“It’s a luncheon,” Edith said.
“Okay,” Sorrow said gently. She glanced over her mother’s shoulder, spying what was already a huge spread of food scattered across the counter. “But if people are coming over soon, we need to get this place cleaned up and put the food on the table.”
“I loved Emerald,” her mom said. “I want it to be perfect.”
“I loved her, too. We all did. And it will be perfect—just perfect enough.” She let go of Mom’s hands and began to put the silverware back in its felted tray. “People won’t notice if you’re using the good silver or not.”
“Amen,” Laura murmured.
Sorrow shot her sister a look before turning her attention back to her mother. The woman looked like she’d aged twenty years in the night. “Have you eaten? You sit down.” Sorrow steered her into the kitchen, hating the feeble, fragile feel of Mom’s slack shoulders in her hands. “Take a minute to have a cup of coffee and make a list of what you need us to do. Lists are good.” She sat her at the table and put a pad of paper and a pen before her. “Just tell us what you need, and we’ll help.”
Sorrow went back into the dining room. With a heavy sigh, she met and held her sister’s gaze.
Billy reappeared. “Your dad is set up in his recliner. Lucky thing it’s March Madness. Not only is he occupied, I’m afraid you’ll need to unplug the TV to get him up from that chair.”
He stood at Sorrow’s side, resting his hand on her lower back. She looked up at him to give him a quiet smile—he managed to be loving and steadfast without being overtly affectionate. At the moment, it was just right. She read total understanding in his eyes—Billy was more well-versed in grief than any of them.
They heard the scrape of the kitchen chair, followed by the clicking of the gas burner.
“Mom is wigging out,” Laura said, and the uncharacteristic anxiety in her voice made Sorrow feel like the older sister instead of the youngest one.
“It helps her feel in control,” Billy said. “Pouring herself into busy work is probably what’s helping her keep it together.”
Sorrow’s eyes shot to his. The man was even wiser than she’d realized. Emerald’s death might not have been a shock, but it was a blow. Even though she’d just passed the night before, everyone in the town—especially Mom—would want to pull together, keep busy, and most of all, help. “You’re right,” she said. “Mom loved Emerald. She grew up around the Kidd sisters. Putting together a big spread is the most therapeutic thing she could do, for all of us.”
“She’s been different since Dad’s stroke,” Laura said, her voice subdued. “I think she’s clinging to life more than ever.”
The insight was remarkable, and coming from Laura, it was a shock, too. Dad’s stroke had been a reminder of how it could all change on a dime, and neither of her parents had been the same since.
“Yeah,” Sorrow conceded. “I think that’s exactly right.” But then she sighed, checking the clock on the wall. “But all this talk isn’t putting lunch on the table.”
Laura led them into the kitchen. “I made a few plates of food this morning. Now that we don’t need to polish the silver, we can start putting it all out.”
Sorrow had braced herself to be the one to handle everything—especially the food—but when she saw the spread Laura had pulled together, she was shocked. “Wow,” she said grudgingly. “Thanks. This looks great. How did you manage?”
Edith came over to stand between her daughters. “She did a nice job, didn’t she, Sorrow?”
She looked at her sister, seeing her in a new light. She’d spent so many years feeling like she lived in Laura’s shadow, resenting every minute she’d had to pick up the messes Laura left behind, that she’d lost sight of who her sister was, really—a bright, beautiful, capable woman. “Yeah, big sis. Nice work.”
Laura shrugged, looking shyly pleased. “Luckily, I went shopping yesterday, and there was enough stuff like veggies, dips, and deli meats to assemble some buffet plates. Plus, I found some random frozen stuff in the freezer this morning—mini-quiches and pot stickers—I thought we could make those, too.”
“That’s a great idea.” Sorrow gave her a sad smile. “Nothing like putting on a Costco wake.”
Thirty-two
It’d been a week since her mother’s funeral, and Marlene kept thinking about the picture that’d graced the easel at the front of the chapel—a black and white studio portrait of Ma, taken when she was much younger. Her dress was white with polka dots, and her lipstick was a dark and perfectly applied bow. It captured the younger mother she’d known, the vital one, who drank sparkling rosé and knew how to tell a cheeky joke. The woman who’d run away for love and returned home for the same reason.
“Marlene,” a man’s voice said. It was the sheriff, standing over her table, warm concern written on his face. “How are you doing?”
