Three Heartbeats Away: The Mortician's Daughter, #3

by C. C. Hunter

  “Only after she died. She’s sort of how I found you.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would she…come to you about me?”

  “She’s angry with you. Said you broke her and Samuel up. She said you lied to Samuel.”

  Mom’s gaze shifts around the diner. “She’s not here now, is she?”

  “No.”

  She shakes her head, then her shoulders drop. “I didn’t lie. But I did encourage him to call off the wedding. Shane didn’t know him, and he was just infatuated with her, putting on a good show. He’d already racked up four credit cards trying to impress her. Then he started asking me for money. He lied to her and told her he had all this money in the bank. He didn’t have a dime. Honestly, I was trying to do her a favor.”

  The waitress brings Mom a water and pours her a cup of coffee. Dropping creamer on the table, she leaves, and Mom continues. “Samuel. He drinks. While he’s not a mean drunk and he has a good heart, he’s not reliable. I even had to let him go two weeks ago because he came to work drunk. Seriously, I did Shane a favor. That’s not the kind of life anyone should live. My father taught me that.”

  I just stare at her. Her words replay in my head. That’s not the kind of life anyone should live.

  Then I remember what Kelsey said. She’s still your mom.

  “I’m sorry this happened to her,” Mom says. She cuts her eyes around and leans in. “Is she the one who’s been at the gallery?”

  I nod and watch the steam lift from my cup. Shane’s here now. Somewhere. Listening. I’m glad, because I want her to know I’m keeping my promise.

  Mom sits there as if lost in thought. “Can you tell her I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to hurt her. I swear. He’d have married her, and he’d have gone through all her money. She would’ve ended up leaving him, hurt, and broke.” Mom hugged herself. “She’s here. I feel the cold.”

  I nod.

  Mom continues to stare at me. “This doesn’t scare you. How do you cope?”

  “I’ve learned they really don’t want to hurt me. They just need help.” I pick up the necklace. “And now I have this.”

  “Right.” She sips her coffee.

  I look at my purse at the end of the table.

  As if she knows I’m ready to leave, she says, “Have you thought about what I asked? If you’d like to come stay with me and go to college?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I’ve thought about it.”

  “And?” She leans in, smiling, hopeful.

  “It’s not going to happen,” I say, hoping I don’t sound mean. “Don’t misunderstand. I would love to come visit. I would like to get to know you better, but I won’t live with you.” Her words replay in my head again, and I repeat them aloud. “That’s not the kind of life anyone should live.”

  “What?” she asks.

  “That’s what you said when talking about Shane. But…you left me with my father, not knowing for sure if he’d start drinking again.”

  “I… Riley, I was in a bad place. I told you I was wrong. I know that.”

  “I believe you,” I say.

  “So he was drinking then. I’m sorry if that ruined your childhood.”

  “No. Dad never drank until recently. He was there for all the skinned knees. Stomach viruses. Braces. God, he hated having to deal with my periods and bras, but he did it. He was there every single time I needed him.”

  I sit up straighter, feeling a surge of confidence. “And now he needs me.” Emotion tightens my chest. “You know, after I left your gallery, I went straight to see him.” I breathe in a shaky breath. “I did what you said you had done. I told him I’d leave him if he didn’t give up drinking. I…even thought I meant it.” I bite down on my lip. “But I was wrong. I’m not going to leave him. I can’t.”

  I swallow. “I’ve always known he carried some kind of pain inside him. I thought it was from losing you. Now I know it’s not just you. But the horrible guilt about losing the baby. Even with that terrible guilt eating away at him, he didn’t turn to alcohol at first. He was always there for me. And you know what, he’s a damn good father.”

  She wipes a tear from her cheek. “I always knew he was a good man. And…he’s stronger than I am.” Her words come out so earnest.

  I put my hand over hers. The touch hurts, but I keep it there for three, maybe four seconds. “I’m serious. I do want to see you. To get to know you again. I’ll call you when the time’s right.”

  She nods.

  I pull the necklace up to my chest. “And thank you for the gift.”

  I leave her sitting in that booth. Alone. Before I walk out, I glance back. As sad as it is, seeing her alone with tears in her eyes, I know I did the right thing.

  I don’t hate her, and maybe somewhere inside of me, I still love her. And I’m going to work on forgiving her.

  When I get into my car, Shane is waiting for me in my back seat. She’s in her wedding dress, but there’s no knife. “Thank you,” she says.

