as I try one last time to make it all go away, just as I've been doing since the night I first suspected the truth, the night Will found me in bed with Gabe. “Do we have to?” I whimper.

“Yes,”
he says. “We
do
. I mean, Josie,
shit
….We were
together
the night Daniel died—and yet we've never talked about—”

“We weren't
together,
” I cut him off, bracing myself, praying that maybe, just maybe, I'm actually wrong about my hunch. “We were just…at the same bar. Lots of people were there….”

“I know. Lots of people who had absolutely
nothing
to do with Daniel…” he says, holding his bottle cap between his finger and the counter. He flicks it hard, and we both watch it spin, then stop, before making eye contact again.

“Josie,” he says, the color draining from his face. “I have to tell you something.”

“No,” I say, my heart pounding in my chest, my instinct to flee kicking into high gear. I take a few steps backward, actually looking around the room for my best exit, but Nolan darts around the counter, putting his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place.

“I
have
to,” he says again, more forcefully.

“I know what you're going to say,” I say, my vision blurring.

“I don't think you do,” he says, still holding on to me.

“Yes. I do,” I say, shaking free, fighting back panicked tears. “He wasn't getting a burger that night, was he?”

Nolan stares at me a beat, then shakes his head slowly. “No,” he says. “He wasn't.”

“He was coming to get
me
…wasn't he?”

The tortured look on Nolan's face confirms my worst fear, even before he nods and says yes.

“Fuck,” I say, trembling. “I knew it…I knew it was my fault.
Fuck
.”

“No, Josie,” Nolan says. “It wasn't
your
fault.”

“Of
course
it was my fault,” I say, choking back a sob. “He was coming to get
me
.”

“But don't you see, Josie?” He stares at me.

“See what?”

“Don't you see that
I
was the one who called him….
I
was the one who told him to get in his car and come get you. So see? It was
my
fault. Not
yours
.”

“But if I hadn't been drunk—”

“But I
wasn't
drunk, Josie. Don't you get that? I wasn't drunk at all. All I had to do was drive you home….I was talking to some girl. Some stupid girl I wanted to sleep with…I didn't want my fun interrupted. So I called Daniel to come get you…and then I left the bar….I didn't even wait for him to get there. I didn't know he never got there. Not until the next morning when Meredith told me.” His face crumples, and he begins to break down and cry in a way that I have never seen a grown man cry. Not even my father when Daniel died.

My flight instinct grows stronger, and this time I manage to break free to the family room. I sink into the sofa, burying my face in my hands. Nolan's footsteps are behind me. I can see him in my peripheral vision and feel his weight on the cushion next to me, his arm enveloping me.

“Josie,” he says. There is so much pain in his voice. “Please look at me, Josie.”

I do. For his sake.

“I'm sorry,” he says, tears streaming down his face. “I'm so
fucking
sorry, Josie.”

“I'm sorry, too,” I say, refusing to let him shift the blame from me. “He always told me not to drink so much….He always warned me about being like Dad….”

“Yes. But he told me, just the day before, that I should stop chasing stupid girls and try to find someone I really cared about…like Sophie….”

“Well, neither one of us listened to him, did we?” I say.

“But if only I had taken you home myself….It was my fault.”

We continue like that for some time, making disjointed, parallel confessions.
I was having sex with some girl when he died….I was wasted when he died….I didn't know until the next morning….You knew before I did.

At some point, when there is nothing left to say, he reaches for my hand. I give it to him. It should be awkward, sitting there holding my sister's husband's hand, but it's not. It's actually the opposite. He feels like my brother. Not Daniel, but another brother. We sit in silence for a long time before I finally ask the question burning a hole in my heart. “Does Meredith know?”

I look at him, holding my breath, waiting for the answer, thinking that a yes would explain so much of her animosity toward me. Yet I can't imagine her holding this back for so many years—not when she throws far smaller things in my face.

Sure enough, Nolan says, “No, she doesn't know any of this. Nobody knows….Everyone thinks he was going to get a burger.” His voice shakes, but he continues. “The next day, when your parents asked me to call Daniel's friends, I took his phone….I knew his pass code…4265….”

“Why was that his pass code?” I ask. It is beside the point, but I still want to know.

“It spells
Hank
. For Hank Aaron.”

“Oh,” I say, thinking of the baseball card that he used to keep in his wallet. How my parents had tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket right before they closed the coffin. I swallow, willing myself not to throw up.

“So, anyway, I knew his pass code,” Nolan continues. “And got on his phone and checked his call log….I prayed that he'd called someone else after we talked…maybe Sophie before she got on her flight….But no.” He shakes his head, then takes a deep breath, trying to keep it together. “The last two calls were with me.”

“
Two
calls?” I say.

“Yes,” he says. “The first was fifty-two seconds. When I asked him to come get you.”

“And then you called back?” I ask softly.

“No. Then he called me about fifteen minutes later…to tell me he was leaving the house. On his way.”

“Do you remember that call?”

“Of course I do,” he says. “It was the last time I ever heard his voice. It was the last time
anyone
ever heard his voice….”

“How long did you talk that time?” I ask, sure that he knows the answer.

“Fourteen seconds. Fourteen
fucking
seconds. You know why it was only fourteen seconds?”

“Because he was driving?” I ask, thinking of how responsible Daniel always was about driving. About
everything
.