us like a puppy, but I wanted her by something substantial she could at least lean or sit on. Ken and I walked up the steps, but she stopped at the bottom. “What’s this about?”
“Cathy.” I stepped back down. “I’m afraid I have very bad news. There’s been an accident.”
She put her hand to her mouth and a terrible worry sprang to her eyes.
“We found a man this morning in a steep ravine below a drop-off near the Loop. He”—I shook my head—“he didn’t make it.”
“Wha—” Cathy looked confused. She dropped her hand to her chest, her mouth forming an O shape with the half-spoken word. She was trying to process what I’d just said. “He’s hurt?” She peered down the drive as if someone would be coming up with her injured husband so she could nurse him back to health. “Where is he? I need to see him.”
“No, he’s not hurt. He didn’t make it. He was already gone when we found him.”
Confusion swiftly changed to something wild flashing across her face. “No, that’s not possible. What do you mean, the Loop? What in the hell do you mean?” Her hands were on her hips now, defiant, and she glanced at the peaks of the park. They shone white with spring’s remaining snow, bright and beautiful in the late afternoon sun casting across their tips. A pair of large, sleek ravens launched from a tall pine and flew overhead. Max started barking wildly, rearing off his stiff front legs as if the black birds were the problem here, as if he needed to protect his family from them. But there was no protecting them from what we were bringing.
“Cathy, please. Look at me.” I waited until her eyes focused on mine and Max had stopped barking. Her eyes were wide with fear and the colors looked amplified—light brown with cinnamon flecks. “Paul has passed away,” I said. “He fell a long distance off a steep ridge and the fall took the life from him.”
“But, but, that can’t be true. Why, why on earth would he fall—that’s not even possible.” She looked from me to Ken like we had just made a big blunder. “Someone’s made a mistake here.”
“No, no mistake. We both went down into the ravine. We both recognized him. And his car was in the Loop parking area with his registration.”
She put her hand to her mouth again, her confusion slowly turningto comprehension and her eyes turning wet with tears. “No.” She whispered a sound that was partly a moan. “Oh God, no. It can’t be.”
I dropped my gaze to the sunlight hitting the wooden porch, trying not to think about the repercussions of this—how the waves of pain were going to keep pushing outward to her children, to Paul’s parents, to his siblings if he had any. How we were shattering their entire world. I could feel a sheen of sweat gathering across my forehead and between my shoulder blades. “Is there someone—a friend or family member of yours I can call to be here with you, to help you tell the children?”
Cathy wrapped her arms around her waist. “Oh God, oh God, the kids.” Her breath sounded suddenly frantic and her knees began to shake. I reached for her arm and helped her down to sit on the porch step while she continued to repeat, “Oh God, oh God, the kids.” Max tried to lick her face, but she pushed him away.
“There’s a chaplain,” I said. “He’s available to help for situations like this if—”
She held up her hand for me to stop.
“Cathy,” I said. “I know this is so hard, but I need to ask you some questions.”
Tears continued to flood her eyes. “How did he . . . ?”
“We’re not entirely sure, but we think he just”—I shrugged—“lost his footing. But I need to ask you, when was the last time you saw him?”
Before she answered, I heard the creak of the front porch door and all three of us turned.
“Mom?” a boy with thick and wavy blond hair like Wolfie’s peeked out. “The steaks are burning.”
Cathy nodded, tried to say something, but it came out as a
“Cathy.” I stepped back down. “I’m afraid I have very bad news. There’s been an accident.”
She put her hand to her mouth and a terrible worry sprang to her eyes.
“We found a man this morning in a steep ravine below a drop-off near the Loop. He”—I shook my head—“he didn’t make it.”
“Wha—” Cathy looked confused. She dropped her hand to her chest, her mouth forming an O shape with the half-spoken word. She was trying to process what I’d just said. “He’s hurt?” She peered down the drive as if someone would be coming up with her injured husband so she could nurse him back to health. “Where is he? I need to see him.”
“No, he’s not hurt. He didn’t make it. He was already gone when we found him.”
Confusion swiftly changed to something wild flashing across her face. “No, that’s not possible. What do you mean, the Loop? What in the hell do you mean?” Her hands were on her hips now, defiant, and she glanced at the peaks of the park. They shone white with spring’s remaining snow, bright and beautiful in the late afternoon sun casting across their tips. A pair of large, sleek ravens launched from a tall pine and flew overhead. Max started barking wildly, rearing off his stiff front legs as if the black birds were the problem here, as if he needed to protect his family from them. But there was no protecting them from what we were bringing.
“Cathy, please. Look at me.” I waited until her eyes focused on mine and Max had stopped barking. Her eyes were wide with fear and the colors looked amplified—light brown with cinnamon flecks. “Paul has passed away,” I said. “He fell a long distance off a steep ridge and the fall took the life from him.”
“But, but, that can’t be true. Why, why on earth would he fall—that’s not even possible.” She looked from me to Ken like we had just made a big blunder. “Someone’s made a mistake here.”
“No, no mistake. We both went down into the ravine. We both recognized him. And his car was in the Loop parking area with his registration.”
She put her hand to her mouth again, her confusion slowly turningto comprehension and her eyes turning wet with tears. “No.” She whispered a sound that was partly a moan. “Oh God, no. It can’t be.”
I dropped my gaze to the sunlight hitting the wooden porch, trying not to think about the repercussions of this—how the waves of pain were going to keep pushing outward to her children, to Paul’s parents, to his siblings if he had any. How we were shattering their entire world. I could feel a sheen of sweat gathering across my forehead and between my shoulder blades. “Is there someone—a friend or family member of yours I can call to be here with you, to help you tell the children?”
Cathy wrapped her arms around her waist. “Oh God, oh God, the kids.” Her breath sounded suddenly frantic and her knees began to shake. I reached for her arm and helped her down to sit on the porch step while she continued to repeat, “Oh God, oh God, the kids.” Max tried to lick her face, but she pushed him away.
“There’s a chaplain,” I said. “He’s available to help for situations like this if—”
She held up her hand for me to stop.
“Cathy,” I said. “I know this is so hard, but I need to ask you some questions.”
Tears continued to flood her eyes. “How did he . . . ?”
“We’re not entirely sure, but we think he just”—I shrugged—“lost his footing. But I need to ask you, when was the last time you saw him?”
Before she answered, I heard the creak of the front porch door and all three of us turned.
“Mom?” a boy with thick and wavy blond hair like Wolfie’s peeked out. “The steaks are burning.”
Cathy nodded, tried to say something, but it came out as a
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