Once and Again

The response was what Jess had expected. “You should eat anyway.”

Kristin sighed again. “I know. I just can’t stomach the thought of food right now.”

“It’s pasta—from Mama Leone’s.”

“Caleb’s favorite,” her friend said softly.

“It used to be yours, too.” She handed the bag to Kristin, then moved around to the other side of the bed and gently kissed Caleb’s cheek. “We’ll get you some Mama Leone’s as soon as these tubes are gone,” she promised him.

When she looked up again, she saw Kristin staring at her, her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For the pasta?”

Kristin shook her head. “For not pretending he isn’t here.”

A single tear slipped onto her cheek and she turned away, busying herself with the unpacking of dinner. “There have been people in and out of here all day,” she said. “Neighbors, friends from church, parents of Caleb’s classmates. So many of them came to see me and Brian, to express their sympathy, offer their prayers. And so many of them refused to look at Caleb, as if his condition is contagious and tragedy might bleed into their perfect lives.”

“I’m sure it’s not intentional,” she said gently.

“I know. I’m just pissed off at everyone right now.”

“I’d guess that’s normal.”

Kristin laughed shortly. “Nothing about this is normal, but we’re doing the best we can under the circumstances.” She began scooping angel-hair primavera onto two paper plates.

“Where’s Brian?”

She thought she heard Kristin sigh. “He had to go to football practice.”

“Oh.” She accepted the plate and fork her friend passed to her.

“It’s hard for him to be here,” Kristin said, just a little defensively. “To see Caleb like this.”

“I don’t imagine it’s easy for anyone,” Jess said gently.

“No, but it helps Brian to go through the motions of a normal day.”

She only nodded.

Kristin picked up a fork and twirled it in the pasta, set it down again without eating. “I thought the medication they’re giving him would have taken effect,” she admitted. “That he’d be awake by now.”

“It’s after eight o’clock,” Jess said. “If he was awake, wouldn’t you be telling him to close his eyes and get some sleep?”

Her friend managed a smile. “Yeah, I probably would.” She toyed with a slice of red pepper. “Or maybe not. Right now I’d be so thrilled, I’d let him stay up until midnight if he wanted.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, as if imagining the happy event. Then her eyes flew open. “I’m a horrible mother. I didn’t even ask about Jake and Katie, if they had dinner.”

“You’re a wonderful mother,” Jess said. “And they were ordering pizza when I left.”

“I feel like I’m falling down on the job, but I can’t seem to think about anyone but Caleb right now.”

“They understand why you need to be here. And they seem pretty self-sufficient anyway.”

“Yeah, they are that.” There was pride, and a hint of sadness, in her voice.

“Since they obviously don’t need a babysitter,” Jess continued, “I was wondering if there was some other way I could help you out, something I could do for you.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“I want to help, Kristin.”

“Why?”

“Because I hope being here now can somehow make up for neglecting our friendship for so many years.”

Kristin was quiet for a moment. “I sometimes wondered if you were too busy to realize you were neglecting it.”

“No,” Jess admitted. “I knew.”

Kristin nodded.

“I’m sorry—for so many things.”

She set her plate aside. “Some of my earliest and happiest memories are of times we spent together. When you moved to New York, I didn’t worry that we’d drift apart because I believed we were too close to ever let anything come between us.

“But eighteen years is a long time, and a handful of visits and occasional phone calls aren’t enough to sustain the kind of connection we once shared.”

“I know,” Jess agreed.

“I missed you,” Kristin said softly. “For a long time, I missed you. And then, somewhere along the line, I got used to you being gone.”

She could only nod, her throat too tight to speak. It was her own fault, Jess knew that. She’d made the choice to decline Kristin’s invitations to come home. She’d had her reasons, of course, but eighteen years ago those reasons had been too painful to share with anyone, even her best friend.

Now she thought she could probably talk about it and not fall to pieces. Maybe. But now wasn’t about making excuses and explanations for what had happened so many years before. Now was about being here for Kristin, if she would let her.

“I really want to stay mad at you,” Kristin said, “but I just don’t have the energy right now.”

It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was a start.

“Do you really want to help?”

“Of course,” Jess said quickly.

Her friend hesitated, as if reluctant to ask anything of her, as if she expected her to refuse.

“For the past few months I’ve been working in Nick’s office, just a few hours a day, answering phones and filing orders.”

Uh-oh. Like a runaway train, Jess could see where this was going but had no idea how to stop it. She could only brace herself and wait for the inevitable collision.