Page 14

"This is private."
"Open the door."
She gave him a tense look, but as another heartbreaking wail came from inside the room, she pushed open the door.
At first, he didn't know where the screams were coming from. The bed was empty. But then he saw Juliette on the balcony. She was dressed in a pink silky nightgown, her feet bare, her brown hair disheveled. She attempted to climb onto the railing, screaming Arthur's name with each wobbly attempt.
"Mom, no," Callie yelled, rushing forward. She grabbed her mom around the waist and pulled her backward. They tumbled onto the ground together.
"Let me go," Juliette pleaded. "Arthur is gone, and I'm alone again. I can't do it, Callie. I can't. I'm sorry."
"You're not alone. You have me."
"I'm a terrible mother. I can't start over. It's too hard. And this—this is my fault. I'm the reason Arthur is dead."
"Don't say that. It's not your fault. Let's get you back to bed. And then I'm going to call the doctor."
Callie helped her mom to her feet and walked her back into the bedroom. Juliette barely gave him a passing glance. She seemed completely unaware of his presence as she crawled under the covers, sobbing in grief.
Callie walked over to him. "You have to go," she hissed, pushing him toward the door. "Please, give her some time."
He stepped into the hall. "Why does she think Arthur's death is her fault?"
"She doesn't know what she's saying."
He saw the fierce, protective gleam in her brown eyes, and as she started to close the door, he said, "Now I know what you're afraid of."
She gave him a bleak, desperate look. "You really have no idea. Just go. Please."
He stepped back, and she shut the bedroom door.
He could hear Callie talking to her mother, pleading with her to calm down, to take a breath, to try to relax. He didn't think Juliette could hear her daughter. She was overwhelmed with pain, so much that she'd apparently thought about flinging herself over the balcony.
Was she just hysterical with sadness or had she had something to do with Arthur's death?
* * *
It took Callie twenty minutes to get her mother to stop crying. Finally, she ran out of tears.
"I'm going to call Dr. Clarke," she told her mom when she was calm enough to hear her.
"No. Please don't," her mother said, a new panic coming into her gaze.
"I have to, Mom. It will be okay. He'll know what to do, and we can trust him."
"I don't need a doctor; I need my husband."
"I wish Arthur was here." Arthur had not been her favorite person in the world, but he had taken care of her mother, and for the past year she hadn't had to be the person who was always there, always checking. In fact, Arthur had preferred she not be in such constant contact with her mother. At first, she'd rebelled against him trying to control how often she spoke to her mom. But she had to admit that she'd had more time to focus on her own life than she ever had before.
That was over now. She didn't know how far down her mother would spiral. But she would be there for her, as she'd always been.
"I can't believe he's dead," her mom said. "How can that be? I can still smell his cologne on these sheets."
She didn't really want to think about her mom and Arthur in bed together. "I'm so sorry, Mom."
"What am I going to do?"
"We'll figure it out. I'm here for you."