“That’s tough.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.” She couldn’t stop thinking that her grandpa might have been onto something about the kids getting sick from booze and pot. Oh, God.
“Any idea what happened?”
She pushed the other coffee toward him without answering. She didn’t want to say anything yet. “Drink it. Jill won’t once it’s been cold.”
“How are you holding up?” Tanner asked, taking her hand.
Her fingers jerked, but he didn’t let go. “Umm…I don’t know. Jemma was always around growing up. She, Jill, Brian, and Pete were the four musketeers.” When he squeezed her hand, she looked down at the grooves in the farm table. “It’s a damn waste,” she whispered, fighting tears. “She was so young.”
He pulled her out of her chair. Her bones felt like plastic from fatigue, shock, and grief, and when he enfolded her in his arms, holding her tight against his chest, she rested her head on his shoulder.
“Yes, she was,” he whispered.
The burn of tears alarmed her, but she was too tired to do more than rub her face into his fleece.
His hands rubbed her back without demand. “Shh…You should rest too. You’re about ready to fall over.”
Meredith pulled back and wiped away a stray tear.
Nudging her hand away, he traced a finger down her cheek. “You look beautiful. Probably an odd thing to say right now, but it’s true.”
No, it was dear. She realized she couldn’t move away from the heat he radiated. It was as warm and comforting as sunshine drenching a window seat on a winter’s day.
“Why are you here?” she made herself ask, her heart hopeful but still guarded.
He sighed. “I don’t have a good explanation. I only know I couldn’t stay away.”
Oh God. “This is getting complicated.”
He rubbed his hands up her arms, and then let go. “Let’s leave that for now. So, do you know what happened?” he asked again.
She sat back down and gripped her coffee in both hands. His touch felt too good. She realized it was nice to lean on someone. She’d been the strong one last night when Brian dropped off Jill, who was shaking and wrapped in a black cape and a police blanket.
“Jill didn’t see it, but others said Jemma started to shake violently. Then she stopped and went limp.” But she hadn’t puked like the kids who’d been hospitalized, so what did that mean? She shook herself. “Brian couldn’t find a pulse. She wasn’t breathing.”
“Was she using?”
Meredith pushed her hair behind her ear. “Just alcohol and pot. Pete—her childhood sweetheart—showed up with a new girl. Jemma was devastated, and she acted out.”
“That wouldn’t kill her.”
“No, it shouldn’t have.”
“Who’s handling the case?”
“Are you asking as a journalist?”
He held up his hands, palms up. “I have a journalist’s curiosity.”
Right. She needed to remember that. “Larry Barlow, the deputy sheriff, and the coroner, a family friend. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy. Grandpa checked to make sure it’s being expedited.”
Grandpa had called her an hour or two ago after coming by late last night to check on Jill. He was heartbroken, but his gut was quivering too. They’d have to wait and see what the autopsy report said.
His fingers drummed the side of the cup. “Her family will want to know why.”
“Yes. My parents are flying back for the memorial service.”
“I should go. You need to rest.”
The realization that she didn’t want him to leave made her hand clench around the coffee. Not good. Still, she followed him to the door. He stuffed his boots on and wiped up the snow-melt on the floor.
When he opened the door, their gazes locked. “I’ll call you later to check on you guys.”
“Don’t you need my number?”
The wind ruffled his thick hair as he started down the sidewalk. “Don’t insult me, Mermaid,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m a journalist.” He jogged to his car, making footprints in the snow.
She shut the door and leaned her forehead against it. A warmth cupped her heart.
He called you, Mermaid,
Divorcée Woman practically sang.
How sweet.
Yes, it was.
Chapter 19
N
early a thousand people attended Jemma’s funeral, a mix of college students and Dare residents. The college had offered the use of the basketball arena. Meredith winced at the squeaks from people’s shoes meeting the treated wood floor. Somehow, it ruined the sacredness of the ceremony more than the hydrogen stadium lights.
People cried all around her on the cold metal bleachers. Everyone was still in shock over the autopsy report. Jemma had died from a heart murmur. Meredith couldn’t believe it. Her grandpa had thrown the report on the floor and stormed out of his office, leaving her to pick it up with shaking hands.
