Finally, Ivy found her notes.
“I can’t tell you,” the young woman said, “how many times I showed up at the Sheridans’ house unannounced. No matter how busy she was, Beth always, always, made time to listen to my troubles, to deliver pep talks, to let me cry on her shoulder.” Ivy bit her lower lip before continuing. “She’d set aside whatever puzzle she was working on—oh, how that girl loved word search!—or put down the newspaper and distract me with a news story, a weather alert, a recipe. And no matter how poorly the Orioles or Ravens were performing, Beth never said a bad word about them. Or about anyone else, for that matter, because that’s just the way she was.”
Half a dozen more speeches followed Ivy’s, but Brooke barely heard a word. Her thoughts had turned to the days when she and Beth shared the back bedroom at Deidre’s, whispering in the dark across the space between their twin beds about homework and chores, the latest movies, and the cute counselor at summer camp. When had Beth become a fan of puzzles and sports?
Tears pooled in her eyes as Brooke thought of all the time she’d wasted caught up in her own self-interests and mired in loathing Hunter Stone. It’s time you thought about someone other than him...other than yourself for a change. Deidre and Connor were counting on her, she thought, swiping angrily at the tears, and she was no use to them this way.
And where was Connor? Last time she’d seen him, he’d fallen asleep in Hunter’s arms...after crying nonstop for half an hour straight. How Hunter had quieted the baby, Brooke couldn’t say. But Beth had been right when she’d said that Connor and Hunter shared a one-of-a-kind bond.
Brooke hadn’t wanted to bring Connor here today, but Deidre had been unbending: “When he’s old enough to ask questions, he’ll never forgive us if he finds out we kept him away from one of the most important days of his life.”
Brooke caught sight of Hunter and Connor standing side by side on the ornate little bridge across the way. Hunter pointed out a row of mallards bobbing beneath them on the water’s surface, and for the moment, the ducks held Connor’s attention. But the minute they floated out of sight, he began to wail again. Squatting, Hunter placed big hands on tiny shoulders and said something that captured the baby’s full attention...and immediately calmed him.
Hunter looked up just then, caught her staring. She looked away quickly as Deidre jabbed an elbow into her side.
“Honestly, Brooke. I’ll be long gone when Connor is old enough to ask what happened here today, and he’ll be counting on you to tell him. Pay attention!”
Like an obedient child, Brooke faced front as those assembled near the coffins took turns at the podium.
“He was the most honest man I knew.”
“She had a heart as big as her head.”
“He was generous to a fault.”
“Oh, how she loved her family, especially her big sister!”
The only way the woman in the red hat could know a thing like that was if Beth had told her. Brooke held her breath, determined not to cry.
A strong, warm hand rested on her shoulder.
Hunter....
He leaned near her ear. “I know you’re holding it together for Deidre and Connor,” he whispered. “Admirable.”
When he straightened and walked away, regret throbbed in her heart. And right behind it, exasperation. She was behaving like a fool, unable to make up her mind whether she despised the man who’d let her mother die...or liked him.
She blamed exhaustion. Grief. Her constantly growing list of regrets. Blamed Hunter, too, because after thousands of bitter thoughts about him, she’d allowed a few kind words and gestures to soften her resolve.
The pastor led the mourners in song. Deidre gave Brooke’s hand a tiny squeeze, the signal that had meant “behave, or else” since she and Beth were children. Connor wrapped his arms around her knees. “Conner up?”
She picked him up. “Shhh. It’s okay,” she murmured. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
He bounced in her arms, pointed at the closed coffins, where photos of Beth and Kent reminded everyone of happier times.
“Conner see Mommy?”
Her heart lurched as she realized what he was asking. “Aw, sweetie,” she said around a sob, “how ’bout we go home instead, get you some lunch and a nap.”
“No nap,” he insisted. And pointing again, he repeated, “Conner wants Mommy!”
Even if she could get her feet to cooperate, Brooke wouldn’t know what to say or do once she got him over there.
She felt Hunter’s warm hand on the small of her back. “Want me to take him?”
Brooke thought of Deidre’s earlier comment, that someday Connor would ask about this day.
“No, I’ll do it.” She could do this. Had to do this.
“Open,” Connor said once they reached the front of the tent.
He looked away from the photos, and when he met her eyes, it felt as though he were looking straight into her heart, reading every memory and fear and regret written there.
He tilted his head slightly. “Aw, Brooke cry?”
“No, sweetie.” Brooke blinked back the sting of fresh tears. “I’m not crying.”
Connor touched a tear, then showed her the tip of his glistening fingertip.
She buried her face in the crook of his neck. No more lies...not to you, not to myself.
That seemed to satisfy him, and as Brooke prepared to walk away, he pointed over her shoulder. “No nap!” he cried. “Conner see Mommy! Open...open!”
Brooke looked up at Hunter. If he’d told Connor that his mommy and daddy were in these boxes...
“I didn’t say a word,” he told her, hands up as if in surrender.
She followed his gaze, saw that the wind had toppled Kent’s picture.
Hunter righted it, and when he spoke, a fog of grief and confusion tinged his voice. “How does he know?”
Funny. Brooke wondered the same thing.
“Open,” Connor repeated.
Brooke wrapped her free hand around his. “We can’t open it, sweetie. It’s...it’s broken,” she fibbed.
He looked up at Hunter, who agreed with a shrug and a slow nod. “Sorry, buddy. Broken.”
For the longest time, Connor stared at the coffins. At the wind-rattled photographs atop the gleaming lids. At fluttering flower petals. As he stuck his thumb into his mouth, tears puddled in his eyes. He blinked, and one tracked slowly down his cheek. Then he inhaled a ragged, shuddering breath and quietly laid his head on Brooke’s shoulder.
“Oh, look!” Ivy said, tilting her face to the slate-gray sky. She caught a snowflake on an upturned palm and showed it to Brooke. “You remember how much Beth loved the snow....” Looking heavenward again, Ivy smiled past her tears. “It’s a sign,” she whispered. “She’s telling us that she’s up there.”
“Snow,” Connor said, trying to grab a fat flake.
Yes, Beth had loved snow. And Kent had, too. Brooke remembered the big glass pickle jar where they’d tossed loose change, money they’d spend on a winter vacation at Wisp, where they hoped to teach Connor to ski.
“Snow,” he said again.