SO BEGAN A WEEK of hell for Chloe. If life intended to punish her for every word she ever uttered about her deceased, and sadly, victimized sister, it had. Chloe busied herself by picking out flowers, music, scriptures, and photographs, all to commemorate her sister who died at the tender age of twenty-six. Putting together a slideshow to feature all the highlights of Ebony’s life was challenging. They had to sort through all the old photos, starting from their birth and ending at Wyatt’s first birthday. It was the cruelest thing Chloe could think of doing to herself. Staring at picture after picture, all the captured moments in a life, showing a personality that was so full of energy, emotions, joie de vivre and verve, which was now relegated to a life in two dimensions, preserved on paper. Past portraits of what they held so dear.

The tears were endless and the heartache hurt more than before. Then, it stopped. Something began down deep and a sense of numbness took over. When it hurt too much to remember or feel, or when it became overwhelming, it soon became nothing. All feelings vanished. There were no more memories. Nothing to trigger the anguish and pain inside her. Chloe was almost comatose. She became an icy, yet efficient machine, firing off complicated instructions to the pastor she hired to officiate at the memorial before making arrangements at the funeral home and notifying the florist and guests. She wrote a beautiful obituary in celebration of her sister’s life. Forever frozen in time at age twenty-six, her twin’s life ended with a tragedy they only now were beginning to accept and understand.

Chloe reveled in her detachment. She embraced the coldness like an old friend. Even her tears stopped falling. She just existed. She didn’t feel any sensations at all. It was such a blessing. Almost like the sweet refuge of a strong drug or deep sleep. Her neighbors and friends offered plenty of food for the reception but she still had to coordinate the dishes and arrange for others. The reception would be held at Ryder’s house. The personal touch from him was something he needed to do for his wife, his ex-wife, as he so bitterly stated in the past. Chloe often grabbed his hand and squeezed it, letting him know she understood how brutally he was beating himself up. She did the same to herself. Where once they comforted each other in their anger over Ebony, now they comforted each other in grief. They insisted on reminding the other they hadn’t done anything wrong.

On purpose, that is.

The funeral, or the memorial, or whatever the hell one called it was dutifully scheduled and announced, and Chloe couldn’t have cared less; no words mattered. Ebony would be cremated after the medical examiner completed the autopsy, and her ashes would be scattered over her favorite viewpoint of the Columbia River. Chloe was still solidifying the details, but she asked and received permission to put in a bench with a plaque that said, “In Cherished Memory of Ebony Carrington Kincaid, beloved daughter, sister, wife, and mother. Taken too young, she will forever overlook this magnificent river and reside in our hearts.” Beneath the bench, they intended to bury some of her ashes, and scatter the rest along the banks of the mighty river.

The solemnity of the coming occasion hurt Chloe’s heart. Someone so young and vital would now be honored by family and friends wearing black clothes while strewing her ashes. It seemed so cold and sad. Chloe spoke her eulogy at the ceremony but couldn’t remember much of what she said. She recalled seeing vague images of her mother and father, Ryder and Wyatt. She also saw Ryder’s parents and brothers. Snippets of conversations here and there managed to get through her haze at brief moments. She noticed her staff were seated a few rows behind her, including Chet. She jerked forward when her gaze landed on him. He wore a suit. Who knew Chet could get dressed up? His hair was styled nicely and he was staring down at something. Perhaps he was reading the program that celebrated her sister’s short life. Chet never knew Chloe’s sister. He started working there a few months after her disappearance. But Dok, his mother, knew Ebony. His head started to move and Chloe whipped around to face forward. She was unwilling to meet his gaze yet. She wondered still why they so unexpectedly, inappropriately, and shockingly kissed.

She was no prude, but the reason that it happened still mystified her.

It was nice to see everyone that came. Chloe hadn’t gone back or even asked about the café since Ryder took her home. Was it just nine days ago? Yes. Something like that. Ryder left Petra in charge and Chloe never gave it another thought. She didn’t have anything to say about it either. So fine. Let Petra run it. Let them work. However, no one knew how to order supplies, from the perishables to the toilet paper. Payroll was another concern. Chloe sighed, leaning forward. There was so much to do. Burying her dead sister was fast becoming a luxury.