She’d died of natural causes. Her grandpa had been wrong after all—there was no story here.
Why didn’t it hurt any less?
She shifted on the bleachers as more students told stories about Jemma from the lily-decorated podium. Even the Anderson family braved the stage, their faces splotchy, wiping away tears. Meredith reached for a Kleenex when Jill adjusted the microphone and told a story of them as kids. She’d chosen one that also showcased Brian and Pete—a nice touch, Meredith thought.
“She was fearless,” Jill finished, looking unfamiliar in a black dress with none of her usual colorful accessories. “And so full of life. I’ll miss you.” She stumbled coming down the dais, and both Pete and Brian jumped from their chairs to help. It broke Meredith’s heart. The bond between them might be frayed, but it wasn’t gone.
Jill darted back and pressed her face into their mother’s neck, crying softly.
Meredith studied Brian for a moment. She hadn’t seen him at all over the past few days. No one seemed to know where he’d gone. His face looked green under the fluorescent lights.
Her eyes flitted past the middle section of the crowd and met Tanner’s gaze. Her mouth turned up slightly in a poor attempt at a smile. He tilted his head to the side like he was studying her. God, he looked handsome in a simple white shirt and black blazer. They stared at each other until her neck developed a crick. She rubbed it and looked away, her heart pounding in her ears.
The pallbearers carried Jemma’s coffin out of the arena, their college bodies hunched over from grief. The Hales shuffled out.
Jill scanned the crowd. “Brian!” she called out, and took off at a run.
Grandpa Hale nudged Meredith. “Best go after her. She’ll need you.”
Nodding, she kissed his cheek and followed her sister. Brian was heading for the rear exit like his tail was on fire, but Jill increased her speed. So did Meredith. She wasn’t sure if she should follow, but she couldn’t bear for them to have another fight. Not now.
Jill made it to the side door and pushed the heavy frame open. “Brian! Dammit. Stop!”
He finally turned to face her.
Jill slowed. She was breathing hard. “I’ve been…calling you…for five days. Why haven’t you…called me back?”
His face held a tinge of yellow, and even from this distance, his eyes looked puffy and bloodshot. “I wanted to be left alone.” He unbuttoned his navy blazer and rested his hands on his hips. “Why are you suddenly so eager to call me anyway? Fucking-A, Jill.”
She marched forward and drilled her finger into his chest. “Don’t you dare ‘fucking-A’ me! I was worried about you.”
He scoffed.
Meredith edged a bit closer.
“Just leave me the fuck alone.”
“No,” she said shoving her hands against his chest.
He grabbed them.
Meredith strode forward. “Stop it. Both of you.”
They turned to face her, and Brian dropped Jill’s hands. “You keep her away from me, Meredith. I can’t take it right now. Neither can Pete.”
Jill flinched. “Like he fucking cares. He dumped her.”
“He cares! He’s suffering just like the rest of us. But I’m not going to argue with you. I just can’t…not right now, Red.”
Brian jogged off. Jill’s shoulders slumped.
“Come here, Jillie Bean,” Meredith said, pulling her in for a hug.
Jill clung to her like a monkey. “It’s never going to be all right again!” she sobbed.
Meredith gripped her sister harder, knowing how shitty it was to tell anyone time healed all wounds. Blah, blah, blah. She’d hated it when people told her that after her divorce.
“Everything okay?” she heard Tanner ask from behind them. She swiveled a bit to look at him, releasing Jill. He had his hands on his hips, his gaze understanding. “Come on. Let’s get the two of you a cup of tea. Then we’ll go to the gravesite.”
Jill bit her lip. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see them put her in the ground.”
“I know you don’t,” Tanner said, gently resting a hand on her shoulder, “but she’s not there anymore. You remember that.” He pulled her against his chest. “You go for her family. And because you’re still here.”
He rubbed her back like she was a little child, and she started crying again. How many people had cried in his arms during a war? He seemed to know exactly what to do, what to say.
Meredith’s heart tingled, like it had gone numb and was coming alive again. It…hurt. Seeing him comfort her sister like that had her defenses cracking like a hand through a window. He seemed like someone she could trust. She gripped her charcoal bustier under her black dress.
