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  “Don’t be silly.” Audrey gave her a one-armed hug and thrust a warm plate at her, a sampling of the supper she’d missed. “You eat. You’re too skinny as it is. And don’t you worry, I’ll make sure there’s apple crisp left for you.”

  “And ice cream,” Bree said, taking the proffered plate, but casting a suspicious eye on Tim’s brother, Link, and three brothers-in-law who were standing at the counter snarfing apple crisp and looking as if they could easily put away a second bowl before she could put a dent in her plate.

  Tim’s three sisters came to her defense, ushering their husbands away from the counter. “You let us worry about them,” Landyn said. “You eat, sis.”

  It warmed her heart when Tim’s sisters included her, calling her “sis” the way they did with each other. “Thanks for having my back.”

  “You know we do,” Danae said, laughing even as she shooed Dallas from the counter for the second time.

  “Grant must have the kids?” Bree said over a mouthful of green bean casserole. She hadn’t seen any of them yet. “And where’s that new baby?” Corinne and Jesse’s new little girl—four girls for them now—had been born on Father’s Day less than a month ago. Bree had only seen little Sasha twice since then. She was learning how quickly babies grew up, and she didn’t want to miss holding this newest little one while she was still tiny.

  “Sasha and Tyler are both asleep upstairs,” Corinne said. “Poppa has the other six down in the meadow playing some target game he invented.”

  “Did Poppa get any apple crisp yet?” Bree asked, eyeing the dwindling supply.

  Audrey popped her head around the corner. “Poppa had two servings before any of you even got here. Don’t you worry about him, Bree.”

  She gave an exaggerated whew and took a bite of Audrey’s lasagna. The sisters started putting food back in the fridge and loading the dishwasher, and she hurried to finish eating so she could help. It seemed like she sailed in late too often and ate while the others did the work of cleaning up. They never seemed to resent her for it, but she sometimes worried they might.

  When they were finished in the kitchen, Audrey shooed the young women to the family room. “I’ll be there in a few minutes, but I want to start a breakfast casserole for tomorrow’s guests.”

  Conversation among the sisters quickly turned to babies and marriage, and Bree felt herself curl up and withdraw a little. Tim’s three sisters were all moms now that Danae and Dallas were raising the two little boys of an incarcerated woman. Since Tim’s death, she’d swung between relief that he hadn’t left her with a child to raise on her own and grief that she’d never gotten to fulfill her dream of having his babies. At twenty-eight and with no prospects for a husband, she definitely saw her chances of ever having a family slipping away.

  Some of her friends thought she was crazy to have kept such close ties to Tim’s family. And maybe it was a little unusual. But it wasn’t as if their marriage had ended in a messy divorce. After Tim was killed in Afghanistan, his family had kept her sane. They alone knew the man she mourned as well as she did. Knew he’d been a hero in so many ways—not just as a Marine killed in the line of duty.

  And as Audrey had told her more than once, the Whitman family’s grief was doubled by the thought of losing Bree. “You’ll never lose me,” she’d promised Audrey. They were words easily spoken in the throes of grief. But sometimes she wondered if it was a promise she could keep.

  Until recently, she’d been content to still be considered a part of the Whitman clan. To sit with Grant and Audrey and CeeCee in church most Sunday mornings, to feel that she fit in at their Tuesday night dinners, and that she was welcome—more than welcome—to come around any time she needed a dose of family. To feel close to Tim, the way she always had at the house on Chicory Lane.

  But the winds were shifting. She felt it more each week. And she wasn’t sure if it was her, or if it was Tim’s family who was pulling away. If they were, it wasn’t intentional. She knew that. But their lives had all gone forward, while more and more, when the Whitmans gathered, she felt like the odd man out.

  She loved this family with all her heart. She still considered them her family and knew they loved her like their own daughter and sister. Yet with every new grandchild who entered the Whitman family, she felt her place—her purpose—in the family diminished. They were getting married, having babies. And she was stuck. Stuck in love with a man she could never have again. At least not on this side of heaven. She was in a holding pattern that would be painful to come out of, no matter how it came about.

