Paradise Peak (New Americana 5)

Zeke scowled and batted her hands away.

Liz sat back on her heels and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “We can’t keep cooking much longer—otherwise we’ll miss the party.”

“I know.” Hannah studied the empty doorway leading to the hall. “Margaret’s depressed, and when she’s depressed, she cooks.”

Liz stood, a helpless expression on her face. “For twelve hours? We’ve been doing this since six this morning and it’s”—she glanced at the clock by the stove—“almost six in the afternoon. What’s upset her so?”

“Red.” Hannah sighed. “He told her he loved her last night during dinner.”

“Oh.” Liz’s hand rose, her fingers touching her gaping mouth. “Oh, wow. Right in the middle of dinner?”

“Yep. He told me a couple months ago that he wanted to tell her, and last night, Margaret was talking about Phillip—like she does during every dinner—and I guess Red had held his peace for so long that his patience finally just ran out.”

“What did Margaret say?” Liz asked.

Hannah shrugged. “Not much of anything, really. She looked shocked and embarrassed, of course. Then Red stormed off and she said good night and left, too. Now, here we are with a million pounds of finger foods and a crowd of guests expecting us to kick off a happy spring dance in an hour and a half.”

Liz rubbed her forehead and stood. “Well, as much as I’d like to stay and continue this never-ending bake-off, I’ve got to take Zeke back to the cabin and get us both ready.” She grabbed a small bag of cooking supplies she’d brought with her, hitched it over her shoulder, and held her hand out to Zeke. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Zeke frowned. “We go?”

“Yes,” Liz said. “We go. Say good-bye to Hannah. You’ll see her again at the dance.”

Zeke pushed to his feet, opening and closing his raised hand as Blondie yipped by his side. “Bye, Hannah.”

Hannah smiled. “Bye, baby.”

Liz paused on the threshold and looked back, a grateful smile appearing. “You know I never have thanked you properly.”

“For what?”

“For dragging me off the floor, wiping my face, and nudging me back into the world.” Her eyes glistened beneath the overhead lights and she blinked rapidly. “I wouldn’t have put one foot in front of the other two months ago if you hadn’t done what you did. And now, I don’t feel quite as guilty when I smile.” She tipped her chin toward the hallway where Margaret had exited. “Maybe that’s what Margaret needs right now. One of your tough-love nudges.”

Hannah stared at the empty doorway for several minutes after Liz, Zeke, and Blondie departed, then slowly straightened. Shoving her hands in her pockets, she left the kitchen and walked down the hall and into the foyer, where Margaret stood by a table, holding a framed picture in her hands.

Phillip and Niki smiled behind the glass, father and daughter hugging on a beach, waves crashing behind them as they laughed into the camera, their blond hair ruffled by the ocean breeze.

“You still miss them something awful, don’t you?” Hannah asked softly.

Margaret started and looked up, her knuckles turning white as her grip tightened on the picture frame. “Yes.” A tear rolled down her flushed cheek as she traced the contours of Phillip’s face with her fingertip. “I took this at our beach house in Florida a little over twenty years ago. Niki was on spring break from college—it was her birthday; she’d just turned twenty—and Phillip had earned a promotion at the bank the week before.” A sad smile crossed her lips. “That was the last time all three of us were together. After that, Phillip returned to work, and Niki went back to college. I had no idea that would be the last good memory we’d have there together.” Her voice trembled. “Niki was killed two weeks later, and I never saw it coming.” She looked at Hannah, her eyes full of pain and regret. “As her mother, shouldn’t I have felt it? When I hugged her that last time, shouldn’t I have known?”

Hannah shook her head, her own eyes filling with tears.

“Why is it we never know?” Margaret whispered, staring at the photograph. “It isn’t fair, is it?”

“No,” Hannah said brokenly. “It’s not.”

Margaret studied the photograph more closely. “I think that’s why I’ve had such a hard time letting them go—especially Niki. The way she was taken from us . . .” Her voice caught. “I never really had the chance to say a proper good-bye to my family.”

Hannah wiped her wet cheeks, searching for the right thing to say. Hoping to offer some small bit of comfort. She’d understood Red’s frustration last night—Lord knows, she’d

experienced the same feeling when it came to Margaret. But she, of all people, knew there was no time limit on pain or grief. Not on Margaret’s pain . . . or her own.

How could she have been so selfish?

“Margaret, I—”

“But I have to say good-bye now,” Margaret said softly, cradling the framed photograph in her hands. “For Red.” She opened a drawer in the foyer table, turned the framed photograph over, and placed it inside. “For you.” She shut the drawer, faced Hannah, and smiled. “And for Travis. Because the three of you are my family now.”