She loved this Cache Valley house. It was more than a home. It represented Paul’s faith in her and hers in him. He believed so heartily in her talent that he insisted they move ahead and build it before the ink on her new publishing contract was dry. Before their closing date, book two of her mystery series was in the publisher’s hands, and Paul had passed the bar.
The home was not fancy in the way the Parade of Homes houses were. It was cozy, and its clifftop perch provided a million-dollar view of the river that flowed more than a hundred feet below. She walked to the window, passing by the overstuffed sofa where she and her book-nerd husband once snuggled together, wrapped in soft blankets. They often fell asleep in the glow of that big fireplace, warmed by its embers and their love, when sorrow and death were unfathomable.
Paul’s love of constitutional law led to a move to D.C. the year Wes entered high school. The Utah house primarily became a getaway place until the children reached college age and chose schools that drew them back to their beloved mountains. Avery needed a few extra days in Utah to tidy the place after the family gathered there for Easter. Paul headed east to begin his last month at work, but he collapsed on the gangway of his flight out of Chicago. Once again, the family gathered to the Utah house—to grieve.
Wes ambled in from the laundry room wearing a sweatshirt he’d pulled from her rag bag, laughing like the kid who once loved that shirt. “Why did you hide this? It used to be my favorite.”
“Look at the back,” said Avery with a chuckle. “Remember the world’s greatest blueberry battle?”
“Oh, yeah.” Wes laughed, and pulled the shirt over his head to get a look at the stains.
“Are you two spending the night?”
“Yeah. Before we go, we want to make sure the pine needles aren’t clogging the gutters.”
“Uh-huh.” Avery nodded absently. “I’ve been thinking about your question.”
Wes brightened. “And?”
“I can’t do it.”
Once again, his hands flew to his hips as they did when he was a little boy. “Why not?”
“I can rattle off a number of reasons, like my commitment to work in the writing lab at the high school, but I’d rather you just accept my answer.”
“You’re a volunteer at school. Not an employee. And I’d like to hear some of those other reasons, Mom. Your needs should come first for once.”
The comment caught Avery off guard. She wasn’t an iron-fisted parent, but there was a clear but unspoken rule in the house—“Don’t sass Mom.” It was a rule the kids rarely broke, and then only at the risk of being grounded, which was social death.
She drew a long, slow breath. “Great, because what I need is to stay here, around the people and things that are familiar. I’ve had enough change in my life for one year.” The words caused her innards to gelatinize. Avery pulled herself together and placed a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “Tell me why this Florida move is so critical to you. And don’t try to convince me that it’s the best opportunity you’ve been offered. What’s really going on?”
Wes shifted his weight and slipped into one hip, avoiding Avery’s gaze. When their eyes met, his were filled with pain. “I can’t be here, Mom. At least not for a while.”
Avery felt as if someone had kicked her in the heart.
Watching Wes deploy was both the proudest and hardest thing she’d ever faced. When she awoke with nightmares about IEDs and landmines, Paul bathed her with faith-filled words that diluted her fears. She knew she and Wes were navigating a new minefield, and the results could be equally destructive. Prolonged grief had left him bitter. She needed to set things right.
“Talk to me, Wes. Why can’t you be here anymore?”
He pushed his plate aside. “My emotions are boiling inside me since Dad died. Being here makes them worse.” He jumped from his seat and strode toward the corner of the room.
Avery followed numbly behind him, struggling to get around the implications of his words. “I don’t understand.”
“Every one of my good memories is threatened here. I see that photo of us camping in Yosemite, and Dad smiling like he’s so happy to be with us, and then I have to ask myself, ‘Was he, really?’ If he was, then why didn’t he take care of himself so he could stay with us?”
Avery slumped into a chair by the fireplace. “I had no idea . . .”
“That I was angry?” Wes blew out a long breath of air. “He was a diabetic with a heart condition. The doctors warned him what would happen if he didn’t change his habits, but he didn’t. He didn’t slow his work schedule, he didn’t exercise, he missed doctors’ appointments, he didn’t eat properly. I read the report. Man alive, Mom! His sugar was off the charts, and he still had two candy bars in his pocket when he dropped dead at O’Hare!”
