Once upon a time, color had dominated Eva Jamison’s days.
Now she stared at a white wall, with nothing but a black computer screen, a pen holder, and a stapler decorating her tiny world. Flat off-white fixtures overhead fed canned fluorescent light to the open room where her desk was squeezed in with ten others. The single window in the space—located about as far from Eva’s desk as possible—gave a view not of Central Park but the side of another gray building.
But it wasn’t the Manhattan Heart Center’s fault that it was an artist’s nightmare, with its minimalist black furniture, drab olive carpet, and tacky motivational posters.
No, the problem was her. She didn’t belong here.
And yet this was the only place she wanted to be.
“Eva.”
She startled. The center’s director, Maryanne, stood next to Eva’s desk, wisps of graying hair falling from her bun.
“Oh, hi. What’s up?”
“I need those reports for my one o’clock.” Maryanne checked her teal watch, which clashed horribly with her fuzzy red short-sleeved sweater—an interesting choice given the cloying end-of-August humidity outside. “Did you send them?”
Reports? . . . Which reports? Eva’s cheeks burned. “Um . . . I thought so.” She turned back to her computer and navigated to her woeful to-do list. Found the item Maryanne referenced.
Not checked as complete. Ugh.
“I’m sorry, Maryanne. I was working on it yesterday and got distracted. I’ll get on it right away.”
Maryanne rubbed the corner of her right eye, clearly suppressing a sigh. “No, it’s fine. Send Jerry what you have and he’ll help me finish.”
“I don’t mind. Really.” She was supposed to meet her best friend, Kimberly Jensen, for lunch in a few minutes, but she’d understand if Eva needed to reschedule.
“No, no. We’ve got it.”
In other words, Eva had failed. Again. Last week’s debacle—in which Eva had accidentally sent an internal message to all donors—had upended what little confidence she’d gained at her job.
If she were a paid employee, Eva surely would have been fired by now.
But the nonprofit center couldn’t afford to turn away volunteers, even ones so ill-suited to administrative work as Eva Jamison.
“I really am sorry.”
“Why don’t you take your lunch break? In fact, why not just take the rest of the day off? We’ll see you tomorrow, fresh and ready to go.” Maryanne’s tone indicated wishful thinking rather than certainty that any improvement in Eva’s work would ever occur.
As Maryanne walked away, Eva locked her computer and snagged her phone to text Kimberly. Like always, the photo on her screen sent a jolt to her heart: Eva in a gorgeous A-line dress on a beach in Hawaii, her self-made bouquet of orange roses, cymbidium orchids, bird-of-paradise, and red ginger dangling from one hand as the other embraced her new husband.
They’d looked so different—Brent with blond curls and skin that tanned only after burning a few times in early summer, Eva with dark eyes and long brown hair. But their hearts were the same.
He’d been her inspiration. Her muse. Her joy.
All that was gone now.
Everything was gray.
Eva sent a text, grabbed her purse, and hurried down the hallway.
“I have to redo everything Eva touches.” Her coworker Valerie’s voice drifted from the break room. “It’s ridiculous.”
Eva ground to a stop outside the door. She told her feet to move, but they wouldn’t.
“I’ll admit, she’s not very good at remembering the details. But she’s very sweet and friendly.”
Thank you, Susan. The fiftysomething woman had been kind to Eva since her first day here six months ago.
“But we need someone who is also competent enough to follow simple directions. It’s not like the stuff Maryanne gives her is difficult.”
“Her husband and brother-in-law died in a horrific accident. She’s still grieving.”
“Oh, sure, bring up the dead husband,” Valerie huffed. “We’ve all had tragedy. My husband left me, but do you see me unable to do the simplest of tasks? No. And I didn’t get one cent out of my ex. Brent left Eva richer than God.”
Eva nearly protested out loud. Sure, No Frills Fitness—the string of high-end gyms and yoga studios that Brent co-owned with his best friend, Marc—had done well in the last three years. But other than taking out enough to pay the rent on her Brooklyn apartment and other basic living expenses, Eva had most of it tied up in investments and savings.