  I look at her and smile through my tears. “I don’t think she was as bad of a person as I thought she was.”

  I hope not.

  “You’re a good person, Riley Smith.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  Then she disappears, and the colors left in her wake are so beautiful, so healing, the lump of hurt in my chest lightens. The warmth, the hope I feel from her passing even helps me stop worrying about tonight. About if Dad will show up to go to the AA meeting.

  The good feeling wanes as I fill the Crock-Pot with one of Dad’s favorite meals. Beef stew with carrots, potatoes, and pearl onions. I even picked up some frozen rolls to sop up the gravy. Dad likes to sop.

  Scared my heart is about to be broken again and not wanting to dwell on it, I do something I’ve let go these last few weeks. I vacuum, do laundry, and give the downstairs a good cleaning. When I finish, the meaty aroma of beef stew fills the house. I check the clock. It’s five-thirty. Is he coming?

  Not coming?

  How the hell am I going to deal with it if he doesn’t show?

  No, I tell myself. Dad loves me. He’ll be here.

  I run upstairs to put on a little makeup and try to figure out the appropriate attire to wear to an AA meeting. Is it like church? I choose plain black pants and a light green blouse. Again, a color I remember Mom wearing. I keep moving, pretending Dad will walk in any minute. Pumpkin follows me around the house, happy that I’m here.

  At five-fifty, I go back downstairs. Put the rolls in. Then I lean against the counter. I could set the table. Fix some tea. I could call Hayden just to chat. Text Kelsey and see what she’s doing. I could.

  I don’t.

  Instead I stare at the clock on the wall. Watch the minute hand tick, tick, tick.

  I don’t move. I just breathe.

  The timer for the oven dings. The rolls are ready. But I’m not.

  I’m not ready to face that Dad’s not coming.

  I pull the rolls out. They are golden brown. The smell of fresh-baked bread rises from the pan. Glancing at the time, I see it’s six. I drop the pan on the top of the stove. The rolls could be burnt for all I care.

  The pang of disappointment is about to settle in my gut when I hear a car. I bat the tears off my cheek and listen as the garage door groans open. A minute later, Dad walks in.

  His gaze finds me. “Something smells good.”

  “I know.” I realize just because he’s here doesn’t mean he plans on going to the meeting.

  “You need me to set the table?” he asks.

  “Yeah. I just pulled the rolls out.”

  “Good, they’ll be hot.” He pulls two plates out of the cabinet, then looks at me. “I’ve missed your cooking.”

  “I’ve missed you,” I say.

  He places the dishes down, then studies me standing on the other side of the kitchen. “We’d better eat so we aren’t late.”

  A rush of hope, of happiness, fills my chest. “Yeah.” I run across the room and into his arms. He hug
s me so tight. I’m surrounded by his warmth, his scent of Old Spice. And right then I realize he really is a superhero. Alcohol is just his kryptonite.

  “I love you,” I say.

  “I know.” He pulls back and blinks the shine from his eyes. “I’m going to get through this.”

  “No,” I say. “We’re going to get through this, Dad.” And I believe it.

  Prom Night

  I’m in the bathroom with Mary—Ms. Duarte—and she’s trying to pin the back of my bra so it won’t show.

  “I think I got it,” she says, smiling, and steps back and looks at the mirror. Our gazes meet in the reflection. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” I smile. “I’m glad you’re in my dad’s life.”

  “I’m glad, too.”

  I hear the doorbell, followed by a chorus of voices. Kelsey, Hayden, and Dex.

  “Where’s Riley?” Kelsey’s voice carries.

  “In the bathroom,” my father answers. “Mary’s helping her with a girl crisis. Don’t ask me what it is, but I think it pertains to underwear.”

  Laughter flows down the hall as I walk out.

  “Crisis abated?” Kelsey asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, and I see Hayden wearing a dark gray jacket, matching slacks, and a pale blue Oxford shirt. He looks older, somehow. And hot. My heart does a tumble. The good kind.

  Then I realize he’s looking at me, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide, while taking in my blue, off-the-shoulder dress.

  “Wow,” he says. “You look—”

  “Nope,” Dad blurts out. “Keep your appreciation to yourself.”

  Everyone laughs, except Hayden, who isn’t sure if Dad’s joking. Honestly, I’m not sure he is, either, but he’s accepting me growing up pretty well. And he’s doing well. Going to AA four nights a week. I go with him at least half the time. He hasn’t had a drink in over a month. I’m so proud of him.

