CHAPTER ONE

      BEING ROUSTED OUT of bed like she was thirteen again wasn’t how Avery Montague thought she’d start the last Friday before her thirty-fifth birthday, but her mother had never let little things like closed doors stand in her way.

      If she’d wanted to sleep in, Avery never should have gotten hotel rooms with connecting doors.

      “Get up. We can’t miss that flight.” The long a in “can’t” sounded so much like home that Avery had to wait for a second to let the wash of homesickness fade. Every one of her mother’s cain’ts used to drive her crazy. On the few occasions she’d managed to talk her husband, Robert, into a visit at the holidays, they’d locked eyes to communicate silently whenever her mother said it. He’d been amused at Avery’s pet peeve.

      Homesickness was chased away with the dueling realizations that he was still gone and she was free to do whatever she wanted again. That freedom wasn’t a gift most days.

      After almost ten years of marriage, including three years of being his nurse, she’d spent the last two years adjusting to the realization that she could step out the door without fearing that life would never be the same when she came back home.

      No matter what she did from this point, her life would never be the same. The dream of building a family with the man who’d derailed the plans she’d made at eighteen was over.

      But her life? It kept on going, one hour dragging into the next. Some days she had to brush away the thought of how much simpler it would be to just...stop.

      “We won’t miss the flight, Mama. I’m packed. Let me put on some clothes and run a brush through my hair and I’m ready.” Avery slipped out of the adequate sheets the airport hotel preferred and ignored her mother’s gasp as she padded barefoot across the floor.

      “Gonna bring back a toe rot or something, girl, if you don’t put your shoes on.” Her mother was fussing with the large bag of cosmetics she almost never let out of her sight.

      The laugh that bubbled out surprised Avery. Trust her mother to say something to make it easier to go on. “Toe rot? That’s what you’re worried about?” Avery studied the carpet from the bathroom and realized her mother might have a good point. The suspicious stains had clearly been cleaned more than once, but who knew how long it took for toe rot to disappear?

      Her mother was wagging a perfectly French-manicured finger at her when Avery wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “You don’t watch enough news programs, Avery Anne Abernathy. I am telling you, there is funk in that carpet.”

      Whatever funk she got from walking unprotected across hotel carpet might be worth it for the way her mouth held a smile as she headed back into the bedroom. For so long, she’d had nothing to smile about, but now she was going home.

      One quick glance in the mirror was all it took to know she was leaving in the nick of time. The dark circles under her eyes were familiar. So was the gray in her short hair. Only the small curve of her lips, which surprised and pleased her, seemed out of place.

      If she didn’t hurry, her mother would barge back in with a can of hair spray in one hand and her leftover cheesecake in the other. She’d be forced to eat while her mother teased and sprayed. Then they would definitely miss their flight into Knoxville, and Avery wasn’t sure how well she’d weather a setback like that.

      She quickly slipped on the jeans that were so loose they were uncomfortable and yanked on a sweater. For years, through Robert’s treatments and hospital stays, Avery had learned never to leave home without layers. It might be October, but the cold had become a permanent part of her life.

      Her mother was still fussing when Avery stepped out of the bathroom. Her view from her room into the connecting room showed a whirlwind of destruction. “Mama, you only slept in that bed for one night. What in the world were you doing?” The sheets were tumbled into a ball while all the pillows save one were stacked against the headboard in a teetering tower. Avery was worn out just studying the mess.

      “Hunting for the bedbugs.” Janet Abernathy rolled her eyes. “Hotels are famous for bedbugs.”

      Avery almost argued with her. If hotels were famous for bedbugs, no one would stay in them, ever. And this airport business-class hotel might not be big on amenities or renovation, but it was clean enough. Arguing wouldn’t change her mother’s mind, though. Janet Abernathy never missed a news program. Because of that, she knew the world outside of Sweetwater, Tennessee, was filled with dangers. Only constant vigilance would do.

      Avery’s suitcase was still on the side of the bed where she’d left it. If her mother’s room was an after shot of a crime-scene investigation, hers was barely disturbed. At least she’d slept through the night. She was beginning to depend on that.

      With a shove of her hairbrush and the clothes she’d slept in into her bag, Avery was packed. She quickly zipped up the suitcase and slipped on her flats while she smiled again at her mother’s relieved sigh.

      “Do we need to call a cab?” her mother asked as she looked one last time in the mirror over the desk.

      “No, they’ll get us one downstairs,” Avery said as she moved to stand next to the door.

      “I can wait if you’d like to put on lipstick,” her mother said with an encouraging nod. “I have choices.”

      “And I still don’t care to see them,” Avery answered as she pulled open the door. “We better hurry.” They were still two hours before boarding, but it was important to both of them that they get home soon. And coffee was the only thing that would make this day bearable.

      Avery handled the checkout while her mother fiddled nervously with her bags, her hair and her rings, both eyes locked to the muted cable news channel running in the hotel lobby. “It’s okay, Mama. We’ll be home soon.”

      Instead of fussing back, her mother reached over and squeezed Avery’s hand. “And I’ll be glad to know you’re safe, my girl.”

      The tears that sprang to Avery’s eyes were disappointing. For months, she had been fighting these stupid emotions that blindsided her when she was least expecting them. She’d gone to therapy and used antidepressants and self-help books. Still, the tears were there, under the surface. This wasn’t like her at all.

      If she was going home and planning on leaving the house at some point, she had to get that control back. The day she’d been packing and opened the front door of the house to find her mother standing on the step, she’d buckled so badly under the weight of the tears that she was certain her mother would never look at her the same.

      Avery Abernathy had only cried when she was mad or when her father died.

      Avery Montague cried at the drop of a hat.

      Herding her mother through Chicago’s