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Authors: Emily Liebert

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BOOK: When We Fall
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Chapter 4

“A
re you excited for your first day?” Allison thrummed her long, delicate fingers on the steering wheel to the fitful pulse of her heartbeat.

“Mom, you've asked me that, like, a million times.” Logan grinned broadly, revealing a mouthful of metal. Not a flattering look, but to her he was still the most handsome little boy in the world, even with braces. And even if he wasn't that little anymore. “I'm really excited.” He patted her on the shoulder reassuringly.

“Good, me too.” Allison smiled and stroked the top of his head, ignoring the involuntary tautening of every muscle in her body as their car fell in line with the others bordering the busy street for school drop-off. She couldn't help but feel that, in some ways, it was her first day too. She'd been up at four in the morning, unsure whether to feel exhilarated or anxious. Somehow, healing in her new surroundings seemed easier than being exposed to daily reminders of Jack. On the
other hand, she was terrified she'd lose those cherished memories. Save for Logan, they were all she had left.

“It's cool that I'm going to the same school you went to. Don't you think?” Logan blew his bangs out of his eyes and took a generous bite of the warm cinnamon raisin bagel he was clutching in both hands. A glob of cream cheese dribbled down his chin, landing on his blue jeans. In one swift motion, he scooped it up with his index finger and deposited it directly into his mouth, delightfully unaware of the chalky white blotch it had left behind.

Allison had decided to mail-order a dozen bagels from Sammy's in New York City in an attempt to inject some familiarity into Logan's new routine, which had prompted him to ask, “Don't they have bagels in Wincourt?” Of course they had bagels in Wincourt. But they didn't have Sammy's. Sammy's had been
their
bagel place. Hers and Logan's. Just as she and Jack had had
their
bagel place on the Upper West Side, which they'd rolled into on Sunday mornings wearing scarcely more than their pajamas. Luigi's. She'd never forget that name because each and every time they'd gone there, Jack had mused about how silly it was to name a bagel place after an Italian guy, even if he was the owner. Couldn't he have pretended to be a Jonah or a Noah for the sake of tradition?

In many ways, it was as if she'd lived two separate lives in New York. One with Jack. And one with Logan. But there were no crossed paths. No shared experiences among all of them. There was just Allison. The common thread that entwined their splintered family of three into one patchwork tapestry of memories.

“Huh?” Lost in thought, she turned into the Wincourt Elementary School parking lot.

“I said it's cool I'm going to the same school that you went to when you were my age.” Logan looked up at her expectantly. “Mom, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, I'm listening.” She laughed, putting the car in park. “Now you listen to me.” She cupped Logan's face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “You have the best first day of school ever, okay? And remember I love you—”

“—to the moon and back.” Logan finished her sentence and hopped out of the car, as if the fact that his whole world had been turned upside down was no big deal. Why was it that kids were so much more resilient than adults?

•   •   •

Allison
skulked outside Logan's classroom, careful to remain incognito. No matter how many times he'd sworn up and down that he'd be fine, she still couldn't manage to vacate the premises. Being back at Wincourt Elementary School—the site of her own second- through sixth-grade career—felt like coming home in a way she hadn't anticipated. For starters, everything was exactly the same, only on a smaller scale. Or had it always been that way? Upon walking through the front door, she'd suddenly become a giant in a midget's world. Narrow hallways. Miniature chairs. Pint-sized people. It was tantamount to Munchkinland in
The Wizard of Oz
, minus Glinda, the Wicked Witch of the West, and the Yellow Brick Road.

She hadn't bothered to make the trek up for parents' night, having been focused solely on the myriad details of their move. And also because, traditionally speaking,
parents' nights were risky—the beaming fathers asking questions they'd never actually need the answers to, just so they could be part of the process, if only for a night. After that, the mommies and nannies would be in charge of things like books, lunches, permission slips, and name tags sewn into every piece of clothing—that is, if you planned on seeing it again. Allison had become accustomed to dealing with all these things herself, but there was something about watching the dads on parents' night, well aware of the profound void in her life and in Logan's life, that she preferred to eschew. Of course the administration at WES understood her “situation,” as they referred to it, and had assured her that they'd do everything in their power to make sure Logan's matriculation went smoothly. They'd even suggested a meeting between Logan and the school psychologist—an emotional security measure—which Allison had declined. There was no reason to single him out, she maintained, unless absolutely necessary.

