Return to Emmett's Mill. Kimberly Meter Van
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?”