THE GROWING SEASON

PART 1: A Time to Uproot

Leigh Duncan

THE GROWING SEASON

PART 1: A Time to Uproot

Copyright © 2016 Leigh D. Duncan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, events, and places portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-1-944258-02-3

Gardenia Street Publishing

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Copyright

Other Books by Leigh Duncan

About the Book

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

About the Author

Many thanks to…

OTHER BOOKS BY LEIGH DUNCAN

Find all of Leigh’s books on Amazon

The Officer’s Girl

The Daddy Catch

Rodeo Daughter

Second Chance Family

The Billionaire’s Convenient Secret

Pattern of Deceit

The Glades County Cowboys series:

Rancher’s Son

The Bull Rider’s Family

His Favorite Cowgirl

The Rancher’s Lullaby

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Can the Maywood family survive?

The day her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer, Ann Maywood put her promising career on hold and raced to Maggie’s side. On some level, Ann knew the battle they faced would be a lonely one, and she was right. Other than frequent rants about the injustice of their mother’s illness, Ann’s younger sister, Cass, stayed on the road and out of sight. While the brilliant baby of the family wanted to help, their mother stubbornly insisted Chuck remain in graduate school at Stanford.

Following Maggie’s illness and death, Ann expects life to return to some semblance of normal. But her career is in shambles, her lover has moved on, and her mother’s long illness has saddled Ann with monumental debt. To make matters worse, her irresponsible sister barely made it home in time for the funeral, but now Cass’s grief spirals out of control. And while her brother might be a genius, Chuck refuses to fulfill the dreams their mother sacrificed everything to achieve. Tasked with holding the family together, Ann questions how the Maywood clan can hope to survive without the one person who always believed in them.

For Mom

She believed in me.

CHAPTER ONE

Wooden pews creaked. Seldom-worn suits rustled. With a few discreet coughs, the crowd in the funeral home’s chapel rose as the minister signaled for the closing prayer. Cheryl Ann Maywood struggled to her feet, grief gripping her chest in a vise so tight her breath came in tiny sips. She bowed her head, unable to pray. While the preacher did, she fought back tears the only way she knew, squaring her shoulders and ordering herself—as she had every day for the last year—to hold it together just a little while longer.

After the service. After the cemetery. After all the relatives and friends left.

She could fall apart then. Not now. Not now.

“…Give strength to Margaret’s children—Cheryl, Cassandra and Robert Junior…”

“Ann, Joy and Chuck,” she whispered. Not that she expected the storefront preacher to get it right. He didn’t know their family. Didn’t understand the reasons they preferred their middle names. How could he? Her mom certainly hadn’t explained it. Maggie hadn’t stepped inside a church in twenty years. Not since her husband’s heart attack left her a widow with three young children to raise.

Ann’s gaze stumbled to the front where one carefully arranged wreath after another crowded the center of the room. Her eyes faltered on the open blooms of handpicked gardenias cascading down the sides of the plain, gray casket. Gardenias. Her mother’s favorite flower. These came from her garden, and the white petals had already browned along the edges, just as the florist had warned they would.

Anger built until Ann’s temples throbbed. She gripped the kneeling rail as the room behind her emptied. When it was safe, when she was alone, she stumbled three steps forward to the casket. She snapped a heavy blossom from the spray, crushing it in her fist until cold velvet slicked her fingers and the sweet smell of gardenia drifted in the stale air. A second blossom followed, its petals raining down around her feet. She plucked a third and then another before her face grew hot and she stepped back, knowing her mother would expect better of her.

The funeral director materialized at her elbow, and Ann shoved her emotions behind a locked door.

“Sorry.” Her gesture swept the scattered petals on the floor. Her throat burned. “My brother will pick up the potted plants tomorrow. Arrange the others at the—” Despite her efforts, her voice trembled. A handful of tissues appeared. She waved them aside and steadied herself. “At the gravesite.”

The arrangements were a tribute to her mother. She couldn’t give them away as he’d originally suggested. She searched the man’s face for disapproval, but he only nodded as though her decision was a familiar one.

“I hope the service was satisfactory,” he offered. “The minister spoke very highly of your mom. They must have known each other well.”

She smothered a mirthless laugh. The two had never even met, but the preacher had said all the expected words.

“It was a good turnout. More than you expected?”

“A lot more.” She nodded.

Catherine Margaret Maywood—Maggie to friends and family—had taught her last junior high math class in the fall. Cards, letters and telephone calls had inundated the house with good wishes and high hopes until the end of the winter term. Over the holidays, as the outcome became clear, the deluge slowed to a trickle. Now spring had arrived. With another school year on the downhill run, Ann had spent the last months alone with her mom, answering few phone calls and entertaining fewer visitors. The etiquette of Southern funerals lost somewhere in her subconscious, she’d expected little more than family at the memorial service. The crowd had caught her off guard.

She realized she’d been staring into space. “I’m sorry,” she said to the director. “I can’t seem to figure out what to do next.”

He gave another sympathetic look, and she braced for more kind words she didn’t want to hear from a stranger. “Perhaps your sister could use some help.”

“Joy?” she asked. The unexpected suggestion brought her head up. What was her sister doing now?

Without waiting for an answer, she spun away, her heels tapping out a hurried racket on the marble floor. Confusion slowed her steps as she reached the rounded archway that separated the chapel from an open foyer. Pale yellow walls, stately grandmother clocks and matching sideboards, all designed to express comfort and concern, were ineffective today. A murmur rose from the line of people who snaked around three buff-colored sofas without making progress toward the exit. Ann traced the line to its head where Joy, her bright green voile shockingly out of place in a sea of black, clung to one of their mother’s teaching assistants. Sobbing, her sister blocked the door.

Dear God in Heaven, what would their mother say?

Ann didn’t know whether to scream or sigh. She stifled both, but the restless energy had to go somewhere. Finger combing her bangs wasn’t enough. Her hands traveled down to brush imaginary lint from her skirt. Her straight, black skirt.

The photographer in her pictured time as a series of snapshots. She flipped through the more recent ones. Surgery. Chemo. Radiation. An all-too-brief remission before they did it over again. The months of argument and denial. The weeks of hospice and bedpans and Depends. Wondering, through every minute of every day, where the hell her sister was. And at the funeral, it was Joy who sobbed.

She supposed she should be thankful Joy had showed up at all. There’d been times when she feared the thirty-year-old might not accept their mother’s illness in time to—

To what? Make amends? Seek forgiveness?

She stopped. Her sister had always been difficult to reach and even harder to understand. Joy drove trucks for a living. Ann struggled to remember that the long hauls made drivers hard to locate. Cell coverage was intermittent, and phone numbers changed more frequently than the fickle Florida weather. All of Joy’s friends—at least the ones Ann knew about—had fallen out of touch. Worse, when she finally had traced her sister’s whereabouts, she instantly regretted it. Joy’s protest had been venomous.

“What do you mean, she’s dying?” The accusation rose above the roar of a big engine. “What’s the matter with you? Didn’t you get a second opinion? There must be some kind of treatment.”

Their conversation was too important to waste in a screaming match. Ann had given a simple, “We tried.” Multiple tests and multiple doctors had produced the same unsatisfactory results. The cancer had spread. Everywhere.

“Not those quacks in Cocoa,” Joy had railed. Cocoa, the next town over, was home to the nearest hospital. “Take her to Orlando. See a real doctor.”

Willing her sister to be right, but knowing she wasn’t, Ann had given in. Despite the pain it caused them both, she’d bundled her mother into the car for a hundred-mile round trip to the renowned Florida Hospital where they’d consulted with yet another team of specialists. More tests and more doctors did not—could not—change a thing, she reported in her next call. Joy had suggested a different “even better” doctor in Miami, but their mother had been through enough. Ann toed a line in the sand.

“Good idea,” she’d said, knowing her sister better than she wanted to admit. “Why don’t you set it up? Why don’t you take her?”

At that, all mention of out-of-town specialists faded. But not the long-distance protests.

When lab results reached dangerous levels, Joy had sputtered, “Why do you always see the worst? It’s a temporary setback. Call me when you have good news.”

When hospice ordered oxygen, she’d criticized, “Hospice is just a bunch of two-bit volunteers. What do they know? She doesn’t need oxygen.”

But toward the end, when their mother repeatedly called for her wayward middle child, not even Joy could stall any longer. “I’ll be there a week from Friday,” she’d said. “We’ll get this ridiculous situation straightened out then. Tell Mom to hang in there.”

Last weekend—had it only been six days ago?—Joy had driven the enormous semi past the limits of Hibiscus City and onto the driveway in front of their house. Like an avenging angel, she’d stormed past Ann’s relieved welcome and charged into their mother’s bedroom, armed with pamphlets and herbal remedies. But she was too late. The cancer had already beaten their mom into submission. Exhausted and grieving, Ann had slumped in the bedroom doorway to watch. And yes, she admitted while trying to quash the guilty twinge, she’d even felt a tiny bit justified when the overwhelming reality of the situation finally penetrated her sister’s denials.

Still, she had to give Joy credit.

Her sister had flung only one black look her way before redirecting all her fervor during those final days. Joy had even curled up on the floor at Maggie’s bedside the last three awful nights when no one in the house got much sleep. Most important—to Ann at least, and she hoped, to Joy—their mother recognized her middle child and welcomed her without recrimination. Mom was like that. The cancer had changed everything else, but it hadn’t changed Maggie’s unconditional love for her children.

Ann cursed her own weakness and straightened. Her mother would expect her to accept Joy the way she was.

The low murmur of conversation in the vestibule grew loud enough to penetrate her thoughts, and she scanned the room. Though they’d come to pay their respects, no one wanted to spend the afternoon hostage to the family’s grief. Something had to be done about the bottleneck at the door, but she didn’t have the strength for another confrontation with Joy. Not in front of all these people. Certainly not alone. She needed help, and there was only one person she could count on. She scoured the room until she caught his eye.

Chuck, she mouthed.

She didn’t need to explain, and from opposite ends of the room, she and her younger brother converged on the exit. Her stomach sank when, halfway there, Chuck’s path stalled, making her the first to arrive. Careful to avoid usurping the spot of honor closest to the door, she straightened the single strand of pearls around her neck and stepped in beside her sister.

“It’s all right,” Ann whispered, inching a scrap of fabric marginally higher on the redhead’s bare shoulder. “Everything will be all right,” she repeated. Their mother’s final words had become her mantra over the last few days.

Joy’s blotchy face turned. Though tears glistened on her sister’s cheeks and dark lashes, the outline of her hazel eyes hadn’t even smudged. Ann wanted to ask how that was possible, but from the way Joy’s eyes narrowed, she knew her sister was looking for a fight. She braced herself against the inevitable scene. Joy released her grip on their mother’s friend, who, recognizing opportunity when she saw it, fled. Wishing she could do the same, Ann stood her ground.

“It is not all right,” Joy hissed. “And I won’t pretend it is.” She lifted a wobbling chin toward the waiting line of mourners. “I can’t deal with this shit. You do it.” A nod of her head sent wiry red curls flying and signaled the hulking form who lingered nearby.

Moke, her sister’s driving partner and a welcome reprieve in a long line of poorly chosen men, lumbered toward them, shot Ann a look that was almost apologetic and steered Joy out the door. Ann took a second to regroup before turning to the next person in line.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. She dodged the intended embrace and stretched out her hand, nails down so the chipped polish wouldn’t show. Among other things, there’d been no time for a manicure.

“I’m sure going to miss your mom,” said Mrs. Timmons.

Ann squeezed the soft hand a little harder than necessary. Her mother’s best friend had called frequently but visited only twice in three months. “You’ll stop by the house?” Ann asked. In keeping with the customs of the South, they’d invited everyone to drop in after a brief graveside service. “We’ll be able to talk more there.”

“Of course,” the woman answered. She retrieved her hand before venturing, “Your sister’s having a hard time, I’m afraid.”

She wasn’t the only one. Ann forced her shoulders straighter. “Yes. I’m not sure what any of us’ll do without Mom.”

“That dress is something else.”

No matter what she thought of Joy’s choices, agreeing with Mrs. Timmons felt too much like betrayal. She swallowed. “Joy felt the ceremony should celebrate Mom’s life, and wearing black made her feel too sad.”

“Maybe she needs someone to tell her no, like your mother used to.”

With that, Mrs. Timmons, like the others who followed, moved on.

~  ~  ~

Chuck scanned the crowded entryway. People were jammed up at the door where a vaguely familiar woman held his sister, Joy, in a bear hug. One of them was crying. He struggled to clear his throat and inhaled deeply. Maybe he should…Nah. Too dangerous. He needed to avoid weeping women. He glanced at the guys who’d gathered around him.

“No matter what time we finally made it to your house, there was always this huge pot of spaghetti sauce bubbling away on the stove. Your mom made the best sauce.”

“The best,” Chuck agreed dully. He felt his head bob up and down even though he’d lost track of the conversation somewhere along the line.

Movement near the chapel door caught his eye.

Mom?

He sucked in air. The figure in black was not his mother. Ann caught his eye, then flicked her gaze toward the bottleneck at the exit.

Uh-uh. No way.

His own tears were too close to the surface to risk running that gauntlet. Man up, he told himself as if he had a choice, and gave Ann the expected nod.

His feet already in motion, he shot a glance at the circle of friends who’d rallied to his side despite the years that had passed since he’d last seen them. “Duty calls, guys. But, hey, I’ll catch y’all later. Beer’s on the back porch at the house, in case no one shows it to you.”

A brief encounter with a former girlfriend—man, had she packed on the pounds—delayed his arrival by only a couple of minutes, but he reached Ann’s side too late. Something had already upset her. He’d seen that wounded look too many times since he’d been home. Guilty relief at missing whatever had caused this particular problem washed through him, and he looked around, uncertain. Joy, the younger of his two sisters and a constant source of trouble, was nowhere to be seen.

He let out a slow breath. Joy. She must’ve said or done something. No surprise there. She’d been finding and pushing all of Ann’s buttons ever since their mom got sick. Which was sort of okay since, as long as his sisters were going at it, neither of them looked too closely in his direction.

He slipped one arm around Ann’s shoulders, gave her a reassuring, brotherly squeeze and let his fingers cup the bony outcropping at her elbow. There was nothing to her, and his stomach lurched. How had he not noticed how thin she’d grown? The image of their mother on her deathbed surfaced, and he squeezed his eyes closed until all he saw were stars. Okay, maybe his focus had been on other things, but that was no excuse.

While Ann spoke to Mrs. Timmons, he shot a sidelong glance at his sister’s profile. She looked so tired. He didn’t know when women started dying their hair. He wondered how long ago Ann had stopped. Though she was only thirty-two, silver streaks shot through the inch closest to her scalp before turning a uniformly lifeless brown. She usually let the thick, straight hair hang loose but had pinned or clipped or pulled it into a tight bun every day for two weeks straight. Not her most attractive look.

He ran a finger inside a collar that suddenly felt too tight and wished he hadn’t insisted that Tina stay in California. His girlfriend, a psych major, would know exactly what to do or say. Now, when it mattered most, he didn’t. He couldn’t offer his sister advice any more than he’d been able to tell their mom he wasn’t going to fulfill her dreams for him after all.

He let his hand fall away from Ann’s side, greeted a mousy-looking woman wearing a cardigan and a skirt that covered her all the way to her ankles, said the expected words and, after accepting an unexpected peck on the cheek, handed her off to his sister. He glanced down the waiting line.

Only another hundred or so to go.

~  ~  ~

Cassandra Joy Maywood tore down the walkway outside the funeral home as fast as a pair of three-inch stilettos would allow. Which wasn’t fast enough—not by a damn sight—even if the pace made enough breeze to lift the ruffled collar of her dress. The thin strip flew up, and gauze covered her mouth. She slung her head, but humidity, thick as glue and just as effective, plastered the cloth in place. She grabbed it in a tight fist and tugged.

“Who the hell died and made her queen bee?” The question was so close to the truth her voice cracked. She batted her eyes until she was sure her mascara wouldn’t run.

God, she was a wreck.

She was a wreck, and it was all Ann’s fault. The bitch had swept in and taken over the minute their mom got sick, making decisions left and right without so much as a phone call. Cass reached out to steady herself against one of the support pillars beneath the carport where an idling hearse sat.

Great job, Ann. Look where you got us.

Sisters, dammit, weren’t supposed to let moms die. They weren’t supposed to stab you in the back either. Which hadn’t stopped hers. Not in the least.

Unable to wring Ann’s neck like she wanted, Cass twisted the offensive collar until she felt the stitches give. She considered ripping the whole dress to shreds but held back. It was the nicest thing she owned.

“Hey now, Cass,” came a deep rumble.

A meaty hand closed gently over her fingers. She struggled against it. Kindness would only knock down the roadblocks she’d erected against the pain.

“Hey, babe. Enough of that.”

A steel-belted arm wrapped around her waist, stopping her movement. Pressed against a chest as wide and unyielding as a pallet of fertilizer sacks, she sagged. Her resistance crumpled. Tears burned her eyes.

“I told Ann not to do it this way. I told her I wanted—” She shook her head. “Maggie wanted to remember the good times. I thought we were gonna liven the place up a bit.” She ran a hand over the green dress that had seemed like a good idea when she bought it.

“I like you in that green, Cass. It looks—”

“But would she listen? Oh, no. She just plowed straight on through. Just like she has with everything else. Why the hell did they all wear black, Moke? Did you see the way they were staring at me?”

“Don’t mind them. I think you look just great.”

“I thought Ann agreed with me, but she just wanted to make me look like a fool. She’s been doing it ever since Maggie got sick.”

“Nah, I’m sure she doesn’t mean it that way. Didn’t she take you shopping? Offer to lend you one of her dresses?”

Beneath the hot Florida sun, perspiration already dampened Moke’s shirt. Cass took a deep breath and drank in the musky scent that had filled her world for the past year. Her nails scraped the hair under his jacket sleeve.

“Yeah, right.” She made a disgusted sound.

She’d refused to consider the hideous dress her sister pulled from the closet yesterday. Or the old-lady numbers they’d found in that frou-frou department store. She hadn’t been able to force her arms into black sleeves or to drape herself in dark cloth any more than she could stick her head into a bucket of used engine oil. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, go there.

“Maggie said there was life beyond this,” she’d argued with Ann. “We should celebrate it. Wear something bright.”

With that, she’d led the way out of the mall and into a hip boutique in downtown Melbourne where she yanked the first brightly colored dress she saw from a hanger. When Ann paid for it—and a matching pair of shoes—she’d relaxed, knowing the warden of sorrow and tears had granted her another stay.

Ann’s black suit this morning, the morning of the funeral, was pure betrayal.

Moke’s forearm grazed her breast. “C’mon now, Joy. Honey. You know you can be a mite stubborn.”

She swung to face him. “Don’t you call me that. Don’t you dare call me that. My name is Cass. You don’t call me ‘Joy.’” Just hearing the name set her teeth on edge. She’d left her hated middle name behind, along with a family who watched her every move, when she struck out on her own at eighteen.

She propped one fist on her waist and used the other hand to prod Moke’s chest with China-red acrylic.

“You call me that again and it’s over between us.” She poked.

“I.” She poked again.

“Mean.” She saw him flinch.

“Over.” She drove her point home.

Moke took a backward step. His voice dropped to a throaty growl. “Hey now, easy now. I didn’t mean nothin’.” His hands rose, palms out, defensive. “It’s just that, well, everybody else around here calls you J—” he back-pedaled at her warning glance, “—that other name. But to me, you’re Cass. My sweet little Cassandra. C’mon now, honey. Don’t be riled with me.”

Cass peered up into Moke’s broad face. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and knowing she’d caused the hurt and confusion that swam in his warm brown eyes, she hated what she’d done.

Her anger went flat, the air hissing through parted lips. “Oh, God. Moke, I’m so sorry. It’s just that—”

In an instant, she buried herself in his arms. Her tears spilled over the dam, and suddenly, she was crying so hard she didn’t think she’d ever be able to stop. She clung to his shirt. Already damp, it grew soggy. His arms wrapped around her.

“The last few days have been horrible,” she sobbed. “I can’t…I can’t believe she’s gone. What am I gonna do without her?”

She didn’t know how long they stood there, but Moke was still whispering soothing words in her ear when an engine rumbled past. She peered over his shoulder at a twenty-year-old Lincoln idling in the parking lot. People milled about and cars were lining up. She pushed away from Moke’s embrace and frowned at the smudged makeup on his shirt.

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom,” she said and sniffled. “I must look like a mess.”

“You look fine, Cass,” Moke said evenly.

He was lying. But it was a nice lie, so she smiled at his effort.

“Wait for me at the limo,” she said and felt her lips thin. A limo. What an unnecessary extravagance, but then, Ann had made all the funeral arrangements like she did everything else—without even asking her opinion.

Cass started for the front of the funeral home. Halfway there, she turned.

“Don’t let them leave without me.”

Moke lit a smoke. “They won’t.”

Huh. She knew better. She let the tried-and-true glare that meant business drop down over her face. “Just make sure I’m there,” she said, refusing to head inside until he nodded.

At her firm tug, the heavy door opened. She searched the boring wallpaper, looking for a sign for the john, until murmurs drew her to the chapel entrance. There, she peeked around the doorway and saw that the garden of flowers had disappeared from her mother’s casket. Petals dotted the floor. The air smelled sticky sweet.

Their backs to her, Ann and Chuck stood up front with a man Cass recognized as the funeral director. Even though the man barely spoke above a whisper, sound traveled easily over the empty pews and shiny floors.

“Would you like to see her one last time?” He reached for the casket’s handle.

Yes!

But before Cass could take a single step to join the trio, Ann reeled back, her head rocking from side to side. One hand flew to her mouth. Chuck reached for her, draping his arm across her shoulders. Cass couldn’t hear their muffled words, but she didn’t have to. The casket would stay shut.

“The car is out front, then. We’ll take care of things in here and be on our way to the cemetery in a few minutes.”

Cass considered marching into the chapel, demanding that the director open the casket, but the thought of losing another battle to Ann made her so angry her hands shook.