Avery stared into the empty fireplace. It was true. It was all true. “Wes, you have to—” She bit her knuckles to stave off the tears. “I never should’ve allowed you to go with me to Chicago to identify Dad’s body. Maybe if you hadn’t seen him that way . . . maybe you’d be able to remember . . .”
“Please, Mom,” Wes said, holding his hand up. “I’ve been to war. It wasn’t that. And please don’t tell me to remember the good times or to hold on to the fact that we’ll be together again someday.” She cringed at his mocking tone. “How can I trust in ‘someday’ when Dad didn’t even fight to stay with us now?”
Avery felt as if the last threads of her tattered world were being pulled apart. “Are you the only one who feels this way?” Wes sat on the coffee table facing her. “No. Jamie cries because Dad didn’t hang around to see the babies she’ll have someday, and now she worries about losing you.”
“Losing me? And Luke? Is this why he canceled his plans for that study abroad program?”
“Partly. Like Jamie, he’s afraid something will happen to you if he’s away. Other than that, I can’t really read him. All I know is that I need to get out of here for a while. I can’t be surrounded by images of my happy childhood until I can get past this anger I feel toward Dad.”
“Wes—,” Avery began again.
“No, Mom. Admit it. You feel it too. That’s why you crushed the TV and hammered the computer. You can’t understand his choices any better than I can.”
Avery felt the familiar beginnings of stomach cramp, a symptom she’d fought the past several years. She was forced to face the true cause of the spasms when the doctor ruled out all physical reasons. Wrapping her arms around her midsection, she again fought the stress-induced tightness again.
“I feel just like that.”
She turned at the sound of Luke’s voice and found him pointing at her. “All tied up inside.” His hand rubbed across his quivering mouth. “Dad ignored the doctors, as if . . .”
Avery tearfully reached for his hand. “I can’t explain Dad’s choices.” She sighed. “I only know that he loved us with all his heart. Why he chose to do or not do certain things—well, I can’t answer those questions, but don’t doubt for one second that his love was real.”
Luke sat by his mother on the arm of her chair. “I know that, but it still doesn’t make sense to me.”
Avery looked into his sad brown eyes. “Maybe we should arrange for you to talk to someone. You haven’t been to church in weeks. Is this why?”
Luke cut her off. “Dad was my spiritual anchor, Mom. Losing him this way . . .” His voice trailed off. “I need some time, okay?”
Avery didn’t press the point.
Wes drew close and placed his hands on his mother’s knees. “I need a change of scenery. We think it would do you some good too. Jamie knew we were going to raise this with you. That’s why she was so anxious at dinner. She doesn’t want you to go so far away, but she can’t bear to see you carrying on like a zombie any longer. You’re not yourself, Mom. You haven’t been for a long time.”
Avery looked at her sons with an anxious frown.
“You made Dad your focus for years, which we get, but you l
ook worn out, and you haven’t published anything in the past few years.”
She dropped onto the arm of the recliner. “Because I haven’t written anything worth printing. Maybe there’s nothing left in me to say.”
“Or maybe it’s all just locked up inside you like your feelings. Maybe once you make your own peace with Dad’s death you’ll be able to write again.”
She looked at Luke, facing the changes in him. She marveled at how it was the silent sounds that resonated most forcefully in her life—the stilling of Paul’s once-mighty heart, the change in her status from married to widowed, the sound of Luke’s retreat. “Do you agree with Wes?”
Luke bit his upper lip and nodded his head silently for several seconds. “Yep. I tried to ignore it, but after talking to Wes last night, I have to admit that I’ve felt it too. Bit by bit you’ve been shrinking, just like Dad, and since he died, well, you’re like a ghost of who you really are. I fought Wes on this at first, but I’ve changed my mind. I agree with him and Jamie.”
“Would you go to Florida too?”
He shook his head. “But I’d gladly let you go for a while if it meant getting you back again—the way you were.”
