He jumped in the SUV, squealed out of the lot and gunned the engine, wishing for his WRX with its turbo boosters. He leaned over the steering wheel as if that would get him there faster.
Sienna and Ginger, those two sweet girls, were orphans.
Bile rose in his throat and his vision grayed. He twisted the steering wheel, swallowed hard. He didn’t have time to get upset.
The girls were probably freaked enough that he hadn’t arrived. How would he tell them what had happened? When? Not right off. Not until he figured out the right way.
Grief tugged at him, dragging him down, breaking him in two. He fought to stay clear, to keep going, to do what had to be done. Get the girls, feed them, find a funeral home, reach his mother—would her cell phone work at sea or would he have to ask the cruise line to contact her?
He had to call Brianna’s twin sister, Aubrey, too. Aubrey was Brianna’s only family, as far as Dixon knew. Their mother had died when they’d barely graduated high school. Breast cancer, he thought. He didn’t know the story on their father, who wasn’t in the picture. Where would he get Aubrey’s number?
Probably from the stapled pages of instructions Brianna had left with details about the girls’ food preferences, their schedule, what they needed in their backpacks for Bootstrap, the babysitter next door, plus a list of emergency contact numbers—a plumber, an electrician, several neighbors, the pediatrician. At the time the list seemed to be overkill. Who would ever need any of that?
He did. It was all he had.
How would Aubrey take the news? Would she even be in the country?
Supposedly, she was coming to the anniversary party in three days. He’d figured she would breeze in at the last minute with some extravagant, impractical gift like she’d done for the twins’ birthdays. She’d brought her ski-bum boyfriend to the last one. Dixon and Aubrey had had a moment five years before at Howard and Brianna’s wedding. Since then, she’d been prickly around him, and they’d hardly spoken to each other.
Now they’d be forced to work together. They had a funeral to plan.
He shoved that idea into the swirl of his thoughts and snagged a new worry. What would happen to the girls? They would need a guardian.
It had to be him. Dixon was the only option. His mother loved the girls, but only in small doses. And parenthood had to be the furthest thing from Aubrey’s mind. She had some kind of travel blog about outdoor sports.
Of course, it was far from his mind, too.
You’re it, Dix. You’ll have to raise the girls. His gut churned, and he noticed that his jaw ached like crazy. He’d locked his back teeth, as if that would help him keep it together. He looked up, saw the red light and slammed on the brakes. Damn. It wouldn’t do for him to get in a wreck on the way to get the girls. He was all they had now.
How would the twins react? Ginger would dissolve into tears. Would Sienna? He imagined screams and wails and howls of grief and wild questions he wouldn’t know the answers to.
They’d be upset that he was late, and hungry, so he’d stop for fast food—always a hit—take them home and somehow find a way to tell them their parents would not be coming home tonight...or ever.
Call Constance. The answer popped into his head. The Bootstrap career counselor used to work as a school psychologist. She would talk him through this. He couldn’t blow it. The girls were counting on him.
As he waited for the green, the icy fact of Howard’s death trickled past his defenses.
Howard is gone. Your brother. The one person who loved you no matter what, your best friend, your family.
It can’t be. It’s not fair.
Howard deserved more time with his kids, more time with the agency he’d only begun to build. Dixon wanted more time with him, too. He owed him so much.
He’s gone. Forever. You’ll never see that grin of his, never get to harass him about the Phoenix Suns, kick his butt on the court, eat his smoked ribs, watch him work wonders with people in need.
The light turned green and he stomped the accelerator to the floor, shutting down his pain. He had a job to do. Two minutes later, he whipped into the strip mall that held the girls’ gym. He spotted them doing cartwheels on the sidewalk, watched by one of the trainers, who looked pissed. He parked, jumped out of the car and hurried over. The instructor looked pointedly at her watch.
“There was an emergency. I’m sorry.”
Her face didn’t change. She’d probably heard a million excuses. I bet you haven’t heard this one.
“Where were you, Uncle Dixon? We’ve been waiting and waiting.” Sienna’s piercing blue eyes locked on his, more accusatory than her words.
“Uncle Dixon!” Ginger ran and leaped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist.
His chest tightened and his lungs seemed to shut down. He loved these girls so much. They had giant hearts, boundless energy and huge spirits. How would this tragedy harm them?
He would not let them suffer. He would keep them safe and secure, and make certain they knew they were loved. He loved them more than words could say already, but he would love them more. He would love them the way his brother had, the way their mother had.
Was that even possible? How could he possibly replace their parents?
He felt like he was running on air. He didn’t dare look down.
The girls clambered into their booster seats.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “How about Bernie’s Burgers?”
“Yes! Yay! Bernie’s, Uncle Dixon. Bernie’s, Bernie’s, Bernie’s!” Ginger bounced up and down.
“Mom said only once a week because of the salt and the bad fat,” Sienna said. “We already went.”
“It’ll be our little secret,” he said, sick inside.
Soon the car filled with the comforting smell of fries and hamburgers. He bought milkshakes, too, which was too much, especially for Ginger, whose eyes were bigger than her tiny stomach.
He didn’t care. And when they started a French fry fight, he didn’t try to stop them. Go for it. Enjoy every last second of carefree fun. He listened hard to the light music of their sweet voices, the cheerful shriek when a fry hit its mark. How long before they would laugh like this again?
He blinked against the blur before his eyes.
At the house, Dixon set the girls up at the kitchen table to eat, leaving his own food untouched. Why had he even ordered? His stomach was in turmoil, and a bitter taste clogged his throat.
Once the girls were occupied, he grabbed Brianna’s emergency notes and the phone book, and ducked into the guest room to make the necessary calls. He left a message on his mother’s cell phone and alerted the cruise line, which would make contact with her.
Now Aubrey. Holding his breath, jaw clenched, he braced for her reaction, but the call went straight to voice mail.
“This is Dixon Carter. Call me. It’s urgent,” he said. He wasn’t about to leave the terrible news on a recording.
Next he called the mortuary with the largest ad, figuring they’d be busy and efficient. The funeral director would contact the mortuary in Reno, then call back to schedule a time to arrange the funeral.
The funeral.
The word rang in his head. Images poured in: flowers, caskets, gravestones, hymns, everyone in black and sobbing. Meanwhile, the girls chattered happily in the kitchen, oblivious to what he was doing.