The Remedy for Regret by Susan Meissner Page A

today. But it sounds different somehow falling off of Simon’s lips. Perhaps that’s because, deep down, I trust Simon. And despite the annoyance I have for him at the moment, I know that he is motivated by his surprising love for me. So when he says it, I can almost believe it.

Nine
    I have been to a handful of funerals in my life but I must say Brad Devere’s was the most masterfully arranged. It was held at the spectacular Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis near downtown—a beautiful piece of architecture. There were flowers everywhere and the music that poured forth from the pipes of the great Kilgen organ was magnificent. In the end though, the tears that flowed from the heavy-hearted congregation were just like those that flow from the poorest of parishes in any city you please. Funerals may differ but death is the same everywhere you go.
    I sat a few rows behind Brad’s family where I could see the back of Blair’s head. Chloe and Leah sat on either side of her in the matching sailor dresses. Brad’s brother, Dane, gave a eulogy, as did Peter Agnew. I didn’t know Brad very well, but my impression of him at his wedding five years ago as well as the few times I saw him and Blair in Chicago led me to believe he had been a man who always went after what he wanted. Driven, intelligent and charismatic, he likely would’ve made his own millions if his parents had not already been wealthy. This was more or less the same picture painted of him at his funeral: Brad was a determined man who lived life fully and was taken far too soon.
    The interment followed, which was probably the hardest part of the day for Blair. This time I was standing where I could see a portion of Blair’s face, but her eyes were concealed behind a pair of sunglasses. It was difficult to see how the interment was affecting her. She stood motionless by her mother.
    I couldn’t help but notice how stunning they both look in black.

    Now we are back at Blair’s house. A caterer has brought an elegant spread of food and most of the family and Brad’s closest friends are huddled in intimate groups, sitting on rented folding chairs with white porcelain plates on their laps. I’m not hungry but I take a plate anyway and look for a quiet place to eat where I won’t have to mingle with people I don’t know. I see a gazebo on the far side of the backyard lawn with a bench inside and I head for it.
    I am nearly finished with my plate when I see Blair walking toward me, alone. The girls are scampering off in another direction behind her and Annette is following them. I can see that there is purpose in Blair’s steps. She is walking toward me to speak with me. Perhaps she is going to ask me how long I can stay.
    “You ate something. Good,” she says, like I am the one who needs to be watched for signs of refusing to eat.
    “Did you?” I ask.
    She shakes her head. “I will later. I promise.”
    She sits down by me and I can see that she is drained of energy. She turns to me and sighs.
    “That’s a pretty color on you,” she says suddenly, speaking of my purple bolero jacket. In four days I did not find a free moment to go dress shopping. I guess it doesn’t matter.
    “Antonia dresses me these days,” I say.
    She manages a weak smile, remembering, I think, all those times she told me what to wear, and more importantly, what not to wear.
    “So tell me, what does Linee Belle mean?” she asks.
    “It means ‘beautiful lines,’” I smile back at her. “Antonia says fashion and style are all about lines. Make your lines beautiful and you will be beautiful. That’s her motto.”
    “Make your lines beautiful,” Blair echoes, looking away toward her daughters who are far away on the other side of the yard.
    We are both silent. I let her choose what to say next and when.
    “Tess,” she says a few minutes later, but she is not looking at me.
    “Yes?”
    “He was cheating on me.”
    I’m at a complete loss for words. This can’t be