Money had never mattered to her or Brent. It had only been a means to live out the adventures of life.
“That’s enough.”
“What? I wish she’d just leave us a sizable donation and take her attempts to help far, far away.”
Eva had considered doing that, but being here, in a place that had meant a lot to her husband, made her feel closer to him somehow.
Susan’s audible sigh met Eva’s ears. “I feel bad for her. You can tell she just wants to make a difference. I only wish there was a kind way to tell her that her efforts are making more work for the rest of us.”
Tears welled in Eva’s eyes as she strode out of there, nearly stumbling across the freshly waxed epoxy floors in the center’s lobby. When she exited the building, a wave of oppressive heat smacked her in the face. Yesterday’s thunderstorm had left the air charged with moisture, and the eighty-degree temperature felt more like one hundred. Thankfully, the jaunt to the restaurant where Kimberly waited was a short one. After five minutes, Eva had managed to wipe away evidence of her cry session before walking into the trendy vegan place.
Or so she thought.
As Eva approached her friend, who sat in a corner booth studying the menu, Kimberly’s head popped up and her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing. I’m fine.” Eva leaned over to give Kim a hug, then slid into the booth opposite her.
Kimberly’s brown hair had been pulled into a smart knot on the top of her head, accentuating her long neck. Her couture white blouse and diamond climber earrings evidenced her growing success as a wedding coordinator. “You forget I’ve known you since we were scrawny thirteen-year-old wannabes. I can tell when you’ve done some makeup patching. So spill.”
“You’re bossy.”
“And you love me for it.”
Her friend, who’d attended college in NYC and started her event-planning business after graduation, was the whole reason Eva had come here from Portland seven years ago at the age of twenty-three. When she’d called Eva about an acquaintance looking to hire an apprentice in his florist shop, Eva jumped at the chance to learn more about a career where she could put her creative tendencies to use. It definitely beat waiting tables and teaching drawing to a handful of students around town.
Despite the protests of her engineer mom and professor father—neither of whom understood their artsy daughter with no interest in college—Eva left home in a matter of days and moved in with Kimberly. They’d worked together on countless weddings since then, Eva always being Kim’s florist of choice.
But that all stopped just over fifteen months ago. May 19 of last year had changed everything.
Kim set her menu down and drummed her French-tipped nails on the distressed wooden table. “Let’s order and you can tell me what is going on, because there’s something. And then I have some exciting news to share with you.”
“Oh, what’s up?”
“Nuh-uh.” She waved the waitress over. “You first. After we order.”
“I don’t know what I want yet. What are you getting?”
“Santa Fe salad. But choose your own meal . . . the way you used to.”
“Fine.” Eva closed her eyes, lifted her finger in the air, twirled it a bit, and planted it firmly on the plastic menu. Her eyes opened, and she glanced down. “Eggplant caponata with sun-dried pesto crostini, it is.”
They placed their order with the server, and then Eva sighed and told Kimberly what she’d overheard in the lunchroom, feeling no need to hold back any details. After all, Kim and Brent’s mom, Sherry, were the two reasons Eva wasn’t still glued to her bed day in and day out, her apartment scattered with half-eaten salads and empty pint containers of Halo Top ice cream. When they’d seen her uncharacteristic listlessness, they’d helped her realize her need for therapy.
Her therapist, Charlotte, had recommended Eva find something productive to do with her days that would make her feel close to her husband—which in turn would hopefully make her feel like herself again. Thus, she’d landed at the heart center, a place that had become near and dear to Brent after his father died of a heart attack.
The waiter delivered their lunch as Eva finished the story about her coworkers.
Barely noticing the food’s arrival, Kimberly slammed her fist on the table. The ice in their water glasses shook. “Those . . . I can’t even . . . Argh!” She sat back against the black cushioned booth and folded her arms across her chest, fire in her eyes. “I want to march right up to those women and give them a piece of my mind.”
