Watch You Die Read Free Page A

show. “But first,” he added, “I want to concentrate on building my career.”
    “A good choice. You’re young. Build your career, get yourself settled, then have a family.”
    “That’s what you did, right?”
    “Not exactly.” I smiled, remembering. “Hugo was just out of law school when we had Nat, and I hadn’t even started freelancing. But it worked out in the end. Sort of.” I closed my eyes for a moment and then opened them to the sun so it could burn off any intention of tears.
    Joe leaned toward me. “I’m sorry you lost your husband. I really am.”
    “It’s not
your
fault.” I bit my sandwich, chewed and swallowed. Mechanically, against emotion, hunger now evaporated. “You must have read about that in the
Gazette
, too.”
    He nodded. “Everyone did, didn’t they? It was on the front page.”
    Of course it was. Hugo Mayhew had built a name for himself as an environmental lawyer based on the Vineyard. His clients, at first mostly on the Cape and in Boston, had ultimately encompassed the whole planet. Not yet forty, he had become a treasured citizen of the island and the world – a treasure of my heart – and his death brought real sorrow to many. Nat and I had known enough about his work during his life to be proud of him –
he
was my inspiration to write about the environment in the first place – but it was his death that really opened our eyes to the scope of his work. He had toiled as a champion of environmental issues for years, on the legal front, before the world caught up to his vision and when it did he was set to ride the very crest of the wave. I often wondered if, had he lived, he might have ended up in a position of power in the government where he could have had a real impact on our country’s direction in relation to environmental issues. But he didn’t live. He died. He lost control of his car on a dark bend of road on his way to pick Nat up from a friend’s house, after which father and son were due home for dinner. Because of his stature there was an inquest into his death, but it was a formality. People died in car accidents. They just did. I was told his obituary ran not only on the front page of the
Vineyard Gazette
but around the world. I couldn’t read it.
    Hugo and I had met in Boston right after finishing college and soon before he started law school. We called it our “fun summer”, our only piece of time together when we were really footloose and fancy-free. We’d sleep late, take trips on the spur of the moment and while away whole afternoons. I dabbled in job hunting that summer but didn’t really try that hard; I was too distracted and thrilled and absorbed by falling in love with Hugo. We’d looked like siblings, he and I, with our slightly olive skin, hazel eyes and thick auburn hair. It felt, from the very start, like a natural fit. And we loved so many of the same things: traveling, long meandering walks, ping pong, margaritas on a hot beach, milk and cookies before bed, nature hikes, morning lovemaking. We lived together throughout his law education while I tripped from job to job. After we married we settled on the Vineyard, where he opened his law practice against the better judgment of everyone we knew. Only after we had Nat and he started preschool did I discover my vocation as a journalist. I took baby steps at first, but found good subjects and had good luck. I’d liked the flexibility of freelancing and loved working at home. Never had I imagined myself back in New York, working at the
Times. Never
had I imagined my life without Hugo.
    “So, do you have a girlfriend?” I had to change the subject.
    Joe blushed. “Kind of. Not really. I’d like to.”
    “Don’t worry, you will.” He
was
sweet. His innocence and hopefulness recalled the good feelings, the excitement, of that time in life when you’re young and starting out.
    “So, I was wondering,” Joe said, just as a cloud opened above us and sun blasted into our faces. I