Virtually Yours: A Virtual Match Anthology

by Kait Nolan

  “Just looking at the names in the visitor book.”

  Emma stepped forward. Her tasteful heels left marks on the deep carpet. She looked down at the book, turning pages as if taking time to memorize all the names. Knowing Emma, she probably was. “Your sister was loved by everyone.”

  Shelby nodded. “I know.”

  “She loved you.”

  “I loved her, too.”

  “You broke her heart when you left.”

  Shelby jarred from the matter-of-fact way Emma dropped that bomb. She blinked a few times before saying, “That was pretty low.”

  Emma seemed surprised Shelby defended herself. “It’s true.”

  “Doesn’t mean you have to tell me about it years later and when there is no way to make amends.” She turned and walked to the door and pushed it open to the disapproving frown given by the master of guilt, Jacintha Steele.

  Her day had just gone from sucks-balls to seriously-sucks-balls.

  Jacintha pulled stylish sunglasses off her perfect nose and narrowed her eyes. “Shelby?”

  “In the flesh.”

  She had always been the height of fashion, a planetoid of social activities with all her admirers circling around her like moons. Her hair was never out of place. Roots, neither gray nor dark, had ever dared tell the tale of her regular appointments. She also hated to be called anything that evoked images of being a grandmother.

  Jacintha’s gaze started at Shelby’s face and moved down to her shoes then back up. “You’ve changed.”

  No hint as to if it was for the better came. Shelby didn’t expect it. She gave a shrug. “New York has a way of rubbing off on a person.”

  Jacintha stepped forward and gave Shelby a kiss on the cheek. “Come and see me before you go up north again.” She wrinkled her nose at the geographical location Shelby called home as if there was a smell attached to the place.

  “I will.” The promise was easy enough to give, it didn’t cost anything but a bit of pride.

  Besides who knew when another of her family might be taken from her. It made going back to New York less attractive, in a crushing chest pain kind of way.

  As the matriarch of the Steele family made her regal way into the viewing room, Shelby turned and watched.

  Max sidled up beside her. “You just dodged a major bullet.”

  Shelby shook her head. “Jacintha would have never made a scene in public. She’ll wait until I’m at the farm before she says anything.”

  “I don’t think she will.”

  Shelby shot her brother a skeptical look. “She won’t be able to help herself. I broke from tradition and struck out on my own, and worse, I moved north.”

  “She’s been to New York several times since you’ve been living up there. Shopping trips.”

  An iceberg wouldn’t have moved Shelby from her current position. What’s more, all her limbs had been plunged into some kind of icy goo, making them brittle and painful.

  “Aw God, Shel. I’m sorry. I guess I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

  She held up her hand, but didn’t remember giving the command to do so. It seemed her body, like her brain, had started working on some kind of odd autopilot. “I knew I was a disappointment, but damn, to come all the way up there and not even bother to attempt and visit me. That’s cold, even for her.”

  “I think you’ve got it all wrong.”

  “Oh, I doubt that, Max.” Shelby chafed her hands together to try and work some heat back into them. Summer in Florida and she felt as if she needed a cup of hot tea, a fireplace, and an electric blanket, all in that order. “I’m going to step out for a while. Make my excuses to the family.”

  Max grabbed for her hand, but missed. Panic filled his eyes. “Where are you going?”

  “I have an errand to run.” With that she slipped out of the funeral home and into the wet Florida heat.

  Chapter Three

  Food poured in from friends, neighbors, and clients. Casseroles, cakes, pies, vats of pulled pork, marinated beef; smoked chicken, turkey, and venison were piled on every available counter and surface of the Steele home. Sorting through it all and freezing what they could was a chore Shelby dove into with a bit more gusto than she felt. At least it was something to do.

  She’d not been able to find Dallas, and there had been no one home at his parents’ house either. The number she’d seen on the side of his truck had flown out of her head, and she wasn’t about to go looking up her other friends just to track him down. She hadn’t the energy at the moment. Not for that.

  The oppressive silence in the house ate at her sanity with each tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. Other than her own activity, that’s all she heard. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

  Oh God. She wanted to scream and tell her family to please say something for once. Talk, shout, cry, wail—anything but the cursed silence.

  Secrets hid in the long silences. She’d learned that growing up in this house. Talking often meant she’d been reprimanded for some imagined offense, or criticized for not measuring up to Emma’s impossible standards. Not that she’d ever had a chance of that.

  As she put the food away, she heated one of the many casseroles supplied by kindly neighbors. Not that her appetite was great, nor that of the rest of the family, but she’d as soon feed them as not. It’s what she did. What she knew. How she coped. It always had been. When trouble struck she went into the kitchen.

  In middle and high school whenever something bad happened, or she’d been angry at Emma, she’d find herself at Jacintha’s ensconced in the kitchen with Lyda, Jacintha’s cook, learning, watching, and helping. In a house where she’d found very little love from her parents, she’d been welcomed with open arms by Lyda.

  After putting the casserole into the oven, Shelby set the dining room table and lit a few candles—white ones for remembrance.

  Max came into the dining room, and stood with his hands on the back of a chair. “I doubt mama will want anything.”