Her loyalty warmed Eva’s heart. “They’re right, though. I’m awful at the job. But I am determined to get better. Maybe I can check out a book that’ll help—there has to be an Administrative Assisting for Dummies or something like that.” She picked up her fork and poked at the whole-grain bread topped with eggplant, olives, and capers. The fresh scent of roasted garlic aioli tickled her nose. “Enough about me. What’s your great news?”
Kimberly dug into her salad. “I just secured the Carlton wedding.”
“Congrats. That’s amazing!” Jessica Carlton was the youngest daughter of business tycoon and billionaire Louise Carlton and her senator husband. “This will be huge for your business.”
“Yeah, I’m thrilled.” Her friend paused, tilting her head and studying Eva. “There’s more. They saw your work in some magazine spread from early last year and specifically requested you for the flowers.”
Oh. Eva swallowed a gulp. “I . . .”
“I know you’ve taken some time off, and I’d never push you if you’re not ready.” Kimberly paused. “The actual wedding isn’t until the beginning of next June, if that helps. Although if you were ready to get back to it, I definitely have other events I could use you on in the meantime.”
Something deep inside Eva roared to life at the suggestion, craving the process of creating, the merging of her soul with the world.
But with Brent gone . . .
The roar became a mew, then all was silent.
“I don’t know, Kim. It’s just hard, you know? Designing for weddings, when . . . Well, I’ll have to think about it.” But she already knew she’d be saying no.
“All right. Just let me know your decision in the next few weeks, if possible.” Kimberly poked at a tomato on her plate. “Evie, I just can’t help but feel like you’re wasting your talent in a place where you’re not appreciated—and doing something that’s not you. Brent would want you to be happy, doing what you’re passionate about.”
“I know. But artists have to pull inspiration from a well deep inside—and mine is drained. Bone dry. When I met Brent, it was like meeting the other half of my soul. His courage and the way he lived life inspired me to be better. To be more creative.”
Eva smoothed her finger down the side of her glass, making a trail in the condensation.
“But now I have nothing to give, Kim. Life has no color.” Her hand thudded to the table. “And I’m afraid it never will again.”
* * *
For the first time in years, things were going according to plan.
Angela Jamison hustled inside Philip’s Place, praying Juliet would forgive Angela’s first-time tardiness in picking up her children. Her eyes roamed the waiting room and spotted her oldest daughter sitting underneath a framed photo of a golden retriever snuggling with a child. Lilly and Zach were likely in the counseling center’s playroom, though the whole place seemed eerily quiet.
Kylee hunched over her phone, fingers flying across the screen. A goofy grin split the fifteen-year-old’s face—evidence that she did smile on occasion, even if it was never directed at her mother.
Angela advanced and touched Kylee on the shoulder, causing her daughter to nearly drop her phone.
Upon seeing Angela, her features tightened. “Hey.”
“Hi, sweetie. Did you have a good session today?”
Silence. “Sure.”
Angela bit the inside of her cheek. “Where are your brother and sister?”
“Back there somewhere. Waiting for you.” Accusation laced her tone.
“I’m sorry I’m late. But I have some good news. Great, actually.”
Kylee stood and snatched the keys from Angela’s hand. “I’ll be in the car.”
“I was hoping you’d go”—the door shut—“get your siblings.” Angela blew out a breath and unclenched her fists. Buck up, Angela. She pasted a smile on her face and wandered into the bowels of the facility. Was this how children felt when heading into the principal’s office? “Hello.”
“We’re back here,” Juliet called from her office.
Angela crossed the large central room filled with toy bins and tables, each of which housed a different craft—from coloring to clay, paper doll making to beads. She reached Juliet’s door, the scent of lavender greeting her as she entered.
Seven-year-old Lilly lay curled up on the red couch asleep, her head resting on Juliet’s lap, and ten-year-old Zach sat in the La-Z-Boy tucked in the corner, reading his latest library book.