“It never gets easier, huh?” Allison diverted her eyes from peering through an opening in Logan's classroom door to find an attractive woman neatly turned out in expensive-looking black slacks with a crisp cream linen shirt and a powder blue cardigan tied over her shoulders.

“I know, right?” Allison smiled absently.

“Which one's yours?” The woman crept up behind her and tilted her head so she too could get a glimpse into the classroom.

“The little boy over there with the red and blue plaid button-down.” Allison pointed to where Logan was kneeling on the ground next to a chubby girl decked out in
leopard-print leggings and a hot-pink T-shirt emblazoned in silver sparkles with the message
I'm a Princess
.

“Oh, that's my daughter, Gia.” She frowned. “The not-so-little one he's working with.”

“She's adorable. I'm Allison, by the way.” She extended her right hand, still aware of Logan's every movement.

“Charlotte.” The woman shook her hand weakly. “You're new here?”

“Kind of.” Allison turned her back to the room for the first time since saying good-bye to Logan. “I grew up in Wincourt, but after college I relocated to Manhattan. I just moved back here.”

“That's exciting!” Charlotte's face brightened, as if returning to Wincourt were the equivalent of winning Mega Millions.

“I guess.” Allison raked her fingers through her long, wavy blond hair, gathered it at the nape of her neck, and twisted it into a tight bun, releasing it once she realized she'd left the ponytail holder she usually wore around her wrist at home. She'd also left Logan's lunch on the kitchen counter, where, quite intentionally, she'd placed it as a reminder. “I mean, yeah. It is. Exciting.”

“I'm sure it's overwhelming too.” Charlotte nodded meaningfully.

“You could say that.”

“Is your husband . . . Are you . . . ?” Charlotte fidgeted with the tassel on her purse.

“I'm not married.” It was all Allison could manage in the moment. It had taken her long enough just to be able to say those words.
I'm not married.

After all, it wasn't like she'd gotten divorced. Or hadn't found someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. One second she'd been a wife. The next she'd been a widow. How was one supposed to digest that, much less become accustomed to informing strangers? She'd given little thought to what she was going to say to people in Wincourt, assuming that news of the widow and her son joining the Wincourt Elementary School family had preceded her. It'd been such a long time since she'd had to explain her “situation” to anyone.

“I see.” Charlotte nodded soberly, and Allison surmised that being a single parent in Wincourt was considered a handicap of sorts, kind of like having one leg. Or one home. Or one car. “I'm just waiting for my husband. He's in the restroom,” Charlotte confirmed and then, aware that her declaration might be perceived as inconsiderate, added, “Don't worry. You'll never see him here again! He only shows on day one. And I have to drag him kicking and screaming for that. But, you know, it's important. To Gia.” She mumbled the last part, as if she wasn't convinced.

“Gotcha.” Allison smiled politely, sensing Charlotte's awkwardness.

“That must be him now.” The men's bathroom door swung open to reveal a tall, handsome man impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit and polished black leather dress shoes. He walked toward them briskly, focused intently on his iPhone, his fingers stabbing at the keyboard furiously.

“Charlie?” Allison's eyes widened and he looked up. “Charlie Crane?” His hard expression softened instantly.

“Ali? Holy shit!” He wrapped his arms around her, hoisting her into the air in his sturdy embrace. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I live here now.” She motioned to the ground. “I mean, not right here.” She giggled. “But in Wincourt. And my son, Logan, goes to school here. What the hell are
you
doing here?” Allison beamed, digesting the strange and amazing coincidence that was standing in front of her.

“Same deal. Wow. I can't believe it. How long has it been?”