She did not see Tara, however, in the row with her other employees. A surge of unbridled glee made her mouth pucker upwards. No Tara. Maybe Ryder booted her to the curb. He’d spent all of his time with her and her parents during the last nine days. The five of them were nearly inseparable: Ryder, her mom and dad, Wyatt and her. It became the only thing that enabled her to function long enough to put one foot in front of the other.

But what would she do on Monday, when this, all of this process, was over? Her sister would be cremated and remembered, grieved for and fondly discussed. The townspeople were generous to her family in their heartfelt statements. Everyone expressed their genuine concern and offered their services to them. But that didn’t help Chloe get through the day. Come Monday, there would be no memorial left to plan. Ryder would have to return to work. Wyatt was on summer break, so maybe he could stay with her. But the thought of hanging all day with Mom and Dad left Chloe quivering in desperation and disappointment. That would be the saddest, longest, and most horrible reality she could imagine. The three of them just sitting around and staring at each other? No. Ryder kept them moving forward, spurring them on throughout each day. He made all the final decisions, whether it was over which pictures to include in the slide show, or which kind of music, as well as every other small detail that arose.

The memorial ended and Chloe kept her head down as she followed her parents to the back of the church. There was a long procession of people whom she and her parents graciously received. So many handshakes, hugs, kisses on her cheeks and forehead, not to mention all the condolences, which were endless. There were plenty of stories and anecdotes. There were even a few laughs and amusing memories over something Ebony did or said. The tributes were sweet, even irreverent, but they reflected Ebony in a very positive light.

Chloe thought about that. Not often were a person’s bad habits or faults ever discussed or commiserated over. Maybe they should have been. Maybe the personal faults are what keeps a person alive and real. Chloe did not want Ebony to become some kind of martyr and it already felt like she was becoming that, not only to Chloe, but to others, including the whole town. Even Ryder.

That nearly killed Chloe because to her, Ebony was a living, breathing woman who looked just like her. She could predict and almost experience whatever Ebony felt or thought. At least, she always had a pretty clear idea of Ebony’s mental state whenever they were together. It was like their relationship as twins created its own energy and they seemed to feed off each other whenever they were in close proximity. Now, there was no one left. Not only was Chloe rendered an only child but she no longer carried the distinctive honor and privilege of being an identical twin.

The numbness she yearned for returned. Ryder came up to her and put his hand on her lower back. “Line is dying down now. How about we leave now? You need a break.”

She nodded, grateful for his kind attention and awareness. Her brain could not formulate what time she should leave to go to the reception. Her thoughts were muddled and fuzzy. Her eyes ached, although they were dry and swollen. She stopped wearing makeup after her tears smeared it all over her face during the last several days.

Ryder escorted Chloe and her parents to his truck before taking Wyatt in hand with the utmost gentlemanly care. He held the doors open for them and waited until they put their seatbelts on before nodding his approval that they were safe.

Wyatt was talkative and giggled about a friend’s statement from school. It took all of Chloe’s energy to fake a smile of interest and feign some interaction. Meanwhile, her heart longed to scream, Stop being happy! Don’t you know what you just lost? What you just witnessed? Your mother is dead. Dead. Gone. You’ll never know her now. Don’t you understand how tragic that is?

Naturally, she bit down on her tongue to keep her thoughts to herself. That was no way to talk to Wyatt. He didn’t understand. Perhaps he never would or could. He never had a chance to know her. A blessing maybe for him, as the grief and the pain were less, but a tragedy to Chloe, knowing that Ebony’s only child would never remember her. Not one memory or one shared experience that would help shape or guide Wyatt to adulthood. None of it mattered now.

The reception was lovely and exceeded everyone’s expectations. If Chloe cared at all about that, she’d have commented, but she didn’t. Neighbors and friends of her parents took over the necessary details. Flowers were delivered and set up all around Ryder’s house. A generous buffet was displayed on several tables. Extra seating spilled out into the yard. Ryder mowed the lawn and prepared the garden nicely so it was all fresh, lovely, and verdant. So perfect a setting to celebrate someone’s untimely death, Chloe thought bitterly.