  “Is she still in her room?”

  Thankfully, Shelby hadn’t had to deal much with Emma as she had taken to her bed for the most part. Not that Shelby blamed her for that—any mother who lost a child would most likely do the same. It did, however, keep the verbal attacks from Emma down to a minimum. Selfish or not, that was a good thing.

  “No. She’s in the parlor on the phone with Aunt Janine.”

  Janine was Emma’s sister, and almost as bad. Shelby had always likened them to the wicked witches of the East and West.

  “If you want to tell her and daddy dinner will be ready soon.”

  Max gave a nod to the table. “You might want to pull the extra setting you put down.”

  Shelby glanced at her handiwork and counted. Oh God, he was right. She’d made a place for Lana.

  Heels on hardwood grew nearer before Shelby had a chance to take away the evidence of the extra place setting. Emma entered the room and stayed Shelby’s hand in a silent show of grief. She left the plate. The oven timer dinged.

  “You didn’t have to make anything.” Emma straightened a few pieces of flatware and gave the table the once over with a critical gleam in her eyes. Her hands visibly shook.

  “I heated one of the casseroles Miss Betty brought over and made a salad.”

  Emma gave a curt nod. “I’ll get your father.”

  She left the room again. Shelby gave a sigh. Tension followed Emma out of the room like a comet tail. Eggshells didn’t even begin to describe what Shelby walked on around the woman.

  The two of them hadn’t spoken more than a dozen sentences to each other in the past fifteen years, and most of those had been since Shelby returned home.

  Max raised a brow. “You two need to work out your problems. Now more than ever.”

  “Don’t pretend or even assume she wants anything to do with me. She never has and never will. Lana’s death will only compound her resentment. Not mellow it. Wait and see.”

  “You don’t give her any credi
t.”

  Shelby frowned. “Did you even live here growing up? Oh, wait. No. Your childhood was rosy because you always got told how wonderful you are. Yeah, I didn’t have the same upbringing.”

  Max’s jaw clenched and he looked down at the table. “Please don’t do this now.”

  Shelby started into the kitchen. “Well, which is it? Do you want me to make amends, or not do this now? Believe me, I had every intension of not starting anything while I’m here, but I won’t let you make everything that happened my fault.”

  She pushed into the kitchen, effectively closing off the conversation and any remarks he might make. Seriously, her family was fucked in the heads if they thought she was to blame for being born.

  If Emma hadn’t wanted to raise her—didn’t want to—she should have just told her husband to put Shelby up for adoption. Problem solved. But no. Emma had chosen to blame Shelby her entire life for her husband straying.

  Many times, Shelby wondered how different her life might have been if her mother had lived. Would she have raised Shelby as a single parent? Would her father even have been involved in her life? Not that he was overly involved when she lived under the same roof. In the long run it didn’t matter. Life was what she’d made it.

  She pulled the dish from the oven and carried it into the dining room. Next came the salad and assorted dressings.

  The rest of the family had already taken seats and Shelby took a place across from Max.

  An odd empty feeling came from the place beside her. Lana should have been there. The last time they’d all sat down at the dining table together had been the night before Emma had told Shelby the truth. After that, Shelby had wanted to spend as little time with her family as possible.

  Emma twirled the food on her plate. “I can’t…” Her voice trailed off.

  Silence filled the room. No one seemed to know how to fill in the gap of Emma’s aborted conversation.

  Except the damn clock. It kept its infernal ticking. Counting down the time until the meal from hell was over.

  The rest of the meal passed with only minimal and benign conversation. The strain became too much and finally drove Shelby back into the kitchen. This time to clean.

  Or to hide.

  Whichever, it didn’t matter. It kept her away from her family, since she allowed no one in the kitchen while she worked. The first few years she’d owned the bistro, she had done all her own cooking, then had hired on others as the business expanded. Now, she hardly ever made it into the kitchen. Antonio, her chef, ruled over his domain with an iron cleaver. Hell would have to start serving Italian ice before she’d ever risk her life by venturing in while he created. Though most of the recipes she’d brought with her, she did allow Antonio free rein to add a few items a day as he saw fit. The compromise worked for both of them and brought new guests in to eat, while catering to her regulars.

  So far there had been no calls from New York telling her the business was falling down around their ears. Humbling to know she wasn’t needed in a place she’d founded.

  But she had been needed here, if only to make sure her family ate and did those things they found too taxing or painful.

  No opportune moment had arisen to ask Emma about Lana’s phone so she might text Rhys. Forces were at work here that Shelby didn’t understand. God, it was uncomfortable.

  Old resentments tried to raise their heads and spew out. But Shelby had been a good girl and kept her mouth shut. If she just stayed away from Max’s baiting, she might get through it. This visit wasn’t about her. On Sunday, she’d board a plane back to New York and try to pick up her life again.

  It would be hard, but she could do it.

  The kitchen door opened, cutting off Shelby’s crippling meander down memory lane. Emma carried in a coffee cup and saucer. “You forgot these.”

  “Set them on the counter. I’ll get them in a moment.”