She spun on one heel and fled down the closest hallway. A door at the end sprang open at her touch. Thankful she’d stumbled into the ladies’ room and not another viewing area, she dashed to a sink and pounded one fist against the granite until she caught a flash of bright green in the mirror.

Green. Black. What did it matter? The one person who had always believed her, always taken her side, was gone. Forever. What would she do now?

If there ever was a rough patch, she was in it. The lessons she’d learned during her two long stints in rehab no longer applied. No one—not even the straight shooters from the last clinic—would expect her to make it through her mother’s illness and death without a little help now and then.

Her tiny clutch purse was skewed around to her back. She found the clasp and wrenched it open. An empty compact held her emergency stash. From a rainbow of pills, she chose one, then two, blue-on-blue capsules. She swallowed them dry and regretted it. Cupping her hand under the faucet, she gulped water. The lump stayed put. She swallowed again.

Fifteen minutes passed before she felt enough control to face the others. Her hands had stopped shaking. Fresh powder masked some of the puffiness around her eyes. Her red curls, always a little on the wild side, had been coaxed and teased in line. She braced herself with one deep breath. Head up, she retraced her steps to the front of the building. Moke held the door to the limo for her, and she slid smoothly into the back seat. She nodded toward Ann and Chuck on the opposite bench and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

“You okay?” Ann asked. “I was worried about you.”

She fought an urge to squirm beneath the level gaze of the elder Maywood. She didn’t think her pupils were dilated—she hadn’t taken that much—but just in case, she glanced down as if embarrassed.

“Yeah,” she said. “I guess it all hit me harder than I thought it would. I’m sorry you had to wait.”

“Don’ worry ’bout it.” Chuck ran the words together in a Godfather imitation that brought wavering smiles to everyone’s lips. “I don’t think they were ready until just now anyway.”

As if his words were a signal, the hearse pulled in front of them, and she felt the limo glide forward. She risked a look at Ann, who seemed stricken, no longer focused on anyone in the car. She shot Moke a grateful glance. Whatever he’d said to the rest of them had done the trick. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Idly, she wondered if he knew.

The question sent a shiver right through her. If he ever found out she was using again, it’d be the end of them. He’d never understand that she only took a little speed to get through the long nights behind the wheel. And then a little something else to bring her down after her shift. That was all. It wasn’t as if she was hooked like before.

Her eyes drifted closed, and she leaned back into the soft leather as her fears receded. She had nothing to worry about. She’d hidden her drug use from Moke for more than six months. He’d never find out she was using again.

Never.

CHAPTER TWO

Wedged into a niche between her mother’s rolltop desk and the dining room, Cass waited to roll her eyes until her childhood nemesis, Betty Lou, bent and dug in her purse. Which Cass would have gladly pointed out—if anyone had asked—was oh-so-much-better than slapping Miss Goody Two-shoes silly the way she wanted to.

We are standing at my mom’s wake, and she expects me to go all gaga over pictures of her unborn child? Hel-lo!

Cass studied the top of Betty Lou’s head. Was there anybody home under all that bleached blond hair?

She had been trying to avoid her former playground pal since junior high when comparisons between the two of them had grown, um, uncomfortable. After all, how often did she have to hear that she should get good grades, stay out of trouble or stay sober like Betty Lou before she wanted to wring the girl’s scrawny neck? Not that Betty Lou cared or even noticed. She considered herself family and regularly showed up—sans invite—at weddings, reunions and funerals. In the past, rudeness had only sent Betty Lou whining to Ann, who was always on the lookout for some reason to nag, goad or poke Cass into being something she was not before ratting her little sister out to their mother.

Well. No more of that.

Cass blinked furiously. Over the years, she’d developed her own way of dealing with the likes of Betty Lou. She nodded and smiled until the first gullible person happened by. Then, she ran like hell.

She glanced hopefully into the dining room where two women she didn’t recognize hustled around the table replenishing depleted trays of cold cuts, bowls of potato salad and casserole dishes. One of them spun the twist tie off a bag of onion buns and dumped the fragrant rolls into an enormous wooden bowl. Cass couldn’t stop staring. She’d rescued the bowl from a trash pile when she was six.

“Mama, look what I found!” she had exclaimed.

Though a wide crack let light in from the other side, and deep gouges marred the dark finish, she’d been so proud of her find that Maggie made it a permanent fixture at every holiday cookout. The idea of strange hands holding the treasured bowl made Cass want to snarl. Her eyes filled, and she blinked irritably when Betty Lou spoke again.

“Oh! I know they’re in here somewhere,” the pregnant woman moaned. “I made special sure to grab that envelope this morning. Here, hold this.”

Cass grudgingly accepted the wad of junk. From the kitchen, she heard the sounds of running water, a clatter of silverware, the gurgle of yet another pot of coffee brewing.

Escape.

She tried to return Betty Lou’s possessions and edge away. “I’d better see if I can help,” she announced.

“That’s okay, Joy,” an eavesdropper chattered from the dining room. “We’re old hands at this sort of thing. You two just visit. I’m sure y’all have lots to catch up on.”

“It’s Cass,” she corrected. She aimed her most unchristian-like glare at the woman’s back and resigned herself to hearing more of Betty Lou’s blather.

Betty Lou, it seemed, had found Jesus. Cass wasn’t aware He’d been lost, but she’d spent the last quarter of an hour glibly lying that she, too, saw the hand of God in everything, from the first signs of spring to the death of her mother. Even with drugs taking the edge off, she knew arguing would only prolong the agony. Still, it had taken twenty minutes for Betty Lou to realize she wasn’t a candidate for conversion and stop preaching.

The conversation then turned to the real estate market, and Betty Lou offered to sell the house for them. When that ridiculous idea earned an immediate rebuff, her old grade-school pal switched to what was apparently her next favorite topic: her pregnancy.

Betty Lou was still reaching past her swollen midsection and rummaging in her purse for a photo of her latest sonogram when Cass spotted Moke headed their way. The set of his wide shoulders broadcast fury. One look at his face and she was certain she knew why.

She gulped and started to move away, but the dark look he threw her pinned her to the corner. Suddenly glad for Betty Lou and her big belly, she tugged the hem of the V-necked T-shirt, which had replaced the green voile, and rechecked her cleavage.

“So, you’re what…four months gone? Is there going to be a shower?”

Betty Lou managed to nod and beam while continuing to search her purse. She handed across her wallet and a brush. “At our place sometime this summer. But definitely before Labor Day. All our old friends will be there. Say you’ll come, Joy. Please?”

“Cass,” she ground out. “I’ll think about it.” Ten or fifteen chatty women who’d never ventured much farther than Tampa, and all of them calling her ‘Joy.’ She couldn’t think of a worse way to spend an afternoon. Unless it was with an angry Moke.

She thought she might get a reprieve when someone slowed the big guy into chair-moving service, but the job didn’t take long. The bee up his butt was still stinging if the tic along his clenched jaw was any indication.

Cass ran her tongue over her dry lips. With Moke marching ever closer, she clearly needed to change tactics.

“It’ll be great to see the old gang,” she said brightly. “I haven’t been around much lately, but Maggie kept me informed. Let’s see…Susie got married, didn’t she?”

“Maggie?” Frowning, Betty Lou looked up from her purse.

“My mom,” Cass answered, impatient. “This is her funeral, you know.”

“I know that.” The frown dropped from Betty Lou’s face, but the hurt look that replaced it was even worse.

Great.

“Of course I know that. You’re just the only friend I have who always calls her mother by her first name.”

“It’s okay,” Cass soothed. She couldn’t afford to alienate the girl. Not with Moke on the warpath. “I’m a little on edge. Can we just chalk it up to the stress of all this?” She waved a hand at the crowded room.

Betty Lou nodded, but the furrows in her brow remained as deep as they had been while she plunged a hand into her purse and rummaged.

“Ta-da!” she announced. She brandished a wrinkled envelope.

Cass pretended to examine the long-sought photos while she kept one eye on Moke. Her older sister nearly earned forgiveness when she intercepted him halfway through the living room. But Moke with a mad-on was kind of like Moke with a hard-on. While Cass would never refuse the latter, neither was easily turned aside. All too soon, she watched him break loose and thread his way past a couple of well-wishers.

“Are you registered anywhere?” She had to keep Betty Lou talking.

“Target and the new Walmart Supercenter,” Betty Lou bragged. “Have you been there yet? It’s only been open a month, and it’s the biggest one in the county.”

“Yeah, several times.” The past week was a blur. She’d spent the first three nights sleeping on the floor at her mother’s bedside, the last three days crying. Treks to Walmart and the occasional hit from her stash in the truck were all that had made the time bearable. “Have you picked out colors?”

“Oh, yes! I wish you could see the nursery. It’s so cute. I did it over like Charlie’s Playhouse. I even painted a life-sized Charlie mural. All the kids love Charlie. So do I!” Betty Lou laughed and finally took a breath. “Don’t you think he’s the greatest?”

Cass struggled to place Charlie, eventually coming up with the image of a fur-covered character popular with the under-six crowd. Apparently, Betty Lou had gotten an early start on the kiddie vision. She pictured the flashing white teeth of a six-foot orange giant on the wall of a baby’s room. The kid would probably have nightmares.

She glanced over Betty Lou’s shoulder and swallowed. Her own nightmare bore down on them. Panicky moths took flight in her stomach.

“Moke, have you met my friend Betty Lou? We go way back.” She edged back an inch, maybe two, before her heels struck the desk. Hemmed in between it and the wall, there was no place left to go.

“All the way back to first grade,” Betty Lou chimed in. “We’ve been best friends forever and ever.”

Moke acknowledged Betty Lou’s presence with a curt nod. “Cass, I need to speak—”

“Betty Lou’s gonna have a baby. Isn’t that the most exciting thing? She was just showing me pictures of her sonogram.”

The veins on his neck stood out, but Moke glanced at the glossy sheets she thrust into his callused hands. He turned and spoke politely to the expectant mother. “Congratulations. Now, if you’ll excuse us—”

“It’s a girl.” Cass gave Betty Lou props for her tenacity. For the briefest moment, a shadow passed over the pregnant woman’s face. “Jake—that’s my husband—he’d be here today, but there’s a bass tournament in Okeechobee. Anyway, he wanted a boy in the worst way. To take fishing and all. But I told him maybe next time.” She sounded wistful. “Sure plays havoc with my nursery theme, though. Joy, what do you think?”

For once, Cass thought she could overlook Betty Lou’s insistence on using her middle name. In fact, she might even hug her old friend.

“I think you can fix it.” She poured on the enthusiasm. “I’ll have to see it when I come to the shower, but I don’t think you’ll have to change the whole theme. Maybe you could just give Charlie a tiara and a dress.”

She knew she’d made a serious mistake when the other woman’s features turned stormy.

“But Charlie’s not a girl!” Betty Lou’s protest caught the attention of the people nearby. As heads turned, she hissed, “Well, he’s not.”

“’Course not.” Moke ignored the look she shot him and ground out each word like a piece of gravel. “Johnny and Joey, my nephews, they watch him all the time. Cass wouldn’t know. She ain’t around kids much.”

Cass flinched at her boyfriend’s not-so-subtle reference to her adamant refusal to start a family. “Trucking is no life for kids,” she said, conveniently failing to mention the real reason getting pregnant right now was a very bad idea. “Heck. We can’t even watch TV when we’re on the road.”

“No TV?” Betty Lou’s eyebrows slammed together like two cars in a head-on collision. “Y’all don’t stop for the night?”

“We couldn’t make any money if we spent every night in a hotel,” Cass snapped. She didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for her.

People thought of long-distance truck driving as exciting—and it could be—but mostly it was a tough gig. She and Moke spent three weeks out of every four on the road together. They drove 24/7 to stay on tight schedules. They spent their weeks off getting ready to do it again—catching up on laundry, buying groceries. The money made it worth the effort, but for her, power was the real draw. Sitting high in the cab with five hundred horsepower rumbling beneath the hood and forty tons of steel under her control, she answered to no one. Especially not family members who only wanted to rag her ass all the time.

“We take shifts. Moke handles the days. I drive at night.”

“And you’ve been at this how long?” Betty Lou asked.

“A little over a year now.” She dared a glance at Moke. The big man’s expression all but shouted the danger their partnership was in. She glanced down. One side effect to speed was that she’d lost those pesky extra five pounds without shrinking her bust line. All the guys wanted her, making it easy enough to find another partner. But she’d miss Moke if they broke up. He looked after her, had gotten her out of more than one scrape.

Maybe she could still fix things.

She stepped close enough to lift Moke’s arm and snuggle under it. Too late she realized her error. His arm tightened when she tried to sidle away.

“I’m sorry, Betty Lou,” he broke in. “But I got a call from Dispatch, and I need to talk to Cass about it.”

Moke was a decent liar, but she knew damn well Dispatch hadn’t called ’cause she’d told the home office they wouldn’t be available till next week. When she tried to think of another stall, the wheels of her mind spun but gained no purchase.

~  ~  ~

Steering her out onto the porch, Moke didn’t speak. Not that he had to. His anger, a living thing, sprouted new growth with each step. She felt it in the way his fingers burned into her back. Her own anger, which was never far below the surface these days, rose. Fury cleared her head.

Outside, he aimed her toward a gazebo in the backyard, as far away from the house as they could get. She eyed dead leaves and vines that climbed the trellised walls. Her mom had built the gazebo herself, from concrete pad to plywood roof, after taking a home improvement course at Lowe’s. A tangle of honeysuckle and jasmine camouflaged a slight incline, the flowers drawing scores of bees and yellow jackets that normally rendered the retreat unusable. This year, Maggie hadn’t been well enough to strip away the vines or replant after a killing frost in late December.

Ann should have done that. She knew how much Mom loved this place.

As it was, the gazebo made as good a place as any for a relationship to die. Cass ripped a handful of dead growth from the wall and flung the mess out into the yard. She clenched her jaw and swallowed unshed tears. The back of her throat ached with the effort, but she managed a studied shrug.

“Jesus, Cass.” Moke sat down heavily on the wooden bench. Now that he’d gotten her there, all the fight seemed to seep out of him. “What are you thinkin’?” He leaned forward and mopped his face with his hands. “Are you thinkin’?”

Her thoughts stalled and she stared. She’d been prepared to match his anger word for word. Moke was not playing fair.

“What?” She aimed for wide-eyed innocence and wasn’t sure she made it, but she refused to drive them over a cliff. He’d have to do that all by himself.

Moke raised his head and looked at her with uncomprehending eyes. Instead of giving into the hurt and pain she saw there, she forced her shoulders square. His look hardened in return. “How long? How long have you been makin’ a fool outta me?”

She shrugged. “How should I know? You still haven’t told me what’s going on.”

Moke’s unfocused gaze turned to granite. “I found your stash. You told me you were off that stuff. You lied. You’ve been dopin’ in my rig. Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? To us?”

Deep down she’d known it would come to this, that he’d uncover her secret. She’d known all along it would be the end of them, but she had to at least try to salvage things. She scoffed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not a chaser. I don’t do drugs anymore.”

Moke’s voice rose. “Dammit, Cass. Don’t lie to me! Your cousin’s kids—”

His gaze swung to the gazebo door to see if anyone was listening in. Though they had the yard to themselves, his voice dropped.

“Your cousin’s kids wanted to see the rig, so I took them up in the cab. I was gonna let them sit behind the wheel, maybe blow the horn—you know how kids always want to blow the horn. They wanted to explore first. They crawled all over the crib. Thought it was the neatest thing that one of us could sleep while the other one drove. When they found the DVD player, they asked if they could watch a movie. I told ’em, ‘No way. My movies ain’t fit for kids.’ But then I remembered that one your sister sent for your birthday—all those old home movies she’d transferred. I thought, why not?”

She tried not to cringe. She’d known she couldn’t keep her secret from Moke forever, but why did it have to happen now?

“You didn’t let them see it, did you?”

“I’m not that stupid. Although you seem to think—”

“’Cause if they tell their folks, I could be in some serious shit.”

His jaw worked. “Is that all you care about? That they might tell their folks?”

She took a minute to think about it. “I’ll quit. Honest. I only started up again ’cause of Maggie. After I got the word about her, I fell asleep at the wheel one night. We were lucky I didn’t drive off into a ditch or something. I couldn’t take that chance again.”

She wasn’t getting through to him. That much was plain by the scowl that carved deep lines around his mouth.

She tried again. “I can quit, Moke. I’ll quit as soon as we get back on the road. I promise.”

She felt his eyes scour her. Hot. Burning. She knew he wanted to believe her. He had to believe her. With her most sincere look, she met his gaze.

Ah, fuck a duck. That backfired.

“Shit, Cass,” he groaned. “You’re even wrecked now. It’s your mom’s funeral, for God’s sake, and you’re high.”

She dropped her eyes to stare at his scuffed shoes. “I had to. You don’t know what they said—Ann and Chuck. They were so mean to me.” She hated the way her voice whined but felt powerless against it. “I needed a chance to say good-bye to Mag—to Mom, but they wouldn’t let me. I got so upset, I thought I’d lose it right there in the funeral home. So…so I took an Upjohn.”

His deepening frown told her he still didn’t get it.

“Didrex,” she explained. “It’s like caffeine, like drinking a couple cups of coffee. And I just took one. Honest.” It was speed and there’d been two of the blue-on-blue capsules, but that was more than he needed to know.

Moke rose as if every joint in his body ached. “I’ve got no room for pill poppers. When I pull out of here, you won’t be coming with me.”

Was everyone she counted on leaving her? When the possibility hurt too much to think about, she pushed it away.

“Where’s my stuff?” She didn’t mean her duffel, and he knew it.

He reached under his jacket and pulled a black box from the back of his waistband. Before he could change his mind, she snatched it from his big hands. But the box weighed less than it should.

“Where is it?” she demanded. Desperation skittered up her back with sharpened claws. “What’d you do with my stuff?”

Moke sighed. “I dumped it. It’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” She was shouting, and she didn’t care who heard. “Where’s my fucking stuff?”

“I flushed it.”

“You flu—?”

Moke nodded.

“Are you insane?” Her voice climbed the scale. “Do you have any idea how much that stuff cost?”

“More than you realize. But my rig is clean.”

Someone began to scream, and she was vaguely aware of her mouth opening. Vile insults poured out. Moke just stood there as she pounded him with her fists.

“I cleaned out all your gear and left it in the garage,” he said slowly when her slaps and insults tailed off. “I grabbed most of mine out of the house. If I left anything, just toss it. I’m outta here.”

“Moke. Don’t.” She was crying. Losing Moke and her mother in the same week—it was too much. “Please. Not now.”

He turned and headed past the house to the truck she considered her home. She thought of it as theirs, but he made the payments. The papers bore his name.

She stalked him all the way to the rig, past a couple of people smoking outside the garage. Refusing to let them hear her beg, she changed her tone. “I can’t believe this. At my own mother’s funeral!” The air filled with blame and accusation. “You’re leaving me now? You’ve got some nerve, deserting me like this.”

Moke turned to face her. “Get some help, Cass,” he grumbled from the top step of the cab. “You ain’t drivin’ till you do.”

“Says you,” she retorted. “I’ll get another partner. Everybody wants me.”

“I gotta turn you in,” Moke said quietly. “Face it, you’re busted. You won’t even get a job at McDonald’s till you’re clean.”

“You asshole!” she screamed, but the roar of the big diesel muffled her words. She scraped a handful of gravel from the driveway and pelted the cab. “Get out of here! Don’t you ever come back! I never want to see your ugly face again!”

Oh, but she did. She wanted him to look at her in the worst way. To stop the truck. Climb down from the cab. Take her in his arms and give her a second chance.

But Moke never glanced at her. Not even once.

He backed the big cab down the drive and onto the street. Tears blinded her as the sound of the engine faded. She leaned against a parked car and let them flow.

Jesus, God. What am I gonna do now?

She’d die if she was stuck here. If she couldn’t get away. If she couldn’t outrun the demons behind the wheel of the big rig. She pictured herself going cold turkey. The image was enough to give her the willies.

But she didn’t have to worry about that. She wasn’t hooked. She’d been hooked before and knew all about that horror. This wasn’t it. She could quit any time she wanted. It was just that right now, with her mother fresh in the grave and her life in shambles, she needed a little something to dull the pain.

She kicked a loose piece of gravel and watched it roll down the driveway. She still had enough in her purse to get through the next couple of days. And there was that bottle she’d lifted from Maggie’s supply. Liquid morphine wouldn’t do her any good—uppers and downers were her party—but she was pretty sure she could pump it to a bagman in return for what she wanted.

No, going cold turkey was not her problem. Moke was her problem.

If he reported her to Dispatch, it would be all over the road within days. Not a single trucking company would touch her. She wouldn’t land another gig until she could prove she was clean, and that meant pissing in a bottle. In her current state, she couldn’t risk a drug test without taking something to mask the uppers and downers. But that meant getting her hands on enough money to make the buy, which put her right back where she started. Without a gig, she had no money. Even if by some miracle she landed one, she couldn’t replace the pills she needed to get through the long days and nights on the road unless she came up with the cash.

Talk about your vicious circles. Maybe Maggie…

Her tears flowed faster. Maggie had always taken her side. Bailed her out. Understood. But…Maggie was gone.

Cass eyed the modest tract house that was now hers to share with her sister and brother. She shouldn’t have been so quick to reject Betty Lou’s offer. Her stomach twisted as she replayed their conversation. They would have to sell the house. With insurance and Maggie’s savings split three ways, there ought to be enough to make a fresh start. To get back on the road again. To get away from here.

Footsteps approached from the other side of the car, and Cass shot a quick peek in their direction. She had been planning to find sanctuary behind the gazebo but came up with a better plan.

Weeping again, she fell into Ann’s arms. “He left me.” Cass sobbed onto her sister’s shoulder. “Today, of all days, he just up and left me.”

“What happened? Did he say why?”

She shook her head as if words were beyond her.

“He seemed pretty upset, honey. He must have said something.”

