Dearly Departed Read Free Page A

except that people would always ask who Eddie was, and she didn’t think she could bear that.
    Travel had been their shared passion. Amy loved the exotic and the history of it, like the Edwardian splendor of the Victoria Falls Hotel in the heart of Africa, where they’d been given the honeymoon suite, even though he had just proposed. Eddie had enjoyed all this, plus the thrill of bungee jumping from the staggering height of a bridge just downriver from the falls.
    â€œHow many times will you get to do something like this?” he’d asked as a pair of sketchy-looking entrepreneurs tied the frayed bungee rope around his feet and nudged him out onto the platform.
    â€œYou mean jumping off a bridge on the border between two third world countries, over the friggin’ Victoria Falls?”
    â€œExactly.” Eddie laughed. Then, without another thought, he turned and whooped and dove out over the rapids. A world-embracing swan dive. “Whoooo!”
    On that afternoon, he jumped the falls twice and talked her into doing it once. She was sick for the next four hours. No one had told her there would be so much bouncing and spinning involved, and that wasn’t even counting the free fall and the snap. But it would become one of her proudest moments and fondest memories.
    The memories all changed one month later, when Eddie was killed by muggers just a few blocks from their Greenwich Village apartment.
    Nearly two years after the mind-numbing horror of that night, after retrenching completely from life and moving back into the comfort of her childhood home, Amy finally made another daring leap and opened up shop. Eddie would have loved it.
    â€œIf we don’t do this,” Amy murmured, blowing steam off the rim of the dainty white cup, “are we broke? Are we going to have to close the doors?”
    â€œYes, we are broke,” her mother replied. “I mean, a travel agency in this day and age? But we’re building some momentum with TrippyGirl. Some of them are booking little trips. Of course, everyone got very excited about the next rally, which apparently is not happening.”
    Amy sighed. “Mother, please.”
    â€œI can’t help making you feel a little guilty. It’s my job.”
    Before Amy could retaliate, the phone rang, the actual landline reserved for business. It was an odd enough occurrence that it galvanized their focus. Fanny lifted a finger, counted silently to three, and answered. “Amy’s Travel. From the ordinary to the exotic. How may I direct . . . Oh, hello, Peter.” Her enthusiasm dipped. “She’s not here at the moment.”
    Amy held out her hand for the receiver. Fanny ignored her. “Yes, I gave her your message, and she wants to call you back. But you know the travel business. Busy, busy. Yes, I’ll tell her you need to speak to her. Bye-bye.”
    Amy watched her mother hang up, then cleared her throat. “How long has Peter been calling?”
    â€œTwo days. He says it’s business and urgent, but I don’t believe a thing that man says.”
    â€œWhy?” Any normal woman, she thought, would be incensed that her mother was screening her calls. But that battle had been fought and lost years ago. “Has Peter ever lied to you?” Amy asked. “No. You just don’t like him. Unlike some men who lie all the time and you still like them.”
    â€œThere’s more to honesty than telling the truth.”
    â€œExcuse me. Sorry to interrupt.” It was Peter Borg himself, standing in the front doorway, tall, bland, and blond, but looking good today in a narrow-cut Marc Jacobs suit. “The door buzzed,” he said, pointing behind him with one hand. In his other was his iPhone. “I guess you didn’t hear.”
    â€œI told you she wasn’t here,” Fanny said without batting an eye.
    â€œI know,” Peter apologized. “But I was in the