She's the Boss (9 page)

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said quietly. I hoped the simple phrase expressed the extent of what I felt. They were such easy words, offered with little or no thought, yet I meant every word of it.

Amanda’s face was an impassive mask. “Me too . . .” There was a pause until she added, “You know, our ten year anniversary is just next month. I had this whole trip planned. To Yellowstone. It’s where we had our honeymoon. We’d stayed at the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel . . . so beautiful, so peaceful. And we saw so many bison. But not many bears, though. Ben was all about the bears . . . always wanting to snap a hundred pictures of them.”

Amanda carried on talking about the time they had spent at Yellowstone, and it seemed to ground her for a bit. At some point, she slipped and lost her footing. “I had this amazing trip all planned. And now . . . now I’ll be planning a funeral. Oh God!” She buried her face in her hands and burst into gut-wrenching sobs. “This is so-so sudden. I just saw Ben this morning, getting ready for work. I-I haven’t had time to prepare for this. I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to him.” She began to cry even harder.

I swallowed hard, pushing against the lump that was blocking my throat. Then I pulled over to the side of the road, stalled the engine and put a comforting hand around Amanda’s shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t shrug it off, grateful when she didn’t.

Chapter Six

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted,” said the priest. After the first Episcopal prayer, Amanda rose from the pew and strode to the front of the church. For the first few seconds, “Hi,” was all she could manage. She stood there for a moment, composing herself. Then, “My Ben . . . I know he loved me. And I know he loved his family because he was never afraid to say it or show it.” Her voice did not crack and she looked strong and brave in front of a crowd of over three hundred.

She talked about her beloved husband, Ben, as if he were sitting in the front-row pew, gazing at her. She spoke about simple moments they had shared and I could sense the painful effort that it required from her.

Her husband was taken away so suddenly, without any warning, without preamble, that there was no gradual transition, no time at all for her to adjust. The way her world had been, with her husband alive, was gone. She now had to face a new reality . . . the way the world
is
, with him gone. My heart broke into a million pieces for her.

When her tribute came to an end, Amanda looked around at the sea of faces. “I’d like to leave you all with a poem by Canon Henry Scott-Holland. I know in my heart this is how Ben would have wanted to be remembered . . .” She unfolded a piece of paper, cleared her throat and began.

Death is nothing at all.

I have only slipped away to the next room.

I am I and you are you.

Whatever we were to each other,

That, we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.

Speak to me in the easy way which you always used.

Put no difference into your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.

Let it be spoken without effect.

Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was.

There is absolute unbroken continuity.

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you.

For an interval.

Somewhere. Very near.

Just around the corner.

All is well.        

At 6:15, the service was over and the priest informed the congregation that there would be a receiving line. Quickly, I rose from my pew and stood at the front of the queue that was quickly building up. When it came to my turn to pay my respects, I walked up to Amanda and was surprised to find Carter exchanging words with her.

“Thank you,” said Amanda, clasping his hand, “for the lovely flowers you sent to my home.”

“It’s from all of us,” Carter said kindly. “Everyone at the office sends their deepest sympathies.”

“Ahem,” I cleared my throat and smiled. “I’m here too, on behalf of everyone at work.”

“Karsynn.” Amanda’s voice was warm and lilting. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for all those groceries you dropped off the other day.”

From the look on Carter’s face, he was just as surprised to see me.

I reached in and gave Amanda a hug. “I’m always around if you need anything.”

“Oh Kars.” She hugged me back so hard I thought I might not live to see tomorrow. “You’ve offered your support from day one. That alone is a gift. Thank you.” Amanda stepped back and looked from me to Carter. “And thank you both for coming. I wasn’t expecting anyone from work to show up.”

“We’re all thinking of you, Amanda,” I said meaningfully.

“We are,” Carter added in a gentle voice. “You’re not alone in this.”

She smiled briefly in acknowledgement. “I know. But all this . . . it just seems so foreign.”

“Yes, I’m sure it does.” The way Carter said it, it was soft and sad at the same time.

Amanda began laughing somewhat ruefully. “I seem to be consoling people who have come to console me. But don’t get me wrong, I’m certainly not complaining.” She glanced over my shoulder, taking in the long line that stretched all the way to the back of the church. “It warms my heart to see how many people love and care about Ben.”

I nodded solemnly and was on the verge of conveying my heartfelt sympathies when Carter cut in, “Right.” He squeezed my elbow slightly. “Karsynn and I shouldn’t keep you. Take care, Amanda, and please take all the time you need.”

I was able to give Amanda a quick hug before I was unceremoniously dragged away by an impatient Carter.

I stepped outside into a heat wave and took refuge under an awning. Leaning against the cool concrete wall, I lit a cigarette and closed my eyes, just for a second. Halfway through my infinitely relaxing cigarette, Carter strode out of the church, looking as if he’d just stepped off the pages of GQ.

