“HONEY, IT’S TIME TO go.”
I jerked my eyes open. For a moment, I was confused; the living room hadn’t really changed in the past ten years, other than the new sofa, upon which I was sprawled. But for a split second, I was lost, unsure about where I was. When it all flooded back over me, the pain was crushing.
I was back in Burton. I’d been here for five days, because my father was dead.
My mother stood in front of me in her dark green dress and shiny black heels, deep shadows under her eyes. One thin white hand clutched her small purse as she spoke.
“Flynn, the girls are ready. We need to leave.”
I pushed myself up to sit straight, rubbing one hand over my face. “Sorry. I guess I dozed off.”
Mom reached out to brush my hair away from my eyes, a gesture so familiar that my heart clenched. “None of us have been sleeping very well. It’s bound to catch up with us sooner or later.”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat and stood. “Okay. Let’s go.” And get it over with, I wanted to add, but of course I didn’t. It might’ve been true, but it wasn’t what a son should be thinking before his father’s funeral.
The reality was, I couldn’t wait for this day to be done, yet at the same time, I dreaded it being over. I was tired of forcing the smiles, the small talk and the polite responses to expressions of sympathy. After today, I could hide. Or run away. Yeah, running away sounded good.
On the other hand, once today’s service was behind us, it meant my family—or what was left of it—would have to figure out how to get on with the rest of our lives.
Maureen stood in front of the mirror in the front hall, her chin down on her chest as she struggled to force her curly black hair into an elastic band.
“Jesus Christ, why does my hair have to be such a freaking mess?” She muttered the words almost under her breath, but my mother never missed a trick.
“Maureen Ann, I won’t have you talking the name of the Lord in vain, especially not on the day of your father’s funeral.”
Iona, standing by the door, rolled her eyes. “Because that’s the part of the commandment Moses forgot to include on the stone tablet. ‘Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain, particularly if you’re on the way to your father’s funeral’.”
Maureen cut her eyes to our oldest sister and unsuccessfully bit back a bark of laughter that ended in a half-sob. “Je-geez Louise, we’re making jokes about this. What’s wrong with us?”
“That’s a question I’ve been asking for many a year.” Mom shook her head.
“Nothing’s wrong with us.” Iona softened her words by reaching out to take our mother’s hand in hers. “If Daddy were here, he’d be worst of all. Remember Granny Bea’s memorial service? How much he made us kids giggle? You were so mad at him that day.”
Mom brought her fingers to her mouth, pressing them to her lips, and tears filled her eyes. “I was. Oh, God forgive me, I was. If I could go back . . .”
“Mom, come on.” Maureen pulled her into a tight hug. “Don’t. Daddy knew how much you loved him. And you’ve got to hold it together, woman. If you lose it today, Iona and Flynn and I have no chance.”
“Okay.” My mother sucked in a long, shaky breath. “We need to leave. Everyone’ll be coming, and we should be there.” She patted Reenie’s back and squeezed Iona’s hand, and I fought against feeling like an outsider. As if she felt my pain, Mom glanced at me. “Flynn, you all right?”
“Sure.” I stuck my hands in my pockets and jingled the keys. “I’ll drive.”
“Think you can remember how to get to the church?” Maureen poked me in the ribs.
“Does it matter? You’re going to tell me how to go anyway.”
“You’re not wrong.” My sister slid her arm through mine. “I know you’ve been gone a long time, but some things never change. Big sister always knows best.”
We were all quiet on the ride to church. My mind was a jumble of everything that had happened over the past few days: visits to the funeral home, meeting with the priest who was doing the service today . . . the endless drop-in company as my mother’s friends and my father’s colleagues brought by casseroles, and plates of cookies, cakes and pies. Apparently death made the surviving family hungry.
Iona must’ve been thinking along the same lines. From the back seat, she leaned forward. “Did anyone remember to ditch Mrs. Shulman’s tuna nastiness? I’d hate for it to be accidentally put out today with the other food.”
Maureen wrinkled her nose and made a gagging noise. “Yeah, that sucker went down the glippety-glop last night. And it was followed by a whole box of baking soda, because it stunk up the whole dam—dang kitchen. Sorry, Ma.”
