Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
I would have thought that December in Illinois meant snow, but freezing-cold rain pelted the umbrella as I rounded the front of the sedan and stepped into the cemetery. My heart pounded as I headed for the small crowd gathered nearby, my heels sticking into the brown grass with every step.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I fumbled getting it out of my jacket. A text previewed on the screen.
MOM: Serena said you ran out of breakfast this morning?
She chose now to be concerned?
I shook my head and shoved my phone back into my pocket.
People moved forward, and I followed the sea of umbrellas, eventually reaching the back row of what looked to be a split configuration of about three dozen folding chairs set up at the edge of the last row of tombstones.
I glimpsed brightly colored wreaths and an elevated closed casket under a wide green canopy ahead of the chairs as the crowd continued to shuffle its way down the aisle, some taking seats on either side and some continuing on, only to turn at the end and loop back around.
They were paying their respects to the family.
My stomach churned with nausea, and I strangled the umbrella handle as I considered for the first time that I might have made a mistake. I’d been so concerned with trying to get here in time that I hadn’t considered that maybe I shouldn’t be here.
There was every chance Nate wouldn’t want me here, every chance that he already had someone here. It wasn’t like he’d called me.
Or maybe Nate himself wouldn’t be here, and I was walking into a crowd of complete strangers.
Either way, I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome.
Maybe just picking a seat was my best option.
My pocket buzzed again, and I yanked my phone free. Another text came across the home screen.
MOM: ISABEAU ASTOR, you’d better answer me NOW.
MOM: Do not make me send people to look for you!
I typed out a quick response.
ISABEAU: My friend Nate’s mom died. I’m at the funeral. TTYL.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket and hoped that would be enough to keep her from freaking out.
“Damn shame,” a woman behind me said. “Alice really was an angel.”
“That curve has always been dangerous. Carl told me the tire tracks showed the Marshall boy was on her side of the road,” another added, her voice lowering as we passed the third row of water-covered seats. “Hit her head on.”
She’d been killed in a car accident.
“Look at those two,” the first woman said with a sigh. “They can’t even stand next to each other up there.”
I glanced over my shoulder as discreetly as possible and saw a woman with a lone streak of gray in her auburn hair leaning to the right and looking past me.
“You and I both know that boy hasn’t been home since he left for the army,” the friend responded. “Always was a wild one.”
“Can you blame him after the way David . . .” She trailed off. “Well, none of us really did anything for him, did we?”
I leaned to the right, searching past the half-dozen people ahead of me.
And I saw him.
My chest threatened to cave in, but I forced myself to breathe. Nate stood stoically at the edge of the canopy at the end of the aisle, rain falling ceaselessly, soaking into his hair and black trench coat. He nodded at something the woman in front of him said, then shook the next man’s hand as she moved on, turning to the left to do the same with someone I couldn’t see.
I couldn’t take my eyes off his profile as the line moved steadily onward. He showed no emotion as he greeted each person with the same robotic motions, his head forward, and the vacant expression on his face physically hurt my heart.
The older man ahead of me turned to Nate. “I’m sorry for your loss, son. Your mother was a gem.”
“Thank you,” Nate answered, shaking the man’s hand, but there was no intonation in his voice, no life.
The man turned across the aisle, and I stepped forward into the place he’d vacated, tilting my umbrella backward as I looked up to Nate.
“Isabeau?” His red-rimmed eyes flared as they locked with mine.
“I’m so sorry about your mom, Nate.” I lifted my umbrella to cover both of us.
He stared at me in silence for the span of a lengthy heartbeat, then reached for me and tugged me close. His arms banded around my back, and I felt the strain in every tense line of his body as my cheek rested against the chilled, wet lapel of his coat.
“I came as soon as I knew,” I whispered.
He must have dipped down, because I felt his chin bob against the top of my head, in front of where I’d pinned my french twist into place. “Thank you.”