The sun was out, shining so bright, it almost hurt to look at the blue Oklahoma sky, especially with the snow that had fallen the day before.

I’d rather it be ugly, dull, and gray. It would match how I felt inside.

But even as I thought it, I heard my mom’s voice.

Wake up, sleepyhead…the sun is shining, and the sky is blue. It’s going to be a beautiful day.

No, Mama, I thought sadly. It wouldn’t be a beautiful day. I didn’t think any day could ever be beautiful again.

I sat on the bed of the hotel room where I’d been staying for the past week, miserable and empty. I was having a hard time imagining how anything might be beautiful ever again.

Next to me, my phone rang.

I knew who it was without looking and sighed, not wanting to talk to Wylie. After two more rings, it went to voicemail, then the chime for a text went off. I picked it up and skimmed the message.

I’m here. Do you want me to come up?

No. I definitely didn’t.

This cold, sterile hotel room was already small, and it felt even smaller with other people inside it. If he came in, it would be like the walls were closing in on me, and I couldn’t handle that.

Hurriedly, I texted him back.

No. I only need a few minutes then I’ll be down.

But even as I sent that response off, I regretted it.

Was I really that ready to leave?

In less than half an hour, the next visitation for my parents started, followed by the funeral service and their burial. It was a closed casket service. My mother had died from smoke inhalation, but my poor father…he’d been determined to get to her, and what the fire had done to him…

The coroner had tried to talk me out of seeing him.

I should have listened.

Some part of me insisted that I see him, though, because I wouldn’t believe he was gone unless I saw.

Now, I just had to live with the nightmares.

Tears pricked my eyes, and I rose from the bed, hurrying over to the mirror in the small bathroom. I hadn’t bothered with any makeup. I’d cry it off in just a few minutes, so what was the point?

I’d kept my hair down too. I’d gotten my mom’s dark, golden-blonde hair, but it had curled just like my dad’s. They’d both loved my hair, so for them, I’d left it to fall free to my shoulders instead of pulling it back in its usual ponytail.

The skirted dress suit I wore was a muted shade of blue-gray that made my eyes looked darker and impossibly big, although that might have been the shadows beneath them.

Mom had always been after me to dress up a little more often. I wasn’t sure she’d like the suit, though.

You should wear more cheerful colors, baby. Always t-shirts and jeans and black sweaters.

Tears threatened again. I pressed my fingertips under my eyes and willed them back.

“One day,” I told her spirit. “One day, I’ll wear bright and cheerful colors. Just for you, Mama.”

I finger-combed my curls once more, then checked the time. I had to go. If I waited much longer, Wylie would park the car and come looking for me.

The graveside service was simple. It was January in Oklahoma, and the weather could be unpredictable. A few days ago, they’d been talking rain and a chance of snow for the day. Mom wouldn’t have forgiven me if I kept people out in that mess, so I hadn’t made arrangements for anything complicated.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and if there was going to be any rain or snow, I couldn’t tell.

The vicious intensity of the sun felt like a mockery. I kind of wished the forecast hadn’t changed. Rain would have suited my mood. It would have hidden the tears on my face. As it was, I kept having to fight them back, dabbing at my face with the handkerchief clamped inside my tight fist. People kept sending me looks of sympathy and concern, and I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to bury my face against Wylie and hide away from it all, but although he didn’t show it, he felt out of place.

Was it a small-town thing I hadn’t noticed before?

Kindness and courtesy was rampant, but that didn’t mean excessive displays of emotion made people comfortable.

There were only a couple of people crying, and all of them did so discreetly, burying the quiet sounds in handkerchiefs like I was trying to do.

I didn’t want to quietly and demurely sob.

The misery inside me was too big, too deep for that. I wanted to fling myself onto the coffin closest to me—my mother’s, the soft, golden oak matching my father’s perfectly. The flower display on top was all pink and lavender, while the flowers on my father’s were red and white. He would have hated the very sight of them, but it hadn’t felt right not to have them.

The little girl inside of me, the orphan who needed her parents, wanted to storm over there and yank the tops of the coffins up—screw the fact that they’d already been sealed—and yell at them, beg them to wake.

A sob shuddered through me, and I bit my lip to keep it down.

The preacher’s voice droned on.

I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.

Wylie, as uncomfortable as he was, must have sensed something because he tightened his arm and tugged me closer. Finally, I let myself lean against him, and although the sound was muffled, the sob escaped me.

Somebody from behind me laid a hand on my shoulder.

The small gesture shattered the rest of my strength.