My mother sighed. “She means well. They all mean well. Mrs. Schulman thinks all Catholics eat fish every Friday, so that’s why she made the tuna. Bless her heart.”
Iona snorted. “If the Pope had to eat that crap, he’d change the church laws, even about Fridays in Lent. Slow down, Flynn. The turn’s coming up.”
I bit back a retort. Yeah, I’d been away for a long time, but I’d been going to this church since I was born. I was pretty sure I knew the way.
“People are already here.” My mother stared out the window at the cars that lined the curb in front of the large gray stone church.
“Father Collins promised to keep them outside until we . . . had some time to get settled.” Maureen’s eyes slid away, and we were all silent as I parked the car in the back of the church. I opened the door for my mother, and together we made our way inside. I brought up the rear, as dread threatened to choke me.
The sanctuary was empty, save for the open casket in front of the altar. My mother came to an abrupt halt just inside the doors, her hand still poised over the holy water chrism.
“Mrs. Evans.” Mr. Hughes, the funeral director, hurried in from the door on the other side. “There’s quite a line outside the church, which is of course so gratifying . . . Mr. Evans must’ve been very well-loved.”
“He was.” Iona spoke softly. “Everyone loved Daddy.”
“We said a closed casket.” Mom moved again, crossing herself and stepping forward. “We were very clear. That’s what Brice wanted. He always said he didn’t want people gawking at him when he wasn’t there to stare back.”
“Of course, of course. We understand. But I thought perhaps before we opened the doors, we’d allow you a few moments alone. To say good-bye.”
“We already said our good-byes.” Mom stared down Mr. Hughes. He took a step back, and I pitied him for a minute; my mother had made many a lesser man cower with that look.
“Flynn hasn’t.” Maureen glanced at me. “He didn’t get to . . . well. He wasn’t at the hospital with us. Maybe he should have the chance.”
Mom raised her eyebrows at me. “Flynn? Would you like a moment with your father before they—close things up and people come in?”
I opened my mouth to say no. I knew it wasn’t him. I had no doubt my father was in the Great Beyond, sharing a cold one with St. Peter and cracking jokes with St. Patrick. But it struck me, in a painful, crushing blow, that this would be the last time I’d ever be able to see my dad’s face. That face that had grinned at me as he teased my mom during hundreds of family dinners, had offered me steadfast encouragement at each turning point in my life, had shone with pride nearly every day of my life . . . I was never going to see it again.
“Yes.” I nodded. “If it’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay, son.” My mother patted my back. “Do you want me to come up with you?”
“No, I’ll just be a minute.” I leaned to kiss her cheek and turned to walk down the aisle.
The casket was a solid mahogany, the dark wood polished to a gleaming finish. The rolling cart upon which it sat was draped in black cloth, just in case anyone were to forget that we were here for a solemn occasion. I laid my hand on the closed part of the lid that covered my father from the waist down, and I remembered the very first funeral I’d ever attended. It was one of my father’s uncles who lived in Philadelphia, and I’d driven up north with him because my mother and the girls had something going on. A Girl Scout camping trip? Maybe.
At any rate, I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight. I’d sat in the church next to my father among all these ancient Irish, women who smelled like mothballs and men whose noses were perpetually red. There was loud weeping, although, Pop had told me, Uncle Emond had been a hundred years old.
I’d stared at the coffin, suddenly terrified. Reenie had pestered me before we left, reminding me that I was going to be in a church with a real dead body. And that dead body was right there. I fidgeted as fear gripped me.
“D’you think he’s wearin’ pants?” Pop’s brogue, which had softened over the years in this country, re-established itself whenever we were around his family. I turned wide eyes to look up at him.
“What do you mean?”
“They keep the lower lid closed, see, and I’m remembering old Uncle Emond didn’t much like to wear clothes. Seems to me he’d rather go on to his reward minus his trousers. Dare me to peek?”
“Pop, no! You can’t. Mom would have a fit.” I might’ve been young, but I was old enough to realize my mother had a way of knowing everything, even from almost a thousand miles away.