Chloe tolerated several long, tear-filled conversations, as well as endless hugs, kisses and handholding. The cloying sympathy was becoming too much for her, and from too many different sources. A headache started to brew, and it pounded sharply in her temples. It was probably from the aching of her eyes due to the sun’s glare and all the clamor of voices and clashing conversations. People started to relax, and the formality of the occasion faded as they chatted together and caught up. Neighbors, friends, and other community members shared much in common. Chloe’s dead sister had missed all the community activities and gossip for more than three years. The grim and shocking discovery of her decomposing body and the knowledge that she was the victim of a crime, the only murder ever recorded in Silver Springs, made Ebony quite famous.

Anger started to percolate inside Chloe as the afternoon wore on and the vast amount of people, memories, and well-wishers continued unabated.

And then she saw Tara. Tara came in with Petra and the rest of her employees. No. How could that be? Her mind was overwhelmed with spite. How dare that bitch show up here? Here. Of all places. For just one afternoon, couldn’t she leave this place, and this man and his boy, to her sister for one final day? One last time? Couldn’t she let Ryder grieve for her sister and let her son celebrate his real mother’s life without crashing in on it? Chloe sneered. Turning away, she pretended to be listening to Esther Bylee discussing Ebony’s ability to add numbers faster than anyone else she knew without ever using a calculator. It was an odd quirk, but Ebony was mathematically gifted, which is why a career in business appealed to her so much.

Finally seeking pain relief for her growing headache, which bordered on becoming a migraine, Chloe slipped through the back door into the mudroom and stopped dead.

There sat Tara beside Wyatt. She was saying, “It’s not your responsibility. Okay? You don’t have to remember someone you can’t. Or feel things you can’t. No one will get mad at you for that.”

Chloe was sure that if a nurse could have checked her blood pressure just then, they’d fear she was having a stroke. Her face burned up, she was so hot with ragged emotions. How dare she? How dare this… this… nothing to them or this family…?! How could this nobody tell her nephew not to remember his mother?! How dare she? The urge to yell at Tara, and throw things, and shriek, or even hit her bubbled up strong and deep inside Chloe. She tried to breathe slower to restrain the impulse to make Tara feel the same pain she felt. But turning Wyatt against Ebony! What? So Tara could swoop in and become his new mommy? She supposed it was now official that Ryder’s ex-wife would never return to town to claim her parental rights. That had been a genuine concern of Tara’s until now. Was Tara ready to assume Ebony’s former role? Step one: exterminate the competition?

Without a thought, Chloe yelled behind them, “What the hell are you doing?”

Tara jerked around at hearing her voice. Chloe continued her tirade, ignoring Tara’s startled, big-eyed expression. “Telling my nephew not to remember or grieve for his own mother? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Tara jumped to her feet, stepping back towards the wall as if she were afraid of Chloe. Chloe scoffed with disgust. What a goddamned wuss. Again, Ebony would have confronted Chloe and yelled right back in her face, whether she were right or wrong. At least, Ebony would have tried to defend herself, and not backed up in physical fear. Chloe rolled her eyes and scoffed again.

“Chloe! I—I’m not. He’s just upset and confused because he can’t remember her.” Tara stumbled over her words as usual. Meek. Weak. Timid. Chloe sneered again. How could Ryder stand her after knowing the strong, interesting, fun, and exciting personality of Ebony?

Chloe held her hand out, and her voice was strong and sure. “Come here, Wyatt. Now.” It was time to end this charade once and for all. Tara was not and would never be Wyatt’s goddamned mother or mother figure. Chloe straightened up. She’d become Wyatt’s surrogate mother. She was closer than anyone else to Ebony. Hell. She looked exactly like her. Even Ryder couldn’t tell them apart when they dressed the same and styled their hair the same way. Chloe hardened her heart when she saw the confusion in Wyatt’s face and ignored her guilt at witnessing the little boy’s obvious distress. No. Ignore it. This was the right thing to do. Wyatt would need his family. His real family. Not this stranger whom he’d only known for a few months.

Tara dared to voice an argument. She had an opinion. Chloe was blown over. Still she persisted, chanting in her throbbing brain, that this was the right thing to do. She had to protect Wyatt’s fragile memory of Ebony and make sure he knew all about his mother. “Wyatt. Come here,” she repeated sternly.