My parents had attended the First Christian Church for as long as I could remember. For the past few years, I’d fallen away, but the church hadn’t forgotten me. The fire that had killed my parents had still been burning when the associate pastor arrived, followed soon by the head pastor and his wife and several other women from the ladies’ group.

I’d spent the night with one of the ladies. Now, I couldn’t even remember her name.

She’d been the one to take me shopping for the few clothes I had. And she’d paid, refusing to let me give her any money.

Why couldn’t I remember her name?

“Are you okay?”

Wylie took the seat next to me, the hard, metal folding seat screeching on the concrete floor as he pulled it out from under the table. We were in the church’s basement, a space reserved for communal meals and the occasional party. The atmosphere was a mix of somber respect and quiet, poignant laughter. My parents had been loved…and they’d loved. The few scattering bits of conversation kept bringing me to tears…or to the edge of laughter, although I never quite went over.

One old farmer talked about how my dad had come over one fall to help with harvest, and some of the farmer’s pigs had scared him to death.

It sounded like my dad.

A woman chimed up and told how my mother spearheaded book drives every year to help distribute young adult and juvenile fiction books to the native tribal groups in the state.

That made me want to weep.

I’d gone with her on trips to distribute those books so many times. Even this past summer.

Wylie touched my shoulder, and I looked over at him. “I’m…hanging on,” I said. I wasn’t about to lie and tell him I was fine. I was so far from fine, I couldn’t even begin to imagine a time when fine might even be on the horizon. But I hadn’t run away screaming yet. Surely, that had to count for something.

“You don’t have to stay for this, you know.” He watched me with calm eyes, brushing a strand of hair back from my face.

“It’s my parents’ wake,” I said, voice wobbling a little. “I’m staying for a little while.”

One of the women from the kitchen bustled over to me. “Tish, can I get you anything to eat?”

“Thanks, Pat.” I managed to smile. “But I’m not hungry.”

“Oh, baby.” She rested a hand on my shoulder. “I know you’re not, but you have to eat something. Did you eat anything for breakfast? Or dinner last night?”

I looked away.

She patted my shoulder. “How about I just bring you some soup? Maybe some of the fresh bread Maxine made? She told me you ate some of that the night you spent at her house.”

Almost absently, I sought out the figure of the woman who’d taken me shopping. Maxine. That was right. That was her name.

“Sure.” I looked up at Pat and nodded, although it was more so she’d leave me alone than anything else.

Once she was gone, Wylie smoothed a hand down my hair. “You do need to eat. Getting sick won’t make this any better.”

Listlessly, I nodded. And when Pat put food in front of me, I ate. Not because I was hungry, but because I just wanted everybody to leave me alone, and if I pretended I was okay, I might be able to get them to do that.

Instead of going back to the hotel where I lay crying myself to sleep for the past week, I let Wylie talk me into going back to his apartment with him. His roommate was out, spending the night with his girlfriend. I had a feeling that was Wylie’s doing.

He could be very sweet when he wanted to be.

Sitting in front of the gas fireplace, I accepted a glass of wine from him and snuggled more comfortably into the corner of the couch as he took a seat next to me. He was close enough that I could feel the heat of his body, and when he moved in even closer, I welcomed it. It felt like I’d been cold ever since I saw those flames licking up into the sky, pouring from the bookstore.

With his body warm against mine, and the wine comfortably heating my belly, the chill seemed less intense. So I didn’t mind when he brushed his lips over mine.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, brushing my hair back from my face.

I couldn’t exactly return the sentiment. I’d been too lost in a morass of pain so deep, I couldn’t focus on anything but keeping myself together. But it was nice, feeling him against me, feeling his arms come around me.

When he pulled me closer, I didn’t resist.

I didn’t even mind when he laid flat and pulled me on top of him, his hand tugging my skirt up, palm coming up to cup my ass. He tugged at my clothes while I pulled at his.

We ended up with his shirt unbuttoned and mine on the floor while he pushed my skirt up and tugged my panties off.

Hands braced on his chest, I rocked against him as he thrust up into me.

“Are you close?” he asked, staring up at me, voice rough. He slid a hand between my thighs and pressed a thumb against my clit, roughly rubbing it.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I shifted my angle.

Abruptly, Wylie groaned and grabbed both of my hips, driving up into me, hard and fast.

I reached down and massaged my clit, just as he began to climax. I felt his cock jerk. I kept moving, both hips and fingers. My orgasm finally hit. It was over fast. But as it faded, it left behind a nice lassitude, and I sank down against Wylie’s chest with a sigh.