“Nothing that made any sense.” She sniffed and took a proffered Kleenex. She made an obvious effort to control herself but let a fresh wave of tears overwhelm her. “The things he said to me…He…he was so mean.” She was crying again.

“Oh, Joy, I’m so sorry.” Distress punctuated Ann’s words. “I don’t know Moke very well, but that doesn’t sound like him.”

She jerked backward. “Go ahead,” she spat. “Take his side.”

“Joy, no, honey. Don’t take it that way. You’re my sister. Of course I’m on your side. I love you.”

Cass’s face crumpled, and she stumbled into her sister’s arms. “I love you too, Ann. We have to stick together now…now that Mag—Mom’s gone. It’s just us now.”

“Shh, honey.” Ann patted her back. “It’ll be all right. Everything will be all right.”

Cass let her sister’s thin arms enfold her. Nothing would be all right, but if Ann wanted to think that way, she’d let her.

CHAPTER THREE

He hadn’t known about the party. When Joey asked him to stop by Friday night, Chuck assumed his best friend wanted him to meet the family. Andrea, Joey’s wife of four years, hailed from Titusville—less than an hour’s drive north—but a hurry-up wedding while Chuck was away at school meant he still owed the bride a kiss.

Thinking his friend might throw some burgers or hot dogs on the grill, he came armed with a six-pack for the adults and presents for the girls, though he’d had to seek Ann’s advice on what to buy. Candy was out—Joey’s youngest was diabetic. His sister recommended two inexpensive, but sparkly, bracelets. Chuck added necklaces to match.

“Tan-ou, Unca Yuc,” the little one lisped. Chubby hands clutched her gifts as she spun and ran for her mom.

“Uncle Chuck,” the older girl corrected in a move that reminded Chuck of his own sisters. “Thank you, Uncle Chuck.” Excitement danced in her blue eyes.

Chuck smiled, relieved his gifts had earned him a spot in their precious, pre-K hearts.

But he hadn’t known Joey intended to invite their old high school crowd. If he had, he would’ve skipped the party altogether. It had only been two days since the funeral where well-meaning people spoke in meaningless platitudes, like time heals all wounds or God never gives us more than we can handle. If what they said were true, shouldn’t his numbness be receding? He gasped in its painful wake. His shoulders tightened. God’s idea of what he could handle was clearly more than his own.

This morning, he’d walked into the kitchen expecting to see his mom in her little alcove, grading papers. Out back, he automatically checked the gazebo in case she was sitting there. Every time he had to stop and remind himself that she was gone, a machete sliced through the air to prune back another piece of his heart. At this rate, he’d be down to bare roots before summer.

He downed half the cold beer someone had placed in his hand before turning to thank his benefactor. Shelly’s hair was longer and blonder than he remembered, but six years hadn’t changed the wide set of her blue eyes. Nor had it dimmed the wanton fullness of lips that had figured so prominently in his teenaged dreams. He was almost certain the head of the cheerleading squad had never glanced his way during high school. When her lips curved upward, he was positive she’d never smiled at him.

“Hey, Shelly. It’s been ages. How’ve you been?” Chuck extended a hand, which she ignored. Instead, she pulled him close until breasts the size of grapefruit pressed firmly against his chest. Things had definitely changed in the years he’d been away.

“Drink up,” Shelly purred. “You look like you could use a beer or two.”

More to buy time than because he was thirsty, he drained the rest of the icy bottle. With disconcerting swiftness, Shelly exchanged the empty for a full one.

“I thought you were one of the smart ones, but Joey says you’re still in school. Will you graduate soon?”

He’d already donned cap and gown twice in his six years at Stanford. His papers on orbital mechanics had garnered several lucrative job offers, but the girl of his high school wet dreams was showing an interest…in him. How much truth did she need to hear?

“I won’t receive the engineer’s degree until next June, but my dissertation should be complete by December.”

“Dissertation?” Shelly’s blond eyebrows knitted, then unraveled. The look she gave him was half accusation and half something he didn’t dare believe. “That’s like a research paper, right? Something a PhD would do.” She smiled knowingly. “Should I be calling you Doctor Chuck?”

Surprised she even knew his name, he grinned in return. “Just ‘Chuck’ is fine. How about yourself? I forget where you were headed. UF? FSU?” The state universities had powerhouse football teams, and Shelly was a cheerleader.

“Oh, Lord, no. I haven’t cracked a book since the day ol’ man Pritchert handed me my diploma.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Though she didn’t cohabit the rarefied atmosphere of Mu Alpha Theta or the National Honor Society, he’d always figured the most popular girl in high school for a smart one.

“Nah,” she scoffed. “College wasn’t for me. The week after graduation, I took off, sure I’d be a shoo-in as a cheerleader for the Dallas Cowboys. My squad did go to nationals our senior year, remember?”

She didn’t seem to notice when his nod was a little vague.

“Anyways, tryouts were way more competitive than I’d expected. The first year, I didn’t even get past the open call, but I was determined. I stuck it out. Tended bar to pay for the dance classes and the rent and all the rest of it.” Her posture shifted so that most of the rest of it threatened to spill over a skimpy tank top.

His gaze bounced a time or two before he hefted the beer bottle and swallowed. “So, will I see you on TV this football season?” With effort, he managed to keep his focus level.

Shelly’s blue eyes clouded. “Not me, I’m afraid. I’m out of it for good. Broke my ankle coming down off a pyramid during call backs last season. Some bitch named Shaniqua dropped me on purpose. I couldn’t prove it, of course. Couldn’t get any of the others to speak up. You know how their kind stick together. They had it out for me.”

The accusations emerged from her perfect lips so matter-of-factly that, at first, Chuck didn’t think he’d heard her right. His shock spun into a quick survey of the room to see if anyone else had taken offense while Shelly bent, ostensibly to display the injured foot. This time, his gaze didn’t dip. Not even once.

When Shelly abruptly straightened and caught him looking elsewhere, one of her brows hiked a question. Her lips followed through. “You have a girlfriend, Chuck?”

Uncertainty slowed his response, but he still managed to say, “Yes. Her name’s Tina.”

He followed Shelly’s gaze as it tumbled around the room. He had at least a nodding acquaintance with everyone there. Apparently, so did she.

“Tina didn’t come with you? She stay home with your sisters?”

“No. She didn’t make the trip.” Which, the more he thought about it, had been a mistake.

With no proprietary girlfriend in sight and the question of orientation settled, Shelly apparently decided to give him another shot. “I’m working at the port these days, tending bar at The Tiki. You know it?”

He did, and he nodded.

“Business is slow this time of year. Why don’t you meet me one night this week? We can hang out till the place closes. After that…” Things shifted beneath her tank top while she flashed a wolfish grin. “I’m sure we’ll find something to do.”

He chugged the last of his beer. Shelly’s prejudice had shut down all his engines. And even if it hadn’t, no matter how shaky his relationship with Tina grew, he was tethered to her until they ended it. That was just the way he operated.

Time to hit the eject button.

“Hey, do you know where the bathroom is?”

~  ~  ~

Chuck struggled with the childproof lock on the toilet seat and stood, waiting, while the sweet scent of baby talc wafted from a shelf over the commode.

What should he do about Tina?

He’d overruled her insistence on accompanying him this trip, and they’d argued. She said his inability to share, to lean on her during a milestone so pivotal as his mother’s death, was indicative of his compartmentalization of their relationship. He forgave her for the psychobabble—she was, after all, still an undergrad and a psych major. Besides, she was right. He’d much rather delve into a thorny problem in orbital mechanics than expose his own pain or deal with someone else’s.

Still, he and Tina had been together for two years, which was roughly one year and six months longer than all of his previous love affairs combined. Lately, though, she’d begun pressuring him for more. She claimed it wasn’t healthy for him to bury old wounds and new hurts. She said it was killing them, and she needed more out of their relationship than just physical intimacy.

For her sake, he’d tried to open up. But that meant exposing the uncertainty and doubt beneath the strong, suave image he projected to the world, and he just wasn’t ready. Certainly not ready enough to have Tina witness him struggle to cope with his mother’s death. Until he could, his girlfriend said the odds of putting men on the moon again were better than of them forming a permanent commitment.

In another part of the house, someone slammed a door so hard the bathroom shelf rattled. Joey’s muffled voice rose in protest. Chuck heard a young child’s startled wail, then hurried footsteps in the hall. He debated whether to add the sound of a flushing toilet to the equation or not, but the damage was already done. He flushed, washed and shut the light off before opening the door.

All the noise had wakened both kids, and neither sounded happy. He peeked in through the open door on his right and spied Joey and Andrea. Each of them held a sobbing child. The parents murmured soothing words until, gradually, sleepy wails tapered into silence. Chuck planned to wait, pay his respects and head for home, but his plan fizzled like some of the early space shots. The next time he looked, Joey held his wife in a tight embrace. Embarrassed and vaguely unsettled, Chuck ducked back and made his way down a hall so narrow his elbows nearly grazed the cement on either side.

Thirsty, he snagged a couple of chips from a large bowl on the kitchen table and patiently waited while the guy in front of him rooted around in an ice chest that sat on bare linoleum floor tiles.

“Damn! Ain’t they got nothin’ but light beer? Might as well drink water if you’re gonna drink that piss.” The graveled voice of a heavy smoker rose from practically inside the cooler.

Chuck averted his eyes. The guy’s pants hung low, and there were some things he would just as soon not see.

Ice and water sloshed against the chest’s blue and white sides. “Ah, there we go.” The searcher shot a satisfied glance at a thick-waisted man standing nearby. “Two left,” he announced.

“Better get three. The guest of honor is standin’ right behind ya.”

More ice shifted. “Nope. That’s the last of ’em. Ah, hell. He can have mine.”

The man plowing through the ice chest straightened and turned. In his grasp he held two Coors and a Bud Light. He looked to be in his late twenties—same as Chuck—but his sun-darkened skin already bore the look of dried-out leather. Crow’s-feet etched the area around his eyes. His lips hid beneath a full, red mustache. Chuck registered baggy denim shorts and a pocket-T that hung from a frame designed to carry at least another thirty pounds.

“I’ll take the light beer,” he offered. He figured the guy could use the extra calories.

“If you insist.” The man handed it over with a brief nod and a slight tightening of his perpetual squint. “You’re Cass’s brother, right?” He passed a Coors to his friend and extended a free hand. “Don’t think you remember me. It’s been a lotta years since we were at Holland Elementary together. I’m Tork Morgan. This here’s my business partner, Bill, but you don’t know him—he ain’t from around here.”

Sandpaper in a steel vise gripped Chuck’s hand. He tightened his own squeeze while performing a quick memory search that came up empty. Not a surprise since he and his family’s middle and troublesome child shared few friends.

“They called me Tork ’cause I was always getting torqued off. It sorta stuck.”

With a final tightening, both men let their hands drop. Vaguely recalling a red-haired bully who terrorized the grade school playground back when his dad still flew for the Air Force and they lived on the nearby base, Chuck traded wary pleasantries with the two men. When they’d popped tops and taken a swig or two, he asked, “What kind of business are you in?” He was betting on lawn maintenance.

“Screen repair. Tork’s Porches. Catchy, ain’t it?”

Not really.

“Think that one up yourself, did you?” he quipped.

“Sure did.”

Apparently, sarcasm was wasted on Tork, because he grinned widely. Chuck bit his tongue and refused to say more.

“We been doin’ it for, oh, ’bout four years, now. Hope one day to branch out. Build some pool enclosures. That’s where the real money is—pool enclosures. Them numbnuts from up North come down and build their fancy pools, then complain about the leaves or the bugs getting in. Hell, this is Florida. But for now, we just do rescreening.”

“I bet you stay busy,” Chuck offered into the pause. Hadn’t anyone here outgrown their childhood prejudices in the six years since graduation?

“We do all right. This year, we haven’t had any storms to speak of. But soon we’ll be in hurricane season again. One good Cat Three’ll knock down screens all over town. Then we’ll be busier’n a one-legged man in an ass-kickin’ contest. We love insurance claims.” Tork looked at Bill, who gave a vacant nod and downed some beer.

Chuck pictured the torn screens on his mom’s back porch. Maybe Tork could—

A clap on his shoulder put the thought on hold.

“Hey, guys.” Joey brushed past and helped himself to a beer. As he closed the lid on the cooler, he dropped one shoulder toward the less-crowded back porch. “Don’t mean to steal him away, but some folks out back have been asking about you, Chuck.”

“Yeah, go on. We’ll catch ya later,” Tork said. “Me ’n Bill’ll stay here and guard the suds. Even if all you got left is that lite crap.”

Joey shrugged the gibe aside. “Try to save one or two for the rest of us.”

The low “couple of losers” his friend muttered was barely audible as Chuck followed his host through sliding glass doors that opened onto a roomy, screened patio. Though Joey nodded to several people, he didn’t stop until they were outside and several steps away from the crowd. There, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and shook a couple in Chuck’s direction.

“Still smoking O.P.’s, I see,” Joey said with a grin as Chuck took the proffered cigarette. His friend flicked a lighter for both of them, inhaled deeply and angled his head toward the rest of the party. “Tork’s Porches,” Joey scoffed. “Never do business with a company that rhymes its name.”

“Or tries to,” Chuck corrected, dryly.

“Yeah.” Joey laughed out loud. “Or tries to.”

“If you don’t like them, why’d you ask ’em to come?” Inviting the most popular girl in their class was one thing, but Joey’d come right out and said Tork and Bill fit in with the usual crowd about as well as planets in the asteroid belt.

“I hired Tork to screen our patio. He gave me nothing but trouble. Showed up drunk or stoned half the time. The other half, he just didn’t show up.” Joey took a deep drag, grinned and blew a couple of smoke rings. “I finally had to cancel the contract, but living in a small town, he wasn’t so easy to get rid of. Every time I buy a case of beer, those two are at the door. As long as they don’t cause trouble, I put up with ’em.”

Cigarettes—even other people’s—were not part of Chuck’s daily routine. He fanned smoke from his eyes to study snug-fitting joints and taut screen. “It looks like a good job.”

“It is. My brother-in-law and I did it ourselves. Ended up costing half of what Tork was charging me. And he was giving me a deal ’cause I worked on that piece-of-shit truck he drives.” Joey worked at his dad’s auto body shop.

“I don’t remember him from high school.”

“Why would you?” Joey frowned. “He didn’t run track with us, and he sure wasn’t in any of your classes. He spent more time on suspension for fighting than he did in school. It’s a wonder he even graduated.”

Chuck nodded and said he appreciated the warning. When it came time to repair his mom’s porch, he’d get someone else.

“Hell. Andrea’s brother and I will slip over there and fix those screens. I’ve got most of a roll left over. Won’t cost you a cent.” Joey took another drag and waved off Chuck’s protest. “The thing is, it might take a couple of weeks before I get to it. Right now, I’m pulling down all the overtime I can get. The old man pays all his employees by the hour, even me. And with another baby on the way—”

“Congratulations!” Chuck slapped his friend on the back. “Guess you’ll have your hands full for a while. Hoping for a boy this time?”

Joey beamed. “I always thought so, but I couldn’t love the girls more, you know? Another one would be just fine with me. As long as she’s healthy.”

Joey’s youngest had been diagnosed with diabetes at six months. She required constant monitoring, twice-daily insulin injections and frequent visits to the doctor.

“Thank God for insurance,” he continued. “We couldn’t make it without it. That’s one of the reasons I went to work for Dad.” Joey had dropped out freshman year, soon after Andrea got pregnant. Chuck’s friend peered up at him. “I think it’s great how you’ve gone for all those advanced degrees and stuff, but I was never gonna learn how to overhaul an engine in college. Might take a few business courses, though. ’Specially now that we’re opening another shop just south of here. I’m going to run it.”

“Hey, that’s great!” Chuck was honestly pleased for his friend. “Business that good?”

“Housing starts are up. They’re building all over the county. A lot of folks are retiring into the area from up North, and no one works on their own cars anymore. So yeah, business is that good.”

Chuck exhaled a final puff and followed his friend’s example, crushing his cigarette into the stubby grass.

What would I be doing if Mom hadn’t pushed so hard?

Stage moms and football dads had nothing on Maggie Maywood. She could have given Honey Boo Boo’s mom a run for her money. Chuck supposed his dad’s death was at least partly to blame. Not long after he died, his mom had grown obsessed with the financial security of her children. Education was the key, according to her, and from his earliest memories, she’d preached that college wasn’t optional for any of her kids. She’d failed spectacularly with Joy and probably would have pushed him harder anyway, but learning her youngest had an IQ that bordered on genius had only heightened the pressure.

From the day he’d proudly read The Cat in the Hat at age two and a half, he’d been enrolled in every enrichment program available. In high school, she’d insisted on AP and honors classes even though, as the son of an alumnus, he had a better chance of getting into Stanford than most. In her way, she’d prepared him for what lay ahead, and he’d sailed through a rigorous curriculum that sent one out of every three undergrads packing despite the school’s efforts to retain them. His education—or the financial success it augured—had been so important to her that even on her deathbed, she’d refused to consider it when he wanted to take a sabbatical from his studies.

“You staying out there with the skeeters?” He hadn’t even seen Joey move, but his friend, ever quick, held the screened door open.

“Nah. I’m comin’,” he answered and hurried onto the porch where guests stood in clumps of five or six. Somehow another beer appeared in his hand as he and Joey made a loop around the room. Chuck drank, but thoughts of his mom wouldn’t fade until, at last, they joined a circle of guys he hadn’t spent any real time with since graduation.

“…I thought I was headed for the big leagues when Miami offered me a full ride.” Mike stared at his toes. “Two years later, all I had left was a burned-out arm and mediocre grades.”

Chuck sipped, trying to make his beer last, while he commiserated.

“It all worked out,” Mike said, shaking off his blues. “I buckled down and got my degree. Now I have one of the largest used car dealerships in the county, so if any of you guys ever want a good deal, I’m your man.”

Bottles clinked while the old friends promised to visit Mike’s lot soon.

When they were done, Chuck turned to the guy on his left. “What about you, Rob? Did you re-up?” The last time he’d seen Rob, the former linebacker had worn an MP armband with his Army greens.

“Nope. I traded one uniform for another and joined the force here in Hibiscus.” Rob’s chest puffed the tiniest bit. “Keeping the streets safe from marauders and terrorists.”

“Yeah, and if I get another speeding ticket, I’m gonna kick your ass. Even if you are an old man.”

Chuck laughed. Joey never missed an opportunity to remind Rob that he was closer to Ann’s age than the rest of them.

“Hey, didn’t I let you off with a warning?” After Joey acknowledged that he had, Rob continued, “You better slow down. I won’t be on traffic detail much longer, you know. Once I get my master’s, I’ll make detective.”

Rob made it sound like the promotion was a lock. But with only forty-three on the Hibiscus City Police Force, everyone on the screened porch knew advancement didn’t always come easily.

One by one, the others reported their news and brought the rest up to date. Once voted “Most Likely to Succeed,” the high school quarterback was a new father who coached peewee football. The class clown eked out a living bagging groceries by day; nights, he worked the local comedy club circuit. A preacher and a charter boat captain rounded out the group that used to crowd a table in the school cafeteria.

“How ’bout you, Chuck? Still slaving over those books?” The question rose from a shadowy corner of the porch.

Squinting into the darkness, Chuck took a long pull from his beer. “Yeah, but probably not for much longer,” he answered, as in the dark about his next steps as he was about who’d asked the question. According to the plan his mom had laid out, he’d finish with the last of his post-graduate studies after the fall semester. But losing her had prompted a good bit of soul-searching. Till he figured things out, he wasn’t sure he should say more.

“Sorry ’bout your mom, man,” someone said.

“You may not remember, but I came to the house the day she died,” Rob said into the next lull in the conversation.

“You did?” Chuck hoped his face wasn’t as blank as his mind.

“Even when hospice is involved, we come out.”

“That day is kind of a blur,” Chuck murmured, apologetic. He looked around, anxious for the conversation to move on to something else.

Mike broke in. “Did you know my little brother had your mom for a teacher? He used to hate math, but she got him turned around. I wish she’d been there when I was in junior high.”

“No wonder you were so good with numbers,” Rob observed.

“Yeah,” Mike chimed in. “Like mother, like son.”

“Yeah.” Chuck looked away. This was not the time or the place for a heart-to-heart chat about his mother. Quickly, he found the bottom of his bottle. “Time for another round. Anybody else?”

CHAPTER FOUR

“No. Don’t. No, don’t. No.”

Mom!

Ann was out of bed, her feet automatically negotiating the treacherous path through her room before the shards of reality penetrated her sleep-fogged brain.

The moans coming through the baby monitor couldn’t belong to her mother.

Ann’s feet stopped moving. Her hands flew to her face, and even in the dark, she hid behind them as the hollow spot in her chest resumed its familiar ache. At the sound of another low moan, she swallowed a big gulp of air and forced out one long sigh. She swung in time to see tiny red dots arc across the face of the baby monitor on her nightstand.

Someone was having a mother of a nightmare.

On the opposite end of the modest, four-bedroom split, the sight of the open bedroom door sent an uneasy shiver down her spine. She’d closed that door—she knew she had—after the last of their relatives headed home. Now it gaped. She scrunched a handful of fabric at the neck of her gown and peered into the room, squinting until she made out curly red hair against a ruffled pillow sham.

Dammit, Joy. “Where were you when Mom needed you?” she whispered in the pale light of a quarter moon.

The figure on the bed stirred. Was her sister chasing or being chased by her dream monsters, she wondered. Not that it mattered. Joy came and went as she pleased. No one understood why. They never had.

Her sister muttered something unintelligible and turned over.

Ann glared at the monitor, knowing she’d have to do something about it if she was ever going to get some sleep. For months, she’d answered its increasingly frequent summons, but not any more. She crossed to the chest of drawers and grasped the plug. It tugged easily from the wall, and she left it dangling.

Back in the kitchen, a glow of white numbers against the black glass of the microwave told her it was three a.m. “Damn,” she whispered. Sleep, never her best bud, had deserted her for another night.

