Page 3 of In This Moment

Well, butter her biscuit. Maybe he had a heart under all that brass. “That was kind of you.”

“Not really. Decent thing to do. She was getting up there in age and didn’t need to be out here with a mower. Besides, I’d kill for her pies. Ever try one? Nothing like it.”

Grief, so profound, so sharp, consumed her until she couldn’t breathe. Gammy did make the best peach pie. And Rebecca would never get to enjoy one ever again. Chest tight, eyes hot, she closed her lids for a beat to compose herself.

“I didn’t realize they’d sold the house.”

“They didn’t.” She cleared her throat, drawing in a calming breath. “I’m her granddaughter.”

She didn’t wait for his response. Today had been horrible and overwhelming. The past week, actually. And her pain was bordering on crippling at the moment. All she wanted was the comfort of Gammy’s and to be left alone. Unlocking the door, she stepped inside and promptly shut it behind her.

Pressing her forehead to the door, she inhaled hard, fighting tears. But that didn’t help much because all she could breathe was the familiar scents of home. Lemon dusting spray and fabric softener. Gammy’s gardenia perfume and, oddly, tissues. That cottony soft smell tissues embodied. Familiar and typically reassuring. All they did was remind her of what she’d lost. Guilt clawed at her ribcage.

She spun and leaned against the door, tossing her shoes on the mat. The small living room, consisting of a gold and white plaid couch, two yellow wingback chairs, a flatscreen on a small stand, and a couple light oak tables with lamps, was exactly as Gammy had left it. Family pictures in mismatched frames covered the ivory walls, and crystal bowls or vases occupied tables. Rebecca had paid to have the carpet replaced with hardwood some five years ago when she’d received a sign-on bonus for joining the newspaper. Gammy had retired as a hairdresser many moons before and hadn’t had much money.

Since arriving in Vallantine, Rebecca hadn’t spent much time in the rest of the house, having clung mostly to her old bedroom. It had just been too difficult. Even now, she half expected Gammy to waltz in from another room, wrap Rebecca in a hug, and offer her something to eat, claiming she was too skinny. If Rebecca was going to keep from going insane, she’d have to get over her avoidance.

But first, comfy clothes.

Shoving off the door, she strode down the hallway to the right, bypassing Gammy’s room and the bathroom to head to her bedroom. Which had remained unchanged since she’d departed for college. A full-sized bed with a purple flowered comforter sat between two windows on the back wall. A tall white dresser rested beside a tiny desk on the left, the closet on the right. Bookshelves lined the same wall as the door, and she recalled without looking that they held everything from classics to mysteries to young-adult romances. Books, her forever escape. Books never let her down or demanded things of her.

After closing the drapes, she dug in her dresser for a pair of sweats and a tee, then tossed her dress in the hamper in the closet. She pulled her hair up in a ponytail on her way to the bathroom. The gray tile was cold and reminded her to throw on socks when she was finished. A mint green mat in front of the tub matched the plain shower curtain, which she’d left open in her haste this morning to get ready for the funeral.

Gammy’s products stared back at Rebecca as if taunting her to do something. Throw them away or let them collect dust in memory. They weren’t brands she used, but she couldn’t junk them just yet. She closed the curtain in avoidance, washed the makeup off her face, and found socks in her room.

Backtracking down the hall and through the living room, she went into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. Distressed dark blue cabinets and white tile. Formica counters. The kitchen was dated, but like every other room in the house, it was spick and span. Not a crumb or spot of dust. A two-seater white wood table was in the corner, an empty fruit bowl in the middle. She swallowed hard, caught up in flashes of memory.

She’d sat at that very table when Gammy had told Rebecca’s devastated eight-year-old self that her parents had died in a car wreck on their way home from dinner. Date night. Her folks used to have one every month, and Rebecca got to sleep over at Gammy’s. The rain had been terrible that evening, torrents leftover from a hurricane that had brushed near their town. Even now, storms made her uneasy. Lord, how she’d sobbed and wailed and carried on. At that age, she’d been too blinded by her own pain to wonder how her grandmother had felt or how hard on her the situation had to have been. She’d buried her only son and his wife, something no parent should ever have to do. Not once had Rebecca been afraid, though. Gammy had taken care of her, had taken care of everything. Like she always did.

She’d died alone. Just fell asleep and never woke. Rebecca couldn’t imagine a more peaceful way, but guilt for not being here churned in her belly. Her friends Scarlett and Dorothy had been the ones to find her, as they used to pop by a couple times a week to check on Gammy.

There was no one left to take care of things. Her whole family was gone. Mama’s folks had lived in South Carolina, and had passed when Rebecca was too young to remember. Her grandfather on Daddy’s side, Gammy’s ex-husband, had divorced her when Daddy had been just a boy. Simply got sick of married life and walked, never to return. She’d raised her son all on her own, on a hairdresser’s salary, in a time and in a town where that sort of thing was frowned upon. People didn’t get divorced back then. Gammy was still the strongest person Rebecca knew. She might be an adult, but she was far from having her crap together. In the back of her mind, she’d always figured Gammy would be here to pick up the pieces, offer wise advice, or hold her when she fell apart.

A brisk knock, and the creak of the front door snapped Rebecca’s gaze from the table to the doorway. Her pulse tripped.

“Rebecca? Where you at, girl?”

A sigh, and she smiled. It was only Scarlett. Rebecca had been in the big city too long if she was freaking out about who’d opened her door in Vallantine.

“We brought reinforcements.” And Dorothy, too.

Gawd, how she’d missed her besties.

“In here,” she called, stepping into the living room. What a sight for sore eyes. She’d told them at the funeral she’d be okay, not to stop by. They obviously knew her too well.

Dorothy held a brown paper bag to her chest, and sported a pair of plain blue and white PJs. Her naturally reddish hair was cropped just below her shoulders, a new addition since Rebecca had last seen her at Christmas. The video chats they did every week just didn’t hold a candle to being with them in person.

She almost laughed. Then there was Scarlett. Rocking red sparkly pajamas, she held a plastic grocery bag and flipped her long, sleek cocoa locks over her shoulder with the other hand. Only she could wear makeup with jammies and pull it off.

“What did you bring?” Rebecca took the bag from Dorothy and peered inside. Yes, alcohol. Gammy had none in the house. “Bless you.”

Scarlett held up her bag. “And snacks, but uh…” She jerked a thumb at the door. “Do you know you have a whole restaurant on the stoop?”

“Crap. I forgot.” Rebecca set the bag on an end table. “Help me bring them in, would you? I was in such a rush to get away from the new neighbor that it slipped my mind.”

Scarlett cocked a hip. “Why are you trying to get away from the new neighbor?”

“Because he’s a Yankee asshole.”

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