And when he came back, he walked into the kitchen, and found Tracy giving the kids breakfast. He looked at her, and she started chatting, and then suddenly she knew, and she stopped, looking at him, and he nodded. And he looked down at Jane, and sat down next to her, and he took her in his arms and told her the worst thing she would ever hear from him or anyone else. Ever.

“Mommy's gone, sweetheart. …”

“Gone where? … To the hospital again? …” She pulled away from him to see his face and then she took a sharp breath as she understood and she started to cry in his arms. It was a morning they would all remember for a lifetime.





Chapter 23

Tracy took the children home after breakfast and the people from Halsted's funeral parlor came at noon. Bernie sat alone in the house, waiting for them, with the bedroom door still locked, and finally, he went back through the sliding doors, and sat there with her, holding her hand, waiting for them to come. It was the last time they'd be alone, the last time they'd be in bed, the last time they'd be anything, but there was no point hanging onto it, he kept telling himself. She was already gone. But as he looked down at her and kissed her fingers, she didn't feel gone to him. She was part of his soul and his heart, and his life. And he knew she always would be. He heard the car from Halsted's drive up, and he unlocked the door and went out to meet them. He couldn't watch while they covered her up and took her out. He spoke to the man in the living room, and told him what he wanted to arrange. He said he'd be back in town by the end of the afternoon. He had to pack up the house and go back to town. The man said he understood, and he gave Bernie his card. Everything was going to be made as easy as possible for him. Easy. What was easy about losing his wife, the woman he loved, the mother of his children?

Tracy had called Dr. Johanssen for him, and he called the house owners himself. He was giving up the house that afternoon. He didn't want to come back to the beach again. It would have been too painful for him. There were suddenly so many details to arrange, and none of it mattered anyway. The man made such a fuss about whether the box was mahogany or metal or pine, lined in pink, blue, or green, who gave a damn anyway. She was gone …three years and it was over … he had lost her. His heart felt like a rock in his chest, as he threw Jane's things into her bag, and Alexander's into another one …and yanked open the drawer where he found Liz' wigs, and suddenly he sat down and began to cry, and he felt as though he would never stop. He looked out at the sky and the sea, and shouted “Why, God? Why?” But no one answered him. And the bed was empty now. She was gone. She had left the night before, after kissing him and thanking him for the life and the baby they'd shared, and he hadn't been able to hold onto her, no matter how hard he'd tried to.

He called his parents once everything was packed. It was two o'clock by then, and his mother answered the phone. It was hot as hell in New York, and even the air conditioning didn't help. They were meeting friends in town, and she thought they were calling to say they'd be late picking them up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.” There was suddenly an enormous letdown, and he wasn't even sure he could get up enough energy to speak to her.

“Sweetheart, is something wrong?”

“I …” He nodded no and then yes, and then the tears came again. “I …wanted you to know …” He couldn't say the words. He was five years old and his world had come to an end…. “Liz …Oh Mom…” He was sobbing like a child and she began to cry just listening to him. “She died …last night…” He couldn't go on and she signaled to Lou standing beside her with worried eyes.

“We'll come right out.” She was looking at her watch and her husband and her dinner dress and crying all at the same time, thinking of the girl he had loved, the mother of their grandson. It was so inconceivable that she was gone, and so wrong, and all she wanted to do was put her arms around Bernie. “We'll catch the next plane.” She was gesticulating incoherently at Lou and he understood, and when Ruth let him, he took the phone from her ear.

“We love you, son. We'll get there as soon as we can.”

“Good …good …I …” He didn't know how to handle it, what one said, what one did … he wanted to cry and scream, and kick his feet and bring her back, and she would never come back to him again. Never. “I can't…” But he could. He had to. He had to. He had two children to think about now. And he was alone. They were all he had now.

“Where are you, son?” Lou was desperately worried about him.

“At the beach.” Bernie took a deep breath. He wanted to get out of the house where she died. He couldn't wait as he looked around, and he was glad the bags were already in the car. “It happened here.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes … I sent Tracy home with the kids, and …they took Liz a little while ago.” He choked at the thought. They had covered her with a tarp …they'd put it over her face and her head … he felt sick at the thought. “I have to go in now. To take care of everything.”