Pop’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “You’re not wrong, my boy. All right, then, we’ll just have go without satisfying that particular bit of curiosity.”
Now I smiled, thinking of that day and feeling my father’s hand on my back. “Dare me to look, Pop?” I took a deep breath and forced my eyes to the opened lid.
His dark hair, threaded with silver, lay on the ridiculous white tufted pillow. Seriously, how stupid were we humans that we thought dead people needed to be comfortable? His eyes were closed, and they’d arranged his mouth in what I guessed they’d thought was a natural pose. But anyone who knew my dad would know that his lips were perpetually curved into a teasing half-smile, not bunched up like he’d tasted something sour.
His hands were folded piously across his chest, a white rosary threaded between his fingers. I ventured to touch his wrist where it showed below the cuff of his sports coat. But although it looked like my father’s arm, it was not. The skin was icy against my fingertips and unnaturally firm. I recoiled, stifling a gag.
“Okay, then, Pop.” I drew in a deep breath through my nose. The cloying scent of the flowers that covered the altar threatened my stomach again, but I clenched my jaw and ignored it. “Okay. So I know you’re not really here, not in this box, but on the other hand, I can’t see you missing out on a party like today. I just wanted to tell you . . . no one ever had a better father than I did. What I learned from you . . . how you raised us . . .” My throat closed again, but this time it had nothing to do with the flowers or the body in front of me. “Well, you did good, Pop. Someday I’m going to have a kid, and if I can be half the father you were, I’ll be doing all right. I only wish I’d told you more. I wish I’d seen you more. I wish . . .” They were endless, the wishes and regrets, and when I glanced down, I was surprised to see splotches of wet on the edge of the white satin.
Behind me, the murmuring swelled, and I realized my time was dwindling. I looked down at his face one more time, and the tears in my eyes blurred my vision just enough that the contrived expression vanished, and for a flash of time, I could see him again, the grin, the twinkle and the light.
When I blinked, it was gone, and once again the cold body lay in front of me. I turned around and signaled to the funeral director.
“I’m ready. You can . . . close it.”
My mother came up behind me, leaning against my shoulder. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
I managed a crooked smile. “Of course. I’ve got all my best girls here to keep me in line. How could I not be?” I caught Mr. Hughes’ eye and turned Mom, steering her away from the two men who were lowering the lid on the casket. “I think they’re about to open the church doors. You okay?”
She inhaled once, closing her eyes, and nodded. “Yes. We’ll get through this visitation, and then the Mass . . . and the wake. And then . . .” Her voice trailed off, and I knew what she was thinking. Yes, and then what? That was the million-dollar question.
My sisters joined us halfway up the aisle, and within a few moments, Mr. Hughes guided us back up front. Another man opened the doors and began to shepherd people toward us.
For two hours, we nodded, smiled, shook hands, hugged people we hardly knew and repeated the same words over and over.
“Thank you. Thank for you coming. We appreciate your kindness. Yes, we’re hanging in there.”
For me, of course, there were a few variations: “Yes, I got back into town about five days ago. No, I’m not sure how long I’m staying. Yes, it’s been a long time.”
At the start of the visitation, the people who passed through the line tended toward acquaintanceship: neighbors of my sister Iona and her husband, Maureen’s patients—well, their owners, anyway; Reenie was a veterinarian—and other people who couldn’t stay for the service. None of them spent more than a few minutes with us, expressing sympathy, offering condolences and getting the hell out. I didn’t blame them. As time went on, more family members showed up, including my dad’s brother and sister-in-law, who’d flown down from Philly, and of course my mother’s parents, who lived only about an hour south of us on the Florida coast. These encounters were longer and more emotional.
Interspersed between the two ends of the spectrum were people I hadn’t seen in years. Many of my father’s co-workers at the high school were also my old teachers, and there was more than a few teary hugs.
“Flynn Evans. Look at you.” Mrs. Pruitt had retired two years before, but she still managed to make me break out in a cold sweat with her snapping blue eyes. “You’re the image of your father.” She tugged a lace-edged hankie from her cleavage and dabbed at her nose. “God rest his soul.”