“So I take it you two know each other?” Charlotte interrupted, having been completely sidelined by the main event.

“Yes. Oh God, I'm so sorry. Yes.” Allison looked back and forth between the two of them. “Charlie and I are old friends. Very old friends.” She saw a dark cloud shroud Charlotte's face. “Oh no, nothing like that. Charlie was my husband's best friend from summer camp. We all met there when we were what? Ten?”

“Oh.” Charlotte appeared visibly relieved. “Wait, I thought you said you weren't married.”

“I'm not.”

“About that.” Charlie's buoyant mood became subdued. “I'm so sorry, Ali. I should have—”

“It's okay.” Allison took a deep breath and then exhaled before turning to Charlotte. “My husband, Jack, was killed in a bus accident eleven years ago. He was on his way to Stowe for a ski trip.”

“Oh God.” Charlotte pressed her left palm to her chest. “That's . . . awful. I had no idea. How insensitive . . .”

“It's really okay,” Allison assured them both. “There was no way you could have known.”

“I wanted to reach out to you, Ali. I just . . . I didn't know what to say.” He shook his head and hunched it toward the floor. Allison knew the drill. It was practically impossible for people to look her square in the face and offer their condolences. Even eleven years later.

“I promise it's fine.” She hadn't done this dance in a while. “I'm just happy to know someone up here. It's been a while.”

“You're remarkable, Ali. You always were.” Charlie stared at her intently and then snapped out of his haze. “I can't believe it, but I have to run. I have a nine thirty conference call at work. Can we exchange info? I'm
dying
to catch up. I mean, wait, that came out—”

“It's okay!” Allison laughed. It never ceased to amaze her how perfectly pulled-together, exceptionally articulate people could deteriorate into bumbling fools when forced to deal with the subject of death or loss. Specifically when it wasn't their own loss.

“I host a little get-together every week or so for a few of my girlfriends,” Charlotte interjected again, quite clearly desperate to insinuate herself into the conversation. “I call it a Wine and Whine.” She twisted her mouth uncertainly, checking with Charlie for confirmation. He nodded. “We eat a little, drink a little more, and whine about our—”

“Husbands.”

“Well, yeah, but lots of other stuff too, so it wouldn't be . . . ,” Charlotte sputtered.

“That sounds great. I'd love to come.” It wasn't strictly the truth. Generally speaking, Allison shunned female husband-bashing fests. She'd never understood the appeal of sitting around and complaining about the person you were
voluntarily married to. Maybe she'd be in the same boat if Jack were still alive. Maybe he'd be grating her last nerve every minute of every day the way she knew most women's husbands did. Whether it was throwing their dirty clothing on the floor just inches from the laundry basket or not coming home from work early enough to pay their wives and kids the attention they deserved. Or, even worse, not listening absorbedly to every word that came out of their mouths. To Allison, these gripes cast an insignificant shadow on a world she'd never known and perhaps never would.

“Oh good.” Charlotte clapped her hands together. “It's settled, then. And you and Charlie can catch up afterward.”

“Perfect.” Charlie grinned and kissed Allison on the cheek. “I'll look forward to it.”

•   •   •

Twenty
minutes later, following an animated phone call to her mother about running into Charlie Crane, Allison found herself standing in front of a tantalizing selection of sandwiches at a new-to-her gourmet shop in the center of town. On the heels of the morning's events, however, it felt unfeasible to focus on anything, namely, which sandwich to pick up for Logan's lunch. She'd promised his teacher she'd be back within the hour so Logan didn't have to eat a stale peanut butter and jelly sandwich courtesy of the school's limited culinary offerings or the tuna sandwich from home, which had been basking in the morning sun on their kitchen counter for the last two hours.

“Can I help you with something?” Allison looked up to find a man with wavy dark brown hair and fetching blue eyes watching her from behind the counter. Caught off guard first
by his presence and then again by how cute he was, she felt her cheeks warm and a blush creep up the nape of her neck.

BOOK: When We Fall
10.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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