“You didn’t ask. I offered. And it so happens that I find myself . . . underutilized at work. ” The idea seized hold of her. Maybe it could bring them together. “This would be perfect, really. I’d like to do this for you, Claire. ”
“Oh. ” Claire sounded underwhelmed. Meghann knew what her sister was thinking—Meghann was a bull in a small-town china shop.
“I’ll listen to you and do what you want. It’ll be your wedding. I promise. ”
“I think it sounds great,” Bobby said, smiling broadly. “You’re very generous, Meghann. ”
Claire frowned at Meghann. “Why am I seeing Father of the Bride playing in my head? You never do anything in a small way, Meg. ”
Meghann felt awkward suddenly, vulnerable. She wasn’t certain why she wanted this so badly. “I will this time. Honest. ”
“Okay,” Claire said finally. “You can help me plan my wedding. ”
Meghann grinned and clapped her hands. “Good. Now, I better get started. Where’s a local phone book? And what’s the date again—the twenty-third? Next Saturday? That’s not much time to pull this together. ” She headed for the kitchen, where she found a scrap of paper and began a to-do list.
“Oh, man,” she heard her sister say. “I’ve created a monster. ”
TWELVE
BY THE SECOND NIGHT IN HIS SISTER’S HOUSE, JOE FELT AS IF he were suffocating. Everywhere he looked he saw glimpses of his old life. He didn’t know how he was going to go forward, but he knew he couldn’t stay here.
He waited until Gina left to go grocery shopping, then crammed his things—including several framed photographs of Diana that he’d taken from the house—into the old backpack and headed for the door. He left a note on the kitchen counter.
Can’t stay here. Sorry. Hurts too much.
I know this is a rough time for you, so
I won’t go far. Will call soon. Love you.
Thank you.
J.
He walked the few miles back to town. By the time he reached Hayden, it felt as if he were slogging through mud. He was tired again, weary.
He didn’t want to run away, didn’t want to hunker down in some shitty little motel room and gnaw on the old guilt.
He looked up and saw a sign for the Mountain View Cemetery. A shiver passed through him. The last time he’d been there it had been pouring rain. There had been two policemen beside him, shadowing his every move. The mourners had kept their distance. He’d felt their condemnation, heard their whispers.
He’d tried to walk away during the ceremony, but the police yanked him back in line. He’d whispered, I can’t watch this in a broken voice. One of his guards had said, Too bad and held him in place.
He should go there now, to the cemetery. But he couldn’t do it, couldn’t kneel on the sweet green grass in front of her headstone.
Besides, he wouldn’t find her at the cemetery. There was more of her in his heart than beneath any gray stone.
He skirted town and hiked across an empty field toward the river. The soft, gurgling sounds sparked a dozen memories of their youth. Days they’d picnicked along the water’s edge and nights they’d parked there, making love in the dark interior of the Dodge Charger he’d once owned.
He knelt there.
“Hey, Di. ” He squeezed his eyes shut, battling a wave of guilt.
“I’m home. What now?”
No answer came to him on the summer breeze, no scent of Red wafted his way. And yet, he knew. She was glad he’d come back.
He opened his eyes again, stared at the silver caps of the current. “I can’t go to the house. ” The thought of it made him almost ill. Three years ago, he’d walked out of their home on Bainbridge Island and never looked back. Her clothes were still in the closet. Her toothbrush was still by the sink.
No way he could go there. His only hope—if there was any hope at all—lay in baby steps. He didn’t have to move toward his old life; he simply had to stop running from it.