Juliet looked up. “Hey, Angela.” The mom of two, who couldn’t have been much older than Angela’s thirty-six years, stroked Lilly’s long brown hair.
Something twisted in Angela’s gut at the sight. “I’m very sorry I’m so late. I texted Kylee . . .” The excuse seemed insufficient now. Yes, a promotion was a big deal, especially in Angela’s world. After Wes died, she’d transitioned from homeschooling her children to working forty-five hours during the week as a realty office receptionist and fifteen hours at a local spa’s front desk on the weekend. But as her military father had always said, punctuality was tantamount to godliness—one of the only lessons he’d intentionally taught her before shipping her off to live with her aunt in California.
“It’s fine. My husband is taking the boys to a Friday night movie, so I’d planned to catch up on work anyway. I hope everything’s okay.”
“Oh yes. More than.” Angela moved toward Zach, who hadn’t yet acknowledged her. “Hey, bud.” She squatted down to his level and placed a hand over his book.
He glanced up, his already big blue eyes made larger by the lenses in his glasses. “Oh, hi, Mom.”
“How was your time at group?” That’s what they called the two hours they spent here every Friday afternoon. Group.
Whatever they called it, this place was a godsend. When her sweet Lilly had gotten into a fight, Zach had received his first F, and Kylee had stopped communicating with her beyond complaints and eye rolls, Angela had been at a loss. Punishment hadn’t seemed quite right, even though their behaviors warranted that. The school counselor had suggested Philip’s Place, which hosted weekly grief support for the whole family. They split up into different age groups and used storytelling, art, music, play, and talking to process their grief together.
All three of the kids had fallen in love with their time here, and they were usually enthusiastic when she asked how their day had gone.
Zach rubbed his fingers along the edge of the comic book’s glossy pages. “It was fine.”
It was clear that was all she was going to get from him, at least for now. “Awesome.” She forced cheer into her voice. “Kylee’s waiting in the car if you want to join her. I’ll grab Lil and meet you there.”
“Cool.” He snagged his backpack and book, his chicken legs lumbering out of the office.
“Sorry for the trouble. It won’t happen again.” Angela moved to pick up Lilly, but Juliet’s hand shot out to touch Angela’s arm.
“Angela, would you mind sitting for a minute? I’d like to talk to you.”
Oh no. Here it came. Was the counseling center finally going to begin charging for the group sessions? For the five or so months the kids had been attending, group had been free. But what if the gravy train was about to come to a grinding halt? How would she ever manage to pay for it? Her new promotion came with a raise, but she’d hoped—
“Angela?” Juliet lowered her voice.
“Sorry.” She perched on the edge of the brown seat Zach had vacated. “What is it?”
“First, we really miss you around here.”
“Oh. Thank you.” How could Juliet miss her? She didn’t even know Angela, who’d only attended two group sessions months ago. “I wish I could make it more often, but you know. Work.”
No, that wasn’t the only reason, but she wasn’t admitting the other to a therapist. Because only one emotion had overtaken Angela when she’d listened to the other members go on about how much they missed their spouses.
Rage.
Rage at the senselessness of Wes’s death. At his choices leading up to it. At him.
But what good did all of that anger do? Wes was gone, and sitting around talking about it wouldn’t change that. Not for her, at least. Besides, she was too busy making sure her kids had the things they needed, since it was now all on her shoulders. Yes, Eva and Sherry had offered to lend her money, but Angela had to show her children how to survive when tragedy hit.
That strength was the only thing holding them together fifteen months later.
“I understand.” Juliet’s fingers stilled in their steady movement across Lilly’s head. “Have you ever explained to your kids why you aren’t here?” Her words gentled, as if she sensed that giving Angela one more thing to manage would break her.
“They know I have to work.” Angela hesitated. “Why do you ask?”
“During our full-group sharing time today, your children expressed concern that you are distant and don’t seem to care about your husband’s death.”
