Nora wiped at her tears and then pinned Tasha with a look ripe with bitterness and sorrow. “What can I say, Tasha? You simply should’ve been here.”
“I know,” she answered quietly, though there was an edge to her tone. She accepted Nora’s condemnation…to a point. And that point had been reached. “You’ve said your piece, now let it go, Nora. You’re not the only one grieving, you know. I lost my mother, too.”
Nora’s jaw hardened and Tasha wearily prepared for another stinging backlash from her youngest sister, but to her surprise it didn’t come. Instead, Nora swallowed hard as if choking down whatever she’d been tempted to say next and gave Tasha a short nod. “I didn’t mean to start a fight. But, the last few months have been hard. Really hard. And it would’ve been nice to have our eldest sister here with us. That’s all.” Tasha gave an almost imperceptible nod and Nora continued softly. “We needed more than postcards, Tasha. Paper is no substitute for flesh and blood.”
Let it go, for pity’s sake! Frustration swept through her as she stiffened against Nora’s attempt at burying her under a mountain of guilt. Mission accomplished, little sister. A snap retort danced on her tongue, but she didn’t want to spend the brief time she had before returning to Belize fighting. She began to offer a truce, but Natalie, who appeared in the doorway, looking fatigued and exasperated, cut her off.
“There you two are,” Natalie broke in, peering into the room with annoyance. “Nora, I could use your help with the hors d’oeuvres trays, and, Tasha, could you help me with the guests who just arrived?”
Suddenly sensing the tension in the room, her gaze darted from one sister to the other. “What’s going on? Are you two fighting already?” She didn’t give either a chance to answer. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I need your help. Whatever squabbles you guys are having can just wait. Besides—” she sent a dark look to them both “—I’m sure you two can agree this is not the time or the place to be airing your dirty laundry.”
Chastised, Nora left the room without an argument.
“At least she seems to listen to you,” Tasha said with a weary sigh. “All she wants to do with me is argue.”
Natalie considered this, then said, “Tasha…she doesn’t really know you. You left when she was sixteen. All she knows is that you weren’t here when you were needed. Her memory of you is shaped by the image she created when you weren’t around.”
“And now I’m here and the reality of who I am is a disappointment?”
Natalie rubbed at her eyes, the tiredness there pulling at Tasha’s conscience. What was she doing? Natalie was right. Now was not the time. “Forget it. I understand. Just point me in the direction you need me to go. We’ll table this for later.” And by later she meant never. She really didn’t want to delve any deeper into Nora’s apparent disillusionment. There was enough grief in this house to fill a well. No sense in overflowing the damn thing.
Natalie accepted her offer and pointed down the hallway. “I need someone to help with the guests. More have arrived and I’m stuck in the kitchen. And—” she paused, rubbing her arms together with a brief glance around the room “—make sure you close this door behind you. There’s a terrible draft coming in from somewhere.”
“Sure,” she said. The last thing she wanted to do was usher in more people who no doubt wanted to ask about her long absence, but Natalie was in drill-sergeant mode and trying to back out would only cause her to draw the big guns. Besides, Natalie had pretty much single-handedly put together all the arrangements for the day and the least she could do was point people toward the food and accept a few condolences.
Drawing a deep breath, she followed Natalie and reentered the family room, where people she recognized and some she didn’t milled around or huddled in clusters. Skirting the larger groups, she fielded a few questions, but for the most part, she was left alone. The guests were respectfully brief in their innocent questioning, and Tasha was soon relaxed enough to consider grabbing a bite from the buffet table. Plate in hand, she noted with a start she was standing right beside Josh. Seeing him at the cemetery had been shocking enough, but being in such close proximity that she could smell the crisp scent of his aftershave and see the subtle touch of time in his face caused an irrational longing to lay her head on his shoulder. She knew it was Natalie who invited him, but she hadn’t expected him to accept.
Moving quietly, she tried leaving the buffet table, but Josh caught her movement out of the corner of his eye and turned.
They stared, each wondering what to say to each other, until Tasha realized what they were doing was childish. They were adults; time to act like it. She braved a small smile.
“You look good,” she admitted in a grudging tone.
He inclined his head, accepting her compliment, and murmured, “I could say the same to you. It seems the jungle agrees with you.”
“Thanks,” she returned, waiting as he put slices of roast beef and potatoes on his plate and added a slice of buttered bread, then moved away. After loading her own plate, she hesitated and he turned, as if reading her indecision or feeling her reluctance to take a seat beside him. Once they’d been more than friends; now they weren’t even acquaintances. He jerked his head in invitation but she knew it was out of courtesy. “Are you sure?”
“It’s fine,” he assured her, this time with more conviction.
He led her into the rarely used sitting room, as if instinctively knowing that she craved some quiet after the emotional events of the day.
They sat at opposite ends of the loveseat her mother had bought at an estate sale and had considered a steal, and she idly wondered when Josh started liking Mrs. Holt’s roast, if only to focus on something other than the feel of her heart beating painfully.
He’d always complained it was tougher than an old shoe. He turned and the question must’ve flashed in her eyes, for he bent toward her and whispered an answer out of the corner of his mouth.