Moving with a quiet so practiced she no longer gave it any thought, she filled her favorite mug with water and dropped in a tea bag. At the microwave, she reminded herself she didn’t have to wince at the loud bleats it issued for every number she punched. While the oven hummed in the background, she poked through a clutter of dishes at the end of the counter. Homemade brownies, two kinds of pound cake and assorted cookies—all a little worse for wear after three days—sat beneath plastic that had been wrapped and rewrapped so often it was no longer clear.

She smoothed the plastic wrinkles. Ever since the word of Maggie’s death had gone out, droves of people had arrived bearing food. Did they think she could drown her grief in chocolate or lemon custard pie? If so, it hadn’t worked, thank you very much.

Oh, crap. Thank-you notes.

A whitewashed desk occupied every inch of floor space in the tiny kitchen alcove. One of their mom’s many home improvement projects, the work surface wobbled only slightly when Ann set her tea and a single cookie on it. She lifted a well-thumbed paperback from the distressed desktop and glanced at the cover.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, On Death and Dying.

Ann traced her fingers along the back of the chair where her mom had usually been found grading papers, and later, investigating the latest cancer treatment advances. She scanned titles on open shelves that climbed the nook’s walls. Emeril Lagasse and Paula Deen had been banished to the upper reaches. Vegetarian and even a few macrobiotic cookbooks were within easy reach. Her mom had tried everything, explored every avenue save a trip to Mexico for shark cartilage injections or the whacked-out ideas Cass came up with. For all the good it had done, Mom could’ve stuck with schoolwork.

Her nose wrinkled as she dropped the uneaten cookie into the waste can under the desk. She shook herself. The middle of the night made a bad time for reminiscing. If she had to be up at this godforsaken hour, she could at least do something positive. Her list of things to do had ended with the funeral. It was time to start another one.

Distracted by a bulging folder, she carried it to the kitchen table. Only the outstanding bills hid beneath the manila cover, but the stack was nearly an inch thick. After insurance paid its portion, she figured they owed roughly eighty thousand.

Might as well be a million.

Her mom, who hadn’t been old enough for Medicare, had cut back on life insurance when Chuck started college.

Now, that was irony for you.

Ann’s shoulders drooped beneath worry’s familiar mantle. Her savings, which she’d tapped into for groceries and other necessities like water and power, were nearly depleted, her checkbook almost empty. Her mom’s disability payments and a small pension had covered the mortgage for the last year, but those had ended three days ago.

At three forty-two p.m.

Life insurance provided by the school board would cover the funeral costs and a few of the bills, but not all. Probably not even half.

Back at the desk, she tugged open the top drawer. Her hand hesitated over a stack of bank statements bound with an oversized rubber band. The accounts had been her mom’s pride—a final symbol of independence. As long as Maggie had managed them, or pretended to, they’d hoped for a cure. When that pretense finally failed, there’d simply been no time. Now Ann fanned through the sealed envelopes. She was in uncharted waters and had a feeling there were rocks just below the surface. She took a sip of tea and bent over the calculator.

“Have you figured out how much we get yet?”

Ann practically jumped out of the chair.

She’d been right about those rocks—her mom’s income hadn’t matched its outflow in so long that a growing despair had blocked out all sound. The creak of her mom’s bedroom door and footfalls of slippered feet against floor tiles had escaped her notice. She glanced at her watch and grimaced at the realization that three hours had slipped by.

“You’re up early. Bad dreams?”

Joy shot her a sharp, questioning look.

“The monitor,” Ann said by way of explanation. Joy’s legendary temper was sure to flare if she knew her sister had watched her sleep. “I’m so used to listening for Mom that it woke me. Don’t worry though, I unplugged it.” She paused, replaying the conversation. “You okay? Did you say something?”

Her sister’s red curls stuck out in disheveled abandon. Shadows smudged her puffy eyes. Joy had inherited their father’s fair skin, but this morning she looked sallow under the kitchen’s fluorescent lights. Maybe the orange and blue football jersey was to blame. It looked large enough to be Moke’s, though Ann had never asked whether the big guy simply cheered for the Gator Nation or had actually played at the University of Florida.

“Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep. Coffee ready?”

Ann reached for her long-forgotten mug of tea and started to push back her chair when something about the expectant look on Joy’s face changed her mind.

Why should I?

She switched directions. “I didn’t make any.” She decided it was time she finished one task before another day, with its own problems, intruded. Leaning over the calculator, she punched in a few more numbers. “I’ll be done here in a few minutes.”

Without speaking, Joy turned away, made up the first pot and disappeared.

~  ~  ~

Cass gripped the edge of the bathroom sink, refusing to fight the series of small tremors that rippled up her arms. She could take something for the shakes, but her supply was limited. She had to ration it.

Who knows how long I’ll be stuck here?

She studied herself in the mirror of the medicine cabinet. A skinny wreck stared back. She raked her hair into some sort of order, swished Scope and washed up, but soap and water couldn’t erase the black circles under her eyes. She made a compress from a wet washcloth and buried her face in it. She needed coffee in the worst way.

Why didn’t Ann just make a pot? Her sister needed to start thinking about somebody besides herself. Someone had to run this house. And who else was there?

Of course, Cass corrected, when she had her way, there’d be no house to run.

Wondering how much the place would sell for, she eyed the master bath. Maggie’s taste ran a little too country, but she didn’t think the décor would hurt the selling price any. The important thing, according to what she’d found on the computer, was cleanliness.

She pulled back the curtain and studied the bathroom tile. She’d seen worse—truck stops, after all, didn’t have the highest standards—but she’d seen better. A quick look under the sink produced the necessary supplies, but before she was ready to scrub the thin film from the tile, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee competed with Tilex and Comet. The French roast won handily.

“You want some?” she asked Ann as she helped herself. Instinct and thirty years’ experience told her it would require special handling for Big Sis to agree to anything she suggested. Though she was eager to talk about selling the house, she’d take it slow.

“Sure, I’d love a cup.” Ann shoved her calculator aside and stretched like a truck driver who’d been behind the wheel for a couple of hours.

Cass swallowed a frown. Her sister must have really let things slide if she needed to tackle the bills at God-only-knew what time in the morning. After dumping roughly equal amounts of sugar and creamer into two mugs, she took a swipe at a few splatters and carried their drinks to the kitchen table. While she was at it, she took a closer peek at the canceled checks and bank statements Ann had stacked into neat piles. Plastering on a sympathetic look, she glanced at the paperwork. “So, everything balanced to the penny and all?”

She watched the reference to their childhood bring a faint smile to Ann’s lips. Their mom had opened checking accounts for each of her children on their thirteenth birthdays. From then on, no one got their allowance until each account was precisely balanced.

“Sheesh.” Ann shook her head. “The nights we spent going over and over those checkbooks. Some months, I thought I’d never get an allowance.”

“There were a couple of times I didn’t.” Cass shook her head. “Well, not until Chuck learned how to do it,” she added with a guilty smile.

“He’s always been good with numbers. What was he then, ten?”

“Eight.” Cass grinned. “I could pay him fifty cents, and fifteen minutes later—voilà!—he’d be done.” Her thoughts swung back to the present and she sobered. “He’ll finish this year, right? I don’t want to face Maggie in my next life if the genius has to drop out of school.”

“Barely.” Ann’s answering frown looked troubled. “He volunteered to teach several undergrad classes this fall. It reduced his tuition by half. With that, there’s just enough for him to finish out the year.”

Understanding hung between them. Both knew how much their mom had sacrificed to educate her children. Every dime from their dad’s life insurance, as well as every nickel she could scrimp and save, had gone into a fund for their education. Ann had studied photojournalism. Their brother had studied…everything, though anything flight-related made his eyes glaze over. He was in his last year at Stanford. With his BS and MS diplomas already hanging in the family room, he was on track to finish his coursework before Christmas, and several major companies were already bidding for his services. Maggie had bragged that he’d be pulling down six figures before the graduation ceremonies next June.

“Too bad I was such a wild child,” Cass said wryly. “Chuck could’ve had some of mine.” It didn’t hurt to be generous with something that no longer existed. The money originally intended for her college had paid for education of a different kind, and rehab hadn’t come cheap. Nor was it always successful, she thought. She took a sip of coffee and felt Ann’s eyes on her.

“You okay, Joy? No more problems?”

Her gut tightened. “Dammit, I wish you’d quit calling me that. Only people like Betty Lou still call me Joy.”

If Ann realized she was being insulted, she ignored it. Her eyes locked on as she spelled out the words one by one. “Are. You. Taking. Drugs?”

A long-suffering sigh bought her an extra few seconds. She’d forgotten how her perfect sister could dog a question. She supposed it was because of all the Alateen meetings. Being the good daughter—and Maggie’s favorite, let’s not forget that—Ann had tried to help when Cass discovered marijuana and alcohol at age thirteen. That had been soon after their father died, and a long series of counselors had harped on the connection, one she didn’t see herself. As far as she was concerned, all the shrinks just spouted crap out of the same textbooks.

“No,” she lied evenly. “I am not taking drugs.”

“Good.” Ann seemed to relax and took a sip of coffee. “I’m so glad, Joy.”

“I mean it, Ann.” She spoke between clenched teeth. “Call me Cass.”

“But Mom—”

“I know the story.” She waved a dismissive hand and tried to sound bored. “Maggie didn’t like Aunt Cassandra, but Dad insisted on the name. Then, she said it was too long for a little baby and called me Joy. Whatever. My name is Cass, okay?”

Ann’s lips pursed. “I guess. But you have to admit, you’re not exactly playing fair. After all, I didn’t make this big a deal when you couldn’t say Cheryl, so everybody started calling me Ann.”

“Geez.” She shook her head. “I was, what, two? Are you going to hold that against me forever? If you want to change your name to Cheryl now, it’s fine by me.” Folding her arms, she studied her sister’s pinched features and let the silence stretch out between them.

“No, Ann is fine,” her sister finally said before adding, “Cass.”

She raised one eyebrow and shot a glance across the table. Ann wasn’t usually such a pushover, but maybe she was tired. If anything, her sister looked more exhausted this morning than she had going to bed the night before. And her hair…No wonder she wore it up all the time. It was a rat’s nest!

“It’s just the three of us now, right?” Friends and relatives had swooped in for the funeral. She thought the last of them had finally headed back to their own homes yesterday afternoon, but Ann would know. As the oldest, she was supposed to track all the comings and goings, wasn’t she?

“Yeah. It was good to see everyone, but…” Ann drained her mug. “You ready for a second cup?”

“Sure.” She gulped the last few swallows before handing her cup across the table. Waiting until Ann was headed for the coffee pot, she asked, “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

She wanted to get her nails done and thought, maybe, they could go together. It was time Ann quit playing the martyr and started enjoying life again. She just knew her sister’s outlook would improve if she took better care of herself. Maybe they could even stop in at Andrew’s Hair Studio for a cut and color. No one did hair like Andrew.

“I was hoping to sort through Mom’s clothes and things while we’re all still here. Chuck has to be back in California on Monday. But…”

The moment stretched out, and Cass drummed her fingers on her thigh. Would her sister ever stop stirring and finish the sentence?

At last, Ann placed the spoon on the spoon rest. “I don’t think I’m up to it today.”

“It’s gonna be tough.” She quickly reconsidered the whole nail and hair thing. Ann was right. There was a lot to do if they were going to put the house on the market. “On the other hand, it’s not something I want hanging over my head.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Look, this whole thing sucks, but we have to remember that Maggie’s in a better—”

“Don’t you dare!”

She jerked back. Her sister’s voice seemed to bounce off the walls. “Excuse me?”

“‘It’s better this way.’ ‘At least she’s not in pain.’ ‘She’s with Daddy now.’ It’s bad enough to have to take that crap from other people. I don’t need to hear stupid clichés from you, too.” Ann slammed both coffee mugs against the counter top with enough force to splatter the Formica a milky brown. “I’m sick of it, y’hear? Don’t you dare sit there and try to tell me it’s better this way. If you had been here, you’d know…” Ann took a breath. Tears ran freely, and she seemed barely able to get the words out. “You’d know how hard she fought.”

And there it was. Ann blamed her for not dropping everything and racing to Maggie’s side. Like she blamed her for everything.

Well, unlike her sister, she had a life.

Cass found her feet as her own shouts rose. “You think I didn’t want to be here? I called. I called almost every day. You…” She pointed an accusing finger. “You never once told me to come.” She half-expected the sting of a hand across her face, but Ann’s eyes went blank.

“I shouldn’t have had to. Our mother was dying.” Her sister’s voice was bleak and tight with control.

The truth pushed all the air out of her lungs. She breathed deep and struck back. “But I didn’t know, Ann. I didn’t. It wasn’t until I got here and saw how bad off she was that it began to sink in.”

“You knew.” Ann’s voice became an accusing whisper. “You just chose not to accept it.”

Not true. She shook her head. “I never—”

“I told you. Over and over and over, I told you. That the CAT scan showed the cancer had spread to her bones. That the chemo and radiation had failed. What’d you think was going to happen when her doctors called in hospice? Hospice is meant for the dying. Did you think you could march in here with some miracle cure in a bag of herbs you bought from some crackpot?”

She sucked air over her teeth. “Now who’s not being fair?”

“I don’t have to anymore. In case you haven’t noticed, Cassandra Joy Maywood, life isn’t fair. Life right now pretty much sucks. Not everyone is like you, you know. We can’t all bail out when we want to.”

The body blow of her sister’s words slammed into Cass and she staggered. Too stunned to even respond, she flexed her fingers. But Ann had apparently spent her fury. She spun away and leaned against a kitchen cabinet like a broken doll. The sight was…terrifying.

Cass started to reach for her sister but stopped. Her hand dangled in midair while the need to retaliate built.

She’s always been mean. She’s such a—

She stepped back. She needed space. Without it, something irreparable would spew from her lips. It had happened with Moke. It would with Ann, too. And then where would she go?

She angled into a U-turn and fled to her room where she slammed the bedroom door behind her and rattled the closet’s bifold doors. The evil green dress was draped across a hanger. She raked it to the floor. She opened empty dresser drawers and, enjoying the racket, banged them shut. It wasn’t enough. She threw all her blankets and pillows into a heap on the floor and dove onto the bed. Her feet drummed against the mattress. After about five minutes, she felt calmer, but she kept the tantrum going as long as she could. Waiting for her sister to come and apologize.

Ann didn’t come.

Eventually, she let the drumming taper off. Her own angry outburst aside, she wondered what could have brought her sister to such a fury. Ann had always been so calm. She dealt with things as they came. Ann was supposed to take care of things like Maggie had always done. Watching her sister fall apart was as scary as everything else that had happened lately.

She better get it together soon. I can’t deal with her shit and mine, too.

Cass rolled off the bed, crossed the room and locked the door. Lifting the corner of the dust ruffle on the far side, she felt under the box spring for a thin slit in the lining. The plastic baggie she withdrew held a small bottle and a dozen or so pills in a rainbow of colors. Carefully, she counted.

Not enough pills.

A second count came up with the same pitiful amount. She dipped into the bag, pulled out a red-and-white capsule and swallowed it dry. The bottle of morphine went into the pocket of an old windbreaker she’d found in the front closet. The rest she returned to the hidey-hole, taking extra care so the dust ruffle looked exactly as it had moments before.

Time to hook up with Tommie.

Her old friend was not the kind to show up at her mother’s funeral. His presence would have been…awkward. She’d hoped to avoid him for at least a couple more days, maybe as long as a week. But Ann’s anger changed everything.

Cass needed help. The kind only Tommie could provide.

~  ~  ~

Chuck stood in the garage and listened to the shouts coming through the door.

Oh, God.

His head pounded with the granddaddy of all hangovers as he made a quick assessment. One of his favorite loafers had disappeared during the night. Beer stains darkened his shirt. The hole in his jeans was probably a souvenir from the cigarette ash he’d dropped. His lower back complained bitterly about the two hours he’d managed to sleep on Joey’s lumpy couch. He needed a bathroom pretty damn quick, and his sisters were fighting. Again. If he opened the kitchen door, all that anger would probably be rechanneled at him. He shook his head. In his present state, either Joy or Ann was more than he could handle. Both would be the end of him.

Pain splintered his temples. His stomach churned. He eyed the deep sink in one corner of the garage and felt for his fly.

No.

With his forehead pressed against the relative cool of the wooden door, he waited. Eventually, the shouting gave way to crying. From somewhere in the house, a door slammed. The noise sent another painful wave through his head and forced him to clamp a hand over his mouth to help his stomach to stay put. A couple of smaller crashes sounded before a blessed silence settled over the house. He waited another five minutes before he cracked the door open and squinted into the kitchen.

Ann sat at the small dinette, her head in her hands. He had a pretty good idea that she was crying. He considered taking the coward’s way out.

Just close the door and hike on out to the gazebo.

He was operating below mach speed, but a decision was close when the knob was snatched from his grasp. Joy, her hair looking as startled as her face, jumped back. The prickly orange key fob she carried flew out of her hand and danced in the air. She snagged it before it fell. Her hands rammed themselves into the pockets of her windbreaker, and Chuck braced himself for the usual attack.

“Don’t we have enough problems without you staying out all night partying?”

He swallowed the appropriate rejoinder. He wanted to piss, not get into a pissing match.

“Going out?” he asked mildly. He needed a diversion and shot a glance into the kitchen. Their older sister had disappeared. “I thought Ann wanted to sort through Mom’s things today.” They’d talked about it the previous afternoon. None of them was anxious to tackle the job, but it was the only reason he’d wobbled into the house at six thirty instead of sleeping his hangover off at Joey’s.

“Plans change,” Joy shrugged. “Get a shower. You stink.”

“I love you too, Joy.”

“Cass,” she barked, and brushed past him.

“Whatever,” he muttered. Swinging around on unsteady feet, he watched her climb into the battered Plymouth Valiant their mother had driven for as long as he could remember. The engine had barely turned over when he arrived home weeks earlier. Now it purred to life without a hiccup. He could almost hear his mother’s voice.

Slant six, the best engine ever made.

It was her answer whenever someone tried to convince her to get rid of the relic. And it was true.

Desperate to stay busy while his mother lay dying, he’d changed the oil, performed a tune-up and rotated the tires. Moke had helped him with the sticky carburetor. Together, they’d made the car roadworthy again.

Chuck rubbed the stubble on his cheek. He liked that big guy and had been sorry to see Moke head out the day of the funeral. Sorry, but unfortunately not surprised, given his sister’s track record.

A horn blared. Sound bounced off the walls. An ax bit into his head, and he flinched.

Bitch!

His hand shot to the oversized button on the wall. The way Joy’s eyes widened when the garage door started rumbling down tightened his grin. The car rocketed backward, and he tried not to laugh. The garage door would stop as soon as the sensor indicated something in its path, but his sister, as usual, didn’t stop to consider all the facts. She just reacted. Chuck shook his head and instantly regretted it. He shook his head again, much more carefully, and turned slowly to enter the house.

He stood on the threshold of the now-empty kitchen. The delftware his mother had collected was clustered in small groupings on open shelves above the cabinets. The copper bottoms of her pots and pans glinted from a rack over the stove. The only thing missing was the bowl of fruit she’d kept on the kitchen table. And her, of course.

His throat tightened, and he headed for the coffee. There was half a pot left—thank God—but brown splatters marred the lemon-yellow Formica and dribbled down one white cabinet to the linoleum. The sight made his stomach churn, and in self-defense, he grabbed a handful of paper towels and mopped it up thoroughly before pouring himself a cup. He took a sip and tried to find his bearings.

Ann’s decision not to involve herself in the garage commotion surprised him. She usually acted as the mediator in her siblings’ infrequent skirmishes.

Infrequent because Joy is never here and I’m always at school.

He’d wanted to take a leave from grad school—his professors would’ve approved it—but his mom wouldn’t hear of such an idea. Ann had sided with her, probably more because she was unwilling to upset their mom than because she thought it was the right decision. He’d been reduced to daily phone calls and flights home every break. He’d been here three weeks this time—three weeks of pure hell. He wouldn’t have missed a minute of it.

His gaze fell to the blue-and-white sugar bowl, his Mother’s Day gift last year. Whether she hung on to the house or not, Ann was sure to make changes. He was okay with that. He wanted to make a few himself. He’d been waiting for the right opportunity to discuss them, but Monday’s departure was on approach and he still hadn’t found the right time.

Better talk soon.

The toilet in his mom’s bathroom flushed. Chuck spun, half-expecting to see Maggie Maywood emerge from her bedroom. He caught himself and quickly grabbed his coffee. Turning, he headed down the hall before Ann saw his tears.

CHAPTER FIVE

The car roared out of the garage as if it was a dragster and the lights on the Christmas tree had just dropped to green. The front bumper nearly clipped the outside wall, but Cass straightened, downshifting into her trucking persona by the time she reached the foot of the driveway. If there was one thing Moke had taught her, it was to control the wheel. A routine traffic stop could spell big trouble.

Especially when I’m carrying.

She glided to a stop at the first intersection and patted the pocket of the windbreaker until she felt the reassuring outline of the plastic bottle. She could thank the gods of irony for this one. Their mother’s pain had so consumed Ann and Chuck that they never considered the wisdom of sending Cass to fetch the liquid morphine from the kitchen cabinet. When she accidentally spilled an entire bottle, the hospice nurse had even made a joke about it, saying stress often made people a bit fumble-fingered.

It was a shame, everyone agreed, that the precious liquid had been lost. But at least the accident occurred over the sink. No one gave the smear of brown against white porcelain more than a cursory glance. No one had counted the empty bottles on the cabinet shelf or noticed the missing one. The pharmacy even delivered a replacement within a matter of hours.

Tough hours, but everyone was entitled to one mistake, weren’t they?