Hours later, staring into the mirror at her downcast face, Avery understood what they meant. She had become a shadow of herself, and she didn’t know what to do about it. She wasn’t sure who she really was anymore without Paul. Growing up in a home that served a dysfunctional kind of love had made her a streetwise, self-protective person, but Paul changed all that. He helped her develop the best of her traits and make strengths from the others. She was reverting without him, becoming a person of withering hope. The prospect looked grim.
She thought of the widower of Anna Maria Island. A faceless shadow pitied in lovers’ whispers as they strolled past his lonely seaside home. Was she just a shadow too?
Maybe it was time she found out.
Chapter Two
Anna Maria Island, Florida - February 21
The frustration Gabriel Carson felt when his youngest daughter’s car screeched into the driveway quickly turned to panic as she slammed the front door of their quiet Anna Maria Island waterfront home yelling, “Daddy!” He raced to her, stopping short as he noted the ear-to-ear grin on Emilia’s face. “What in the—?” He held his tongue and stared at his twenty-three-year-old daughter as his heart rate normalized and the color slowly returned to his tanned face.
“I got it! The internship with the Colton Agency!” she exclaimed as she tossed her chic denim jacket onto the sofa.
“Millie! You nearly scared me to death. No wonder I look eighty at fifty-two.”
“Oh, Daddy. Whatever.” She embraced him with cashmere-clad arms while simultaneously reading the mail clutched in her hands. “My friends all have crushes on you. They say you look more like thirty than fifty-two. It’s just that I thought I didn’t have a chance, and now the job’s mine.”
“Internship.”
“Whatever.” She shrugged. “If I do a great job, they’ll certainly offer me a permanent position, and if they don’t”—she wriggled her eyebrows his way—“you surely know someone who could pull some strings for me, right?” She swooned. “Imagine me, an executive assistant at one of Florida’s most prestigious fund-raising agencies. It’s like working in Hollywood!”
Gabriel spun around and frowned at his daughter. “How is working as an intern at a fund-raising agency in Sarasota, Florida, in any way akin to working in Hollywood?”
“Oh, Daddy, it’s just a figure of speech. But the Colton Agency does damage control when corporate heads and entertainment A-listers get busted for embezzling or drugs, or when they burn flags and stuff.”
Gabriel gasped. “And you want to work for such a company because?”
“It’s not all bad, Daddy. They provide PR assistance during some of the deadliest catastrophes and health crises in the world. Big stars fly in on their private jets all the time to film public service announcements when disasters strike. It’s almost guaranteed I’ll get to meet a few when they arrive to help the suffering.”
The incongruence between Emilia’s mention of the suffering, and her effusive joy over the opportunity their pain would provide her, was not lost on Gabriel. He pressed his fingers deep into his temples and closed his blue eyes as he considered both the Colton Agency’s astonishing good fortune to hire such an empathetic new intern, and his astounding failure in shaping her priorities.
Emilia sniffed the air. “Fish. That’s right, it’s Thursday. How was today’s order? And did you stop by Guy’s bakery?”
“Madeleine Vanderfelt will have the most beautiful wedding of the season, if I do say so myself.”
Emilia found the bakery box. “That’s why they pay you the big bucks . . . so you can afford to spoil Gina and me.”
“Right.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “The big bucks. Shipping costs are up, labor’s up. My profit margin is the only thing going down. I’m thinking about turning all the floral business over to your Uncle Tino. I’m growing too impatient to deal with the whims of debutante brides and their demanding mothers, but he still loves it. Getting a brother-in-law who adapted so well to horticulture was an added bonus when I married your mother.”
“You’re not getting out of the business altogether, are you? I was counting on having a beautiful bouquet of fresh flowers on my desk every week. I think that will really impress people at the agency.” Emilia’s worry was mollified by a bite of cookie.
Gabriel leaned over and kissed her brow. “No, angel. I’d rather just focus on the landscaping side of the business. Give me a backhoe and a shovel, and I’m happy.”
Emilia pouted. “You can’t stop making your weekly buying trips at the docks, Daddy. How will you remember to buy us fresh fish and macaroons every Thursday?”