“She knows where I live.”
Tasha laughed. She’d seen Mrs. Holt watching the buffet line like a hawk, noting who had bypassed her contribution and who had dutifully taken some. A foreign feeling created a warm glow inside her and she had to pop a stuffed mushroom into her mouth before she embarrassed herself.
“Besides, I’ve realized…it’s not that bad,” he added in a tone that was entirely too high-pitched for honesty or natural for a man of Josh’s considerable size.
“That’s not what you used to say.”
“Things change,” he said, sticking a forkful in his mouth with fake relish. “See? Delicious.”
Tasha chuckled when his act faltered as he swallowed, and for the barest of seconds, it felt natural to sit beside him enjoying a meal. Until she glanced down and caught the pale white line encircling his ring finger, reminding her sharply that they had taken different roads without each other. The absence of the ring made her wonder. “I heard you married Carrie Porter,” she ventured, surprised at how after so many years the knowledge still managed to burn. But she didn’t blame him for moving on. Not now, anyway. She popped another mushroom, chewing until a morbid sense of curiosity took hold of her tongue. “Why no ring?”
His mouth formed a grim line and he shrugged. “Didn’t figure I should wear the ring anymore when the divorce was final months ago.”
Oh. “What happened?”
He shot her a quick look and she got the distinct impression she was trespassing. Heat flooded her cheeks. “Forget it. It’s none of my business. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Chalk it up to jet lag, grief, pressure from my sisters…take your pick.”
He nodded and returned to his plate, leaving her to wonder if she shouldn’t just make an exit now before she ended up wandering into dangerous territory for them both.
Time had added lines around his blue eyes, and slivers of gray threaded the hair that had once been solid brown, but his shoulders were wider than she remembered and thick with muscle that hadn’t been there when they were kids. As far as
she could tell, there was nothing boylike about the man next to her. The knowledge gave her a dark thrill that immediately put her on guard. She wasn’t supposed to feel those kinds of things for Josh anymore. But when he was sitting within arm’s length, it was hard to ignore the spark.
He surprised her when he started talking about his life with Carrie.
“It was good for a while, but I guess we grew apart. You know how that happens.” He paused, but he didn’t really expect an answer. “Anyway, she still lives in Stockton. I needed a fresh start and figured I could find that from home. So, here I am.”
She nodded, surprised at the modicum of sympathy that she felt for Carrie. “I’m sorry,” she offered, hoping Josh knew she was sincere. He accepted her condolences in the same fashion she’d accepted his—politely—and crumpled his soiled napkin before dropping it to his empty plate. As she watched him, a flood of memories came back and Tasha spoke before her brain could catch up and tell her to stop. “You know, when I heard you and Carrie had married…I have to admit, it threw me a little.” More than a little, but that fact made little difference now. When he looked at her sharply, she shrugged. “I mean, I guess I never would’ve put the two of you together because you weren’t exactly friends in high school.”
“I know.” He shrugged again, but the blue of his eyes had gone bleak and she sensed the pain that he was trying to hide. That she could see it so easily jarred her, and she struggled to recover without letting on how it had affected her. It wasn’t right that she could still read him so well. Time should’ve blunted that ability, but it hadn’t. He drew himself up, his plate resting in one hand, and briefly met her wide-eyed gaze. “What are you gonna do?” he asked rhetorically, the sarcasm in his tone at odds with what she knew of his personality. “Marriages end every day. I should’ve known better in the first place.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. At one time he’d been quite romantic. Josh was the kind of man women loved to marry because he was a one-woman kind of guy who cherished the family. His bitterness caused sadness to spill over inside her for the boy who’d lost his belief in love.
“Forget it. It’s nothing I want to talk about.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, knowing her words were inadequate.
“What’s done is done,” he said. Their eyes met again, and Tasha was tempted to look away for fear of catching something else that he hadn’t meant to share, but she couldn’t. Her heart fluttered but she held his gaze, wondering how he managed to affect her after all these years. It was heady and frightening. And it made her question whether or not he shared her ability and could read the confusion she felt. Shaking his head, Josh broke the spell, and when he spoke again, at least the sarcasm was gone. “Everything happens for a reason, right?”
“That’s what some people believe.”
“You don’t?” he said, catching what she didn’t say.
“No.” She left it at that and he didn’t press.
“Well, I’m one of those people, because if hooking up with Carrie was good for only one thing, I got it, and that’s my son.”
Son? An overwhelming sense of self-pity filled her. “You have a son?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay light and politely interested when she felt cheated of something that never truly belonged to her in the first place. “What’s his name?”
“Christopher,” he answered. “He’s fourteen.”
“Just one?” she asked, remembering a distant conversation held between two young lovers seeking shelter from a summer storm in an abandoned hay barn. Back then, he’d boasted of wanting a houseful of Halvorsen sons and daughters.
“Just one,” he confirmed, though there was regret in his voice. “Carrie had problems with her pregnancy and we didn’t want to risk it.”
“That was smart,” Tasha said.