I swallowed back a new wave of unmanly tears. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Pruitt. You look great. How’s retirement?”
She waved her hand in front of her face. “What’s retirement? I’m still there at the high school, only now they call me a volunteer and don’t pay me.”
My father had told me that the administration had practically forced the English teacher out of her job after she turned seventy. I figured the volunteer role was probably some kind of compromise.
“How long are you planning to stay in town, Flynn? I’d love to hear about where-all you’ve been. I follow your pictures in the magazines. Makes me proud. I show them to my students and tell them, ‘See what hard work gets you?’”
“Hard work, huh? Weren’t you the teacher who told my parents I was lazy?”
Mrs. Pruitt rolled her eyes. “You were. Smart as whip, but didn’t want to do the work unless it suited you. You remember when I assigned y’all A Farewell To Arms and you refused to read it?”
I did remember. Hemingway was never my favorite, and I’d tried to sweet-talk the teacher into letting me read Kerouc’s On The Road instead. It hadn’t gone over well.
“You’ll be happy to know I did read it eventually. But I still don’t much care for Papa.”
“I’m proud of you, Flynn.” She patted my cheek. “If you get a chance, stop in and see me before you leave.”
“I’ll try. And thanks for being here today, Mrs. Pruitt.”
She touched her eyes with the handkerchief. “And where else would I be? Your daddy and I were buddies. I’m going to miss that man.” She sniffled dangerously, and I prayed that she’d move on before the tears came.
Just before she stepped away, she turned back, her brow furrowed. “Flynn, have you been in touch with Alison yet?”
I froze. I knew this was bound to happen, and I’d have been lying if I’d said I hadn’t been scanning the crowd, wondering if she’d come by. But no one had mentioned her name until now.
“Ah, no. I haven’t, uh, seen her.”
Mrs. Pruitt nodded, her face clouding. “I was very sorry when I heard the two of you didn’t work out. As you can imagine, I saw a lot of high school romances in my time, and most of them I could tell weren’t going to last. But after what that girl went through, and how you were always there for her . . . I thought maybe . . . well.” She patted me again. “These things happen. I see her every now and then. Not often, since she doesn’t come into town too much.” She regarded me steadily. “Her little girl is very pretty. Quite a charmer, too.”
That suffocating feeling was creeping back. “That’s great.” I glanced over my former teacher’s shoulder, hoping she’d get the move-it-along message. The last thing I needed was to hear or think about—her.
“I’m sure I’ll see you later.” Mrs. Pruitt smiled a little as she moved past me. I caught Reenie’s eye, and she hugged my arm.
“Hanging in okay, little brother?”
I covered her hand with my own. “Sure. How about you? Need anything? Water, tissues?”
She shook her head. “No, thanks, I’m—oh.” She frowned, and I followed her gaze to the doorway of the church, where a tall man with brown hair had just come inside, holding the hand of a red-headed woman who was at least a foot shorter. Behind them, another man trailed. His dark blond hair was perfectly styled, and his clothes screamed that they had not come from any of the stores in Burton.
The first guy turned to speak to the second, and recognition sparked. Sam Reynolds. Older, a little more filled-out than when I’d seen him last, but no doubt it was him. I didn’t know the woman whose hand he held, but the second man—yep, it was Alex Nelson. My eyes darted back to the door before I could stop them, but no one else followed them inside. Not her. She wasn’t here.
Of course she wouldn’t come. I’d left no doubt in her mind during our last conversation, when I’d laid down the ultimatum: leave Burton with me, or we were over. At the time, in the moment, I thought I’d meant it. A few months later, I hadn’t been so sure, but by then, she’d apparently gotten over me, since it was about that time she’d married Craig Moss.
Reenie laid her cheek against my shoulder, bringing me back to the moment. “She’s not with them. I didn’t think she’d come.”
“She was your best friend.” I didn’t try to hide the anger in my voice.
“She was yours, too. And your girlfriend. And . . .” Maureen raised one eyebrow. “More.”
“That was a long time ago. Lot of water under the bridge.”