  Maybe that was why she’d agreed to go to the movies with Aaron. Maybe it was a way to ease into the—

  “Isn’t that right, Bree?”

  She shook herself back to the conversation, racking her brain to remember what they’d been talking about. And drawing a blank. She laughed awkwardly. “Sorry. I confess I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Are you okay?” Corinne’s forehead furrowed with concern.

  “I’m fine.” She felt bad for making them worry. “Just thinking about . . . some stuff at work.” That wasn’t a lie exactly. Aaron was at work.

  “How’s work going these days? I haven’t heard you say for a while.” Danae’s sweet shifting of the conversation only made Bree feel more guilty.

  “It’s good. We’ve been busy, so that’s always good. Job security and all that. We’ve had a couple of finicky clients to deal with. But there’s always that.” She was out of things to say, but they were all looking at her, waiting.

  After an awkward moment, Danae jumped up. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to check on Tyler.”

  “Would you make sure Sasha isn’t crying?” Corinne asked. “I forgot to bring the monitor.”

  “I have an old one we don’t use anymore,” Landyn offered. “I’ll bring it next time and we can just keep it here.”

  And they were off talking about babies and husbands again.

  Bree waited until they were deep in conversation before slipping away.

  She found Audrey in the kitchen. “I thought we were done in here. Can I help with something?”

  “Oh, no.” Audrey waved her away. “You go on and visit with the girls. I was just getting the kids something to drink. I’d rather they consume beverages with red food dye out on the lawn.”

  Bree laughed. “I can’t blame you there. Here, let me help.” She took the pitcher of what smelled like Hawaiian Punch from Audrey and filled little paper cups with cartoon characters on them. “Will Grant want something?”

  “He’ll want exactly what the kids are having. Just maybe in a bigger cup.” She set a giant plastic St. Louis Cardinals cup on the counter, and Bree filled that too.

  “Are they still down in the meadow?”

  “Grant has them corralled on the deck. Do you mind taking the drinks out?” Audrey handed Bree a roll of paper towels. “You’ll need these. I’ll be right behind you with cookies.”

  “I’ll let them know.” She tucked the roll of towels under one arm, set the cups in the shallow tray Audrey provided and carefully carried it to the back door. Link opened it from the outside just as she got there. “Thanks, bro.”

  “Do you need help?” Tim’s brother peered into the paper cups. “Who’s the big one for?”

  “Your dad. But there’s more in the fridge if you want some. And cookies, according to your mom.”

  He looked sheepish. “Already had a couple of those.”

  “Link Whitman! Shame on you.” She laughed. “I don’t suppose you’ll divulge their hiding place?”

  “I’m not crazy.” He grinned and opened the door wider while she passed.

  Huckleberry, the family’s chocolate Labrador, chose that moment to streak into the house at full speed.

  Bree let out a little scream, balancing the tray of drinks for all she was worth.

  Link grabbed the dog by the collar. “Huck! Come here, you crazy pooch!” He grabbed onto the panting dog with one hand and held
open the door with a comical bow at the waist. “After you.”

  She gave Huckleberry the stink eye and blew out a sigh of relief. Link laughed, closing the door behind her.

  Grant had rounded up the troops and had them sitting in a semicircle on the floor of the deck. They smelled of sweat and grass and a hint of baby powder. She loved every one of them as if they were hers. She regretted so deeply that Tim had never laid eyes on his nephews or nieces—except for Sari, who’d been a baby when he left for Afghanistan.

  Pushing the maudlin thoughts away, Bree carried the tray over to the oldest Pennington girls and handed them cups. They looked up at her with sweet smiles. Their skin had turned golden in the Missouri sun, but that couldn’t hide the freckles sprinkled like sequins across each of their little noses.

  Grant took his cup and helped her distribute the rest of the juice.

  Within thirty seconds the first spill happened. One of Landyn’s twins. Bree still had trouble telling Grace and Emma apart. Laughing, she unfurled a few feet of paper toweling and knelt to sop up the mess.