“Yeah, well, it helped that Carrie wasn’t interested in more kids, anyway. She said one was enough, and since it was so hard for her, I agreed.” He turned to her, a speculative light in his eyes as he abruptly switched subjects. “So, what have you been up to all this time? I heard something about the Peace Corps? That’s intense. I always knew you’d do great things. Seems I wasn’t wrong.”
The proud statement, touched with wistfulness, made her stomach flop in an uncomfortable manner. She didn’t deserve his praise, or anyone else’s for that matter. She enjoyed her work—it gave her a measure of peace knowing she was helping others to lead a better life—but her motivation hadn’t been grounded in humanitarian reasons. It had simply been the fastest and easiest way to escape the nightmares, the guilt and the questions. The fact that it had turned out to be something she could embrace without reservation was just a perk.
“Anyone can join the Peace Corps. It’s not an exclusive club or anything. You just have to want to help people,” she said, suddenly hating that her life had been shattered before she’d had the chance to actually live it. Surprised by the odd burst of rancor, she covered with a light laugh, adding with false brevity, “Oh, and not have a phobia for really big bugs. And snakes. The jungle is full of them. Most are harmless, the bugs that is, and even edible. Many indigenous tribes find grubs delicious. I’ve even tried a few,” she admitted with a blush. “Some taste like popcorn when roasted over an open fire.”
“Popcorn?”
“Well, sort of. I don’t think they’re going to replace Orville Redenbacher anytime soon, but they’re…crunchy and full of protein.”
He stared at her for a moment before breaking into a loud guffaw that took her by surprise. At first she felt defensive, but once she realized he wasn’t laughing at her but rather at the very odd conversation turn, she joined him. Wiping at her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry…that was a really weird thing to say at a wake….”
“Hey, no need to apologize. I totally understand.” The warmth of his voice told her somehow he did understand and she relaxed for the first time since touching down in California. She missed this feeling and it was tempting to sink into it, but she knew it was created out of extreme circumstances. What they’d had was gone. She wasn’t foolish enough to hope that they could ever recreate what they’d both destroyed.
The splash of reality drowned the good feelings she’d been enjoying and brought her back to earth.
He’d married Carrie, and Tasha had run away, afraid of what people would say, think or feel when they found out what had happened to Emmett’s Mill’s sweetheart. An even worse thought would’ve been if they didn’t believe her.
Her own father hadn’t. Why would anyone else?
It’d been easier to run. And, as she sat beside Josh, she realized she’d never truly stopped running.
He didn’t know what happened that night; he’d already left Emmett’s Mill with Carrie to start a new life without her.
Even so, she’d cried his name into her pillow, wishing for his strong arms to calm her quaking body and chase away the nightmares that came every night, no matter how hard she pushed herself, hoping for oblivion.
But that was long ago and she was a different person now.
And she would die before she ever divulged to anyone, much less Josh, what had happened to her.
CHAPTER THREE
TASHA HELPED CLEAR DISHES with her sisters, her mind a jumbled mess, happy to avoid conversation with her father, though a surreptitious glance in his direction where he sat stone-faced and bereft should’ve told her he was in no shape to resurrect old arguments. For that matter, neither was she.
“I think that went fairly well,” Natalie said, loading the dishwasher while Tasha hand washed what wouldn’t fit.
“As well as a wake can go, I suppose,” she murmured, pausing to rub wearily at her left eye with her wrist and sneaking another glance at her father.
“Where did such a weird custom start, anyway? Bringing food to a bunch of grieving people. Stupid, if you ask me,” Nora said, mostly to Natalie, who to her credit only reacted with a long-suffering look. “I, for one, didn’t feel
like chowing down after my mother’s funeral. Morbid. Simply morbid.”
The last words were delivered as she stalked from the room to gather the rest of the leftovers, and Tasha was glad for the respite. She hadn’t remembered Nora being such a hothead.
“You sure you don’t mind hand washing?” Natalie asked, drawing her attention.
“I can do this in my sleep. No dishwashers where I’m stationed,” she answered with a sigh, placing the cleaned pot on the dish rack and proceeding to the next. “Besides, it feels good to do something. Makes me feel useful.”
“You were a big help today,” Natalie said, brooking an amused smile on her part. Nat was always trying to make everyone feel better. Tasha accepted the compliment and finished with the dishes. Silence stretched between them and Tasha tumbled into an odd funk that probably had more to do with her jet lag than her grief, as the true measure of that emotion hadn’t quite hit her yet.
Her two younger sisters had grown into strong, capable women while she was away. Not that she’d doubted they would, but Nora was still in high school and Natalie was in her sophomore year at UC Davis when she left, and Tasha hadn’t been thinking about the future, theirs or her own. She’d run away with little thought to anything but escape, and while she’d been running, time had kept moving. She stole a glance at her sister and withheld the bitter sigh trapped in her chest with the rest of the terrible and awful things she kept hidden away.
A tear slid down her nose before she could stop it, and a wave of sorrow threatened to knock the strength out of her legs. Bracing herself against the sink, she prayed for the ability to get through this moment before Natalie noticed the breakdown that was surely heading her way. Breathe. Just breathe. But a sob caught in her throat and an ugly sound escaped.
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