“We'll try to get there tonight.”

“I want to stay with her at the funeral parlor.” Just as he had at the hospital. He wasn't leaving her till she was buried.

“All right. We'll be there as soon as we can.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

He sounded like a little boy again, and it broke his father's heart as he hung up the phone and turned to Ruth. Ruth was sobbing quietly and he took her in his arms, as suddenly the tears rolled down his cheeks, too, crying for his boy, and the tragedy that had struck him. She had been such a lovely girl, and they had all loved her.

They caught a nine P.M. flight, after canceling their dinner with their friends, and arrived in San Francisco at midnight local time. It was three in the morning for them, but Ruth had rested on the plane and she wanted to go straight to the address Bernie had given them.

He was sitting with his wife at the funeral parlor and the casket was closed. He wouldn't have been able to sit, watching her, and it was bad enough like this. He was all alone in the lonely funeral parlor. All the other mourners had gone home hours before and only two solemn men in black suits were there to open the door for the Fines when they arrived at one o'clock in the morning. They had dropped their bags at the hotel on the way. And Ruth was wearing a somber black suit, black blouse, and black shoes she had bought at Wolffs years before. His father was wearing a dark gray suit and a black tie, and Bernie was wearing a charcoal gray suit and a white shirt and black tie, and he looked suddenly older than his thirty-seven years. He had gone home earlier for a few hours to visit the children, and then he had come back here. And now he sent his mother home to stay at the house, so she would be there when they woke up. And his father announced that he wanted to spend the night with him at Halsted's.

They spoke very little, and in the morning Bernie went home to shower and change, while his father went to the hotel to do the same. His mother was already making breakfast for the kids, as Tracy made calls. She had a message that Paul Berman was arriving in town at eleven A.M. to be at the funeral at noon. In the Jewish tradition, they were burying Liz that day.

Ruth had picked out a white dress for Jane, and Alexander was staying home with a sitter Liz used sometimes. He didn't understand what was going on, and staggered around the kitchen table, shouting “Mommm Mommm Mommm Mommm,” which was what he called Liz, and it reduced Bernie to tears again. Ruth patted his arm and told him he should lie down for a while, but he sat down at the table next to Jane.

“Hi, sweetheart. You okay?” Who was? But one had to ask. He wasn't okay either and she knew that. None of them were. She shrugged, and slipped her little hand into his. At least they weren't asking each other anymore why it had happened to her, and to them. It had. And they had to live with it. Liz was gone. And she wanted them to go on. Of that, he was sure. But how? That was the bitch of it.

He walked into their bedroom, remembering the Bible she read once in a while, and thought about reading the Twenty-third Psalm at her funeral. And as he reached for it, it was thicker than he expected it to be, and the four letters fell out at his feet. He bent down to pick them up and saw what they were. The tears rolled down his cheeks unabashed as he read his, and he called Jane in to read hers, and then handed his mother the letter Liz had written to her. The one to Alexander he would keep for him for much, much later. He planned to keep it in a safe, until Alexander was old enough to understand it.

It was a day of constant pain, constant tenderness, constant memories. And Paul Berman stood next to Bernie at the funeral, as he clung to Jane's hand, and his father held Ruth's arm, and they all cried as friends and neighbors and colleagues filed in. She would be missed by everyone, the principal of her school said, and Bernie was touched by how many of Wolffs salespeople had come. There were so many people who had loved her and would miss her now …but none as much as he, or the children she had left behind. “I'll see you again one day,” she had promised everyone. She had told her schoolchildren that on the last day of school …she had promised them … on what she had called Valentine's Day. And Bernie hoped she was right… he wanted to see her again …desperately …but first he had two children to bring up…. He squeezed Jane's hand as they stood listening to the words of the Twenty-third Psalm, wishing she were there with them …wishing she had stayed …and blinded by tears as he longed for her. But Elizabeth O'Reilly Fine was gone forever.