  Emma narrowed her eyes at Shelby hand-drying plates. “We have a perfectly good dishwasher. You don’t have to do those by hand.”

  “I like to. Gives me something to do.”

  Emma touched a locket at her throat. Inside, preserved, were strands of Lana’s first haircut. A similar piece of jewelry contained some from Max. No one had bothered to save any of Shelby’s.

  Shelby spared Emma another glance. She stood looking off in the distance, into some memory, lost.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say to ease your pain.”

  Emma met Shelby’s gaze. “I don’t believe there are any words. It does mean a lot to your father that you’re here.”

  But not you.

  The unspoken truth lay between them, a gulf too wide to cross. Over the years, Shelby thought she’d come to understand Emma’s resentment and hatred toward her, but it still opened wounds.

  Shelby gave a shrug and reached for the dirty cup and saucer. “Where else would I be? She was my sister and I loved her very much.”

  Emma’s lip trembled. Tears filled her eyes. “We all did.”

  Shelby nodded agreement. “Do you have Lana’s cell phone?”

  “No. The police never gave it back to us. Why do you need it?”

  “I thought there might be people in Lana’s contact list who haven’t been notified and might wish to come pay their respects.” She wanted only one in particular, if for no other reason than to satisfy her curiosity.

  Emma rubbed her hand along the counter as if not knowing what to do with herself, or inspecting for dirt. Shelby suspected the latter. “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right. She had so many friends, and not all of them lived locally.”

  “I’ll make a run to the station tomorrow and check on it.” At the moment she really wanted to crawl into bed, put the covers over her head and stay that way until the pain went away.

  Though there was no love lost between her and Emma, seeing how grief etched lines on Emma’s face took its toll. Emma was a fighter, debater, taskmaster, and critic. Having her close-mouthed and shut off from her emotions gave Shelby an uneasy feeling. Sooner or later a bubbling rage would break free and explode—most likely all over Shelby.

  And she waited for it.

  Waited for Emma to curse God and ask why Lana had died and Shelby was spared. Why the Good Lord hadn’t struck the whore’s daughter down instead of her own?

  Shelby clearly remembered the fight where the truth had finally come out. The memories brought bile to the back of her throat.

  The delicate china cup slipped out of her hand, shattering on the edge of the porcelain sink.

  Emma narrowed her gaze. “Clumsy bitch.”

  Shelby locked her back teeth together and counted to ten. She picked up the pieces and dumped them into the trash.

  Emma continued to stare as if Shelby had broken the cup on purpose. “That was part of my grandmother’s set. It is irreplaceable.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.” Christ knew she’d never do something like that with intent. She’d never hear the end of it. “I’ll look online and see if I can find a match for it somewhere.”

  “It won’t be the same. It will only be a poor substitute.”

  The implication burned through Shelby like a forest fire. “No, but it will give you a matched set. You don’t need to use the replacement. You can stick it in the china cabinet and forget about it if you want.”

  “But I’ll know every time I look at it that it’s not supposed to be there.”

  Shelby hung her head. “Are we still talking about the cup?”

  Emma tried to hide her triumph at hurting Shelby yet again. “If you want it to be about something else, it can be.”

  “No. I really don’t.” Shelby hung the drying towel over a rack and turned from the sink. “I came here to mourn my sister and grieve with my father and brother. And yes, so we are perfectly clear, to offer even you a shoulder should you need it. Let’s just get through this weekend then you won’t have to ever see me again if you don’t want.”

  The kitchen door o
pened again. Max stood with his hands on his hips. “What in the hell is going on in here?”

  Neither Shelby nor Emma had raised their voices, so how Max knew there was anything more than a discussion taking place was beyond her. Unless he’d been alerted to trouble by the sound of a single broken cup.

  “Who said anything was going on?” Shelby tried to look innocent, but knew she failed.

  Why hadn’t she just checked into a hotel or stayed at the Lanes’? It would have simplified matters exponentially.

  “Come, Mama.” Max held his arm out to coax Emma away from a potential argument. “Dad needs you.”

  As he left with Emma in tow, Max shot Shelby an irritated glance.

  Really? It wasn’t her fault. She’d been perfectly content to stand in the kitchen all by her lonesome and do the dishes without interference or commentary. The fact Emma had fallen back into old patterns wasn’t on Shelby’s shoulders.

  Shelby blew out a breath and lifted her face to the ceiling, asking for peace and strength. If she was to survive the next few days, she’d need all the help she could get.

  Chapter Four

  Shelby stood on the sidewalk outside the Suwannee Grove Police Department. Nerves bit at her stomach hard as a water moccasin. Quick strikes with nothing but pain left in its wake. A few of the uniformed officers came out of the door and gave her an odd look.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” The cop was good looking in a protect-and-serve kind of way. His wide hands were anchored on his belt.

  “I need to find out if the police are finished with my sister’s personal belongings.”

  Even though she didn’t recognize the officer, he seemed to know her. Small towns were like that—even though Suwannee Grove no longer fit that bill so well.

  “Officer Swan is working on the desk today. He can help you.”

  Shelby blinked a few times. “Asa Swan?”

  “Yes. That’s him.” The officer acted amused she might know Asa.