The Secret Wife. Carrie Weaver
of miles away from home, no place to stay, no money, no food—”
He held up a hand to stop her protest.
“I know, I know. You lost your debit card. But for the sake of argument, if you were broke, without a roof over your head, no food to eat, how would that look to the authorities? To the Department of Children and Family Services? You know they’re going to keep a close eye on you. Wouldn’t it be better to show you have, um, friends in the community?”
Maggie swallowed her pride yet again. Nothing was worth risking losing David. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”
“You always have a choice. But I’m the best bet you’ve got.” The statement was made with the quiet conviction of a man accustomed to calling the shots.
She watched her son grab J.D.’s strong, condescending nose. The guy’s eyes widened as the little baby claws sunk in for a better grip. Then yanked, hard.
Instead of the yowl of outrage she expected, the man looked at the baby. The baby stared back. Then grabbed J.D.’s ear with his free hand and pulled.
A smile twitched at J.D.’s lips.
“Quide a grib.”
“I beg your pardon?”
J.D. gently removed the tiny fingers from the bridge of his nose.
“I said, quite a grip.”
Maggie tried not to smile at his comeuppance. The reserved, very respectable man had five tiny indented half-moons on his nose. She really had to clip David’s nails, first chance she got.
“You sure you’re ready for this? Us? At your house?”
He rolled his eyes and disengaged his ear from the small fist.
“Lord help me, I better be.”
CHAPTER FIVE
J.D. TUCKED HIS GRANDMOTHER’S hand in the crook of his arm and led her to the front pew. He steadied her as she sank onto the polished mahogany seat next to Nancy.
Nancy greeted him quietly. Then she patted Grandma’s shoulder and murmured what he assumed was some sort of encouragement.
He bowed his head and briefly prayed for the improbable—that Nancy wouldn’t notice Maggie sitting in the back row. Maggie’d almost begged for a ride to the service, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He hadn’t doubted the sincerity of her emotion, simply the logistics of keeping a heartbreakingly solemn event from turning into a circus.
He’d finally agreed to bring Maggie on the condition she entered the chapel late, left early and waited in the car for him when it was over.
J.D. resisted the urge to turn around and check to see that she’d honored their deal. Today was about Eric and family. He needed to focus on the important stuff.
So he quieted his worries and simply let the reality of Eric’s death pervade him. All around him, others seemed to be following his lead. The hush of restrained grief echoed in his head. The overpowering scent of flowers made him want to flee. He glanced at the flowers, the decor, his shoes, anything but the casket. Or the still figure inside.
His stomach lurched. His face flushed.
The past and the present meshed in his mind. His dad’s funeral had been horrible. The flowers, the heat, the odor of death, barely masked by talcum powder. The fear that life would never be the same again. The sickening knowledge that it would be J.D. and his mom on their own. What would they do without his strong dad to keep them safe?
An uncle had nudged J.D. toward the casket. He hadn’t wanted to see or touch his father. But his uncle had insisted. So the five-year-old boy had slowly approached the coffin and the stiff, gray figure inside.
“Give him a kiss,” his uncle had commanded.
So he’d complied. His lips had touched the chilled waxy surface of his dad’s cheek and it was all he could do to keep from vomiting. There had to have been some mistake. This plastic, doll-like thing was not his father. It didn’t even smell like his dad. Maybe the funeral was all some horrible mistake and his dad was alive somewhere in a hospital or something.
He had to know for sure. J.D. tentatively reached inside the casket and touched the jacket sleeve. His dad had a mole on his right wrist. Pulling back the sleeve a couple inches, his mouth filled with hot saliva as he noted the mole. This…this thing was all that was left of his wonderful, laughing dad.
J.D. felt the room tilt and the past fell away, leaving him sweating profusely.
He tried to focus on the present, and paying his respects to Eric, the half brother with whom he’d shared a mother and a grandmother, but not much else in recent years.
Placing one foot in front of the other, J.D. moved beyond the flower arrangements, straight to the shiny wood box. Yellow satin lining, yellow satin pillow.
Not Eric’s style. Maybe crimson or black silk, but never yellow. They should have presented him clutching a G-string or lace teddy. Then J.D. would be able to believe it was his little brother lying pale, still and silent in that box. A sad reminder of the little brother he’d watched over, protected and loved. The same brother he’d despised, and, on more than one occasion as a boy, tormented.
It was hard to believe that overgrown Ken doll in the casket was Eric. But he knew it was true.
Closing his eyes, J.D. hoped it was the room swaying and not him. Bright lights spun behind his eyelids.
He had to get out of here.
Turning, he stumbled down the center aisle. It took tremendous concentration to walk slowly to the foyer instead of breaking into a dead run.
Dead run.
J.D. shook his head at his own morbid pun as he entered the foyer and spotted the exit doors. It would be so easy to keep on going out those doors. No, he owed it to Eric to stay. He owed it to his grandmother to stay. He had to get himself together.
So he found a quiet corner and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.
Someone pulled at his elbow. A soft, sweet voice sent comforting vibes through the haze.
“Are you sick?”
Cool fingers pressed against his wrist.
He nodded, disoriented and unwilling to open his eyes. “I’m okay. But the guy in the box isn’t doing so good.”
Damn, more morbid humor.
“Eric’s not hurting. But you are.”
J.D. cranked open one eye. The woman’s features were blurry, ill defined. But she looked familiar, even in his fuddled state.
“Can you walk?”
Finally, the light-headedness dissipated and he opened both eyes to see copper hair and skin so fine it took his breath away. Freckles invited his touch, right there across the bridge of her nose. He reached out, but the angel’s voice interrupted him, her instructions gentle, but firm. “There are people here depending on you. Will you follow me inside?”
He shook his head.
“Listen, you can do this. Take a couple deep breaths. In, out.”
J.D. followed her instructions and was surprised when the sick feeling eased a bit.
“Ready?”
He straightened his spine and nodded.
“Okay.”
The gentle, compassionate woman tucked his hand in the crook of her arm, much as he’d done with his grandmother. She led him into the chapel, stopping a couple rows from the front.
“You can make it the rest of the way on your own. I’ll be in the back row like we agreed. If you need me, just signal,” Maggie whispered. Then she was gone.
She