However, Rose hadn’t acknowledged her colleague beyond shrugging away his hand back at the diner. Yeah, the dude was a tool. He wore a distressed plaid shirt he’d probably bought at an Urban Outfitters. His satchel slung across his lanky chest, and his perfectly manicured, dark-blond dreads hung in cords down his back with two thick ones tied around the bundle to hold them together. And those Tevas. Did he think they were going to raft down Ghost Canyon? There hadn’t been water in the gorge in centuries.
He held Howie’s stare. So Meter Maid Howie was circling the car but hadn’t booted the tire. Car, not truck. He chuckled at thoughts of their teasing. She probably drove a sporty hatchback smattered in stickers. It meant that Rose was fair game unless she said otherwise, and damn if Toby could back down from a challenge…
He pushed open the door to see the gut punch in the middle of the flagstone-tiled entry. The pearlescent urn. Right where he’d barked at Dale Richardson to leave it yesterday afternoon with a rubber band cinching the release paper to its side: the reason he’d spun out of control last night. The image of it on the foyer floor jarred all thoughts in his head.
He paused. Those claws of grief wrapped their talons around his throat so that it was too lumpy to talk. He couldn’t touch the beautiful work of art, inscribed with the pure words of his momma’s favorite hymn, not even to move it to make room for the stampede at his heels.
Oh, that day when freed from sinning, I shall see Thy lovely face… Except as the melody to “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing” washed over him now, as he imagined the way his momma had sung it—a little off key, while she washed the dishes—he wasn’t picturing any lord’s lovely face. He pictured her face ravaged by chemo, wishing he’d had one more day, one more year, one more chance to say I love you instead of saying nothing like an idiot as he’d choked, tears burning down his cheeks while she’d reached up with the last of her strength to caress him and say, “My baby boy. You’re going to be all right.”
He’d been a grown-ass man, and yet he’d sobbed uncontrollably, unable to push a single word from his throat…
Toby sidestepped it and moseyed to the kitchen without a single word, leaving it right where it was. He for damn sure wasn’t going to turn around and look anyone in the eye right now. He needed coffee.