Morganville is about three hours away by car. Far enough from where I live now that I don’t often run into people I know from the old days. It’s not that I have anything to hide. It’s just that I hate the questions they are likely to ask. How have you been? What are you doing with yourself now? How are you…after everything that happened?
Bad memories are like dog crap. They’re better off buried.
Andrew Molton turns out to be a short, plump man who looks to have spent far too many years sitting behind a desk. I hope a life as a poker player isn’t going to leave me looking like a female version of him. He blinks at me through thick lenses that make his eyes seem far away. The fluorescent lights shine on his mostly bald head. A harmless enough guy. But a lawyer. Which means he bears watching.
I’m sitting across from him, nervous as hell, trying not to show it. I have no doubt I’m succeeding. I have an excellent poker face.
“Ms. Thomas,” he says, “I have two rather large pieces of news to deliver to you. And I’m afraid one of them is very bad.”
“Just get it over with,” I say. I’m the kind of person who rips off bandages fast.
He nods. “All right. The first piece of news is that your friend Josie has died.”
I can’t say anything to that. I just stare. The world begins to swim around me. This is how it always feels when my life takes what feels like the wrong turn down some terrible side street. Suddenly I’m no longer in control. I hate that feeling.
“What? But that’s impossible! How?” I manage finally.
“I’m afraid she took her own life.”
“Josie? I don’t believe that. Not for a second.”
“The circumstances leave no doubt. She left a note, Ms. Thomas. A very detailed note. It’s more of a letter, actually. She made a copy for me and another for you.”
“For me? But…” If she could take the time to write me a letter, then why couldn’t she just call me for help? I want to ask. But words are not coming easily right now. “But why? What was going on that she couldn’t tell me about?”
“Your friend had found out she was very, very ill,” Molton tells me. “Her letter explains all of this. She discovered recently that she had an advanced case of cancer. Somehow it had become terminal without her knowing she was sick. That happens sometimes. She feared a long, drawn-out death. She didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. And so, three days ago, she took a deliberate overdose of pills.”
That was so Josie. She wouldn’t think twice about running off with your husband, but she’d sooner die than put someone to the trouble of looking after her. Literally.
Molton pushes a box of tissues gently in my direction. I take a handful, but I don’t need them yet. That will come later, when I’m alone in my car.
“You said there were two pieces of news,” I remind him.
“Yes. The other piece is also quite major. There’s no easy way to say this either, so I’m just going to come out with it. Ms. Epstein requested in her will that you be her son’s guardian.”
“Her son? David?”
“Yes.”
“His guardian?”
“Yes, Ms. Thomas.”
“So, what does that mean? Like his fairy godmother or something? I drive him places? Chaperone him at dances? That kind of thing?”
“Er…not exactly,” says Molton. “As you know, Ms. Epstein’s parents are gone, and she has no other family. She said that some time ago the two of you made an agreement that you would raise her children if anything happened to her.”
“I…said that?” How many beers did I have in me at the time? I want to ask. But I doubt that information has been filed anywhere.
“It’s not a permanent arrangement, I assure you,” Molton says. “The boy’s father plans to return home from Europe as soon as possible. He wants to be with his son, of course. He will have full custody of David.”
“Of course!” I say, with perhaps a little too much relief. “Charlie always was a stand-up guy.”
“But in the meantime, David needs someone to look after him,” Molton continues. “It will take his father about a month to wrap up his affairs overseas. I understand he plans to sell his business over there. That sort of thing takes time. Until then, Ms. Epstein requested that you be the one to take care of her son.”
“This is crazy,” I say. “Why didn’t she ask me herself? I mean, before she…”
“Her letter explains all of this, but the reason she didn’t talk to anyone beforehand was that she was afraid people would try to stop her,” Molton says. “That’s the gist of it. It was not an easy decision to make. I’m sure you can appreciate that, Ms. Thomas. But she felt it had to be done.”
Or, as Josie explained it to me herself in her letter, which I read sitting in the parking lot of Molton Hudson and Winkel:
I wanted to leave my son with something better than memories of his mother dying in a hospital. I want him to remember me young and healthy. And I want to have some money to leave him. I didn’t want everything to get eaten up by medical bills. I hope you can forgive me for doing this to you, Kat. And I hope David can too…someday.
Molton was right. You have to admire the courage of someone who can make a decision like that. If you didn’t know her, you might think Josie had taken the easy way out. But I know Josie was made of tough stuff. A lot tougher than me, I guess.
That’s when I lose it completely. I go through most of the tissues I’d helped myself to in about five minutes.
I won’t lie. I’m hurt. It really bothers me that she could do something so drastic without talking to me first. There was a time when she wouldn’t even get dressed on a Friday night without asking my opinion. Now she goes and leaves the planet without even letting me know?
To say I feel betrayed is to put it mildly.
But I pull myself together. David is at Andrew Molton’s house, waiting for me there. I don’t want to leave him alone for another minute. He needs to see a familiar face.
Well, that’s what I would tell anyone who asked. The truth is, I feel the same way about taking on a kid as I do about getting the bad news. As I do about ripping off a bandage. If there’s no way to get out of it, then best to get it over with right away.
Thanks, Josie. Thanks a hell of a lot.