Angela shot out of her chair. “That’s not true at all.” Oops. She hadn’t meant to raise her voice. Fortunately—or maybe unfortunately—Lilly didn’t stir.
“Angela, I’m not accusing you.” Juliet talked as if she were addressing a wounded animal that might strike at any moment. “I’m merely telling you that when children don’t have all the information, they still process things as if they do—and they make assumptions if they aren’t told what they need to know. I’d encourage you to consider how you talk about Wes and invite your kids to share anything they’re thinking with you.”
The counselor glanced down at Lilly, then back at Angela. “And consider trying to make it to group, even if it’s just once a month. During the half hour when we are all together, many children feel more supported when their caregiver is with them.”
Perhaps Angela could get Sherry to attend with the kids. She already depended on her mother-in-law much more than Sherry liked to babysit, but . . .
As if sensing Angela’s train of thought, Juliet made eye contact with her for several moments before speaking again. “They need you, Angela. You’re their mother. I know you’re hurting too—”
“I’m fine, actually. Doing better than ever. Just got a promotion.” Angela fiddled with the wedding ring on the chain around her neck. It hadn’t fit her finger since she’d had Lilly, and she’d never bothered to have it resized. “So now I’m going to have even more time with them. We’re going to get through this, together.”
“I can tell you’re a survivor. But there’s more to grief than surviving. Someday you’re going to thrive.”
“Of course we will.” And this promotion was just the start they needed. “Thank you for your concern, Juliet. My children are blessed to have you in their corner.” Angela meant it, however stale she sounded.
“We love having them here.”
The unspoken words hung between them—and we’d love to have you here too.
“I’d better get going.” Waking Lilly, Angela whisked her to the car, climbed in, pulled away from the counseling center, and headed toward their home in Queens.
“Where are we going?” Kylee asked. “I’m spending the night at Becky’s.”
“Yeah, and we’re going to Grandma’s, right?” Zach called from the back seat.
“Actually, I wanted to share some good news with you guys. I got a promotion.” She waited for their enthusiasm, but silence met her announcement. “So that means I can quit my weekend job, and you don’t have to spend the night with someone else on Fridays anymore. How about we grab a pizza and have movie night to celebrate? That’d be fun, right?”
“But, Mo-om! Grandma said she’d make Mickey pancakes in the morning.” Lilly’s yelp resounded in Angela’s ears despite the air whistling loudly through the vents of the old car.
“I can make pancakes at home. We used to do that a lot, remember?”
“Grandma’s are better. She uses chocolate chips for eyes and the smile.”
“I can try that.”
“I want Grandma’s.”
Angela couldn’t see Lilly but could hear the pout in her voice.
“I’m with Lilly on this one,” Kylee said. “Besides, Becky and I are going running with the team tomorrow.”
The high school cross-country team met occasionally throughout the summer to keep in shape. She secretly loved the fact her daughter had latched onto Angela’s sport of choice, even if Angela hadn’t run in many years.
“I’ll take you over in the morning.”
“You never change plans. Besides, don’t you have to give notice at your job or something?”
Kylee was right about both things, of course. But just this once, Angela had wanted to do something spontaneous. To celebrate the one piece of good news they’d had in a long time.
Angela sighed and rubbed her nose. “Zach, what do you want to do?”
“He’s reading again, Mom,” Lilly piped up. “But he told me earlier he couldn’t wait to show Grandma his latest book about bugs.”
An ache spread. Angela had been so sure that this promotion was the first step to getting her family back the way it was supposed to be. Once upon a time they’d enjoyed each other’s company. They’d learned together. Laughed together. Had fun together.
And then Wes had decided all of that wasn’t enough.
Her hands began to tremble.
“Fine.” Angela swerved around the corner and pressed her foot on the gas, pointing the car in the direction she did every Friday night. Sherry’s house first. Then on to Becky’s.
Then she’d go home, indulge in her nightly treadmill-and-Grey’s Anatomy routine, shower, and collapse in bed.
Alone.