As the morphine wore off and Maggie’s pain increased, moans had driven Cass into the backyard, where, between them, she and Moke had smoked a pack of cigarettes and wore a path back and forth from the gazebo. Ann, of course, stayed with Maggie, but backrubs, cold compresses and foot massages only seemed to make things worse. Even the usually unflappable Chuck found his breaking point. When the hospice van finally pulled into the driveway, he’d bolted from a chair at the front window and practically mugged the delivery man. By then, a low keening spilled through Maggie’s open window and out into the yard.

Cass had been ready to do almost anything to stop it. If she could’ve produced the stolen bottle without admitting her guilt in the first place, she’d have done it in a heartbeat. She hadn’t dared take a second one after that. Not even after Maggie died, when Cass felt her throat close in tight disbelief as she watched the hospice nurse flush leftover narcotics down the toilet.

She patted her pocket again, wondering how much trade the brown liquid would bring. If it could relieve her mother’s pain, it had to be worth a bundle. She imagined a giddy wealth of uppers and downers and enough of the right chemicals to screen them during a drug test. That last was important if she was going to get back on the road. Certain stores sold over-the-counter concoctions, but they were expensive. And besides, Tommie was sure to have something better.

Damn Moke. She missed him more than ever, but this was all his fault. She wouldn’t have to deal with the likes of Tommie if Moke hadn’t been so pigheaded.

Daylight barely edged the eastern sky. Not apt to run into Tommie or any of his crew before noon, she pulled into the parking lot of the Hibiscus Cafe. As often happened in small towns, the restaurant had passed through several identities. Coats of bright yellow paint and new landscaping transformed all but the shape of the building. The owners had given the place yet another new name, but when asked for directions, locals still responded, “Go up US 1 to where the Pizza Hut used to be.”

Her stomach growled, and Cass got out of the car. She had some thinking to do, and after this morning’s disastrous start, the sooner she got started the better.

It was plain her sister and brother hadn’t changed one whit in the years she’d been away—they were still as self-centered and judgmental as ever. Not that she’d expected the two of them to come home from Maggie’s funeral and break into a chorus of “Kumbaya” or anything. But man, they were still pricks. At least Chuck would be out of her hair and on a plane back to California soon. That left Ann. How she’d survive stuck in a house with her ever-watchful, ever-judgmental sister till she got her hands on enough money to split, Cass had no clue.

Several hours later, and no closer to an answer, she headed south, slowing as she passed the barren park where the Houston Astros once held spring training. Now no one—especially not youngsters—hung out where useless chains dangled from rusted swing-set frames. An empty whirligig tilted to one side, broken. Across the street, concrete tenements with trash-filled yards stretched for four city blocks. Residents of better sections of town had complained about the rough neighborhood for as long as she could remember. Every couple of years, they proposed massive improvements, but nothing changed.

Just as well. She liked the area the way it was. It made finding what she wanted as easy as getting a tank of diesel at a truck stop.

Just past the last of the patched and pot-holed side streets, she took an empty parking space at a popular barbeque joint and looked around until she was satisfied that her mother’s old sedan blended in with all the other cars in the lot. The only thing less conspicuous, she thought, might be a low-slung Cadillac painted iridescent green or metallic gold.

Not bothering to lock the car, she headed toward the two ancient black men who lounged on a wooden bench near the front door, thin arms and legs sprouting from white shirts and dark pants. Plumes of gray smoke rose from their fingertips. Cigarette butts littered the concrete at their feet. Their conversation paused to track her progress.

“Afternoon, Paul. Si,” she said when she was near enough.

“Hey, Red,” Paul answered. “Ain’t seen you in a while. Where you been keepin’?”

“Oh, here an’ there. Looks crowded today. Food still good?” She jutted her chin toward a brightly painted door, but all three understood the conversation didn’t have anything to do with barbeque.

“Some days you have to be careful whatcha order. Today ’pears awright. You still hankerin’ for that special sauce?”

“You know it.” These guys never forgot a customer.

“Order the greens.” Si broke his trademark silence.

She had something better in mind than a cash-only deal. “Nah. Aunt Emma came for a visit. She’s waitin’ in the car.” She flicked a glance toward the Plymouth.

Si was positively chatty. “I still think you should try them greens.”

She nodded. She’d gotten the message, but Tommie would make a better offer.

Moving on, she stepped inside, stopping to peer over a low wall that separated the entryway from a dining area where the décor hadn’t changed in twenty years. A few more stains dotted the same unframed seascapes that hung from the rough cedar planks. The smoky odor of wood-fired ovens permeated the room. Here and there, bread crusts and discarded napkins littered a floor that looked like it could use a closer friendship with a broom and a mop. Every table sported a square plastic bin containing bottles of peppers in vinegar, salt shakers filled with toothpicks, piles of napkins and three squeeze bottles of Tommie’s homemade sauce—hot, mild or sweet. If you wanted the special, you had to ask.

Few did.

Sitting elbow-to-elbow in booths along the walls or at tables and chairs that filled the space in between, working class men and women consumed generous platters of spicy chicken and ribs and bowls of barbequed beans. Pitchers of sweetened iced tea were served without question. Only fools ordered it unsweet and such blasphemy required a detailed explanation.

She brushed away a fly, aware that her red hair and pale skin were drawing a fair number of looks even though no greetings rose to meet her and she recognized no one. Her heart pounded. She wondered if the Tuinal had worn off already.

Of course it has. You only took one.

Deliberately, she straightened. With the windbreaker brushed back on either side, she checked her cleavage and made a minor adjustment. Thrusting each hip forward, she strutted to the back where a lone empty booth belched dirty white tufts through gaping slits of red vinyl. She slid into it.

A knife, fork and spoon tightly wrapped in a paper napkin rested on a plastic menu. On her last visit, menus had been disposable. The new ones touted ads for local businesses along with an apology for slightly higher prices. She crossed her fingers, hoping it was the only change. She didn’t relish the idea of finding a new source.

The waitress, at least, was a permanent fixture. A busty woman, she wore tan pants that stretched as far out in front as they did in back. Despite her size, she moved quickly and efficiently among the tables, and when she shouldered her way to the back of the room, Cass knew to have her order ready.

“I’ll take the lunch plate and a glass of tea.” Pushing the grease-splattered menu aside, she waited until the waitress scribbled on her pad before she added, “And I’ll need some of Tommie’s special sauce.”

The kitchen, as always, was slow. Cass, who had timed her visit with the end of the lunch hour, sipped iced tea—sweet—and fought paranoia as the restaurant emptied. One hand clenched beneath the table to keep her fingers from drumming on it, she thought of the pills left behind at the house and wished she had some with her. No matter. Tommie would give her a new supply. She had to hold on, that was all. But by the time the waitress slid a plate of baby back ribs, barbequed beans and coleslaw in front of her, her heart was beating so fast she thought she’d pass out. She picked at the food and waited some more.

The door between the kitchen and the dining area swung open and closed dozens of times before it finally disgorged an immense man. Tommie, swathed in a stained cook’s apron and wiping sweat from his brow, shuffled his bulk down the aisle. Sliding into the bench seat opposite her was impossible. He drew up a metal chair.

“Good to see you, Cass.”

“You’re looking good,” she lied. He didn’t. Obese when they’d done business on her last trip through Hibiscus City two years ago, Tommie had packed on another fifty pounds.

“Life’s good. Saw your mom’s obit in the paper. She must’a been a nice lady. You holdin’ up okay?”

Memories made her eyes swim. Those last three days, Maggie had sweated and clenched her teeth against a pain not even morphine could dull. “Been better. It was a rough way to go. She deserved better.”

“I hear ya.” He looked down at her plate, the food practically untouched. “Don’t like my cookin’?”

“I’m just not hungry, I guess.” Speed always did dull her appetite. She plucked at a fold in her jeans—she’d need a smaller size soon—and slid the plate across.

Tommie lifted a meaty rib and gnawed on it while he spoke. “You want the usual?”

“Upjohns and rainbows,” she nodded. “More uppers than downers, if possible.” Her favorites had always been Didrex and Tuinal, but she could be flexible.

“Can’t give you much.”

That was a surprise. She felt her eyes widen. “What about the morphine? It’s gotta be worth plenty.” She’d left the bottle under a newspaper on the front seat for either Paul or Si to retrieve.

Tommie shook his head and looked glum. Then he snagged another rib. Apparently, regret didn’t slow his appetite. “It ain’t strong. For someone well acquainted with Aunt Em, it’s one, maybe two hits. Now, the injectable stuff…That’s worth real money. Got any of that?”

She wished she had, but the stingy hospice nurses hadn’t let that stuff out of their sight. They’d been obsessive about the patches, too, and confiscated the leftovers while the family was still gathered at their mom’s bedside. That only left the brown liquid they dribbled down Maggie’s throat.

No wonder they didn’t fuss about replacing the bottle I snagged.

But it wasn’t wise to let Tommie see how bad she was hurting. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Give me what you can. I’ll be back.”

“Cash only,” he warned as he mopped up the last of her beans with a thick slice of garlic toast. “Unless you want to toss up for me. You know, I’ve always been sweet on you.” His eyes dropped to her chest where they clung like gravy on biscuits.

She fought the urge to recoil. She liked big men—Moke was a big man—but she’d rather drown in a vat of barbeque sauce than have sex with the cook. “Haven’t ever done that,” she answered honestly. Not for drugs, anyway. A few times she’d come close, but…

Tommie pushed back from the table. “Just something to think about if you change your mind. We could be good together.”

She watched as he waddled back to the kitchen, turning sideways to edge through the swinging door.

Yeah, right.

Minutes later, the road hummed beneath her tires as she headed for the beach. She’d always done her best thinking behind the wheel, and with Tommie and all, she had a lot to think through.

She’d expected a windfall today, but the liquid morphine only netted two dime bags. Disappointment washed over her in waves. With what she’d hidden beneath her bed, she’d be lucky to get through a couple of days, much less the weeks it would take to settle her mother’s estate and sell the house.

Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel. What to do. Crossing seams in the blacktop, the Plymouth’s tires sounded out a matching rhythm. What to do. She reached the end of 520, turned around and headed back without a look at the ocean or the garish tourist traps that lined the shore.

Ann will just have to buy me out.

The plan was better than going cold turkey. Much better than taking Tommie up on his offer. Picturing herself surfing the cook’s enormous bulk—or worse, pinned beneath him—she shook her head.

Hell would need to be mighty cold that day.

Just ahead, a flock of gulls winged across the causeway. Thick, white splatters rained down on her windshield. She snorted her disgust, reached for the wipers, then slipped a pill from the stingy bag Paul or Si had left in her car. The gods of irony were laughing at her, and once the drug kicked in, she laughed along with them.

~  ~  ~

Ann clenched her teeth against the roar of white noise. Her files were meticulously organized. She knew exactly where the folder holding her favorite photo—and its negative—was. But the facts didn’t mesh because one file was missing.

She started over, inspecting each of the hand-labeled folders. No luck. Her shoulders tightened. She rolled her neck until it gave a satisfying snap, and on her fourth search through the box, just as she was ready to dump the whole thing upside down, she found several copies of the photo precisely where she’d filed them.

Oh.

A sudden rush of tears made her blink as the black-and-white picture in her hand wavered. To say she missed her mom put too fine a face on things. They’d always been close and were all but inseparable for the past year and a half.

Almost since that first mammogram. A crooked smile wobbled to her lips. Talk about rotten timing.

That day, when her telephone rang, she’d expected her boss’s gruff voice on the other end of the line. She’d been anxious for news. Six months of hard work had gone into the ad campaign, the culmination of her grueling four-year apprenticeship. Instead, her mother’s faltering voice filled one ear. Confused, Ann almost failed to recognize the greeting. She hadn’t ever heard fear in that voice before, not even when her dad died. But as her mother explained about the biopsy, the fear had been undeniable.

In an instant, Ann’s life had changed. Three phone calls and a couple of hours later, she was flying down I-95. Behind her lay all she thought she’d ever wanted—her career, her life. Ahead was home, her mother and a fight against breast cancer. On some level, she’d known it would be a lonely battle. Her mother would insist that Chuck finish grad school—she’d sacrificed too much to let him quit. And her sister would cope as she always did—with denial, blame and, if all else failed, drugs. As Ann sped south that day, her hands had shaken with fear—for her mother, her family and herself.

So far, she was batting a thousand.

Before Maggie had finished the first rounds of chemo and radiation, Ann’s boss had given her an ultimatum. Others followed on its heels, but she consistently gave only one answer: her mother over the apprenticeship, the boyfriend, the life in the big city. After her mom went into remission, she thought about sending out resumes but didn’t have the energy. Besides, where would she go? Her abrupt departure from Atlanta had tainted her prospects. And what if her mom got sick again?

Still, she needed to work. She wasn’t looking for much, just something to tide her over until her mother’s health rebounded and she could jump-start her stalled advertising career. When Maggie’s friend Hal Shorter offered Ann a spot in his photography studio, she took it knowing full well she’d never have a chance to build her portfolio there. The man was old school. No thinking outside the box, no artistic endeavors for him. He offered brides a prescribed set of poses and insisted his assistant pack up her equipment and go home once she’d checked off the last item on her list. Bored, Ann probably would’ve quit except the job supplied a steady income and, even better, flexibility. Plus, it made Maggie happy.

“Advertising jobs are scarcer than hen’s teeth around here, and that artsy stuff you like won’t pay the bills,” her mom had advised. “You’re good at studio work. Develop that business now and you’ll always have something to fall back on. You can explore creativity on the side. Or do it later, when you’re more established.”

All well and good for the interim. But then Hal announced plans to retire at the end of the year. When he offered to carry the financing, it put the possibility of owning the studio within reach. Despite her mother’s urgings, Ann had been hesitant to commit. So far, Hal had waited patiently, but he couldn’t wait much longer. He deserved an answer. She wished she had one to give him.

Weddings, Little League team photos, family portraits—she could practically shoot them in her sleep. The work required organization and attention to detail, and her mom had been right—she was good at it. But doing it for the rest of her life? Ann chewed her lip. She just wasn’t sure she could spend the next twenty years taking head shots and developing canned poses without going out of her mind.

This, however…

She rubbed a thumb along one edge of the glossy print and nudged the hefty file box at her feet with one toe. The box didn’t move. Every one of the hundred or so pictures it contained had been shot, developed and carefully retouched within the past year, while her mother had been dying. It was the best work she’d ever done.

And her mom had hated it.

Maggie hadn’t understood why her eldest needed to document every stage of her illness any more than Ann had been able to explain that the camera enabled her to step back, if only momentarily, from the disease that was devouring both their lives. Eventually, her mom had cooperated, clownishly scrunching her face and letting Ann do her thing. The results were in the box, but she had no idea what to do with them.

Though her mother’s impending death had filled Ann with dread and fear, she’d expected her life to return to some version of normality afterward. She’d hoped to pick up the reins of her career, move back to Atlanta, get another job. Instead, life was tilting precariously. She was slipping into new problems—some she hadn’t expected, some she’d held at bay. Medical bills to pay. The estate to probate. The house to sell. Chuck needed to finish his degree. And Joy…

Cass, she corrected.

Bewildered, she ground her teeth. How can I take care of Cass? Can anyone? But, as the oldest, she was expected to do it all. She’d be letting her mom down if she didn’t.

She glanced at the photo, whose edges were starting to curve under the pressure from her fingers. She smoothed them and set it aside. Flexed her hands. Time to make a decision.

What was she going to do with dozens of pictures of a dying woman? Assemble them into a book? Develop an ad campaign around them?

How macabre.

She had to get a grip. Someone needed to be responsible, and being responsible meant accepting Hal’s business proposal. But if she did, time for the work she loved would disappear. At least for a while.

Who knew when, if ever, she’d get back to it?

CHAPTER SIX

Chuck heard Ann’s low voiced, “Come in,” and pushed on the door, which moved only a few inches before it banged into something heavy. The remnants of his hangover flared at the unexpected thud. He grimaced and slipped sideways through the narrow opening.

He hadn’t looked inside his sister’s room this trip since she usually kept the door closed. Surveying the space, he thought he might know why. Their mom had insisted on putting everything in its place. But a bewildering array of cameras, lenses and tripods occupied so much space in Ann’s room that her computer keyboard perched precariously atop its monitor. Dozens of plastic crates filled a closet whose doors had been removed for easier access. A tall wardrobe had been shoved behind the door.

He quashed an unsettled frown. Now that their mom had passed, Ann would probably rearrange things. Spread out. Bring more of her own stuff out of storage. And why not? He certainly couldn’t expect her to maintain the house as some sort of shrine. She had her own furniture, and she’d want to use it. She might even move into Mom’s larger bedroom. Or she could sell their childhood home and move someplace else entirely.

He shook his head at the thought and mentally stepped back. “Whatcha doing?” he asked.

Ann sat on the edge of her bed holding a glossy sheet. The plastic bin at her feet looked full. “Just sorting through some pictures. Trying to decide what to do with them.”

Stepping close enough to take the photo from her outstretched hand, he felt his Adam’s apple bob up and down. A caption along the bottom titled the black-and-white print “Battle Ready.” He swallowed and hoped he didn’t look as bug-eyed as he felt. “I wish you’d warned me.”

Ann sighed and looked away.

In the picture, their mom sat in a beauty salon, her fingers splayed like she didn’t want anything to nick a fresh manicure. Light and shadow gave stark contrast to the hollows of her cheeks, but her nails anchored the photo. His eyes latched on to them, refusing to budge. In the midst of all those blacks and whites and grays, her nails were pink, the same soft color as the breast cancer ribbon he had pinned to his navy-blue suit.

Gradually, his gaze shifted, and he became aware of other objects in the picture. A clutter of polish bottles stood on a table in front of their mom. Thick terry cloth wound around her head. She must have had some kind of treatment, because beneath the makeshift turban, her skin glowed.

“Geez, Ann.” He sucked in air. “I knew you were good, but…” His sister wielded a camera better than anyone he knew, but even for her, this forged new territory.

Was it that good? Or was it because it was their mom? He couldn’t tell.

“Do you have any more?”

“A few.” Ann smothered a laugh and pointed to the storage box. “Take a look.”

She shifted out of his way, and he knelt in the narrow space to thumb through the collection. In each monochromatic eight by ten, color drew his eyes to a single object. A bright green IV in a shot of their mom taking chemo. A red tulip in a vase beside her hospital bed. A floppy purple hat hanging from a peg. Not all of the images kicked him in the gut like the first one had, but enough did to send his mind spinning.

“People need to see these, Ann. You could sell them to magazines. Hell, you could do a book.”

Realizing how foolish he sounded, he stopped abruptly. Ann’s photojournalism degree came from the local college, but she’d worked her way through the prestigious FSU Film School for her master’s, and she had several years of experience at one of the big ad agencies in Atlanta. Far better than he, she knew the potential applications of her work.

“Yeah. Well…” Ann reached for the photo, slapped it on the table and snapped the plastic cover back onto the box.

He had an awful thought. “Tell me you’ve at least considered it.”

She wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Ann?”

The magazine she selected from the cluttered worktable had been handled so often it flopped open to well-creased page. He studied the full-color advertisement before shooting her a look full of questions.

“The American Cancer Society is planning a new breast cancer awareness campaign. Anyone is welcome to submit suggestions, but one of the big agencies will probably get the contract. I thought I might work up a proposal using some of these and send it to my old firm.” A wave of her hand indicated the box. “Maybe something will happen.”

“Something will happen all right—they’ll snatch these up so fast your head will spin,” he offered despite the emptiness that churned in his stomach at the possibility of seeing their mother’s picture plastered all over America.

Ann’s shrug bore little confidence. “I didn’t give them much notice when I left. It might take something spectacular for them to hire me again. I’m not sure this work is good enough, for them or the ACS.”

Confidence was never his sister’s forte. He tried to bolster it. “As sick as Mom was toward the end, you’ve done an amazing job of making her…oh, I don’t know…almost regal. You showed them to her, didn’t you? I bet she was amazed.”

Ann’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “You know Mom. She told me to stick with weddings.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “That sounds like something she’d say. Along with, ‘Go for the sure thing’ or ‘Business first, then pleasure.’” Hadn’t she told him practically the same thing?

He’d been too young at the time to analyze such things, but he now thought their dad’s death had sparked their mom’s emphasis on financial security. At least, he didn’t remember her talking about it before then. She must have hated the way the cancer ate into her finances along with everything else.

“Is that why you’re still working for Hal?” he asked. Within months of taking the job as Hal’s assistant, Ann’s client list had grown as long as the owner’s.

She nodded. “Wedding photography doesn’t have to be perfect. Just happy. Everybody likes happy.”

His jaw tightened. As much as he loved his mom, he’d been out of the house long enough to identify her blind spots. One of them was her failure to see how gifted Ann was. The other was their sister Joy. He liked to think his own vision was a bit clearer.

“Some people just don’t have an eye for art. Mom didn’t. She liked neat columns, the right answers, the proof of a theorem.” He pointed to the closed file box. “She might not have been able to understand your work, but that doesn’t make it less valid. Submit these, Ann. Work up the proposal.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said and stood. Turning her back on the cluttered room, she asked, “You ready to get started?”

He nodded. Coffee, dry toast and aspirin had dulled the worst of his hangover. After a couple of hours’ sleep and a shower, he no longer qualified for caveman status, though he hadn’t bothered to shave.

He ran a hand over a day’s growth of rough sandpaper and eyed his sister. Their mother’s illness had changed so much in Ann’s life, but it had prompted a change in his plans, too. He wondered if there’d be a good time to tell her about it today.

“Joy get back?” Her presence would preclude any serious discussions.

“No.” Ann’s lips puckered. “Oh, and she wants to be called Cass now. She’s pretty insistent about it.”

With Joy, insistent often translated into a whirlwind of rage. “You okay with that?” he asked.

“I don’t think we have much choice.” As Ann shook her head, thin wisps fell from a bun that looked too severe for her thin face. Absently, she brushed the loose strands behind her ears and asked, “Do you know where she went?”

“She didn’t say. Just took off in Mom’s—in the car. But we can’t wait around. She might not be back for hours.”