Before she could answer, Sam was in front of us, his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth tight. I watched him embrace my mother, carefully, kiss Iona on the cheek—that’s right, she’d been in his class—and then envelope Maureen in a hug.
“Reenie. I’m so sorry.” He stood up again, looking down into her eyes. “Your dad . . . he was one of the best men I ever knew.”
My sister, who thus far today had been stoic, bit her lip as tears slid down her cheek. “Thank you, Sam. Thanks for being here.” She leaned to the side to take the hand of the red-haired woman next to Sam. “Meghan. Thank you. I’m so glad you came.”
The younger woman had wide green eyes, which now swam with tears. “Maureen, I’m so sorry. I know . . . it’s hard. If there’s anything I can do . . .”
Reenie folded her into a hug. “You being here is enough. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.” She stood back and glanced up at me, just the slightest edge of trepidation in her eyes. “Flynn, you remember Sam, of course. And this is Meghan, his girlfriend.”
“Meghan Hawthorne.” She extended her hand. “I’m glad to meet you, although I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
Before I could answer her, Sam was gripping my shoulder. “Flynn. I’m sorry, man. You doing okay?”
A world of memories crowded into my head as I looked at Sam Reynolds. When I first knew him, he was a senior in high school, the stereotypical big man on campus: captain of the football team, president of his class and destined for greatness. After I’d started dating Ali, Sam had morphed into the guy who gave me the stink eye every time I was at their house or whenever he caught us holding hands at school. The dude took protective big brother to the extreme.
And after their parents were killed, Sam Reynolds became the most important person in the world to my girlfriend. We’d had a talk about a month after the accident. Sam had just graduated from high school, and he was trying to figure out how to hang on to their family farm. He had a scholarship to UGA, but he was giving it up in order to stay home so that his little sister didn’t have to move in with their grandparents.
“Listen, Evans. I see how you look at my sister. I get it that you two think you’re in love. Whatever. I’m not going to say you are or you aren’t. My parents—” His voice caught. The pain was still fresh. “They liked you. Said you were a good kid. Me, I don’t have time to worry about you. From here on out, my number one priority is Ali. To keep both of us fed and clothed, I need to make this farm work. I can’t be following you guys around, so I need you to man up and make sure my sister is protected and treated like the treasure she is. Be the shoulder she needs when she cries. Don’t let anyone give her shit. Can you handle that?”
I’d swallowed hard and nodded, but it felt like a moment that needed more. “Yes, sir. Sam. I can do that. Ali, she’s . . . I’ll watch out for her. I promise, no one’ll ever hurt her.”
Sam had stared at me. It felt like he was seeing into my soul. “Good. Oh, and Evans.” He laid one heavy hand on my shoulder. “If you turn out to be the one who hurts her, in any way, I’ll tear off your balls and stuff them down your throat until you choke. Got it?”
Now as those same brown eyes fastened onto me, I remembered his words with sudden clarity. In the end, I had been the one who’d hurt his little sister. At least, it might look that way from a certain point of view. While he didn’t exactly look like he was planning to rip off my balls today, it occurred to me that avoiding Sam Reynolds for the remainder of my stay in Burton might not be a bad idea.
“I’m doing okay.” I finally answered his question. “Thanks for coming by.” I shifted my gaze to his girlfriend. “And you, too. Nice to meet you. Thanks for being here for Maureen.”
“Of course.” Meghan stared at me, her eyes searching mine as though she were looking for something. It made me more than a little uncomfortable.
Before I could figure out how to move them along, Alex reached over Meghan to grab my hand. Sam and Meghan stepped out of the way, and Alex pulled me into a tight hug.
Real crying threatened me for the first time that day. I hadn’t seen Alex in eight years, and I hadn’t spoken to him in just as long. But at one time, this guy had been my closest friend after Ali.
“Been too long, buddy.” His voice was a gruff whisper in my ear. “What the fuck’s up with that?”
I couldn’t help the grin that spread over my face. Once upon a time, Alex and I had been the cussing kings of Burton, Georgia. Of course, that was only when neither of our moms were in earshot. Or the nuns who taught our catechism class. After all, we’d been twelve. Together we’d mastered the casual use of the dreaded F word, even if we weren’t entirely sure what it meant.