Wyatt stepped forward and his hand received her outstretched one. Chloe instantly tightened her grip on his little, sweaty hand. Fresh tears blurred her vision. This beautiful, unspoiled motherless, little boy. It was so unfair. So cruel. So wrong.

Then she heard the deep voice behind her, calling her name. Ryder. She caught the stern tone that wasn’t usually there. She should have known, after all. Next to Ebony, Chloe spent the most time with Ryder Kincaid, enough to know him exceedingly well. Far better than the mousey woman standing before her.

Still… his tone suggested… fuck! It seemed he was about to rebuke her, not Tara.

Chloe’s eyes welled up with tears. Even Ryder would soon forget Ebony. He had to move forward… probably with this awful woman and it would soon be like Ebony never existed. Except for his half-black child, Ryder wouldn’t even remember Ebony in twenty years. He’d have an entirely new life and new family, no doubt. Probably more kids too, with her. And that would mean her sister was forgotten. Her son would be mothered by someone else. Wyatt would love someone else and call someone else his mother. Her heart sank into her gut knowing Wyatt would be cared for by a stranger. He’d never remember his mother. And it most likely wouldn’t be Chloe, but Tara who assumed that responsibility. A burning anger, that bordered on rage, seemed to overtake her. The outrage over her sister’s premature death and her violent murder. Being forgotten in a filthy swamp for three and a half years. But most of all, for her family to have believed such terrible things about her. And now what? Now it would end with Wyatt becoming part of a family that wasn’t even Ebony’s. No! She couldn’t stand it.

“It’s his mother! She was trying to eliminate his mother’s place in his life. Of course Wyatt should be sad. He lost his mother. She’s… she’s dead. And that woman, your girlfriend, tells him not to care?”

Instead of answering Chloe, the logical, analytical, and always fair-minded Ryder gently asked Tara to tell her side of the story. She chattered off some drivel about Wyatt instigating the conversation. Ha. As if. NO. Tara Aderly conducted most of that conversation.

Ryder calmly nodded. He was listening to whatever his girlfriend described and believed she was not trying to remove Wyatt’s mother from his memory or his heart. Instead of admonishing Tara, Ryder stepped forward and swept Chloe up in an embrace. Chloe suddenly found herself helplessly restrained in her brother-in-law’s arms. In a gentle voice, like the way you’d talk to an old person suffering from confusion, advising them on how to take care of their personal grooming habits, Ryder said to her, “He doesn’t remember her, Chloe. He was too young. Our grief isn’t his. You can’t be mad at Wyatt for that.”

Chloe shook her head in denial. She hated Ryder’s calmness in the face of this horrendous experience. The concept that Wyatt would never know his mother, Chloe’s sister, was so wrong. It was just wrong. And Ryder was being too calm and acting too okay about it.

“Chloe,” Ryder’s voice was low and sincere as his gaze held hers. “You are my sister. You will always be my sister. Nothing can change that, especially not this. This solidifies it, okay? And you will forever be Wyatt’s aunt and he will always need you. Always. On a daily basis. You already take care of him and influence him and nurture him, every day. Do you think I’d ever change that? No. Never. Not for anything in the world.”

“Not even her?” Chloe spat out the snide remark. Tara. That bitch. The one trying to take her sister’s place. “Your white girlfriend?”

Ryder retained his composure and did not get angry. She wanted him to let her have it so she could then scream back at him. If only to release this pressure that was building in her head and ready to steam out of her ears. But no. Oh no, wonderful Ryder, the man her sister married for that very reason, said with a tinge of humor, “You know, I’m white too. Hating her for that is kinda stupid.”

And it was. It was so stupid. But it felt so good. It was the easy way. The easy gibe and she tried to revel in that. She wanted to be nasty and mean just to vent some of the terrible resentment lodged inside her chest. But it was wrong. She knew that too. Duh. To call out Tara for being white? Actually, she hated her because Tara wasn’t Ebony. And Chloe just wanted Ebony back.

“I know.” Chloe dropped her gaze, feeling ashamed. “But I didn’t want Wyatt to have her as a—”

“Chloe, you were the first one who told me to ask her out.”