She considered the question, knowing he was the sort of man who’d see through a rote reply. “I’m…I think I’m doing okay.” And actually, she was. She’d come to meet with the festival planning committee over an early dinner, and it was good to be out, to be in the tavern among her friends, even if it did mean the possibility of Bailey family sparring. It’d been a tear-soaked week, but she was grateful to feel all cried out for the moment. “Would you like to join us?” She’d been the first one to sit down, and gestured to the empty spot next to her.
“On duty, I’m afraid.”
She noticed how his eyes found and tracked Sorrow through the room. So that was why he’d stopped by the tavern, despite being in uniform. She smiled—it was just the sort of intrigue Mama would’ve enjoyed. Life went on, and it was good.
“You let us know if there’s anything we can do,” Billy added. “Sometimes it hits the hardest when all the vases are packed away and the well-wishers have gone.”
He’d know better than anyone. She gave him a grateful smile. “I’ve got my family around me.” And Tom now, too. She glimpsed Tom through the pass-through window. He was wearing his white T-shirt, and in the heat of the kitchen, it clung to his broad back.
“My mistake wasn’t that I ran off with you. It was heeding anything but my own heart.” Mama had wished to be her own woman. Marlene was sixty-three, and it was high time she learned what it meant to be her own woman. Heed your own heart.
There was a crash outside and the terrible shriek of metal scraping metal. Her hand flew to her chest. “What was that?” There was another crash followed by shouts, and she flinched.
Tom flew from the kitchen, right to her side. “Sounds like a couple of fender benders.” He put a hand on her shoulder, acting nonchalant, but his eyes were bright as a hawk’s when they locked with the sheriff’s. “You sit tight, Marlene. We’re on this. Don’t you give it a second thought.”
He was back in a flash, flanked by the sheriff, Sorrow, Eddie Jessup, and Helen, the tavern bartender. Dabney Simmons trailed behind them, an arm around his visibly shaken wife.
Laura had sat down to wait with Marlene. “What happened?”
“Black ice,” Sully said. “A sheet of it on the driveway, smooth as glass.”
“That’s weird.” Laura’s gaze flicked to Eddie, giving him a quick once-over. “Nobody was hurt, were they?”
“No, nobody’s hurt,” Sorrow said, joining them at the table. “Thank God.”
“Just some denting of fenders and pride,” the sheriff added. “Eddie’s new pickup is a little worse for wear.”
“I salted out there yesterday, and it’s been dry.” Sorrow worried the edge of her apron. “I don’t know how this could’ve happened.”
Marlene caught the look that flashed between Sorrow and Billy and was taken aback by the poor girl’s intensity. “Don’t worry, dear,” she assured her. “These things happen.”
Sully looked doubtful. “It is strange.”
“It’s more than strange,” Sorrow said. “It’s a nightmare. Mister Simmons’s Mercedes has a huge dent in it. Poor Helen, it was her old Dodge that glided right into it, like a big sled.”
“Poor Helen is right.” Marlene eyed the woman behind the bar. She was tying on her apron with shaking hands. It’d take months of tips to cover the bodywork on that fancy Mercedes. “I hope she has insurance.”
“We wouldn’t think of making Helen pay for this,” Phoebe Simmons said from over Marlene’s shoulder. The woman had a white-knuckle grip on her Chanel quilted leather handbag.
There’d been a day when Phoebe’s affluence would’ve made Marlene writhe with envy. But not now. Not ever again. She’d thought she wanted a BMW sedan and a retirement house on the lake, but Ma’s passing made her realize those weren’t the things she’d be mourning on her deathbed.
“Come join us,” she told Phoebe. “Have something for your nerves.”
“I am a tad rattled.” Despite those nerves, Phoebe was all grace as she glided into a chair. There was no way to disguise her caliber of wealth—she could be the most down-to-earth woman in Sierra Falls and still she’d ooze class. “A sip of sparkling water should set me to rights.”
“On it.” Tom nodded and went to the bar. When he returned, it was with two glasses—he’d brought a sparkling water for Marlene, too. She gave him a shy smile.
Phoebe sipped, looking calmed. “Laura, it’s such a treat seeing you back in Sierra Falls. Edith tells me you might stay for a while this time.”
“I think I just might.”
Poor Sorrow was stiff as a board, and Marlene willed the girl to look her way so she could share a smile of encouragement. She’d heard about the girl’s breakup with Damien and didn’t know if her agitation was due to the accident, to Laura, or to the appearance of her ex-boyfriend’s mother.