Only Alex would come to my dad’s funeral and whisper that word in my ear.
“I don’t know, dude. What the fuck’re you still doing in Podunk?” I kept my words low. His mom wasn’t nearby, but mine sure was. And cursing in church wasn’t a line I was willing to let her hear me cross.
“I’m not usually.” Alex stood back, his face growing somber. “I live in Atlanta. But I was back visiting my parents when I heard. So I just stayed.” He blinked rapidly and licked his lips. “I didn’t know if you’d want to see me or not, but I couldn’t let you go through this without at least telling you . . . you know, I’m sorry. Like you haven’t heard it a thousand times today already.”
“Maybe so, but I didn’t hear it from you yet. Thanks, Alex. It means more than you know.” I flicked a glance over his shoulder. It lasted less than a second, but he never missed a trick.
“She’s not coming.” Sympathy and something else—could it be frustration?—filled his eyes. “I think she wanted to, but . . . she didn’t want to make it worse today for you.”
Like anything or anyone could do that. “Probably a good idea. No drama. And it’s been a long time.”
“Are you going to be in town a little while? Maybe you could talk to her. Like you said, it’s been a long time.”
I shook my head. “I’m leaving as soon as I can get out. I have a commitment on the west coast.”
Alex raised one eyebrow, mocking. “Well, excuse us, Mr. Big Shot. We wouldn’t want you to hang around here longer than you had to. It’s not like you’ve been gone for fucking ever . . . or wait a minute, yes, you have.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, Iona tapped my arm. “It’s just about time to begin the service. Mr. Hughes is going to ask everyone to sit down.”
Alex punched my arm, near the shoulder. “I’ll see you later, bud.” His eyes met mine again. “I’ll be right here. Hang in there.”
“Flynn. Oh, look at you. You look so dashing.”
I glanced up from the plate of macaroni and cheese, potato salad and coleslaw as a pair of thin arms wrapped around my shoulders. The gray-haired woman leaning over me was nearly as familiar as my own mother.
“Mrs. Nelson.” I moved my plate to a nearby tray and reached up to hug Alex’s mother. “I hoped I’d get to see you.”
She sat down next to me on the same flowered sofa where I’d dozed earlier. Our house was full to bursting with guests, and seats were at a premium. “I’m so sorry about your father. And I’m even more sorry that it took something like this to bring you back to town.”
I winced. Mrs. Nelson never did mince words. And there was nothing like the plain, hard truth from someone I knew and respected to bring me to my knees.
“It’s not like I didn’t see my dad in all this time.” I hunched my shoulders. “He and my mom came to visit me a lot. So did Iona and Maureen. We met whenever I was in the area.” I heard the defensive tone and hated it. The decisions I’d made all these years . . . yeah, some of them were impulsive, some of them weren’t my best ideas. But I hadn’t abandoned my family. Only the town that I’d seen as holding me back.
And the girl who wouldn’t go with me.
I pushed the thought to the back of my mind as Mrs. Nelson sighed. “I understand what it’s like to want to see the world. I was young once. You know Alex went away to college, and he’s lived in Atlanta since. But he comes home to see his father and me.” Her eyes gleamed for a moment. “Now recently, he’s been back pretty often, and I’m not stupid. I know there’s another reason. Not even worrying about Ali could bring him to Burton that often.”
I tried not to react to her name, but the woman sitting next to me never missed a trick. I remembered that Alex used to call her old Eagle Eyes. She shook her head.
“Have you been to see her? I didn’t notice her at the church.”
“No. I haven’t been anywhere but with my mom and the girls. And I don’t think she came today. But there were a lot of people.” There was no way I would’ve missed her if she had. I made a stab at sounding nonchalant. “Been a lot of years since I’ve seen Ali. I’m sure she had better things to do than come to a funeral.”
“Alex said she didn’t come because she didn’t think you’d want her here. And you think she didn’t come because she didn’t want to. Y’all both need to grow up and remember what good friends you were before.”
I rubbed my forehead where a sudden headache had blossomed. I heard myself asking the question I hadn’t dared to mention to my mother or sisters. “How is she?”