“Well…” she hesitated, suddenly at a loss to find a logical answer when there wasn’t any. She was being irrational. “That was before. Before I realized…”

“What?” he prodded. His tone remained kind when in truth, anyone else could have turned mean and nasty towards her after the way she talked about his girlfriend. Tara was the woman he now loved and chose to have in his life. Chloe knew that was true. She just didn't like it and didn’t intend to let it be okay right now. Not today. She just couldn’t face it today.

Her shoulders fell forward. “That you’d fall in love with her.”

Ryder brought her closer to him again, initiating another hug. After asking Tara to take Wyatt outside to play, Ryder gave Chloe his undivided attention. Fuck. Just what she hoped not to happen as a result of this confrontation. Tara taking her nephew off to play as if she were his guardian. No. That job wasn’t for Tara. It was at the very minimum meant for Chloe. But of course, Ryder had the final say.

And that, perhaps, was the source of her burning anger. She didn’t have the final say anymore. Before Tara, Ryder consulted her for all the motherly advice he needed with Wyatt. He often relied on her to babysit or just hang out with Wyatt. Not so anymore. He rarely called for her to take him or even to ask for her opinion on childrearing. She noticed a distinct shift, and that was before Ebony’s body was even found. She had more time to herself now and she hated it. Detested it. She missed Wyatt and Ryder too. But he had Tara now. He had a life and she had none. Other than the café, she had nothing but her parents. And they were too ripped up now, so she had what? Grief.

The thought of waking up tomorrow with this same hurt sitting in her heart and head was exhausting. Chloe doubted she could get up and feel this all over again, not to mention the next day after and the day after that. The burden of her grief was overbearing. It was too draining and all-consuming. She wanted to curl up into a small ball in Ryder’s laundry room and just sleep. Maybe forever.

Ryder let her go, but squeezed her hand. “I’ll be here, Chloe. No matter what. For you. With you. And so will Wyatt.” Then he added assertively but kindly, “But leave Tara out of it. She is just an innocent bystander to all of this. If you have something to say about Wyatt, please say it to me, okay?”

She stiffened and scowled at him, shaking her head without answering before she shoved past him. He let her leave and she stormed out the back door. Slamming the door shut and blurry-eyed from her tears, Chloe walked past the walkway and huddled against the side of the barn. A new onslaught of tears overwhelmed her.

Then, out of nowhere, a hand swooped in and took hers. Shocked right out of her hiccups and sobs, with a startled exclamation, she jerked her head up to find Chet beside her. He didn’t comment, and his facial expression didn’t change. He paused long enough to take her hand in his before he pulled her behind him and oddly enough, she followed, trailing after him like a puppy after its mother. What was he doing? Where had he come from? Why? Why was he taking her somewhere? And more importantly, why was she going? Why did she blindly follow him? This person who had never given her a second glance that she could remember and yet, he was dragging her after him. To where? His car. She realized that when the black vehicle came into view. It was parked near the end of the crowded parking lot of Ryder and Ebony’s driveway. They were at her family’s old farmhouse. Her grandparents’ land, barn and farmhouse. Now? Now it would belong to Tara.

Her blurred vision cleared as Chet’s path found them alone now. He let go of her hand, stopping beside the car’s passenger door. He opened it for her and tipped his head, indicating what? Should she just get inside? Why? Where would they go? Why would they leave? How…? What the hell was this? What was Chet doing? First, he found her curled up on the bathroom floor and now he rescued her from crying alone beside the barn? Other than that, she never saw him and had no idea why they were even there together.

But her ripe, explosive fury toward Tara left her depleted. She let her body plop down into the low car and she huddled there without thinking or caring why she was. Who cared about what she did or where she went now? Ebony was dead. Nothing could change that. Nothing could fix it. And what she did now or tomorrow or the day after didn’t matter. Confusion made her dizzy. The sun hurt her eyes. She wished for her sunglasses and more, she wished for anything to stop her from feeling like this. This bad. This lost. This confused. Feeling so much raw pain.

She shut her eyes against the glaring rays of the sun, mocking her with its intensity. As if the sun were purposely being cruel, it provided endlessly clear skies and hot summer temperatures. Fuck it. She’d disappear and for once, not do the right thing. Because there was nothing left inside her anymore. She didn’t know how to do the right thing anymore. She couldn’t manage it. Not now. She needed to leave. Now. She only wished it could be forever.