Page 69 of Easton

I feel sick. “Told me what?” I ask.

Placing her hand on my forearm, she says delicately, “Miss Lydia passed away a week ago.”

“Wait, what?” Tears well in my eyes as I choke out, “No, that can’t be true. Please tell me it’s not.”

Squeezing my arm gently, the nurse says, “I’m sorry. But it’s true.”

I know I’m about to break down, so I just apologize and take off. I want to get home to Easton. He needs to know this awful news as well.

I make it to my car, somehow holding it together.

But once the door is closed, I place my head in my hands and just completely lose it.

When I return from my late-morning practice, I notice Claire’s car is parked in front of the house and not in the garage. It’s also kind of askew, like she was in a rush or something.

This is odd.

And that makes me worry right away.

I hope everything is okay. I mean, she had a lunch with Madison planned, then a stop at the children’s hospital to drop off a check.

Concerned, I pull up behind her and cut the engine.

I’m out the door of my Rover and in the house in no time.

“Claire?” I call out.

There’s a soft whimpering coming from the living room, and then I hear a choked-up “I’m in here.”

Jesus, what could be going on?

I swear, if someone hurt my wife, there will be hell to pay.

In the living room, Claire is curled up in a corner of the sofa. She has on a pretty lavender dress, and her heels are lying on the floor. And though she’s always beautiful to me, her face is red, and tears are streaming down her cheeks.

“Oh my God.” I race over and sit down next to her, picking up her hand. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

Clearly, something occurred to upset her, so that was a stupid thing to say.

Claire nods. “It’s Lydia,” she chokes out.

“Lydia?” It takes me a beat, but then I realize who she means. And she was just at the children’s hospital. “Oh, Lydia. Is she okay?”

“No,” Claire sobs. “She’s dead, Easton.”

I freeze. “Holy shit! What?”

Recognizing how tragic this is, I throw my arms around Claire. We hold onto each other for comfort. I’m not a big crier, but I can feel my eyes watering at the loss of that special little girl.

How can this be?

Obviously, Lydia was very sick, but I guess we always assumed she was improving. I mean, she was so vibrant and so in-the-moment with life.

And she knew things.

She sure called it with us.

Claire, composing herself somewhat, pulls back. She swipes tears away from her cheeks while I discreetly rub my eyes.

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