“Adair!”
I quickly down the remaining whiskey. I know my sister-in-law’s voice by the edge of perpetual panic it holds.
Taking a steadying breath, I leave the bottle on my father’s desk. Exiting the study, I find Ginny in the foyer, struggling to hold a squirming heap of black taffeta and limbs.
“Could you?” Desperation glints in her chocolate brown eyes. “I need to speak to the caterer.”
“Of course.” I scoop my niece from her arms. Ellie instantly ceases her struggle, smirking up at me.
“Ellie, keep your skirt down,” her mother orders before smoothing her own black sheath. Ginny can’t stand a wrinkle out of place. Her copper hair is knotted into a chignon, not a hair daring to escape the tight coil. Her porcelain skin is buffed to perfection, a complimentary shade of rose dusting her cheeks. She is exactly the trophy my brother wanted on his arm. The only kink in her life is Ellie, who was born a bundle of determined chaos. She hurries off toward the kitchens, patting her perfect hair delicately as she goes.
I place the little girl on her feet, bending down to talk to her. Unlike her mother, Ellie’s strawberry blonde curls are tangled and windswept. I frown as I recall the argument I had with her parents last night. I told them she was too young to attend the graveside service. With them it’s always about appearance. How would it look if Angus MacLaine’s granddaughter were absent? I’d nearly bit my tongue off trying to keep quiet. Now Ginny is put out that Ellie was misbehaving. “You were pulling up your skirt?”
“Watch,” she tells me seriously. Taking a baby step back, she holds out her arms and spins in a wild circle. Her dress flares out, rippling around her as she twirls.
“Very nice.” I clap as she slows, dizzily stumbling over her own feet like she’s had too much to drink. I steady her and smile down at her. “Whoa. That’s pretty cool, but do you know why Mom doesn’t want you to do that?”
“Cause it’s granddaddy’s fumeral.” Her eyebrows crease together like she’s been through this before and recently. She tips her head, her gaze full of questions and I brace myself. “What’s a fumeral?”
“Funeral,” I correct her gently. I always get stuck with the hard questions where Ellie is concerned. “It means goodbye.”
“Why are all these people here for goodbye?” She holds up her hands to emphasize how everything about this is weird. “Why can’t we just wave to him when he goes?”
I curse Ginny for not having this conversation with her. This is supposed to be her job. She’s her mother. I know what will happen if I bring it up. She’ll flutter like a wounded bird and tell me that Ellie doesn’t ask her those things. We’ve been here before. There’s no point bringing it up. Ginny and I aren’t exactly close. Not anymore.
“He already left,” I tell her softly, “and this is a party for us to remember him.”
“Is there cake?” she asks hopefully.
Ellie might wait to ask me questions, but clearly that doesn’t mean I’m any good at answering them. If Ginny could skirt the issue, so could I. “Probably.”
A grin lights up her baby face, then falls away. “He left? Do you miss him?”
Ellie’s earlier questions were tricky. This one coils around my heart and squeezes. It takes me a moment to answer, because I’m not sure. She waits patiently and I know what I should say. “Yes.”
“We should find cake,” she says gravely, “so we feel better.”
“It’s a plan.” I take her small hand in my mine. It’s warm and soft, thawing some of the ice that’s encased my heart since this morning. It’s hard to focus on the bad when she’s nearby and full of life.
That positivity leaks from me like a slowly deflating balloon when I enter the sitting room, hand in hand with Ellie, and see him. Up until now, I hoped I had seen a ghost. I don’t realize I’ve dropped her hand until she tugs at my sleeve impatiently. Her hand slips back inside mine but this time it doesn’t feel comforting. It feels like an anchor—another family obligation binding me to this house.
He’s in our adjoining room, strong hands gripping the back of a mahogany dining room, discussing something with an older man, some friend of my father’s. I try not to stare but I can’t help drinking him in, looking for some clue as to why he’s here. When I first met Sterling, I wondered how he was so muscular compared to other guys our age. I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for him to fill out even more. Before, he was formidable. Now? He’s intimidating. Even from here, I know his suit was custom tailored to fit his broad shoulders. The dark swirl of a tattoo peeks out from the cuff of his sleeve. That’s new. Gone is the sweep of black hair in favor of a crew cut that showcases the hard set of jawline and slight stubble. I watch as he lifts his hand and rubs it across his chin. The world seems to slow as his gaze flickers from his companion, across the room, and lands on me. His index finger pauses on his mouth and I can almost swear I see his teeth nip his lower lip.
I’ve been caught staring, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
Ellie’s hand