You can trust him, Meredith.
She lowered her trembling hands, realizing her alter ego was right.
Tanner eased back. “You ready now?”
He held out his hand, which Jill took. When he extended his other hand to Meredith, her eyes burned. She grabbed it, his strong hold a comfort as they walked down the cold, quiet hall.
He left them at the gravesite and blended into the crowd. Jill stood tall with the wind whipping through her hair, her face now devoid of tears. Meredith brushed at the wetness trailing down her own face and blamed the wind.
When everyone returned to their cars, she walked over to Tanner’s SUV. He rolled the window down.
“I wanted to thank you,” she said. “For helping Jill.” She looked away when his direct gaze only heightened her awkwardness and vulnerability. “You’re…really good with people. I can see why you’re such a good journalist.”
He was rubbing the bridge of his nose when she met his eyes again. “I lost my best friend in high school. A car accident. I was in the passenger’s seat. The car hit the driver’s side.” He touched the small scar near his mouth.
Goosebumps rippled across her skin. “I’m sorry.”
“You should get back to your car. You’re shivering. Where are your gloves?”
“I left them in the car.”
He pulled his own off with quick efficiency. “Take mine.” He reached for her hand and slid one on. Her heart pumped hard and fast in her chest. They were too big, but she didn’t stop him. When he’d finished putting the other on, she could barely swallow over the lump in her throat. Could you be aroused and moved at the same time?
“Our car’s just over there.”
“Take them. You can give them back to me later. Now, get going.” He squeezed her hand before releasing it.
She hurried back to the car. Her grandpa raised a brow as she got into the backseat. Jill pressed close to her, crying, and she wrapped an arm around her.
Even though she no longer needed them, she didn’t take off Tanner’s gloves. Musky aftershave and that special man scent enveloped her. When the car inched forward, she pressed one of the gloves to her nose and inhaled, thinking of Tanner’s face when he’d told her about his best friend.
Chapter 20
D
are Valley banded together like most small towns in crisis. Tanner was oddly touched by the black armbands some of his students wore. People seemed more eager to offer a friendly smile or a longer hug.
Don’t Soy with Me was quieter—it was as though Jemma’s departure had taken the joy out of the coffee shop. The espresso machine’s roar had never seemed louder than it had these last few days.
His morning coffee didn’t taste the same anymore.
He knew it never would.
Some people left their mark in inexplicable ways.
His students fell into a slump. Some of them had known Jemma. Others had only known her as the bright barista at Don’t Soy with Me. Young deaths made people think about their own mortality in a new way. He’d heard a few people discuss getting a physical or an EKG even though the odds of them having a heart murmur were low.
It was still fucking hard to believe, but he knew how many surprises the body could dish out. He’d seen bodies that had withered in famine and ones that had been blown apart by suicide bombers. And he’d seen bodies overcome all odds. Villagers who’d walked hundreds of miles in snow fleeing the Taliban without shoes, their feet swollen and oozing blood. Amputee soldiers run marathons on prosthetic legs.
Life always held surprises.
But sometimes it fucking hurt.
The people of Dare were hurting.
Oddly enough, it had two effects on people. It could open up closed hearts, like Meredith’s. And it could close hearts tighter than a turtle in its shell, like Brian’s.
He was of two minds about the change in Meredith. He liked her way too much for comfort, but it killed him that they were heading exactly where Sommerville had hoped.
Only Tanner wasn’t pretending.
His new plan was to gain Meredith’s trust enough for her to tell him about the article. Then he would somehow persuade her not to do it.
It was something.
Meanwhile, he and Peggy continued to look into Sommerville. He’d covered his tracks well. They hadn’t found anything but vague allusions to him “liking the ladies.” He had to have known people would be gunning for him.
Smart enemies sucked. He’d take the dumb variety any day.
He wound his way to Don’t Soy with Me after class, wanting to offer Jill some support. When he entered the shop, the air fragrant with hazelnut and steamed milk, she looked up at him from behind the register.
Walking forward, he tilted his head, studying her. She was pale and her eyes were swollen and red, but she managed a full, sad smile, and was somehow more beautiful for the effort. The black sweater she wore didn’t seem right, but he knew she was in mourning.