“Now, just so you know, I’m going to text you when I get to LaGuardia to tell you how much I love you. And I’m going to text you again when I land in the morning, to say I’ve arrived safely. I’m going to send you pictures of the storage unit I’ll be cleaning out tomorrow, and maybe a few from when I meet up with my friends tomorrow night at one of our old hangouts on the waterfront. And then I’m going to start texting you to please give me a call because you haven’t responded to any of my messages and I’m worried, and that’ll go on for a day or two. And then I’m afraid I might have to give your mom and dad a call, but let’s not think about that now. You just have a good sleep. Good-bye, sweetheart.”
And she leaned over the bed, but she didn’t kiss him. She was kissing the cat, Whidbey, named for the island where she’d had a couple of fun weekends with Randy, her former boss, back when she was his intern. Then she left the room and a moment later he heard the front door lock behind her.
The cat stayed where he was, at least for another couple of minutes, then he climbed up onto Jake’s chest and there he remained, rising with each inhalation, falling with each exhalation, and staring into Jake’s eyes for as long as there was human warmth on offer there. After that he went as far away as he could get, hiding for days under the kilim-covered couch until the neighbor who’d so enjoyed those pralines from New Orleans came at last and managed to coax him out.
The late Jacob Finch Bonner, author of the global bestseller
“The sad thing, for me,” said Candy, with an expression of profound compassion, “is that I actually interviewed your husband, right here on this stage, about
“Oh I know,” said the widow. “I was in the audience that night. I was a fan, even before I met Jake.”
“Well! That’s sort of adorable. Did you meet him afterward, at the book signing?”
“No. I was too shy to line up with my book. I met Jake the next morning. I was producing Randy Johnson’s show at KBIK at the time. Jake came on the show and we had coffee afterward.” She smiled.
“And then you left Seattle and moved to New York. We do frown on that, you know.”
“That’s perfectly understandable.” Anna smiled. “But I couldn’t help myself. I was in love. We moved in together only a couple of months after we met. We didn’t have much time together.”
Candy hung her head. The tragedy of it all had overwhelmed her.
“I understand that you’ve agreed to make these appearances not only in support of Jake’s novel but because you feel a responsibility to speak out about some of the issues your husband was dealing with.”
Anna nodded. “He’d been devastated by a series of anonymous attacks. Mainly online, via Twitter and Facebook, but also in messages sent to his publisher and even a few letters actually mailed to our home. The final email actually arrived the day he took his own life. I knew he was distraught about it, and trying to understand who this person was, and what they wanted from him. I think that last message just broke his will, somehow.”
“And what was he being accused of?” said Candy.