Mrs. Nelson didn’t exhibit any surprise. “She’s good. I see her quite a bit, either at the stand or just around the farm.” She smiled. “Bridget is crazy for horses, so she talks either her mother or Sam into bringing her over to our place to visit ours. And Meghan, of course, she takes her on tromps around the woods and fields to sketch.”
I frowned. “Bridget?”
“Yes, that’s Ali’s little girl.” She cut me a sideways glance. “You knew about her, didn’t you?”
“I . . .” In theory, yeah. Maureen had mentioned the baby to me in the casual way my mother and sisters had of keeping me up-to-date on anything Ali-related without making a big deal of it. I’d been numb to the news at that point; the bigger hurt had come months before, when the girl I thought I’d love forever had married another guy and then announced her pregnancy. By the time their baby actually came, I’d shut away that part of my past. I didn’t think I’d ever heard her name. Odd . . . Bridget was my grandmother’s name. It wasn’t used very often anymore. I wondered what had inspired Ali to give her daughter that name.
“She’s a doll, that one is. Smart as a whip and pretty, too.” Mrs. Nelson went on as though I’d answered. “Ali’s a wonderful mama. And to think she’d done it all by herself.”
I thought I might’ve detected a hint of censure in her voice, which was also weird. Before I could say anything else, she kept talking.
“She and Sam work themselves ragged on that farm. But we’re all so proud of them. You remember they’d leased parcels out to a bunch of us after their parents died, but they’ve been taking them back, little by little. I expect this year, Sam’ll farm the land we’ve been keeping for them. Their mama and daddy would be proud. Those two sacrificed so much to make it all happen.”
As one of the sacrifices, I wasn’t sure I could jump up and join the applause. I might’ve said something to that effect, but Alex appeared at that point and sat down on my other side.
“Mom, are you torturing Flynn?” He winked at me. “Cut him some slack.”
His mother spread her hands wide, lifting her shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Alex.” She patted my knee. “We’re just catching up.”
“Watch it, woman. I’m hip to your jive. I heard you.” He mock glared at her and then turned to me. “Flynn, the service was beautiful. Your eulogy . . .” He thumped one hand to his heart. “Your dad would be proud.”
“Thanks.” I picked up my plate again and scooped some potato salad onto my fork, keeping my eyes down so I didn’t have to look at my friend. Holding it together while speaking had taken everything I had. Talking about it after might just break me. “So how long do you think people will stay?”
“Depends. A bunch will eat and run, and then you’ll have those who just hang around, wanting to keep talking.” Mrs. Nelson paused. “Speaking of hanging around, how long are you in town?”
“Subtle, Mom.” Alex rolled his eyes.
“I’m hitting the road the day after tomorrow. At least that’s the plan.” I stabbed one more piece of macaroni and set down my plate again. “I’m supposed to shoot a piece in Los Angeles for an interview with the senator from New Mexico who’s rumored to be a presidential candidate in the next election.” I was just trying to explain, not brag, but Mrs. Nelson tilted her head at me, and I knew I was screwed.
“Excuse us. You haven’t darkened the doorway of your own hometown in over eight years, and now you want to bury your father and then run off again? Have you thought about what that’ll do to your poor mother, not to mention Iona and Maureen? You’ll break their hearts all over again.”
“Mom, seriously, maybe you should—” Alex looked from me to his mother, his face getting red.
“No, sir.” She held up one pink-nailed finger into her son’s face. “You just hush up, Alexander. I’m talking to Flynn. Now, your mother will never ask you to stay, because mothers don’t do that, but she needs you here. You can tell that senator to take one of those—what do you call them, the self-pictures.”
“God, Mom. They’re called selfies. And you need to leave Flynn alone. He’s a grown-up, remember? He knows what he’s doing.”
Mrs. Nelson stood up, leaning on my shoulder as she did. “I’ve said my piece. Now I’m going to see about helping with clean up. Alex, are you riding home with me, or with Sam and Meghan?”
