Page 1 of When Cardinals Appear

Chapter One

Whoever said you can’t go home again clearly never faced the arduous task of closing out their late mother’s estate. I felt that in my bones as I entered my childhood home and shut the door behind me before collapsing against it with a groan.

There were no direct flights from Seattle, where I’d just completed my master’s, to Baltimore. After braving two layovers, crowded airports, and what felt like the longest drive ever with a talkative taxi driver, I breathed a sigh of relief at the quiet stillness of the house. Returning to Cedar Haven was not my choice, but a part of me was glad to be home.

I left my suitcases by the door then shrugged out of my wool coat. Moonlight filtered in through the windows, but otherwise, the house was dark. Flicking on a light switch, I turned toward the living room. Little had changed since I’d left six months ago.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. The hospital bed was gone and with it the IV pole that had supplied my mother with the sweet elixir of pain relief. Also missing was the annoying, repetitive beeping that kept time with her heartbeat. I shook my head. What I would have given to hear that obnoxious beep again. The noise and her labored breathing had at least provided proof that she still lived.

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting to suppress the ache in my chest. It had been a hell of a year. When I took off the spring semester last year to help my mom after her diagnosis, I never thought I would be planning her funeral six months later.

I crossed the room to my mother’s worn-out red couch, which contrasted nicely with the soft-pink cherry blossoms she and I had sponge painted on the wall behind it, a memory I would always treasure. The day of my parents’ divorce, she insisted we needed to liven up the place. My father never would have let her paint something so “girly,” as he would say, on the walls of a common area. In defiance, she’d roped me into helping her, and we’d spent a Sunday afternoon dripping paint all over the hardwood and laughing at ourselves.

The ache in my chest spread. She’d found a way to make a dark day bright but only after she’d extracted a promise from me. The promise was one I risked breaking by my mere presence in our house, in my hometown. But it was her fault I’d returned, so I supposed she couldn’t hold it against me if my fulfillment of that promise was delayed.

Sinking down into the lumpy cushions, I let my eyes sweep the room. The flat-screen television my older brother, Steven, had insisted on installing hung on the opposite wall, gathering dust. Had he stopped by at all to check on the house? If he had, it didn’t surprise me to find he hadn’t done much cleaning. When we were growing up, he used to pay me part of his allowance to clean his room.

With a sigh, I pushed off the couch and headed to the kitchen. Picture frames dotted the walls, right where Mom had left them. Family portraits from before the divorce hung by the stairs, and framed collages of school pictures were on full display in the hall. As I moved deeper into the house, my annoyance grew as I realized how little Steven had bothered to do in my absence. A groan rumbled in my throat. Only then did it dawn on me what a monumental task I was undertaking as the personal representative of the estate.

My phone vibrated in my pocket—James had texted to make sure I arrived safely. Should I text him back? I hesitated before pushing the call button, needing to hear a familiar voice after a day surrounded by strangers.

James answered on the first ring. “Hey, honey. How was your trip?”

“Long and exhausting, but I’m here.” I turned on the light in the kitchen. The oval oak table was covered with faded crayon marks, and the six cushioned chairs surrounding it featured a faded flower pattern.

“Is it weird to be back there?”

I rolled out one of the chairs and plopped down. “Yes and no. The quiet is almost unnatural, but it still feels like home.“ Mom’s kitchen had always been simple, homey. A calendar from the year before was pegged to the wall beside a useless old phone, disconnected years ago. Mom insisted on keeping the misplaced relic in honor of bygone times.

“I get that. I wish I could have come with you.”

“It’s fine. You needed to get settled before you start your new job on Monday.” I ground my teeth and winced at the ache in my jaw. It served me right for lying. He could have joined me. The “new job” was only a transfer from Seattle to Los Angeles, and they’d offered him a flexible start date in light of the move. He simply chose the earliest one.

The front door opened, and an unmistakable male voice bellowed, “Hello?”

“Listen, can I call you later? Steven’s here, and we’ve got some things to discuss.”

“Well, I’ve got a call with Germany at four tomorrow morning, so I need to get to bed soon.”

“Okay.” My heart sank, but there was no point in pressing the issue. Despite it being only six o’clock on the West Coast, I knew that any pushback would lead to an argument. “Call me when you get home.”

“I’ll do my best. Bye, babe. Love you.”

“I love—“ My phone beeped three times in my ear, indicating he’d already disconnected. I slammed my phone down onto the table. Once again, James failed to recognize how much I needed him. I didn’t know why I expected anything different. I was used to it.

“Lanie?” Steven called. “Where are you?”

“In the kitchen.”

I stood as Steven barreled in, dropped his briefcase, and engulfed me in a bear hug. “Man, am I glad to see you! How’s it going, little sis?”

I extricated myself as delicately as possible from his vise grip, bristling at the nickname. “Don’t call me that.”

“I can’t help it if you’re both shorter and younger.” Steven gave an impish grin. “Why didn’t you call me from the airport? I could’ve given you a ride.”

His hazel eyes, lighter than mine, held a note of suspicion, and I forced myself to focus on the changes in his appearance to hide my annoyance. We shared the same dirty-blond hair, though his was closely trimmed on the sides and longer on top. The one thing that hadn’t changed was his height. He stood a good foot taller than me, something he inherited from our father, hence my annoying nickname.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure when you typically got off work.” Although that wasn’t technically the truth, I hoped to avoid trying to explain my desire to have a few minutes alone in Mom’s house because I feared it would sound like I didn’t want to see him.

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