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wasn’t holding out unrealistic hopes of reclaiming what they’d had so long ago. There was too much water under the bridge. They were both different people now.
But if she had plans to keep the property, he hoped they could develop an amicable friendship.
Judging from her coolness toward him, maybe even that was out of reach.
* * *
The large canopy cast a shadow over those sitting beneath. Andrea occupied a chair in the front row, back straight and stiff and hands clutched in her lap. An aunt and uncle sat on either side of her. More relatives occupied the dozen or so other chairs, and numerous mourners hovered around in a loosely packed semicircle. Metal framework suspended two caskets over freshly dug graves, the pastor standing between. The sun shone from a cloudless blue sky, and nearby, squirrels chased one another up a tree.
Andrea released a sigh. The perfection of the weather mocked her own dark mood. The sad, angry skies she’d driven home under yesterday would have been more appropriate.
The pastor finished reading the twenty-third Psalm, and Andrea’s uncle squeezed her shoulder. He’d kept his arm over the back of her chair, offering silent gestures of comfort. She appreciated it but didn’t need it. She’d managed to sit stoically throughout the entire funeral and graveside service. She’d do her grieving in private.
After a final prayer, Andrea stood, pulling her coat more tightly around her. Yesterday’s rain had brought colder temperatures, and she was having difficulty shaking the chill. As she stepped into the sunshine, a man in a suit made his way through the crowd toward her. His hairline had receded, and the salt had overtaken the pepper, but other than that, he looked the same as he had twelve years ago. He’d pastored the church all through her teenage years.
“Pastor Pierce.” She shook his hand, a wave of guilt passing through her. Did he know she hadn’t darkened the door of a church since she left for college?
It wasn’t that she had anything against attending. Her mother had always stressed the importance of regularly attending church. But it had to be the right kind of church—large, impressive, full of quality people. It was good for the image, she’d said. With the advice always came the admonition to not get carried away with the emotionalism that went on in some of the smaller country churches, where people were poor and uneducated. Large or small, it hadn’t mattered to Andrea. Since reaching adulthood, too many other things in her life had qualified as important.
She offered him a weak smile. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course.” He wrapped her hand in both of his. “You and your family are in my prayers. May the Lord comfort you during this difficult time.”
After accepting dozens more handshakes and hugs, Andrea made her way to one of the two limos that had transported her and the other immediate family members from the church to the cemetery. She’d take the ride back to the church and attend the dinner the hospitality committee had prepared for the family and close friends. Then she’d get to be alone. She’d survived the past nine days. She could get through the next two hours.
Her aunt Louise reached her as the limo driver opened the door. Andrea paused for the hug she knew her aunt needed. When finished, her aunt shook her head.
“I still can’t believe they’re gone.” Fresh tears gathered on her lower lashes. “When we watched your mom get behind the wheel in our driveway, we never imagined that would be the last time we’d see either of them alive.”
“My mom was driving?” There had to be a mistake. Her mom never drove if her dad was with her.
“After you left, Dennis started feeling ill. Although the offer seemed a little begrudging, your mom said she’d drive them home. Margaret has never been crazy about driving.” She pursed her lips. “I can’t help but think that if your dad had been the one behind the wheel, we wouldn’t be here today.”
Andrea sank into the seat, her feet still planted outside the car. Her mind spun, leaving her feeling light-headed.
Her father hadn’t been driving. Her mother had. Whatever had been weighing on her father’s mind for the past several months, he hadn’t decided to take his own life.
Her aunt climbed into the car, unaware of the bombshell she’d just dropped. The news eliminated the possibility of suicide but raised a whole slew of unanswered questions. If Andrea’s dad was unlikely to take a curve too fast, her mom was even more so. They’d always ribbed her about being a turtle.
Besides, the area was familiar to both of them. They were a mile from the lodge, on a winding road they’d traveled dozens of times. The brakes had to have failed. Monday, she was going to ask to have the car checked, if that wasn’t already part of the investigation.
For the next hour, Andrea engaged in polite conversation and forced down food she had no desire to eat. After a socially acceptable amount of time, she said her farewells, climbed into the Escalade and pulled out of the parking lot. Since leaving home that morning, she’d looked forward to the end of the day’s activities, when she could again be alone with her grief.
But now that she was headed there, home was the last place she wanted to be. Maybe she should do some more sorting at her parents’ house. Keeping busy would be good for her. Throwing herself into activity had always been her default.
She cruised through an intersection on a yellow light and swiveled her head to the right. A few blocks down was a café, one of those cute places decorated with flowers and lace that served lunch on antique china. Her mom loved it.
Andrea hated it.
Nothing against the café. It was lunches with her mom in general. No matter how they started out, eventually they evolved into battles, with Andrea on the losing side every time. Her mom was the queen of unwanted advice, usually given in the form of some pithy proverb. She was also the queen of criticism.
Andrea drew in a constricted breath. As a child, she’d gone to desperate lengths to please her mother. As a teenager, she’d clung to every word of praise from her father while still trying to gain her mother’s approval. As an adult, she’d given up.
She flipped on her signal and got into the left-turn lane. As her route took her within a block of Neurology and Neurosurgical Associates, the familiar tightness returned. At two o’clock in the afternoon, her ex was either there or at the hospital.
Or home enjoying her replacement.
Her divorce had been another sore spot between her and her mother. While Andrea had been reeling with betrayal, her mother’s focus had been on how it was going to affect her relationship with her friends, since the Morrisons were one of the elite families of Atlanta and Phil’s mother was one of her closest friends. She’d insisted that Andrea should have tried harder.
Maybe she should have. If she hadn’t been so focused on climbing the corporate ladder, maybe she’d have noticed the warning signs in time to save her marriage.
Then she’d have fallen short of her mother’s expectations some other way. Her dreams of mending that relationship had never materialized. Now it was too late.
She slammed her hand against the steering wheel, palm open. She’d expected the agonizing grief over losing her father. He’d been the center of her world her entire life.
What she hadn’t expected was the guilt she felt over the poor relationship she’d always had with her mother. No matter what distractions she’d attempted, she hadn’t been able to run from it.
Maybe activity wasn’t what she needed. Maybe she needed the opposite. Time to decompress and let the frayed edges of her heart begin to heal.
She knew the perfect place to do it.
Everything in Atlanta reminded her of her mother or her ex, but Murphy connected her with her father. By tonight, she could be there, tucked away in the house that had been her refuge since she was old enough to appreciate the need for escape.
She