  Grant picked up the little girl. “Don’t cry, Em. There’s more where that came from.” He set her down and poured her a refill from his own cup. “See? All better.”

  The two-year-old smiled up at him, tipping the cup to her lips—completely upside down. Juice went everywhere again, which sent the other kids into an uproar of giggles—and Emma into louder wails.

  Shaking with laughter—but silently, over Emma’s head—Bree spun off another length of toweling and dried off the little girl. And Grant’s shoes. Thank goodness the deck was already red-tinted wood. “I should have just let Huckleberry spill them all at once and get it over with.”

  Later, when the evening wound down, she found herself with Emma and Grace both on her lap, each toddler with an arm around Bree’s neck, echoing their cousins’ oohs and aahs as they all peered up into the summer sky, a full moon spotlighting the trail of a shooting star.

  “Did you see it, Miss Bree?” Sadie’s voice was full of wonder as she scooted over and tucked her hand in the crook of Bree’s arm. “Did you? I saw it!”

  “Me too. That was pretty cool, wasn’t it? Keep watching. Maybe we’ll see another one.” The cicadas started up their evening song, drowning out the rest of nature’s symphony.

  How could she ever give this up? How could she ever let this family go? And yet, if she didn’t, would she ever know the joy of having her own children, of knowing a love like she’d had with her Timothy? She couldn’t go on feeling this . . . stagnant in her own life.

  Sighing, she hugged the twins closer and squeezed her eyes shut to stave off the tears that threatened.

  3

  I really think you should check on her, Grant. She just didn’t sound quite right on the phone.” Audrey stood with hands on her hips, watching him fix the garage door opener. Correction: watching him try to fix the opener. But Grant knew his wife’s tone of voice all too well. She wouldn’t rest until he’d complied.

  “And you know it’s not like her to want to miss a Tuesday family night.”

  “I’ll go,” he said, on the verge of feeling nagged. “If I can get out of the blasted garage.”

  “I’d do it myself, but I’m racing to get the beds ready for tonight’s guests as it is.”

  “I said I’d go. Stupid piece of junk!” He kicked a nearby cardboard box for good measure and went for the toolbox. But first he stopped and put his hands on his wife’s shoulders and kissed her. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s not you I’m mad at.” Although this was not a good time for her to come up with an errand for him.

  “I know. I’m just worried about your mother. I don’t know how much longer we can let her stay in that house by herself.”

  He looked at her. “As if we could pry her out of there with a crowbar if she didn’t want to be pried.”

  “I know. But how are you going to feel when she falls? Or runs off and gets herself lost? Or sets the house on fire?”

  “I don’t think it’s quite that bad.”

  “Not yet. But let’s don’t wait until it is, Grant. You’d never forgive yourself if there was a tragedy before we could make arrangements for her to move.”

  He shook his head. Audrey had known his mother for forty-plus years now. Surely she knew it wouldn’t be as easy as she made it sound. CeeCee had a stubborn streak as wide as the Mississippi and twice as deep.

  He motioned to the obstinate garage door. “If the door is up when you come out here next, just leave it. Don’t try to close it, or I may not be able to get the stupid thing back up again. I may end up having to go on into Cape to get a part.”

  “Just let me know if you’ll be too late. Depending on what time our guests arrive, I thought you and I might eat out on the deck. If it stays this nice.”

  A cool front had come through early this morning, pushing the stifling July heat on toward Memphis. At least for now. According to the weather service, the respite from the heat wouldn’t last long, but he’d learned to enjoy good weather while they had it.

  He mulled over the problem of the garage door all the way to his mother’s in Langhorne, but he forgot all about it when he saw Bree’s Taurus in CeeCee’s driveway. That sweet girl. He knew Bree felt bad for being so late to CeeCee’s last night, but to give up her lunch hour to check on her . . .