So there he was.

After our brief encounter back in the church, I had been surreptitiously tracking his presence. He had moved through the crowd, maintaining a safe distance from me. And then I had lost him. But here he was again.

I hated to admit it, but he cut a fine figure in a black suit. As the wind tugged softly at his brown hair, Carter caught my gaze and I found myself coldly scrutinized.

Whoa! His eyes could skewer a person at a hundred paces.

Why was he always so mad? Mostly everyone at work was terrified of him and as far as I knew, no one had ever seen him smile. Although, with Amanda back there, I did see a brief glimpse of kindness. He was charming, even. Nonetheless, it was obvious to me that Carter had now dropped the charm act and any trace of kindness had been entirely erased. He was his usual broody, arrogant self.

I took a deep drag and angled my head to the left, blowing a smooth stream of smoke across my shoulder. I allowed myself the faintest glimmer of a smile as Carter advanced toward me. “What’s the matter, Carter? Did a pigeon poop in your eye?”

“No,” he replied nonplussed.

“Did someone stab you in the brain with a wooden stake?”

“No!” Carter’s voice surged with irritation.

“Walk barefoot over a bed of glowing coals?”

This time, Carter said nothing, but his eyes flashed like hot embers.

I ventured, “Smack your head on a tree branch, perhaps?”

His jaw went rigid as he stood before me. “Are you suffering from verbal diarrhea? Or is there a point to this onslaught?”

I took another drag on my cigarette.

“You know,” Carter went on, “there is a saying in Russia: One idiot can ask more questions than a thousand wise men could answer.”

“Is that so?” With palpable lack of interest, I asked, “Was the Russian philosopher named Smirnofficus?”

“What?”

Jeez, Carter certainly was slow on the uptake.

“Never mind,” I said lightly, blowing out smoke rings and watching them float away. “I was just wondering why you’re always scowling. Half the time you look sort of constipated.”

Carter paused for a fraction of a moment, clearly put off by such open hostility. “That’s because you reek of a charcoal furnace,” he said, not looking the least bit contrite. “And I find it very difficult to breathe when I’m around you.”

I looked at my cigarette in surprise to see that it had burnt away without me even noticing. I lit another and took a long drag.

“Do you mind?” He coughed loudly. “Your second hand smoke is killing me. Not to mention, it’s turning you into a black lunged cow.”

Wait. Did he just call me a cow?

“How dare you! You-you,” I sputtered, racking my brain for a suitable cutting comeback. “You pink-lunged prick!”

Pink-lunged prick?
I blinked furiously.
Really, Kars?

Judging from Carter’s stupefied expression, he had been called many things, but never that. Meanwhile, my gloves were still on and I boldly stepped into the ring. “Why do you even care so much about your health?” Since cigarettes had much the same effect on Carter as garlic on a vampire, I continued puffing like a chimney. “You’re so miserable all the time, I’m actually doing you a favor. Heck, if you lived a day longer you’d just be prolonging your misery.”

For a while, he simply stared at me and said nothing.

Belatedly, I realized I’d sounded callous. After all, I’d still have to see him at work tomorrow. That is, if I lived to see tomorrow. For one irrational second, I contemplated committing
hara-kiri
before Carter actually did the deed for me.

By now, Carter had regained himself. His face clouded with anger and he sent a death wish in my direction.

I gulped. If Carter placed both his hands on the sides of my head, there was no doubt in my mind that he could squash my cranium like a coconut.

Nervously, I tossed my hair over my shoulder and decided to play nice in a pathetic attempt to cover up my faux pas. “So tell me.” I summoned up a smile and said ultra-casually, “What do you do during your spare time? That is, when you’re not tormenting your workers or scowling at the sky?”

I did have the satisfaction of seeing his eyes narrow slightly. I think Carter was surprised by my question and even more surprised by my interest in him.

Instead of responding to my question, he said dryly, “And why, may I ask, are you flicking your hair? Are you flirting with me?”

“Me? Flirt with
you
? Pssh! Puh-lease! I’m just flipping my hair, you know . . . like a typical girl.”

“A typical girl? Really? For a moment there I wasn’t so sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well . . . it had crossed my mind that you could be a hermaphrodite.”

Humph. I walked right into that one.

I stubbed out my cigarette under my foot before fixing him with a hard stare.

For one glorious moment, I made a mental image of a Carter voodoo doll and spent an enjoyable minute sticking imaginary pins into him.

“Oh, look who’s scowling now,” he said, not trying very hard to disguise the fact that he was laughing. “You can dish it, but you can’t take it, can you?”

God! How I despised that man!

Our eyes locked in mutual distaste. I was still in two minds about whether to pick a fight with Carter when my gut instinct convinced me it wouldn’t be a good idea. After all, he was still my boss.