“Yes,” he teased, holding up a halibut by the tail and switching to an Italian accent. “Fresha fisha fora my girls everrree Thursaday!” He closed his eyes and brought his fingertips to his lips in an exaggerated kiss.
Emilia laughed. “And I thought all the Italians were on Mom’s side of the family.”
“When I’m in the kitchen, I like bringing a little of her back.”
Emilia’s smile grew thoughtful. “I’m sad to admit that I don’t even remember her, except for the photos. But I think the way you still miss her is very romantic.”
“You were just a toddler when she passed, Mil.” He tapped her on the nose and leaned across the counter, cupping his chin in his hands. “I do miss her, but not in the way you think, at least not anymore. I only had her for a few years and I’ve been without her for twenty-two. I can hardly remember our life together. Heck, I can hardly even remember myself back then.” He looked into his daughter’s eyes. “But when I see you and your sister now, tall and slim, with your long dark hair, and eyes like black pearls,”—he blew out a rush of air—“you both look so much like she did when I first met her. Sometimes when I look at you, I feel like I’m back at the Tidal Basin in Washington, D.C., enjoying the Cherry Blossom Festival, and I can see your mother coming my way against a canvas of pink blossoms.”
Emilia’s face scrunched into a sorrowful pout. “See, Daddy? You are a romantic, but I don’t remember you ever going out on a date. You’re so handsome. You must’ve had admirers.”
Gabriel chuckled softly. Each morning, he faced the truth, that life was marking time in the deep crevices of his sun-baked face. The changes weren’t all bad. Though his short-cropped hair had already turned white, it magnified the blue of his eyes and the healthy glow of his skin. Hard work had kept his muscles firm, but what did any of it matter? He’d dedicated himself to only three women—his wife and their daughters. There was no time for anyone else.
“I made the mistake of reading fairy tales to you girls. Gina was so terrified by the plight of Cinderella that she made me promise to never get her a stepmother.”
“Daddy . . .” Emilia gave him an eye roll as she placed the rema
ining macaroons in the cookie jar. When the lid was replaced, she rose from her seat and moved to her father, wrapping her arms around his muscled shoulders. “I’m glad you never dated. Gina and I love keeping you all to ourselves. No wonder I can’t find any guy good enough to make me leave you.”
Gabriel scowled as he returned her embrace. “I don’t think that’s a good thing, Mil.”
“How can you say that?”
“I kept your world too small—allowed you to become too dependent on me. I don’t think your mother would be pleased. It’s neither good nor normal for two healthy, adult women to be so tied to each other and their father. You two should be on your own now, with lives of your own.” He stared directly into Emilia’s eyes.
She pulled away, tossing the rest of her cookie into the sink. “It’s not your fault Gina and Mark split.”
Gabriel became pensive as he considered the plight of his oldest daughter’s failed marriage to her best friend and grade school sweetheart. “Maybe not, but perhaps if coming home hadn’t been so easy, so comfortable, maybe she would have worked harder at saving her marriage.”
From around the corner came Gina’s sharp rebuke. “Does the subject of this evening’s discussion get to weigh in?”
Gabriel blushed. “I’m not criticizing you, Gina. I—”
“Of course, you’re not,” she said with a touch a sarcasm.
“Gina—”
She raised her hand. “I’d rather not tonight, Dad, if you don’t mind.” She marched past and headed up the stairs.
Before her sister’s foot hit the landing, Emilia was fidgeting. “I’d better go check on her.” A moment later, she was heading up the stairs after her sister.
Gabriel hadn’t seen Gina truly happy since the day she foresaw the massive changes accepting Mark Donovan’s marriage proposal would cause in her life. Gabriel had been prepared to help her face the usual concerns—the wedding plans, the loss of autonomy when a person becomes a partner to another, the challenges of juggling a career and a family. But other things whittled away at her happiness, things like adjusting to a new name, a new home, and, especially, a new married budget. Gabriel knew Gina secretly wanted her independent and frugal future husband to abandon his own place and offer to move in under her father’s roof. In truth, as ludicrous as it sounded, Gabriel would have leapt at the idea at the time, and Gina obviously knew it.
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