  He parked beside the Taurus and, out of habit, walked all around the car, inspecting the tires. He always wanted his girls to be safe, and he still considered Bree one of his girls. He sometimes felt frustrated when Bree’s own father didn’t worry about her the way Grant thought he should. Thankfully, Kevin Cordell had stepped up to the plate and helped his daughter get the Taurus. Grant had breathed easier once she’d gotten rid of that old Buick Tim had been so attached to. He would never have forgiven himself if something happened to Bree in the old beater.

  Coming full circle around the car, he gave a sigh of relief. Bree’s tires looked fine. Almost new, in fact.

  He climbed the three steps to his mother’s house and knocked on the door, not waiting for an answer before letting himself in. No one in Langhorne ever locked their doors, but maybe he should suggest that his mother start doing so. At least when she was in the house alone.

  His mother and Bree sat on opposite ends of the ancient rose-colored sofa in the living room just off the entryway. “Anybody home?”

  “Hey, Grant!” Bree’s face lit up when she saw him.

  “Hey yourself. Do you have the day off?” He knew better.

  “No. I’m just on my lunch hour.”

  “How are you, Mother?”

  She made a little whinnying sound. “I thought I was fine. But now that the two of you have sneaked over to check on me, I wonder if I must be dying.”

  Grant and Bree exchanged looks, then burst out laughing.

  “I’m just stopping by on my way to Cape to get a part for the garage door.” Best not tell his independent mother that Audrey had sent him to check on her.

  “And I’m just here because I didn’t get to visit with you last night,” Bree said. “And I feel bad about being so late to pick you up. It’s my fault you didn’t go.”

  “Well, you’re both off the hook. And apparently I’m not dying.” She heaved a sigh, then gave them a look that said they should both know better. “And since when is attendance mandatory at your little family nights, Grant?”

  “It’s not, Mother. But we like having you there.”

  “Well, I’ll try not to disappoint my loyal subjects again.” She started to rise from the sofa, but fell back halfway to standing. She scooted forward on the seat and tried again, this time successfully. “Have you both eaten?”

  “Audrey will have lunch waiting.”

  “And I ate a sandwich on my way out here. Sit down, CeeCee. I really need to get going anyway.” Bree leaned in and pressed her cheek to CeeCee’s, then straightened and hiked her purse up on her shoulder.

  “I won’t stay either, Mother. Ju
st wanted to drop in and say hi. Audrey sends her love.”

  “Send mine back to her. And tell her thanks for having you check up on me.”

  How did she do that?

  CeeCee walked them to the door and stepped out onto the porch. He thought she seemed herself, but he wanted to get Bree’s take on it. “It’s supposed to get warm again tomorrow. You weren’t planning to garden or anything were you, Mother?”

  “I’ll stay inside like a good girl,” she said.

  “I think that’s a good idea.”

  He held the door open, hinting for her to go in. She rolled her eyes at him—much the way he suspected he’d done at her when he was a boy. But she went inside.

  Out in the driveway, he rested an arm on the hood of his pickup and met Bree’s eyes. “Do you think she’s doing okay?”

  “She seems good to me. Maybe a little crabby.” She grinned. “But not confused. She’s still sharper than I am on a good day. Is that what you meant?”

  He heard the uncertainty in Bree’s voice. He and Audrey had spoken at length about their fears that CeeCee was declining—mentally as well as physically, but they hadn’t talked to the family about it. And it was probably time they did. “She does seem fine today. But have you noticed her . . . failing? Audrey and I have noticed she’s more forgetful, repeats herself. I don’t know . . .”

  “Isn’t that to be expected at her age?”

  “Probably. She’s just not quite . . . herself. It’s not always easy to know when to intervene. You’ve been part of this family long enough to know that Cecelia Whitman will not take kindly to any effort to meddle in her private affairs.”

  Bree laughed. “I guess I’ve always kind of admired her for that.”

  “Me too. Until it’s time to make some changes. That will be hard.”

  Bree tilted her head and gave him a look he couldn’t quite interpret.

  She and CeeCee had always been close, even before, when Bree and Tim first started dating. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  She blinked, as if she was coming out of a trance. Or, if he didn’t know better, as if she found it hard to meet his gaze.