Charli’s gasp was covered by his mother’s own matching one. He gave Charli’s hand a squeeze, hoping he hadn’t just screwed everything up worse. The words hadn’t been the ones he’d planned, but when his mother had asked who Charli was, the truth had tumbled out like a drunken confession.
And the internal backlash of guilt and grief he’d expected from such a declaration didn’t knock his knees out from under him. Instead, a strange calmness seemed to overtake him, like being submerged in warm, still water. A smile grew in him, one that came from a place he hadn’t accessed in a long while.
His mother recovered first, extending her hand to Charli. “Well, my goodness, Charli. I can’t tell you how nice it is to meet you. I’m Georgia Waters.”
“Thanks so much, nice to meet you, too.” Charli shook his mother’s hand, her words smooth and polite. But Grant could tell Charli had automatically fallen back into professional reporter mode—the place she went when she was off balance.
He was going to need to get her alone to explain himself, to tell her how he felt in the right way. But he knew his mother wasn’t going to let them out of her sight anytime soon. Already, she was ushering them inside and rattling on about how she hadn’t been expecting company and would’ve had food ready if she’d known. But of course, she had a lasagna in the fridge and was preheating the oven before he and Charli had settled onto the chairs in the large, eat-in kitchen. He suspected the scouts had stolen the Be Prepared motto from his mother.
Being in his childhood home after so many years had an onslaught of different emotions clattering through him. How many times had he sat in this kitchen while his mom prepared a meal, his dad stealing nibbles of stuff when he thought she wasn’t looking. This had been a place of warmth in his life, a safe haven, the people in it had meant everything to him.
But it’d also been the place he’d courted his wife, where they’d lived before getting their own home. And it’d been the house everyone had gathered in after Rachel’s funeral. The site of too many pitying looks, too many she’s-in-a-better-place pats on the arm. So he’d let himself close the door to it, shut out the very people who maybe could’ve provided him comfort after the unthinkable happened.
For all these years since he’d left, he’d been surrounded by people but always alone. He’d thought it’d been the noble thing to do, a punishment for his sins, a way to save his family from dealing with the ugliness of his grief, his anger. But as he watched his mother piddle around the kitchen, casting surreptitious looks his way, as if to make sure he was still there, he realized how selfish his behaviors had been.
He hadn’t been noble; he’d been a coward.
He peeked over at Charli as she answered a question his mom had asked. She hadn’t looked at him since they’d entered the house. She’d kept up steady conversation with his mother, but her fingers were busy fiddling with the cloth napkin she’d grabbed off the table. If it’d been made of paper, the whole thing would’ve been shredded by now. She was freaking out. Elegantly. But freaking out nonetheless.
He’d handled things all wrong and needed to talk to her, but there was one more thing he had to do first. He picked his hat up off the table and stood. “Ma, you mind keeping Charli company for a little while? I need to take a walk.”Author: Roni Loren
His mother, who’d been digging through the pantry for Parmesan, peered over her shoulder. Her all-knowing eyes met his. “Sure, son. Take all the time you need. Lunch will be a while still.”
He walked behind Charli’s chair, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. He’d asked her to be by his side today, but this was the one last thing he needed to do all by himself. “Thanks, freckles.”
She nodded, and he left her there in the kitchen, slipping out the side door and staring down the expanse of land behind his family’s farmhouse.
He rubbed his thumb along his wedding band, secured his hat atop his head, and set off on the path that led to the back corner of the property.
Someone was waiting for him.
THIRTY-ONE
Charli stared out the kitchen window in the direction Grant had disappeared. He’d been gone for a while, and uneasiness had crawled under her skin and set up camp there. Maybe she’d fallen asleep on the drive to Baton Rouge and was in some alternate dream world. Had Grant really said he loved her out there on that porch? She couldn’t even process that. Or the fact that somehow instead of being on the way to saying good-bye to Grant for the last time, she was sitting in his family’s home, listening to his mother call up Grant’s siblings to insist they come over.
Charli paced away from the window, walking over to the glass hutch in the corner of the room, trying to look like she was just browsing the knickknacks in the kitchen instead of running off nervous energy. She let her eyes drift over the family photos displayed on the shelves. Photos of children playing outside, family portraits, some old, some more recent. One that had to be Grant when he was a teen, basketball tucked under a gangly arm. Then her eyes hit one that definitely was Grant, his arm around a pretty blonde with a shy smile.
Without thinking, Charli picked up the framed photo, bringing it closer. Grant had laughter in his eyes and looked as if the ugliness of the world had never breathed on him. Innocent and happy—a couple with the whole world spread out before them, a lifetime to look forward to. The sight evaporated the air from Charli’s lungs. She ran her thumb along the edge of the frame, grief for the people in the photo clogging her throat.
Georgia stepped up behind Charli, peering over her shoulder. “I’m sure Grant told you about Rachel,” she said, her voice gentle.
Charli nodded, trying to swallow past the tightness in her chest. “She was beautiful.”
Georgia sighed. “She was. I remember the day we took that picture of them, remember thinking how perfect everything was. My family was together, my husband was by my side, and my children were starting to build their own lives.” She shook her head. “A year later, those murderers didn’t just take Rachel and that baby-to-be away from us; they took everything. The light in my son’s eyes, the tight bond we all had with each other, my ability to fix things for my children.”
Charli turned to her, finding Georgia wearing a sad smile.
“It’s a hard day when you realize you can’t save your own child or take away their hurt.” She took the photo from Charli and set it back on the shelf. “So, thank you.”
Charli frowned. “For what?”
She walked over to the island and poured a glass of iced tea from the pitcher she’d set there. “For bringing him back.”
Charli slid onto one of the stools flanking the island. “It was his idea to come.”
She held a glass of tea out for Charli, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s not what I meant, hon.”
Grant kneeled in the soft grass that blanketed the family cemetery. When he was a kid this area on the far side of the property used to scare him. He’d been convinced ghosts of his ancestors were hiding behind every headstone. Then when he’d buried Rachel here, this place had brought forth nightmares of a different sort. But today, with the sun shining and the bees buzzing around all the flowers, he simply felt the warm presence of family surrounding him.