He watched his sister shove the plastic container into an empty spot under her worktable. She was dressed as casually as he in well-worn jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, but her clothes hung loosely on her frame. Fatigue etched her narrow face. He was surprised at that. Now that it was over, he thought she would be able to rest. God knew she deserved it.

They’d kept the news from him until they were certain. Certain it was cancer. Certain it had spread. By the time his mom placed the call that rocked his world, Ann had already given up her apartment and her job and moved home. They presented a united front, both insisting he continue with his studies, which left nothing for him to do but to call frequently with jokes and stories guaranteed to make them laugh. Joy—Cass—stayed on the road and out of touch, her usual shit.

It was Ann who’d taken care of their mom. Took her to chemo and radiation treatments. Ran the house. With him away at school and J—Cass—God-only-knew-where, it was good that Mom had someone to lean on.

Ann had been her rock.

Now that she was gone, though, there was nothing to keep his sister here. The thought reminded him of something that had come up at the party last night. Rumor had it that Hal was retiring soon and was looking for a buyer for his photography studio.

“Hey, Joey wants to know if you’ll take some pictures of his girls. He’d like to give one to Andrea for their anniversary.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ann muttered. “I’ll be back at work next week. Have him call the shop and we’ll set up a time.”

“I think he hoped to avoid the sitting fees,” Chuck warned. “They don’t have a lot of money.”

Ann shook her head. “Can’t use the studio, then. Hal won’t let me reduce the fees unless it’s family.”

Chuck brightened. “Didn’t I tell you? The girls loved their necklaces and bracelets. I’ve been formally adopted. You’re looking at Unca Yuc.”

The remark brought a smile to his sister’s lips, the first real one he’d seen there in a long time.

“Okay, Unca Yuc. I’ll work something out with him.” Placing her hands on her knees, she pushed to her feet and said the words he’d been hoping to avoid. “Let’s get this over with, okay?”

~  ~  ~

Six hours later, Maggie’s closet was practically bare. At their mom’s request, her clothes were destined for the Sharing Center, her favorite charity. Chuck had tackled the onerous packing job without complaint and with so few questions it made Ann wonder whether he didn’t feel a thing or felt too much.

Emptying the last of her mother’s purses, she pitched a used compact and lipstick into the trash bag on the floor. Loose change made a small mound on the bed. A pocket-sized address book lay nearby. Tears, always close these days, burned the back of her throat.

“Ann?”

She ground her teeth together and swallowed before glancing up.

“What’s this?” Chuck asked.

She followed his gaze onto the closet shelf where crayon art decorated a lone box. Just looking at it made her face soften. “It’s a keepsake box. You made it in preschool.”

Chuck looked doubtful. “Really?”

“Your class made them for Mother’s Day that year. All the other kids used shoeboxes, but you insisted on something bigger. You said she’d need it.” Chuck, with his gargantuan IQ, had always known he was going places.

Pulling the box down, he nearly dropped it. “Whoa! What did she keep in here? Rocks?”

She aimed a quizzical look his way. “Your report cards, silly. All those A-plusses. Your book reports and your drawings. She saved everything from science fair ribbons to the birthday cards you gave her.”

With the box on the bed, they studied the thick crayon strokes that depicted nine planets revolving around a red sun. One long side boasted a remarkable likeness of the T-38 Talon their father had piloted. Opposite it, rocket ships and men in space suits flew against a stellar backdrop. Ann recognized Ursa Major and the Pleiades.

Even at age four, her brother’s intelligence had been almost scary. While the other preschoolers drew families of stick figures, crooked houses and the occasional misshapen tree, Chuck’s sophisticated artwork had spurred a flurry of tests and consultations. She’d been ten then—old enough to recall more than one argument over whether or not her brother should leapfrog into the second grade. Dad had won that battle. Chuck followed the usual route to elementary school, though their mom fretted constantly about challenging him.

Especially after Dad died, she mused.

He’d been forty-eight and mowing the lawn—not flying a plane—when a heart attack took him. The doctors said he was gone before he hit the ground. But that hadn’t stopped their mom from blaming the military, and especially the Air Force, for his death. She remembered her mother’s cries that night, how Maggie had insisted on a private service and refused to bury their dad in the veterans’ cemetery. The Air Force had told them they could stay on base for thirty days, but she packed them up and moved them, severing her ties with all things military within a week of the funeral.

Mom went a little overboard about Chuck then, but who could blame her? A widow with one daughter headed for college and another headed for trouble, Maggie’s dreams for her son were so huge she wouldn’t let anything stand in their way. Every spare penny went to buy him the latest computer gizmo or pay for private tutors—even flying lessons, despite some initial misgivings.

Every week meant another trip to the big science center in Orlando or the aquarium in Tampa. The experiences became family outings, and Maggie assigned roles to each of her daughters. Even then, Ann had been the photographer, capturing images with a progression of cameras that steadily grew more complex. And before she drifted away, Cass had collected every ticket stub and souvenir, preserving their trips in the big family scrapbook that sat on a shelf in the living room.

They were all so proud of Chuck.

Not that he was all brain, she reminded herself. The man who had grown into his genius at Stanford had the long, lean body of a runner. The round cheeks she used to tweak had honed themselves into smooth planes. He’d dipped into a seemingly endless supply of tall tales to entertain their mom during her long illness. Ann supposed that made her brother a rare commodity—a genius with personality. With a number of top companies vying for his services, it looked like he was on track to do great things…and make the kind of money their mom had dreamed he would.

“I can’t believe she kept all this stuff.” Chuck lifted the box cover and sifted through layers of memorabilia.

Watching him, she felt her throat constrict again. “You never went through it with her?”

“No. She never even mentioned it to me.”

Ann heard the way grief took years off his voice. Her own tightened. “Sometimes, before they started her on the morphine…” Not wanting to remember those days, she coughed. But she sensed that Chuck needed to hear about it, and for his sake, she wanted to be sure she had the right words. “Sometimes, she’d have me pull this down from the closet, and we’d sit together and sort through it. I think she memorized every note and every paper you ever wrote.

“She has such big dreams for you. She’s so proud of what you’ve done, of where you’re headed. Knowing you can practically write your own ticket at any of those big engineering companies—that you’ll never have to struggle the way she did after Dad died—it means…” Wincing, she stopped herself. “It meant,” she corrected. “It meant a lot to her, Chuck. You need to know that.”

A dark shadow passed over her brother’s face. Somehow, she’d hit the wrong chord. He couldn’t have looked more hurt if she’d struck him. Immediately, she reached out, but he ignored the hand she placed on his.

“Chuck, I—”

“It’s all right.” His words were clipped. “I have to…Excuse me.” He spun away and moved for the door so quickly she was left momentarily speechless.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said, but she was speaking to empty air. Seconds later, she heard the door to the back porch open and close. It didn’t slam. Her brother wasn’t the type.

Or was he? She didn’t know. Trying to recall the last time she and Chuck had shared a conversation that didn’t revolve around their mom, she frowned. It had certainly been before the diagnosis. That made it…

A year? Two?

Her thoughts trailed off and her frown sharpened. She dusted her hands on her jeans and surveyed her mother’s room. Cardboard boxes she’d ferry to the Sharing Center lined one wall. The bed and closet had been stripped, the dresser and nightstand emptied. At the windows, plain tab-topped curtains replaced the curtains Maggie had sewn by hand. If they put the house on the market—when we put it on the market, she corrected—one of them would need to take the French country blue toile.

With Chuck’s keepsake box carefully tucked under one arm, she hefted the last trash bag. The box would find a new home in his closet for now, and lugging the trash to the curb would give him a few more minutes to regain his composure.

After that, she intended to have a real conversation with her brother. It was past time for one.

~  ~  ~

Cass spun the wheel of the Plymouth and felt the tires slip the tiniest bit on wet pavement. Her foot automatically eased back from the accelerator. It was foolish to drive so fast on the slick residential roads, but behind the wheel, she was a god. Behind the wheel, she had everything under control.

She searched the sky until she spotted the following edge of the front between the trees, and she smiled. Yeah, buddy! The clearing skies meant Chuck could haul the grill out, making tonight’s dinner perfecto. She inhaled deeply, almost tasting the sharp, spicy tang that scented the air. Not wanting to ruin her appetite, she scrunched grease-stained paper tight over a bag of garlicky rolls and steaks from her favorite butcher shop, then tugged the wheel until the car nosed onto her block.

She turned just in time to see the garage door slide the last three feet to kiss the concrete driveway. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Are they shutting me out?

Common sense told her that Ann and Chuck couldn’t know she was on her way home. Still, seeing the door close ate at her, momentarily shaking her confidence. She took another spin around the block to calm down before she punched the door opener on the visor and braked to a stop in the empty garage.

Juggling the heavy package without crushing the rolls or dropping the wine was tricky business. Cass struggled out of the car and into the house, thinking how nice it had been when Moke was around. He’d always unloaded the groceries. Hell, he usually did the grocery shopping. And no matter how short the trip, he welcomed her home with a kiss that usually led to a lot more. Now she had no one.

Dammit.

The bottle of wine she’d charmed from an old boyfriend inched down her left side toward a precipitous drop. She shifted bundles until it felt secure and lugged her purchases to the kitchen counter. Making room for the steaks in the crowded refrigerator, she left the rolls out. There wasn’t much point in sticking them in the breadbasket. Drenched in butter, their scent already drifted on the still air and made her stomach growl. She hoped it would do the same for everyone else.

Cass cocked her head and wondered where the hell her brother and sister were hiding. Mere minutes had passed since she saw the garage door drop down, and Ann’s car was parked in its usual spot on the driveway. Both of them had to be around.

Not that she expected either of them to come running, but the least they could do was say hello after she’d gone to all the trouble of getting dinner. She laughed. Maybe she ought to clue them in.

Her fingers snapping with anticipation, she started for the bedrooms. Chuck’s was empty. Ann’s too, but a photograph lying in plain sight on the worktable waylaid her. Looking at the picture, the horror of the past week faded a bit. Despite the turban and the whacked-out nail polish, her sister had captured an odd quality in their mom that made Cass feel better about herself.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching while she tried to decide whether to take the print or not. In the end, she placed it back where she’d found it. Her sister was anal enough to notice if it went missing, and the last thing she wanted was to piss Ann off when there was so much at stake.

She continued her prowl through the house. Where are they?

At the end of the hall, her mother’s bedroom door was closed again, and she frowned. She’d deliberately left that door open this morning, just as she’d opened it every time she passed by. But someone else kept closing it, and she wished to hell they’d stop. She liked peeking into the room and catching a glimpse of the blue-and-white print curtains and the matching bedspread. It made her feel like, for a split second, Maggie was still alive.

With her hand on the doorknob, she closed her eyes. If she could only talk to her mom. Just one more time. They didn’t always see eye to eye on things, but Maggie had never failed to come through when she needed help. And she needed it now, in the worst way. She took a deep breath that was all too thready.

“Jesus H. Christ!”

Tears filled her eyes as she swung the door open on a room that had been stripped to the bare walls. A knife-like pain cut straight through her heart as she marched to the closet and flung the doors wide. A row of empty hangers rustled in the breeze. In a frenzy, she rushed to the dresser and wrenched one of the drawers open with so much force it came off its track. Even the paper liners were gone. Boxes, securely taped and labeled for the Sharing Center, filled the room with the pissy stink of cardboard.

How dare she!

Ann, probably with Chuck’s help, had erased every trace of their mom.

Cass didn’t know whether to howl or throw something. She settled for kicking the bedpost and immediately regretted it. Rubbing her throbbing toes, she peppered the air with every expletive in her considerable arsenal.

Don’t I deserve anything? Not even a picture?

The word triggered the image of the photograph lying on Ann’s desk. Without hesitation, she retraced her steps. Hurrying to her own room, she stashed the stolen print under her mattress until she could think of a better hiding place. Just having it made her feel better, and after a few minutes, she calmed enough to remember that there was a purpose behind tonight’s dinner.

Turning her back to the door, she surreptitiously slipped two pills from her stash. After the way her meeting with Tommie went, she couldn’t afford to let anything bring her down. And with her bag of tricks, small as it was, she didn’t have to.

Not yet.

~  ~  ~

“Oh, come on,” Cass begged. “Fire up the grill, Chuck. Please? I even stopped at Petty’s for steaks. My treat, and you know I don’t have any money. Ann can make those twice-baked potatoes she’s so good at, and I’ll throw a salad together. Please say yes. Please?”

Chuck shot Ann a glance. The rain had stopped, but water dripping from a seam in the roof had driven them off the porch. They’d just settled down in the gazebo when Cass burst in on them.

“Cass, we’ve got a refrigerator full of food,” Ann protested.

“Gag me with a spoon.” Cass pulled down a horrified look. “Everyone was nice to bring in food for the funeral, but aren’t you tired of it? If I have to eat one more slice of ham or even a spoonful of potato salad, I’ll choke. Let’s have something different for dinner tonight. We can heat up another one of those casseroles tomorrow.”

Chuck smiled in spite of himself. Three days of post-funeral food was wearing thin with him, too. He shot Ann a questioning look. It was her decision.

“Don’t look at me,” she said, raising her palms. “If you guys want steak, steak it is. I’ll need to get started on those potatoes, though.”

He rose along with her. “Yeah, and I think we’re out of propane. I’ll have to run and get some.”

He thought grilling out and sitting down for dinner together had merit. After the blowup this morning between Ann and Cass, he’d expected their next encounter to be something along the lines of World War III. Some of the stiffness in his shoulders evaporated as he realized that neither sister was inclined to fight.

The cease-fire continued throughout the meal. Cass often used him or Ann as a pincushion for her sharp remarks, but tonight, she seemed almost relaxed. Almost like the charming young woman his mom claimed she could be.

At first, their talk centered on the excellent food. Naturally enough, that led to holiday feasts. Treading carefully around each other’s feelings, they even swapped a few stories about their mom. Chuck reminded them of the time Maggie had forgotten to add the chocolate to her German chocolate cake.

“German Fräulein cake, she called it,” he recalled aloud.

“Yeah, and she put a little square of chocolate on every plate,” Cass added. She’d recognized the ploy and teased her mother unmercifully.

The story sent Cass into gales of laughter so intense she made a mad dash for the bathroom. Although Chuck and Ann both laughed along with her, he didn’t think the story was all that funny. A quick look at Ann told him she didn’t either.

Clearing the table later, he eyed Cass’s half-empty wineglass. The middle Maywood had been positively giddy all evening. Though a definite improvement over the self-centered harping he’d come to expect, something about her behavior stirred a familiar unease. Hating himself for being so suspicious, he sniffed her glass but smelled nothing more than fermented grape. He tried telling himself to forget it, but the suspicion that something stronger than alcohol had changed his sister’s mood wouldn’t go away.

He wondered if he should talk to Ann about it. Reluctantly, he decided not to. Without more than an uneasy feeling to go on, he couldn’t accuse Cass of being back on drugs. Besides, she’d interrupted his own talk with Ann that afternoon. There were still other important issues he needed to discuss with her, and with only two days before his flight, he was running out of time.

Long before he finished loading the dishwasher, Ann had disappeared into her room and Cass had disappeared, period. He supposed she’d gone out for the night.

Heading to the den for his ESPN fix of the day, he thought again about his mom’s German Fräulein cake. He’d give anything for another slice.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ann stirred to a Sunday lawn mower symphony. Her eyes blinked open to full sunlight, and her lips curved up in a sleepy smile. She flung her arms above her head and stretched until her toes met the end of the mattress. Heaven. She hadn’t stayed in bed past daybreak in so long she couldn’t remember the last time.

Scrunching a handful of sheets beneath her chin, she felt around for the warm spot she’d abandoned, her mouth tightening when she traced its disappointing narrowness. A time when she hadn’t slept alone seemed forever ago, and its memory triggered an unexpected ache that rose with the next noisy pass of her neighbor’s mower.

Though neither of them had expected till death do us part, she’d loved weekend mornings with Gifford. Sometimes they’d lingered beneath the covers until well past noon, doing things that even now made her blush. For a while, they’d tried to make it work after she left Atlanta, but neither of them was any good at long-distance relationships. And besides, there was Maggie. As her mother’s illness had moved into focus, everything else in her life had blurred.

She felt her chest tighten and firmly reminded herself that she had no regrets. She’d done everything possible for her mom. Now that it was over, some of the things she’d put on hold would swim back into focus. That was only natural, wasn’t it?

The cool breeze drifting through her open windows carried the fresh, sweet smell of newly cut grass and the even sweeter fragrance of gardenia blossoms. For late spring, the air felt dry, and she told herself that it was a good thing.

She rolled out of bed. She had an afternoon wedding to shoot on the beach behind the O Club. Black slacks and a white top—her standard wedding-shoot attire—lay across the chair back. She grabbed them and headed for the bathroom.

Minutes later, she frowned into the steamy mirror. The corners of her eyes looked like beach sand after birds had walked in it, and if she wasn’t mistaken, the lines bracketing her mouth had deepened since the last time she’d checked. But her hair…Oh, my! If she was going to get her life back on track, she’d need to start paying better attention to herself.

She grimaced at the way fate played its tricks. While her mom was sick, there’d been no time for haircuts or manicures. Now there was plenty of time, but no money for frills.

She shook her head. Here she was, barely stepping into a new day, and problems were stepping in right along with her. She felt her bottom lip start to quiver and bit it. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t help. She took a deep breath and held it for a ten-count. No luck. Her exhale was by far too shaky. The good feeling of the morning had evaporated, and blinking back tears, she tugged her hair into a scrunchy.

Chuck and Cass sat in the kitchen, empty mugs at their elbows, the Sunday paper in shambles, sections scattered all over the kitchen table. Cass had the classified ads open while Chuck paged through the sports scores.

Her self-pity stood on the edge of anger and prepared to jump while she sniffed at coffee left too long on the burner, poured out the dregs and started a fresh pot.

“What are your plans for today?” she asked as she slid their mom’s sugar bowl back into place beside the coffeepot.

Newsprint rattled as Chuck refolded his section of the paper. “Thought I might go for a run, then see Joey this afternoon. I still have to pack, but that won’t take long.”

“Your flight leaves when? At eleven tomorrow?” Three of the four spoons on the counter went into the dishwasher. She placed the last one on the spoon rest.

“Eleven thirty-three,” he corrected. “I’ll need to be at the airport by nine thirty.”

She nodded. “We’ll leave at eight.” Both the drive and the wait were shorter at the Melbourne airport, but fares were cheaper out of Orlando. As she mopped up a spill of sugar, she realized Cass hadn’t said a word. “That okay with you, Cass?”

No reply.

She turned expectantly, but her sister’s nose remained buried in the classifieds. Even though Cass looking for a job was as unlikely as her good mood making it into the light of a new day, she couldn’t think of anything else that might draw such scrutiny.

The coffeepot stopped gurgling, and she poured her first cup before posing the question again. “Cass, are you coming tomorrow?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Ann’s shoulders stiffened. Cass’s mood swings could be a sign that she was using again. Was she? Refusing to believe the worst, Ann gave herself a mental shake. Her sister was simply feeling the strain of the last few days. They all were.

Drawing a resigned breath, she parried the sharp edge of Cass’s words with an even tone. “I have a wedding shoot this afternoon but nothing else planned.” The container of half-and-half felt warm. She returned it to the top shelf of the refrigerator and took a quick inventory. There was still plenty of ham left. The egg bin was full. “We could fix breakfast if anyone’s hungry.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Chuck put down the paper and patted his stomach. “I’m still full from dinner last night. It was excellent, by the way.”

“Yes, it was.” She pushed down a guilty twinge. It was all right that they’d laughed and enjoyed themselves. Their mom had hated being a burden, hated the way her illness had robbed the house of laughter. She would have wanted them to get on with their lives. “Thanks, Cass,” she added. “It was a great idea.”

When the only response was another loud rattle of newsprint, Ann sent her brother a questioning glance that he answered with his own raised eyebrows and a shrug. Silently, she weighed the pros and cons of challenging her sister. Deciding there was a lot to be gained by not asking questions, she cleared her usual place at the table. The advertising supplements sat nearby, untouched, and her eyes snagged on the new format of the Dillard’s ad. The sight reminded her of her old job, her old life. Her eyes lingered on the page.

“I’ll take more coffee,” Cass announced sharply. She lifted her mug as if expecting someone to fill it.

“There’s a fresh pot,” Ann suggested when Cass’s impatient gaze appeared over the top of the page. “Help yourself.”

The remark earned her a glaring look.

“I am not the maid,” she pointed out.

“Could have fooled me,” Cass snapped.

Chuck’s chair legs scraped against the tile floor. “I’ll get it. I want another cup, too.”

“Always the diplomat.” Cass managed to sound disparaging even as she passed her cup his way. She swung back to Ann. “And you sure act like it sometimes.”

Signs of an impending rage dumped acid into Ann’s stomach. “What’s this all about?” she asked.

“No one’s even finished with their coffee yet, but you just spent ten minutes cleaning the kitchen. Sometimes you just need to let it go, Ann. Honestly, you drive everyone nuts.”

“Sorry it upset you,” she answered without bothering to mask the sarcasm. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I cleaned up your mess while I brewed myself some coffee.”

“We left you some,” Cass retorted. “Besides, it’s more than that and you know it. It’s just like yesterday. You were so hot to clean out Mom’s room, you couldn’t even wait a couple of hours. Didn’t you think about how hurt I’d be when I opened that door and all of her stuff was gone? There wasn’t any big rush. You could have waited for me.”

So that’s it.

Struggling to remember that everyone had their own way of dealing with grief, and her sister’s was usually to strike out at those around her, Ann fought down the urge to retaliate. “Boxing up Mom’s things was a tougher job than I wanted to face alone. I have to work today. With Chuck leaving so soon—” A sudden ache made words nearly impossible. “We weren’t sure where you were or when you’d get back, and it just had to get done,” she finished in a rush.

“And the money?” Cass aimed the question like an arrow and let it fly. “When are we going to talk about the money? When is that going to get done?”

Chuck returned to the table with two mugs, placing one in front of Cass before settling into his chair. “What money?” he asked.

