She rubbed her hands down her skirt. “We need to get to the house. I have to change and get my truck.”
I crossed to her and blinked against the increasingly heavy rainfall. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mom. She died.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Madison
I never thought about the day I’d end up burying Mom, but if I compared it to my dad and my brother, it was almost unfair that she got the nicest weather. Scott’s funeral had been in the middle of winter, and the only word I’d use to describe my dad’s autumn funeral was gray. Today, white wisps of clouds streaked across the cornflower-blue sky. Flowers were in full bloom at the cemetery.
The rest of my family had been cremated and interred in the columbarium at the oldest cemetery in Bourbon Canyon. Since they’d all shunned church as much as any other official establishment, we were only holding a small service at the cemetery.
I hadn’t expected anyone to show. Wendi hadn’t picked up her phone, so I’d had to text her the news and then the details. She’d never replied.
Ten days ago, I’d had the best night of my life. I’d been dancing with Teller in the glow of his headlights, ready to tell him that what I felt for him was so much stronger than a simple “I love you” that I couldn’t trust it. I thought I’d been in love before and it’d been a lie.
Today, I had changed out of jeans once again, into a long floral skirt and a nice blue blouse. My hair was up in a thick bun. I’d almost worn jeans, but I didn’t need anyone gossiping about another redneck Townsend funeral.
I was sitting beside the columbarium with its four rows of lockers. My dad and brother were on the other side. Mom would be situated on the end, flanked by an old mayor she’d cursed at two or three times. Below her was one of the residents from the nursing home who’d had dementia. At least Mom had left him alone. Above her was the former bank president who’d bullied them until they’d paid off the mortgage.
I didn’t have a mortgage. I’d never have one once the money from the house sale left escrow.
The funeral director, Stanley, checked his watch. He’d been a dick when I’d had to deal with him for Scott’s death, but Teller’s presence had softened his personality.
I shouldn’t need Teller with me to get some respect in this goddamn town.
“You mind if we get started?” he asked Teller.
Teller tipped his head toward me. “It’s not up to me, Stan.”
Stan had the grace to look abashed. “Yes, apologies. Madison?”
I had expected a nonexistent gathering, but I’d hoped that Wendi would bring Logan. I didn’t want to be alone. Selfish, but there it was. I’d cut Mom off and then she’d died. Probably out of spite. She’d known my soft heart and exploited it to the end.
Yet... her death hadn’t been expected. I’d pulled my hair out trying to figure out how to care for her. I’d had a plan. I was close to having the money. Mom could’ve gone anywhere for long-term living. But she was gone. Leaving me torn between the dutiful daughter who should love her mom and the girl who’d been hurt more times than she could count.
Did I mind if we got started?
Yes. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to be sad about my mom around people who only knew her as a cranky bitch.
To be fair,Ionly knew her as a cranky bitch.
I looked around. Mae Bailey was on my left, and Ruby was next to her. The others had asked about coming, but I’d wanted to keep it small. Less embarrassing that way if I ended up crying over a mean woman. Instead, I was opening the bar afterward for a small reception. It’d be a soft opening of sorts. I wouldn’t take money though. I just wanted the company.
A car door shut and we all turned around.
Oh my god.
My ex-husband was frowning at me from the other side of a BMW. What had happened to his pickup? Damien slid his sunglasses down his nose and his gaze jumped to Teller, then down to where Teller’s arm was wrapped behind me.
Wendi got out, and her red lips tugged down. Her blond-highlighted hair tumbled with large curls. She flipped the tresses over her shoulder and opened the back door for Logan to scramble out. He had his mom’s fine features and light-brown hair.
I stood up, unsure what to do. Anxiety twisted in my stomach. All I knew was that I wanted to hug my nephew. “Logan. Hey.” I was about to walk around the few empty chairs on the other side of Teller, but Logan shrank against Wendi.
Ouch. Okay. He hadn’t seen me in a while and he was only four years old.
“Wendi,” I said. “Damien.” My tone flattened more than the road through the cemetery. “Thanks for coming.”
