Page 125 of House of Cards
I sit on the edge of Cameron’s bed and pull him against me. He holds me and cries, his little body shaking from his pain—my eyes water and spill. I not only have to deal with my grief but also that of my children.
Eventually, he settles down to sleep, so I ease him back into his bed, careful not to wake him. I stand and cover him before leaving his room and checking on my daughter.
She’s sleeping, so I gently run my hand through her dark brown hair and head back to my room.
I sit on the edge of my bed again and reach for the framed photo of us from fourteen years back on our wedding day. We’re wearing all white and at the beach in the Bahamas. Edmundo is so handsome and young, with his wavy black hair and tanned skin. We’d gotten a lot of sun the day before. He was always horrible about wearing sunscreen. ‘I was born for the sun, baby,’ he’d say.
WhatI loved best about him was his eyes. They’re chocolate brown like mine, but his were sprinkled with flecks of gold and red. His eyes were large, curious, and full of mischief. God, he could make me laugh.
A knock on my door startles me. I forgot about the nanny, who’s watching over my kids through all this. Reuben and Travis hired him for me, so I have time to spend alone and grieve. I don’t have to think about cooking or cleaning. He’ll do it all for me.
I should feel gratitude toward my friends, but all I want to do is shut everyone out.
“Come in,” I say.
The nanny opens the door and walks in carrying a small tray with my favorite tea and some biscuits.
Quinn Ohlsson is young, blond, and pretty in a surfer kind of way. My kids took an instant liking to him. He was one of Seth’s daycare instructors, but took on this job because he’d been wanting to work for a family like mine. Plus, it pays more, I suppose.
He sets the tray on the small table, sitting between two chairs next to the window that opens out to woods surrounding a field of lush grass and a man-made lake.
“Try to eat, Mr. Ahmaz. It’s your favorite tea, just the way you like it. I made the biscuits myself.”
I’d prefer that he call me by my first name, but I can’t talk. My throat is too constricted.
When I say nothing, he leaves my room and closes the door behind him.
I’m so lost.
I’m in so much pain.
How do I go on without him?
I can’t.