Alex shrugged. “I think they left a few minutes ago. Meghan said something about needing to get back to Savannah for class tomorrow. I’ll just wait for you.” He was silent while his mother gathered our plates and hustled off to the kitchen, and then he turned to me. “Sorry about that. She means well.”
I leaned back, resting my head on the sofa cushion and closing my eyes. “I know she does. It’s just that . . . being back here reminds me why I left. I feel like I’m smothered, you know?”
Alex laughed softly. “Do I ever. Why do you think I maintain a nice distance by living in Atlanta?”
I slit my eyes open. “Your mom said you’ve been visiting a lot more recently. Seems to think there’s a reason why.”
“Does she?” He lifted his hands in a faux-innocent gesture. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I just enjoy seeing my parents and hanging with Ali.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Sorry.”
“For mentioning her name? Don’t be. I know she’s your friend.” I hesitated. The wound was still tender, so I plunged ahead, getting all the pain out of the way at once by repeating the question I’d asked his mother. “How is she?”
“Do you really want to know?”
I shook my head and then nodded. “No. But yeah. I mean . . . do I want to hear that she’s never gotten over me and spits on the ground when she hears my name? Maybe. Or maybe it’s better to hear that she never mentions my name and doesn’t think about me at all. That I was just some guy she dated back in high school, and I never cross her mind.”
Alex blew out a sigh. “The truth, if you want it, is a little of both. She doesn’t mention your name. Neither do I, at least not in front of her. If someone else does . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It still hurts her. She hasn’t forgotten you, Flynn. But I hadn’t heard her say your name for a long time, not until she was talking to Meghan last year about old times. We were at The Road Block—”
“The Road Block?” I cocked my head.
“Yeah, remember Mason Wallace? He graduated with Iona and Sam, left town to work in the music business?”
When I nodded, Alex went on. “He did well, made a lot of money repping acts in Nashville. I guess he worked for an agency and then started his own up. Got married, had a kid and then the wife died. So he moved back here, to have family nearby to help out, and wouldn’t you know, turns out his mom has cancer. Anyway, he bought some land off Highway 44 and opened a bar. It’s got a big dance floor, and he uses his old connections to bring in some pretty good bands. Up and comers, he says.”
“And you were there with . . . ?” I wasn’t ready to say her name yet.
“With Ali and Meghan last summer. Ali’d had a few beers, and she started talking about the old days after Trent hit on Meghan.”
“Trent Wagner? He’s still around?”
Alex grinned. “You know it. Still the same old dog. Hits on anything with boobs, and still has the rep for lovin’ and leavin.’ Anyway, Ali started talking about how we’d all hang out back in high school, and she mentioned you. First time in years.”
I clenched my jaw. “Doesn’t surprise me. She didn’t waste any time starting up with Craig after I left.” I glanced at my friend. “I always knew he had the hots for her. He was just too scared of me to act on it.”
Alex quirked an eyebrow. “Or maybe he didn’t want to hit on his friend’s girlfriend. Ever think of that? Plus, come on. Everyone knew Ali only ever saw you. When the two of you were together, it was like no one else existed.” He gave me a small shove in the ribs. “Believe me, I had a front row seat to the Flynn and Ali show. If I hadn’t been gay, I probably wouldn’t have been able to take it.”
I scowled at him. “Yeah, well . . . it turned out to be more show than reality.”
“What’re you talking about?” Alex wrinkled his forehead. “You think Ali wasn’t really in love with you?”
“When it came down to going with me or staying with her brother, we saw who was more important. And the fact that she got married and popped out a kid before we’d been broken up for a year tells us all something about how she felt, doesn’t it?”
Alex stared at me, unblinking. “Flynn, man, I love you like the brother I never had, but you’re goddamn fool.”
Before I could ask him what he meant, he pushed off the sofa and stood up. “I’m sorry about your dad. And it was good to see you, even under these circumstances.” He looked at me, and I saw hurt in his eyes. “You know, when you left Burton, you didn’t just leave the town. You pretty much shook off all of us. Maybe you need to think about that before you start making judgment calls on how people reacted.”
He pivoted and stalked into the kitchen. I closed my eyes again and wished my father were alive. And that I was any place in the world other than Burton, Georgia.