Two simple words in a decidedly neutral tone, but Ann was relieved to have the focus shift from her, if only momentarily.

Cass swung to face him. “Maggie’s money, of course. Don’t you want to know how much she left us? You probably won’t need it—you have all those fantastic offers waiting in the wings. But I lost my job when Moke walked out on me. It’ll be weeks before I can find another partner. Ann’s the only one who knows how much Maggie left us, and I think we deserve to know, too.”

“I hope you’re not counting on a big inheritance.” Chuck’s brow crinkled. With his affinity for numbers, he already knew the score, but he also knew to watch his step around the middle Maywood whenever her tone sharpened.

“Not huge, of course, but there has to be something. What about life insurance? Plus, there’s the house and the furniture and all this other stuff,” Cass gestured. “It has to be worth a decent amount. I think it’s time Ann was up front with us about everything. Don’t you?”

“Sorting out the details of an estate takes time,” Chuck answered. “We shouldn’t rush it.”

Though the conversation was not one she wanted to have before her first shot of caffeine, Ann thought it was time to step in. “You’re right. There are a lot of details to work out, but I do want to bring you both up to speed.” She glanced at her watch. She didn’t have to leave for the wedding until noon. “Give me a half hour to pull some stuff together. Then we’ll talk.”

Cass leaned away from the table, her arms folded across her chest. “Fine. Get your shit together,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

Enough. “You got what you wanted, Cass. You can drop the attitude.”

With a long-suffering sigh, the middle Maywood proclaimed it was time to shower and dress for the day. Her chair legs scraped the floor as she abruptly left the room.

“I’d better print out my boarding pass and make a few calls.” Stopping to give Ann’s shoulder a supportive squeeze, Chuck glanced pointedly toward the hall. “Wonder where she got those rose-colored glasses,” he mused.

Ann managed a wistful smile despite an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. “We should find out. Maybe we can order them in bulk.”

Hoping a bite of something would help settle her nerves, she popped bread into the toaster. While the slices browned, she reassembled the newspaper, smoothing creases and putting the pages in order. Her hand faltered on the real estate ads—not the job section—which lay open in front of Cass’s chair. Too bad. For however long she stuck around, her sister would need her own income.

Absently, Ann ran a finger down the listings and hoped the house prices had provided Cass with a much-needed reality check. If she was looking for a handout, she’d come to the wrong place. Ann paused. On the other hand, if her sister was entertaining the idea of selling the house, it at least gave them one less thing to fight over.

Snugging her ponytail tighter, Ann chewed on dry toast.

~  ~  ~

Cass drummed her fingers on the oak tabletop and tried to look interested while Chuck and Ann hashed things over. All their talk about money was confusing. She just wanted the bottom line.

“Mom’s life insurance was barely enough to pay the funeral home,” Ann droned. “She had tapped out her retirement and vacation plans a while back. Not all the medical bills have come in yet, but I’d put a rough figure of eighty thousand on them. And that’s about it. The only way I see to pay all the bills is to sell the house,” she finished.

Finally. Now she could have her say. But no, not yet. As always, Chuck had one more question.

“I thought she’d carried more insurance,” he put in.

“Me, too. I asked her about it when we were making all the arrangements. She said the rates on her policy jumped when she hit forty-five, so she cut back. You had started college. Cass and I were out on our own. She didn’t see the need.”

Cass let her eyes drift over the blue-and-white porcelain lining the shelves of the opposite wall while she wished they’d hurry up and get to the good part. According to the ads in today’s paper, the house was worth at least a two and a quarter. Eighty thousand for doctor bills seemed ridiculously high, especially since nothing had worked. Still, they’d get forty or fifty grand apiece. Less than she’d hoped for—not nearly enough to buy her own rig—but at least she could get a fresh supply from Tommie and get back on the road.

“How soon can we get the money, do you think?” Her question interrupted Chuck midsentence, but she’d directed it at Ann. Her teeth clenched when disapproval bloomed in her sister’s eyes.

“Haven’t you been listening?” Ann asked. “We have to sell the house just to pay Mom’s debts. There isn’t any money.”

Her patience frayed. “We should still clear a hundred and forty on the house. Split three ways, we each get forty grand. Maybe more.” Math wasn’t her forte, but she could handle basic addition and subtraction—apparently better than her sister. She turned to her brother for confirmation. If the confusion in Ann’s eyes had been unsettling, the denial she saw in his was downright scary.

“You’re forgetting the mortgage,” he pointed out. “Mom didn’t buy this place till after Dad died. She didn’t have it long enough to build much equity.”

“Build what?” She’d heard the word before, of course, but she didn’t pretend to understand it. “What are you talking about?”

Ann’s voice took on that super-patient tone she’d heard too often at school. “He means Mom borrowed money when she bought the house, and the mortgage—a hundred twenty and change—has to be paid before anything else. Real estate fees, taxes and the medical bills will take most of the rest. There won’t be any money left over. Not anywhere near the figure you’re quoting. In fact, I think we’ll be lucky to walk away free and clear.”

The numbers swam in her head, making her wish she hadn’t popped a downer before the meeting. “That’s impossible,” she said slowly. “Chuck and I just want our share. If you won’t give it to us, we’ll…” Reaching for a workable threat, she paused. “We’ll keep you from selling the house.” As threats went, it wasn’t much of one, but it was the best she could come up with. “You’ll need our signatures, and we won’t sign. So there.” She folded her arms and sat back. Not certain of Chuck’s support, she didn’t dare look at her brother. The good thing was, with or without it, her plan would work. She shot a challenging stare in Ann’s general direction.

“I don’t need you to sign anything. Mom made me the executor of her will.”

Another unfamiliar term. She didn’t think she’d like this one any better than the last. “The what?”

“The executor. She put me in charge of her estate.” Ann turned to Chuck. “You would have been a better choice, but you have your studies and—”

She didn’t need to hear all of that. “It doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “You still need—”

But Ann was already shaking her head. “Mom left the house to me, Cass, with instructions that I pay the bills and split anything left over between the three of us. I’ll use my own money to make the house payments until the estate goes through probate—I have just enough to do that. Otherwise, the bank might foreclose. But once the court gives its okay, I’m going to put this place on the market. And what I’m telling you is, there won’t be anything left over. There is no share.”

“That can’t be true!” she scoffed uneasily. “Maggie always took care of me. She wouldn’t leave me with nothing.” She tried to look away, but her sister’s gaze bore into her.

“She gave us all she had,” Ann said. “There isn’t anything else.”

“You’re shittin’ me. There has to be something.” The image of her sister working at their mom’s desk tugged at her. “What about her checking and savings accounts?”

“According to her last bank statement, Mom had less than five hundred dollars all together.”

That pitiful amount wouldn’t get her through a week. Aware that a mounting anger was quickly breaking through her Didrex fog, she aimed a finger across the table. Accusation rang in her voice and she didn’t try to mask it. “Didn’t you keep tabs on what you were spending? How could you go through all her money?”

Cass watched her words hit their mark and felt a perverse joy in the way they made her older sister recoil. She wished she could back Ann into a corner and keep her there, but the bitch always bounced back too fast.

Now Ann leaned forward, palms open. “How could I, Cass? I didn’t have anything to do with Mom’s accounts.”

“Well, why not?” she countered. “She was taking painkillers and God knows what else. She probably had no idea how much money she was spending.”

“I’d have noticed if the UPS guy started making deliveries for QVC.”

After that crack, she saw no reason to try and curb her bite. “You knew she wasn’t well. Why didn’t you take control? Why didn’t you take over?”

“Joy, um, Cass, I think—” Chuck tried to intercede.

“No.” Fingers splayed on the table, Ann pushed back her chair. “This is between Cass and me. Besides, she’s got a point. I should have taken over Mom’s accounts, but not because she was overspending. She didn’t. But I should have taken that burden away from her long ago. It’s just that…well, you know how she was about money and numbers. It was how she lived her life. I couldn’t strip that away from her. It was her last claim to independence.”

Ann’s grief was her own problem. Cass stood. Hell, they were all grieving, her most of all. “All I know is, just because you didn’t do your job, that doesn’t mean Chuck and I should suffer.”

“Hold up there, Cass,” Chuck interrupted. “You’re not speaking for me.”

She shot her brother a look that she hoped held enough hatred to make him shut up. “I should have known you’d take her side. But that doesn’t change things.” She swung back to Ann. Anger had turned her sister’s cheeks a bright red and darkened her eyes. Her fingers, where they clenched the edge of the table, were white. Cass grinned inwardly as she drove the knife a little deeper. “It was your responsibility to take care of things. You were here and we weren’t.” She folded her arms and watched, expecting Ann to finally give her something. There had to be something.

But instead of caving in, her sister sat motionless for two long heartbeats before she bit off her next words with an unwelcome deliberateness. “Yes,” she said at last. “I chose to be here. With our mother,” Ann continued. “I gave up my job and my apartment and my life, and I came home when she needed me. And I stayed, to help her die.”

“So?” she countered. “No one made you. But you’re never going to let us forget it, are you? We all had lives. I had a job, too, you know.” This conversation was seriously veering off track.

“Yeah, and you barely got here for the funeral.”

Ann was wrong, but the remark stung just the same. “I can’t believe you said that. You’re such a bitch!” She rode the crest of a rising fury and swayed on her feet. Thinking as fast as her muddled thoughts would allow, she ordered, “Get me Mom’s canceled checks, every one of them, and a copy of the will. I’ll get a lawyer. He’ll get me my fair share.”

She spun and headed for the door. The effect was nearly ruined when she lost her balance, but she managed to catch herself before her dignity hit the floor. Just to let them know she meant business, she reeled off a string of her best swears as she stormed down the hall to her room. Not until the door slammed shut behind her did she dare let the full impact of the situation hit home.

Her mother—her own mother—had betrayed her. She had no doubt that her sister had twisted Maggie’s intentions to suit her own purposes, but her mom should have been stronger. She should have…

Cass felt all the fight go out of her. Her shoulders sagged and she leaned against the door. It wasn’t enough. She began to shake. She grabbed a pillow from the bed and screamed into it, but that only made her feel worse. Sobbing, she fell across her bed. The small stash beneath her mattress beckoned, and she lunged for it. She gobbled down pills in a greedy rush and chased them with water from a glass on her nightstand. Burying her face in the pillow once more, she let her tears flow.

She’d go over the checking and savings accounts. She knew there was more money than Ann was letting on. She’d just have to find it. And what Ann had said about the house couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.

She could almost feel the highly charged emotions slowly dissolve as the pills took effect. When she was calm enough to think straight, she realized that there wasn’t much she could do to resolve the situation on a Sunday. Tomorrow, she’d talk Tommie into fronting her enough uppers and downers to get her through till she got her inheritance. Then she’d find her own lawyer, a damned good one. There had to be a way to prove Maggie meant to take care of her, same as she’d always done.

But all that was for tomorrow. Today, there was no sense hanging around and letting Ann make her life miserable.

The beach beckoned, and she answered its call.

~  ~  ~

Chuck grasped the doorknob but held it without turning. He’d watched Cass’s escalating anger and Ann’s struggle for control earlier without knowing what was expected of him. When it came to emotional issues, women—especially girlfriends—often accused him of being lost in space. But weren’t most guys? It was something he needed to work on when he got back to California. When he got back to Tina.

Tina.

Thoughts of the feisty little brunette deepened the furrow in his brow. Tina was everything he wanted in a woman—bright, witty, fiercely independent, great in bed. She found humor in nearly every situation and could make him laugh like no one else ever had. He knew she loved him because she overlooked most of his faults, like that time he’d gotten so wrapped up in work on his thesis that he forgot to meet her for dinner.

No doubt about it, Tina forgave him more often than he deserved, especially considering he hadn’t bared his soul to her. Not completely. He hadn’t shared his deepest fears, his loftiest hopes, which was probably not a good move when one’s girlfriend aspired to shrinkdom. But he hadn’t been sure how she’d react.

So, he let her make the same assumptions everyone else had—that once he finished school, he’d take one of those lucrative job offers. But his dreams pulled him in a different direction. As the time for implementing his plans neared, though, she’d grown suspicious. Before he left, she’d accused him of hiding things from her and said his inability to open up had pushed them dangerously close to a cliff’s edge. He mopped his face with one hand while wondering if their relationship was salvageable.

Not now, he thought. Not until I’m finished here.

He shoved thoughts of Tina back into the box where he kept them and opened the door. “Ann,” he said, stepping onto the porch.

“Yeah.” His sister exhaled a blue plume. The smell of tobacco floated in the still air.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Ann stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray and leaned back wearily. “I don’t much. But sometimes…”

He bummed one from the pack on the table and lit up. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Sometimes. You holding up okay?”

Her eyes swam with unshed tears. In her hand, the lighter flipped over and over. “Not really. You?”

“About the same.” He puffed. “I hate to bother you, but we need to finish this business about the will and Mom’s money.”

Ann stopped rotating the lighter. Though she didn’t fully straighten, her posture turned brittle. “I didn’t want Mom to do it this way, and I didn’t ask her to leave me the house,” she said. “I know Cass thinks I forced her, but I didn’t.”

“I know,” he offered. His sister’s voice sounded hard—what Tina would call protective—and he was once again reminded that his sisters’ altercations weren’t rocket science. He almost wished they were. Rocket science made a lot more sense.

Ann continued, “I know you’re disappointed that we’re going to have to sell, but I just can’t find another way to pay the bills. You’ll have to trust me to do what I think is best.”

His glance took in torn screens, the overgrown gazebo and a yard that cried for attention. “I’m not disappointed in the least,” he said. “In fact, I understand perfectly why Mom did it this way.”

“You do?” Ann’s eyes blinked rapidly. She fumbled with the pack and drew out another cigarette.

He shrugged. The answer was so simple he was surprised she hadn’t seen it. “You’ve always been the responsible one. You were the one who was here for Mom. She knew you’d take care of all of us.”

“I didn’t want to be in charge,” Ann objected. “I still don’t.”

“The luck of the draw—you’re the oldest. I’m still in school, and she couldn’t leave it to Joy. Sorry,” he corrected. “Cass. Whatever she’s calling herself these days, our beloved sister never was the steadiest star in the sky. She swears she’s not using now—” he held up a hand, “—and I’m not accusing her, but even if she stays clean, she’s been in and out of trouble since she was thirteen. Mom knew that. She wasn’t going to hand everything she’d ever worked for over to a drug addict.”

Once an addict, always an addict. Neither of them wanted to think of their sister in those terms, but they’d both attended enough Alateen meetings to know the score.

“I guess,” Ann agreed.

They puffed silently. He waited until they crushed the butts before he spoke again.

“Mom did her best, but she still made mistakes.” He met his sister’s questioning look. “She couldn’t foresee the cancer or the effect it would have on her finances. You know, there’s still almost thirty grand in the trust fund. We could use that to pay off Mom’s bills.”

The suggestion brought Ann up in her chair. Her eyes flashed dangerously. “No, we couldn’t. You were smart enough to get a full ride when you were an undergrad. That’s the only reason there’s any money left in that account at all. You need it to finish school. Even then, there’s barely enough to get you through to December.”

“There are other ways, Ann,” he said reasonably. “I could take out a loan—”

“No,” she interjected.

“Or I could take the Air Force up on their offer.” At a big on-campus job fair last fall, colorful posters depicting prototypes of the next generation space shuttle had drawn him with all the force of the earth’s gravitational pull. He’d spent hours talking with recruiters and had been thinking about the Air Force ever since. He let the idea hang in the air between them for another full second before saying, “They’ve put together a pretty good deal.”

Though Ann leaned back, her face took on the same fixed and determined look he’d seen when she dealt at times with Cass. “I thought you were going into private industry. You told Mom you had a couple of job offers, and it looked like you had everything mapped out.”

“You know I’ve always wanted to fly.”

Ann shrugged. “Every boy dreams of becoming a pilot, right after he decides to be a fireman, a cowboy. But then you grow up.”

“No. This is real. It’s what I was meant to do.” His own tone was harsher than he intended and he backed off. Maybe he’d gotten his interest in flight from their dad. Maybe he loved the science of it—all those numbers and lift ratios. Whatever the reason, as a kid, he’d used every tool in his arsenal—begging, pleading and, finally, pointing out the educational aspects—to convince their mom to let him join the Young Eagles. From there, he’d won a scholarship that led to his first solo flight. He’d dreamed of following in his dad’s footsteps through flight school ever since. Which hadn’t gone over well with his mom.

No siree, Bob.

Frequent moves and long, forced separations had characterized the first fifteen years of his parents’ marriage. Those absences had become permanent when a heart attack cut his dad’s last hitch in half. And even though he died mowing the lawn and not on a flight mission, his mom had never forgiven the military, the Air Force in particular, for making her a widow. Though Chuck had never made sense of her attitude, she’d protested even the slightest suggestion that her son might want a career in uniform. In the end, it had been easier to hide his passion from her than to ask for his mom’s blessing.

But her illness had changed everything. Watching her health disintegrate had brought him face-to-face with his own mortality, and he finally understood that there were no guarantees. If he wanted to make his dreams happen, he had to act.

Hoping he could make Ann understand, he met her gaze head on. “The military is the best way to get my wings and, if the space program ever gets underway again, maybe become an astronaut. I’ve talked with the Air Force recruiters and done some research on my own. They can’t promising anything, but if I sign up now, they’ll pay for my last year of school.”

“At Stanford?” Ann asked. “This fall?”

He silently cursed. His sister had found every flaw in his proposal and nailed them thoroughly.

“Well, no, not exactly. I have to complete a two-month officer training school, and that makes the timing a little tricky. If I join soon, everything lines up. OTS, then finish off my degree, then flight school. But if I miss the window now, I’ll be out of sync with class schedules and might have to pull a tour of duty before…” He’d said too much. Ann was already shaking her head.

“You’re too smart to enlist before you graduate. What happens to your neat schedule if you break a leg in boot camp? You might never get your degree or get into flight school. What happens then? You won’t have a fallback. You need to get this degree first.” She picked at a spot on her jeans. “Besides, we can’t touch your trust.”

“I thought maybe we could split it.”

“No. You were only eight when Dad died, so you might not know about it. But Mom was so determined to protect our futures that she took a lump sum settlement and all his life insurance, and she set up the trust. The money can be used for our education or medical expenses, but that’s it. That’s how I got my degree. Cass went through her portion in rehab. Yours is for education, too. It can’t be used for anything else.”

“And if I drop out of school without spending the money?”

“Then it just sits there until it’s needed for medical bills. The trust can’t be broken, not without hiring lawyers. Their fees would leave you with nothing.”

That certainly put a new wrinkle on things.

Stymied, he ran a hand through his hair. It sounded as if he’d have to check with his recruiter and make sure the AF’s offer would still be good if he waited to report till after he finished school.

“You have to get your degree, Chuck,” Ann said as if the decision had been made. “After you graduate, you can decide which one of those big paychecks to accept.”

“Either way, that’s not my path.” He was adamant. He hadn’t been able to break his mom’s heart by enlisting earlier. By the time he realized he couldn’t let go of his dream, she’d been too sick. Now that she was gone, he needed to put his plan in motion. “If I don’t go in the Air Force now, I’ll do it right after graduation. You need to understand that. I hope you can accept it.” He headed for the door.

That went well.

Realizing neither of his sisters had a monopoly on sarcasm, he sighed.

Ah, hell. Tina was right. He did have a lot to learn about women.

CHAPTER EIGHT

As she watched Chuck rise stiffly and leave the porch, Ann clenched the cigarette pack and squeezed. Flakes of loose tobacco dribbled down to the tabletop. Cellophane and paperboard collapsed in her grasp. At the cost of her own dreams, she’d returned home when her mother needed her. She’d given up her job, her apartment, her life in Atlanta. And for what? Everything their mother had worked for—their home, their family, Chuck’s future—was falling apart.

All day and into the night, whispers of her argument with Chuck drifted through the house like smoke. While Cass was off doing whatever Cass did, she and her brother stepped around one another with forced politeness.

The next morning, wanting to avoid a new outburst before she gathered enough courage to say what needed to be said, Ann stayed out of sight. She managed to grab a cup of coffee while Chuck showered after an early morning run, but followed her feet into her bedroom the moment she heard the water shut off. Between sips and quick glances at the street, she matted and framed a peace offering. When it was finished, she eyed her handiwork and nodded.

She’d stumbled across the roll of undeveloped film while cleaning out their mom’s dresser and knew Chuck would treasure the photo of Maggie at his baccalaureate three years earlier. With the diagnosis still a year in her future, their mom had taken a second job preparing taxes for an entire season to pay for the trip, but Ann had heard her say she’d do it again in a heartbeat. And there was no mistaking her glowing pride as she hugged her tall son in his cap and gown.

She secured the final flap with a bit of tape, drained the last of her coffee and checked her watch. There was no sign of Cass—what a surprise—and it was time to go. Past time, actually. Frowning, she gathered her things together and stepped into the living room.

Chuck closed the lid to his laptop. “Clear weather all the way to California, and the flights are on time,” he announced in clipped tones.

When she handed him the gift, she watched as his fingers traced the squared edges of the package, recognizing the feel of glass through the paper. He bent to unwrap it, but she shook her head. “It can wait,” she said. No sense making them both cry.

His head bobbed, and he slipped the package into his suitcase, unopened, his voice softening. “I checked into taking a later flight, but they’re completely booked through Thursday. If I didn’t have to teach that seminar Wednesday…”

She shook her head. Tuition waivers and graduation were contingent upon Chuck being behind the podium when sixteen freshmen gathered in Durand Hall to hear a lecture on “Why Things Don’t—or Do—Fall Down.” She gazed past the palm trees and hibiscus outside the front window. No matter how badly she wanted it to, her mother’s car hadn’t magically appeared while her back was turned. Their sister was officially MIA, and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it.

Chuck interrupted her thoughts. “We’ve already waited too long. We have to go.”

