Page 27 of Harvest Moon (Riverbend 3)

She gritted her teeth. She’d rather yank out her teeth one by one than abandon that child right now. She knew all too well what that felt like. Not to mention the consequent trust issues that could follow. “I’m more familiar with her daily routines—and she’s more familiar with me.”

“What about your job? I live in town, and I’ve got plenty of work I can do from my laptop. And don’t you have a... a boyfriend or something to get back to?”

She crossed her arms. No way was she answering that loaded question. “I’ve already taken off work. I’m not leaving her, Gavin.”

He pinned her with an unswerving look, his jaw set. “Then I guess we’re both staying.”

Chapter11

The day of the funeral had finally arrived. Gavin shifted a sleeping Emma in his arms. She’d been up through the night and out of bed at five this morning. Laurel had put her in a beautiful maroon dress and gathered her blonde curls into a ponytail. The church was full of people who’d loved Mike and Mallory. All morning the receiving line had stretched out the door and into the parking lot.

Up front Laurel stood beside the Claytons as Mallory’s only representative. It was fitting since they’d been lifelong friends. Still, Mallory’s mother should’ve come. He hated that her aunt was missing the event. They’d finally reached the woman’s neighbor. Aunt Patty, who was apparently a competent sailor, had just left on an expedition from Florida to San Juan. They’d done everything possible to reach the woman, and it wasn’t fair to the Claytons to delay the funeral.

Judy broke down and excused herself from the line again, heading toward the bathroom. She wasn’t holding up well. She’d been very forgetful this week. Paul, leaning stoically on his walker, mustbe getting tired too. But the visitation was almost over. The pews were almost full.

Four years ago, in this same church, Laurel and he had stood beside a small casket, accepting condolences. How had they ever made it through that day? Through those weeks?

Not well, that’s how.

A crowd gathered around the photo boards they’d assembled over the past few days. The Claytons had brought Mike’s childhood photos from home, and Laurel printed out pictures of Mallory from her phone. Gavin dug through the photos stored at Mike and Mallory’s house. Laurel had written a beautiful obituary for her friend, while Paul had penned Mike’s. Both had appeared in theHeraldyesterday.

Gavin had kept to the back of the room, trying to shelter Emma from the emotional scene up front. Neighbors kept stopping by, extending their sympathies, staring at Emma, who’d finally fallen asleep, with heartbreak in their eyes.

His gaze swung back to Laurel. She had that guarded look about her today. That shell that kept everyone from getting too close. The funeral was no doubt resurrecting their own tragedy. And it couldn’t be easy, facing all these people who were close to the Robinson family.

His sister waited in line to pay her respects. When Avery reached the front, she gave Laurel a stiff nod and must’ve said something because Laurel’s lips moved in response. His family was protective of him, but he could trust them to be polite.

He turned and came face-to-face with Laurel’s mother and stepfather. The woman’s lips pursed even as her slender frame lengthened to her full five-feet-two height. She still wore wire-framed glasses and styled her brown hair in a cropped cut that aged her ten years.

He nodded. “Donna, Brad.” He tried to add “Nice to see you” but couldn’t quite get there.

“Gavin.” Brad extended his hand and Gavin shook it. Brad had always been the congenial one. Even through the bitter end, he’d never been anything but polite.

Donna’s gaze softened as it fell on Emma’s sleeping form. She reached out toward the child, her emotions obviously teetering between sympathy for the child and disdain for her ex-son-in-law. Which would win out?

She withdrew her hand and made that prunish face he’d become so familiar with. Then she dragged her husband toward the receiving line.

Up front, Laurel was starting to wilt. She’d insisted on staying up with Emma in the night. When Emma had cried out at dawn, Gavin had gotten to the nursery before she awakened anyone else. Despite his discomfort around Donna, he was glad she’d come for her daughter’s sake.

Gavin’s gaze swung toward the closed caskets. His friends’ bodies were lying in there, lifeless. Mike’s parents had chosen his navy-blue suit, and Laurel had picked out a cheerful sundress for Mallory. They’d opened the casket prior to visitation for family and close friends, but Gavin had opted out.

Seeing his son that way, all plastic and rigid and lifeless, had haunted Gavin for months. Even now, the image pushed forward, unwanted. He’d rather remember his son running around the playground, laughing, singing his silly songs, full of life.

His throat tightened. He wandered over to the board for distraction. The crowd was gone, so it was just him. But the pictures blurred in front of him. All he could think about was Jesse. If hewere still alive he’d be seven, and Laurel and Gavin would still be together. Instead, Jesse was gone.

And it was all his fault.

The music shifted to a rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” and his heart kicked against his ribs. This had played at Jesse’s funeral and had somehow come to symbolize that awful day. When the song came on the radio, he turned the station. If it played at a store or restaurant, he left.

He turned, searching for escape, but found his mom instead.

Mom’s gaze sharpened on him, and her brow furrowed. “Honey, are you all right?”

His lungs felt too small for his breath. His skin too tight. He had to get out of here. He eased Emma off his shoulder and toward his mom. “Can you...?”

“I’ve got her, go on.”

Gavin turned for the foyer and headed down a short hall, seeking an empty room. He found one on the left and pushed the door shut behind him.

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