  “All of you look ‘wow,’” Mary says. “Let me grab the camera.”

  We pose in the living room, we pose on the front porch, we pose standing by the limo. Picture-taking reminds me of the new photos Mom texted me yesterday. Some of her at her prom. It still freaks me out a little how much we look alike. We haven’t seen each other since we met at the diner, but we’ve talked and texted several times. It’s getting easier. I even sent her an invitation to my graduation. Dad agreed it was okay.

  We’re about to climb into the limo when I remember my suitcase. “Wait.” I run back in and grab it. After prom, we’re all going to Galveston. Hayden’s grandmother has a time-share there, and she’s letting us use the beach house for three days.

  Not that it’s the first time we’ve visited. We spent two nights up there a few weeks ago. Just Hayden and me and a big bed. It was great. It was…a dashing good time. Yes, while still in Galveston, I looked up the definition. According to Google, dashing means dazzling, romantic, exuberant, daring, and dynamic. It also gave a few synonyms that were iffy. And when I read them aloud to Hayden while in bed, he frowned upon me describing having sex with him as plucky or peppy. But I teased him about it all day.

  Like I said, everything in my life is pretty good. I’ve only dealt with one spirit since Shane. He was a ninety-year-old man. His case was easy: to make sure his grandson got his Purple Heart he’d been honored with in the Army. I do, however, wish the sweet elderly man hadn’t died in the shower. Seriously, I saw things I can’t unsee. I mean, I know women get sag issues, but I just discovered men have dangling part…iciples.

  “Have a good time. Be safe,” Dad says. I hug Dad and Mary goodbye. We all pile into the limo, leaving space for Brandy and Jacob, who we’re picking up next. Hayden and his best friend have mended fences.

  As the driver pulls away, Kelsey says, “Stop that.” Then she bumps shoulders with Dex.

  “Stop what?” Dex asks.

  “Staring at me,” she says.

  “Well, that’s not my fault. You should have worn an ugly dress.”

  We all laugh. Then Dex kisses her. The two of them have come a long way.

  Hayden takes my hand and leans closer. His cheek presses against mine, and he whispers, “You look…dashing.”

  “As do you,” I say.

  He kisses me. I savor the kiss, savor the moment. That’s the thing about dealing with the dead: it makes you appreciate life. The big things, the small things. You kind of realize what’s important, too.

  Relationships. The people we surround ourselves with. The people we love. The people we lean on, the people we let lean on us. Everyone needs a tribe. And here in Catwalk, Texas, I found mine.

  Read other books by C.C. Hunter

  Dear Readers,

  I just wanted thank you for going on Riley’s journey with me. Having had what I consider some close encounters with a few ghosts myself—all positive, I will add—writing Riley’s adventure was so much fun. Nothing makes me happier than a story of young love and characters navigating their lives while dealing with issues like a parent’s alcoholism, boyfriend problems, trying fit in at school, and basically overcoming obstacles.

  I realize I don’t know you, but oddly, I feel like you know me. Writing is personal and when you read my work, you know what makes me laugh, what makes me cry, what scares me and what I find . . . romantic. I’m hoping we share a sense of humor and that we care about much of the same things.

  If we do, and you enjoyed this book, I hope you’ll follow me in my future writing adventures. Pop over to my website at http://www.cchunterbooks.com to learn about my other books and series. And don’t forget to check out my blog, http://cchunterbooks.com/blog/, where I regularly give away prizes such as T-shirts, books and fun promotional items.

  Also, if you enjoyed Three Heartbeats Away, I hope you’ll leave a review.

  Writing is my passion, it’s my escape from the daily grind. Seriously, who wants to wash dishes or scrub a toilet? I’d much rather go on adventures through my writing.

  So I want to say thank you again for being a fan.

  Happy Reading,

  C.C. Hunter

  C.C. Hunter, born and raised in Alabama, now hangs her hat in Texas. Author of forty-four books, including the Shadow Falls and The Mortician’s Daughter’s series, she’s a New York Times and USA Best Selling author.

  As Christie Craig she writes humorous romantic suspense and thrillers. Find more information at www.cchunterbooks.com or www.christie-craig.com.

  Copyright

  The Mortician’s Daughter: Three Heartbeats Away

  C. C. Hunter

  Copyright © 2019 by Christie Craig

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