“Yeah. I know.” Still, she lingered by the window until the garage door rose and she heard the firm thunk of the trunk closing over his suitcase. At last, she turned and, wishing their sister would swerve onto the driveway with seconds to spare—if only so she could launch the redhead’s butt into outer space with a swift kick—grabbed her purse.

Dammit, Cass.

Chuck sat behind the wheel, the engine idling, the rigid set of his jaw daring her to say one word on their sister’s behalf. Not that she would. She and her brother had their own problems to resolve, and an argument about Cass wouldn’t help matters.

She slipped into the passenger’s seat without opening her mouth. Once they reached the interstate where Brazilian pepper trees crowded out native plants on both sides of the road, she stole a glance at him, but Chuck studied the road and avoided looking her way. It was clear that unless she wanted the strain between them to stretch out for three thousand miles, she’d have to make the first move. She reached for an innocuous subject and took a deep breath.

“The wedding I shot yesterday was at the new Officer’s Club,” she said. A hurricane had destroyed the rambling old building at Patrick Air Force Base where their family had occasionally eaten dinner when their dad was alive. “You’d like it there. It’s all brick and glass and ocean views, but they retained a lot of the old charm. Same kind of carpet. Same silverware and china. It made for a nice place to hold a wedding.”

“I thought you didn’t work the O Club,” Chuck said abruptly.

“I didn’t,” she admitted while wondering if there was such a thing as a safe subject as long as her brother stayed in his current mood. “But it meant twelve hundred dollars. Right now, I can’t afford to be choosy.” She’d declined past on-base assignments out of deference to their mother, but Mom wasn’t around to object anymore.

“Was it tough, going there?” Chuck wanted to know.

“Actually, no. The new building probably had a lot to do with that. The bride and groom were both civilians, so they skipped all the sword arches and other military traditions. And the father of the bride was a retired lieutenant colonel who came across more like Ozzie Nelson than General Patton. He even gave me a tip before I left. Most people wait until they see the proofs.”

Knowing her brother would never accept it, but also aware of how much he needed it, she’d tucked two of the twenties into the pocket of his backpack. Her lips curved upward as she imagined him finding the unexpected cash. The smile flip-flopped almost immediately. It was a nice gesture, but it didn’t make up for their fight. Time to mend fences.

“Chuck…” She exhaled. “You took me by surprise yesterday. I’m sorry about the way I reacted.”

“Huh.” His jaw hardened.

She could tell he was only pretending that merging onto the Beachline, the expressway to the airport, required his full attention. Chuck’s noncommittal grunt didn’t make things any easier, even if she took it as a sign to continue. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. I don’t have to tell you how much we need the money from that wedding yesterday, but the whole time I was posing the bride and the groom, taking the obligatory pictures of the wedding cake, I was thinking of…of how much I hate that kind of work.”

“You do?” Chuck flashed a surprised glance in her direction.

“Yeah, I do.” She took another breath and blurted the truth. “You know Mom set me up. She was the one who referred me to Hal. She said I needed to do something besides stay with her all the time. She was right about that.” Serving as Maggie’s nurse hadn’t been a full-time job. At least, not in the beginning. “But I went to work for him because it was easy and I could make my own schedule. When he said he was retiring, Mom figured I’d jump at the chance to have my own shop. But…well, she always wanted the best for us, but maybe her idea of the best didn’t account for our dreams, our hopes. You know what I mean?”

She glanced at her brother. The hard, pinched expression was gone, and he seemed more relaxed behind the wheel.

“I know she wanted the best for us,” Chuck said, his voice warming.

“But you don’t want to be a research scientist any more than I want to shoot weddings.”

“You got that right.”

“So, if becoming a pilot is that important to you, and if the Air Force is the best way to do that, I think you should go for it.”

Chuck swung to stare at her for so long she worried the car might veer off the pavement. “But…?” he asked when the highway finally reclaimed his gaze.

“No buts.” She reconsidered. “Well, maybe just one.”

His lips curved into something a shade tighter than a smile. “Figures,” he said dryly. “What is it?”

“I really wish you’d wait until December.” The trust fund would cover that last bit of coursework. The June ceremony was optional.

Chuck’s brow puckered. “I guess that might work. I was trying to make basic and OTS line up to take advantage of an opening in flight school next fall. But you said we can’t use the trust fund to pay off Mom’s debts.”

“No,” she reiterated. Their mom’s attorney had been quite firm about that. “It’s earmarked for your education or your medical bills. Nothing else.”

“I might be able to do what you’re asking, then. It wouldn’t make sense to drop out now, not if the money’s just going to sit there. I’d have to clear this new plan with my recruiter,” he said slowly. “You’re really okay with this?”

Ann ignored his question to focus on the one he couldn’t ask. “Mom wanted you to get your degree, and you will. As for the Air Force, you two would have worked it out somehow. She loved you. So very much.”

Her throat clamped shut, and she stared out the window as tires hummed against the roadway. In the distance, ribbons of dark water wound through grassy marshes. By the time she could trust her voice again, they’d neared the narrow bridge where one county ended and another began. Halfway to the airport, she thought.

“I think, mostly, Mom wanted us to be happy,” she ventured.

Chuck cleared his own throat and asked, “What would make you happy?”

Squinting at two men on the meandering river bank, Ann shrugged the question aside. The men were pretty far away, but she saw rods arc through the air several times. Fly fishermen. They worked the last of the shad run. Where had the winter gone? She rubbed her finger along the seam of her jeans.

“Those photos you took of Mom blew me away. You have to do something with them.”

Her gaze dropped. “Right now, I have a house to sell and about a zillion creditors to pay, plus weddings every weekend and whatever else Hal sets up for me. I think that ought to occupy my time for a while.”

“Have you given him an answer yet?”

“No, but he needs one soon.” It was another weight she carried. “He wants to retire by Christmas.”

“But you just said you don’t like wedding photography. Isn’t that mostly what he does?”

“That and sports teams. Soccer, Little League, peewee football. It’s not my favorite thing, but I am good at it.” Good enough that several of the coaches asked for her by name. She wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or annoyed.

“I’m good at math,” Chuck said, “but I’m not going to become an actuary. You’d be willing to settle for running a studio the rest of your life because…?”

The question deserved a shrug and she gave it. “Mom thought Hal’s deal was a good one,” she said.

“Mom didn’t see the difference between studio work and what you do,” Chuck shot back. “To her, a camera was a camera and a picture was a picture.”

The car slowed. Traffic stacked up behind a horse trailer in the right lane and a marginally faster car in the left. Chuck drummed his fingers against the steering wheel and checked his watch.

“You have too much talent to waste it.” Deftly, he angled past the slower vehicles. “After the house sells, there’s nothing to hold you here,” he pressed.

Nothing but memories.

“I know, but Atlanta doesn’t look good.” She sighed. “Unless my ideas for the breast cancer campaign dazzle Peachtree, I’m out of options. I’ve exhausted every contact I have there.” It was a hard admission to make. Leaving before she completed the apprenticeship had cost her, but caring for their mom had won out.

“Atlanta doesn’t have a lock on ad agencies, does it?”

She crossed her arms protectively. She’d considered all the angles. Interest rates and unemployment sat on opposite ends of the economy’s teeter-totter. With the rates at their lowest point in twenty years, unemployment was high. “With the job market the way it is, the studio is the best deal I can get.”

Chuck held steady as a crowded SUV sped by them. A jumble of surfboards poked through its open lift gate.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” he said at last. “You work on that submission you told me about—the cancer one—and I won’t sign anything before next January.”

She shook her head. “That would mean giving Hal a firm no. I don’t think he has another buyer. He’s counting on me.”

Chuck’s voice dropped. “Too many people have been counting on you lately.” He shook his head. “You’ve been a champ through all of it, but it’s taken more out of you than you know. Give yourself some time.”

“I’m okay,” she protested. This was not the time to whine about how exhausted she felt.

“No, Ann. You need to take some time for yourself,” he repeated. “Isn’t that what you’re asking me to do?”

Did the advice you gave always come back to bite you in the ass?

She recrossed her legs, leaned against the headrest and let her eyes close. She’d only done what was expected of her, and it hadn’t been enough. Not near enough. For her mom. Or Cass. Or even herself. Chuck was right. She’d faced too many tough decisions in the past weeks and months. She was in no shape to make another one.

“Okay, you’ve got a deal. I’ll work on the submission. You hold off on the Air Force.”

“Until next year.”

Chuck slowed and steered them into the Sun-Pass lane. The transponder on her windshield meant no scrounging for change or waiting in long lines, a definite plus when traffic was heavy. “And Hal?” he asked when the speedometer pegged seventy-five again.

“I’ll put him off.” She rolled a shoulder. “If he can’t accept that…well, fuck him.”

Chuck’s eyebrows rose. “Ann, I’m shocked,” he said, managing not to sound shocked in the least. “Speaking of, what’s up with Cass? I thought she’d at least show up this morning.”

Her answering smile faded. “I thought so, too. I haven’t seen or heard from her, but Mrs. Timmons called last night while you were at Joey’s. She and her family were watching the cruise ships set sail out at the port yesterday when she saw Cass at The Tiki Bar. She thinks our sister is having a difficult time and I should do more to help her. It must have been some scene.” Ann could picture it—Cass turning on the charm and looking for sympathy wherever she could find it.

“Pretty nervy of the old bat.” Once their mother’s best friend, Marjory Timmons had been strangely absent for most of the long illness. “What’d you say to her?”

“I told her everyone has their own way of coping.”

“Yeah, and Cass’s is to strike out at the people around her, then make it look like it’s all our fault.”

“Mom would have understood.”

“Mom would have covered for her, but you don’t have to.” Chuck’s voice held a surprisingly bitter edge.

Oh, but she did. She’d promised Mom she’d look out for their sister, just like she’d sworn to do whatever it took to keep their family together. She sucked her upper lip between her teeth. It hadn’t even been a week since the funeral, and she’d already fought with both her siblings.

“I think I know why Moke left her.”

A long heartbeat passed while she held her breath. “Don’t say it,” she whispered.

“I think she’s started up again.”

Dammit. He’d gone ahead and said it, and she didn’t have to ask what he meant. Her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of this new burden. “I don’t want to believe that, Chuck,” she protested softly. “She said Moke wouldn’t give her a reason. He just said some awful things and left.”

“You honestly think she’d admit it?”

Of course not, but neither could she. “She can’t be using again. She drives trucks for a living. They run random drug tests. She’d be caught.”

Chuck steered around yet another slow-moving vehicle before he answered. “That’s my point—she’s not on the road. She’s never had trouble finding a new partner before, so what’s she still doing here?”

“I think it’s money.” Greed was a lot easier motivation for her to accept. “It’s clear she doesn’t believe me about the bills, the house. She’s convinced that Mom left her some big inheritance, and she’s determined not to leave until she gets it. You saw how she was yesterday. She didn’t believe either of us.”

“That just goes to prove my point. She’s not rational. Look what she wore to Mom’s funeral, for God’s sake.”

Grimacing at the memory of the green dress and her own culpability in buying it, she bit her tongue.

Chuck continued, “Besides, if she’s using again, it would explain a lot of things. Like her mood swings. Her emotions are all over the map. And she’s perfected the hair trigger on that temper of hers.”

She shook her head. Drugs nearly killed their sister the last time. Cass wouldn’t start up again. “Moke left her the day of Mom’s funeral. That’s a lot for her to handle. It would be a lot for anyone to handle.”

“She’s lost weight,” Chuck countered. “She doesn’t sleep much.”

“Mom’s death has been hard on all of us. I think Cass feels…” She could picture it, but words failed her. She sucked in a steadying breath that didn’t erase the strain in her voice. “I think she feels guilty for not being here when she should have been, and she’s blaming everyone else but herself.”

“As awful as that is, I hope you’re right.” Chuck’s glance told her he still wasn’t convinced. “Just be careful, okay? Don’t let her suck you in. Don’t start covering for her. And for God’s sake, don’t give her any money.”

She forced a laugh that sounded harsh even to her own ears. “There’s that money thing again. Like I’ve got this secret stash and I’m gonna keep it all to myself.”

Dimples appeared in Chuck’s cheeks as he spun a lopsided grin in her direction.

Even after he turned away, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. He’d always been her geeky little brother. Smart, but still a kid. Though she couldn’t have made it through the past year without his support, his maturity often crept up to surprise her. Only one thing about him troubled her. Anxious to change subjects, she seized on it.

~  ~  ~

“You haven’t talked much about Tina this trip. Are you guys okay?”

Chuck steadied his hands on the wheel. Ann’s question had come out of left field. He swept the rearview and side mirrors before he swung into the left lane. Slipping past an empty tour bus returning from one of Port Canaveral’s cruise terminals, he imagined a week at sea with nowhere to go and no interruptions. It might not be a bad way to spend a honeymoon, he thought. He shifted in his seat, fiddled with the radio, let his hand fall to the gearshift. He and Tina had a lot of work to do before there could be any talk of a honeymoon.

“Things have been…strained,” he admitted at last.

Yesterday’s fight with Ann, though almost forgotten now that they’d made up, had reinforced his belief that an open, honest relationship—the kind Tina insisted upon—only created more problems than it solved. But his sister’s unexpected turnaround today had forced him to look at things from a different angle. He wondered if Tina might not be right after all. If she was, he’d have a lifetime of unlearning to do.

He thought back to the first time he’d felt the need to bury his feelings. It had been one night as his mom tucked him into bed. He said he missed his dad, and she’d started to cry. Unable to bear it, he’d sworn then to dig a hole so deep that his emotions couldn’t hurt anyone. Not even himself. So far, he’d managed. Mostly. But now—

“What we’ve been through these last few months didn’t help you guys any, I’m sure.” Ann had interrupted his thoughts and he shot her a quick glance. She was offering to let him off the hook.

“Tina wanted to come for the funeral, but I wouldn’t let her. I think that was a mistake,” he admitted. The truth was brutal, but it was the truth. It was an area he needed to explore.

“Yeeeeah,” his sister said slowly. “Probably was a mistake.”

“I’m hoping to correct that. We can’t repeat the funeral—”

“Thank God!” Ann swore.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, agreeing. “But if Tina and I can get past that, I want to make things right between us. At least, I’m going to try.” He frowned. If he was really being honest with himself, things with Tina were more than strained—they hadn’t spoken to each other for several days.

“You care for her, then?” Ann’s voice implied doubt. “Enough to really work on the relationship?”

A lighthearted denial sprang to his lips, but he caught himself before the words escaped. “Yeah,” he said instead. “I really do. I think she might be the one—” he shot his sister a quick glance, and her careful gaze showed she’d caught his meaning, “—and I’m scared that I’ve screwed it all up. I’m willing to do just about anything to fix things between us.”

“Talking is always a good place to start. Tell her how you feel. Tell her about your plans. If she cares for you the same way, you’ll work it out.”

The wistful quality in his sister’s voice reminded him of something else he’d almost forgotten. “Whatever happened to that guy you were seeing in Atlanta? Gifford something?”

Ann practically snorted. “I’m surprised you even remember his name. It’s been over a year, Chuck.”

“That long? Really?”

Where had the time gone? Scratch that. He knew the answer.

“For a while there, I’m pretty sure Mom was hearing wedding bells.”

“She wished, but it never got to that. As a matter of fact, I hear he’s engaged and getting married later this summer.”

He opened his mouth but thought better of what he was about to say and took a breath. He probably ought to get Ann’s side of the story before he tracked this Gifford down, wherever he was, and punched the guy’s lights out. “What happened between you two? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“No, I don’t mind. We’ve both moved on.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his sister gather her thoughts.

“After I moved home, Giff came down from Atlanta a couple of times. I took off one weekend to go up there. It didn’t take long, though, before we both realized it wasn’t going to work.” Her head shook in a gesture he could only call rueful. “I knew it was over when I had to write Call Giff on my daily to-do list. He’s a good guy. He deserved a full commitment. With Mom as sick as she was, I couldn’t give him that. And, to be honest, I didn’t want to.”

“So there’s no one…?”

Another head shake. “Not right now,” she said. “Maybe someday.”

Air whistled over his teeth in a half sigh. “Okay,” he shrugged. He’d let it go. For now, he had his own relationship to worry about.

At the airport, he handed Ann the keys, turning down her offer to walk in with him since it was tough enough to say good-bye at the curb where relentless traffic cops literally ran a stopwatch on idling vehicles. After promising to call when he got in that night, he shrugged into his backpack, retrieved his single suitcase from the trunk and joined the long line at the check-in counter. When he turned to wave, he managed to twist his lips into a smile. He saw Ann struggle with her own cheery response before an officer signaled her into the traffic flow.

As she slipped the car in gear and drove off, he turned his feet toward California and forced his thoughts to come along for the ride. He had a relationship to save and five hours to figure out how to do it.

~  ~  ~

Something tickled her nose. Cass batted at it with one hand and felt grit against her face. The tickling came again and she shifted. Irritation finally woke her to the realization that she was lying on something that felt a hell of a lot like sandpaper. Thunder sounded in her ears. She forced her eyes open and groaned. She was lying on the beach, not even a blanket beneath her.

She sat slowly. In the salty haze, she saw half a dozen solitary figures walking the shore. Foggy, her mind crawled into first gear. Her first stop after leaving the house had been the pier, but the place thronged with teenyboppers in their string bikinis. She’d moved on.

The port, where a decent band played under the thatched roof of The Tiki, came next. The crowd, closer to her own age, was having a great time, so she hung out until closing. She vaguely remembered several rounds of beer before things got bleary. Someone had passed a joint or two, she was sure of it. And there’d been a party. Now she was here, waking up on the beach.

It must have been a hell of a party.

Rising stiffly, she tugged at her clothes until they were reasonably straight. She shook sand from her hair, brushing more from her skin until she noticed the bare patch on her arm. Her watch, the one Moke had given her, was gone. Its alarm had reminded her to wake him when her shift behind the wheel was over, and a thin smile tugged on her lips as she recalled how he’d complain when she kept driving and let him sleep.

Dammit.

It wasn’t worth much, but she’d lived her life by those two hands when she was on the road. And when she wasn’t…

Aw, shit. Chuck. He was leaving for the airport at eight.

It had to be close to that now, she decided, sparing a quick glance at the blinding light that hovered over the rolling waves. Spinning, she spotted the thatched roof of The Tiki in the distance. If her car was still where she’d left it, she figured she just might make it home in time.

She took off on a dead run that quickly became a slow trudge through the sand. Her keys, thank God, were still in the ignition, but there was no way to shorten the drive away from the rising sun to the mainland without risking a speeding ticket. Not that it mattered. Chuck and Ann would wait for her. What choice did they have?

She pulled onto the empty driveway at nine, certain she’d get a ration of shit from her brother and sister on the long ride to Orlando. She shrugged and brushed a few glinting grains of sand from her shirt. Okay, so she deserved to take a few lumps for being an hour late, but the important thing was that she’d made it in time to see Chuck off.

A tap on the button over the visor sent the garage door ratcheting along its tracks. She stared at the empty garage.

They didn’t wait for me? What kind of crap was that?

Calmly, she punched the button and watched the door glide shut. She hit it again, and it rose. She hit it again. Down. Again. Up. Down. Up. She pressed the button until she ran out of new names for her brother and sister and her thumb was too tired to hit it again. By then, the door had long since stopped responding.

Bolting from her car, she stalked up the sidewalk.

~  ~  ~

Driving home, Ann turned off the interstate and onto a back road where Florida’s natural beauty usually offered her a new perspective. Years had passed since she’d driven this particular route. Things had changed. Where were the two-pump gas stations and owners who took the time to chat? Where were the roadside stands selling homegrown veggies and huge steaming pots of boiled peanuts?

Well past Orlando’s city limits, houses and strip malls lined both sides of the road. Cars inched along until she spun the wheel again, this time heading south. Once the only paved road from Orlando to the beach, State Road 520 cut a thin, black swath through miles of mosquito-infested pastureland. Toll- and stoplight-free, it was the preferred route for truckers, but even here, civilization threatened.

She stiffened at the sight of billboards advertising a planned community of “Wooded Splendor Amid Wildlife Habitats and Natural Lakes.” Acres of level, gray dirt lay behind tall, white sound barriers surrounding the proposed new homes. Here and there, timid sandhill cranes wandered the clear-cut on their stilt-like legs. They poked at the dirt with long beaks, searching in vain for nests that no longer existed. She squinted. She could just make out the tree line on the future development’s far side.

“So much for wooded splendor,” she murmured. There wasn’t a palm or scrub pine to be seen.

The road neared the St. John’s River and dropped from four lanes to two before she spied a litter of wild pigs rooting in the shade of palmetto bushes. She pulled over to watch them, her fingers itching for her camera. The wetlands were no place to explore without boots, and hers were at home, but she decided to risk a few shots from the roadway.

She reached for the door handle. A line of cement trucks thundered past. Her car, inches off the pavement, rocked in their wake. The pigs scattered. Ann gasped. Her breath froze in the knowledge of what would have happened if she’d opened the door a second earlier.

“I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay,” she managed.

In the distance, a tiny piglet broke from the scrub, sniffed the air and started running after a lumbering sow for all it was worth. Ann tried to look away, but her eyes refused to move.

“Ah, crap,” she murmured. “No, I’m not.” And she wasn’t sure she’d ever be okay again.

~  ~  ~

If you loved Part One of The Growing Season, tell a friend about the book and take time to leave a review.

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The story of the Maywood family continues in Part 2: A Time to Sow and concludes in Part 3: A Time to Reap.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Leigh Duncan is the award-winning author of ten books, including The Glades County Cowboys series. An Amazon best-selling author of Harlequin American Romance and a National Readers’ Choice Award winner, Leigh has been nominated for the prestigious RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice and Booksellers’ Best Awards. She lives on Central Florida’s East Coast where she writes women’s fiction and contemporary romance with a dash of Southern sass. Leigh loves to stay in touch with readers through social media:

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Behind every book is an amazing team.

Many thanks to:

Cover design: Lou Harper, Harper by Design

Interior formatting: Author E.M.S

Copy and Content Edits: Kristi Yanta and The Picky Editor team

Proofs: Marlene Engle