Salvatore’s funeral was much like the man. Simple. Direct. With a wake held at the Coach House. Rebecca found herself behind the bar, pouring drinks for family and friends. Tiny tried to get her to relax, but she couldn’t. Besides, Violet was there to keep her company. Rebecca’s son was somewhere, running around the place with Sal’s grandsons. Which was nice to see, considering he’d just lost a man he considered a grandfather. Not to mention he’d asked after Hudson more than once.
But kids were resilient. Adults? Not so much.
“You don’t look so hot.” Violet leaned closer and cocked her head to the side.
Rebecca offered a wan smile. “I hope I’m not coming down with something. My stomach has been all over the place.”
“Oh no.” Violet frowned. “The flu’s going around. My God, Becs. I can’t afford to get sick. Maybe I should slide down to the other end of the bar?”
Rebecca’s retort was cut short because a wave of nausea rolled over her. She quickly turned away and closed her eyes, hating how the room seemed to move. It took
some time but it passed, and when she turned around, Violet was frowning.
“What?” Rebecca wiped her damp forehead and nodded as Nash asked her to take two drinks over to John Blackwell’s table.
“Nothing,” Violet replied slowly. And she had that look on her face. The one that said she was thinking way too hard. Rebecca had no time to dwell on it. She grabbed the drinks and moved through the thick crowd until she reached the far corner where John sat. It was amazing, really, how the man had bounced back. He still had health problems, but he was mobile and he was here.
“There you are,” he said, smiling up at her. He patted the seat beside him, and maybe it was the crowd or the flu. Whatever it was, Rebecca took him up on his offer and sat down.
“Just for a minute. It’s crazy in here, and Tiny needs my help.” She looked around. “Where’s Darlene?”
“She’s having a word with Mrs. Lancaster. Something about the flowers from the ceremony.”
“Good.” Rebecca rubbed her temple and tried to think of something to say, but the only thing that came to mind was Hudson.
Have you heard from him?
Do you know where he is?
Is he safe?
“I want to tell you something.” John turned to her, and her stomach tumbled again. There was something in his tone. Something quiet. Serious.
“I should go,” she said, mouth dry.
“It won’t take long, and while I can appreciate this isn’t exactly the place to have this conversation, I need you to know something.”
His hands were shaking, and he clasped hers tightly. His lined face looked peaked, and the air rasped through his lungs. The man was on the back end of sixty, but life had aged him. Everything was there to see, mapped out on his face like a story.
“Are you okay?” she asked gently.
“I will be.” He glanced away, his fingers loosening a bit, and the noise of the bar seemed to melt away. It was dark in this corner, but she could see clear as day. John Blackwell was about to change the game. She felt it deeply.
“John?”
“I’m the reason Hudson left town all those years ago. He won’t talk about it, but it’s the least I can do. Share my shame so that maybe…” He lifted his head and made no effort to hide the tears in his eyes. “Maybe the two of you could fix what you had.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He never told you why he left, did he?”
She shook her head but remained silent.
“He took a phone call meant for me. It was from a woman in Louisiana. A woman who claimed I’d fathered her child.” A tear slid down his face, and Rebecca gently wiped it away.
“Did you?” she asked, watching him carefully.
“I don’t know. It’s possible.”