Chapter 1
Leah
Neverflirt at a funeral. As far as life lessons go, it was right up there at the top.
There had been a tightness in Leah’s throat, a prickle behind her eyes, right up until he walked to the front of the chapel and started speaking with a voice like honey-coated gravel. She’d have put money on her tears falling when the beautiful words began to echo in the still and airless room. Instead, she was hooked.
He was enormously tall. A mountain of a man in a charcoal three-piece which made Leah’s mouth water. Without referring to any notes, he recited the Leo Marks poem “The Life That I Have” which Esther had requested—the same poem the old lady had read herself at her late husband’s funeral. His deep voice was steady, a frown pinching his eyebrows. His gaze swept over the small gathering of mourners as he spoke, a laser beam scanning the room, scalding a path through the chapel. Dark hair curled just above the collar of his shirt, a little longer than average and less sleekly groomed than the rest of him, attitude in every strand.
Tense and shuttered, nothing about his face was friendly. His shoulders were rigid. Posture as arrogant as an NFL linebacker, the tilt of his chin had superiority written all over it. And yet Leahfelt the impact, the click, an indefinablesomethingthat whispered,There you are.A soft, thrumming soul-voice calling to her, invisible fingers tugging on her sleeve. In the plain and stifling room, he was a star of zinc sulfide, luminescent and mesmerizing. When their eyes connected, Leah’s heart went into freefall like an elevator in a disaster movie.
Despite the occasion and all the distress of the past couple of months, she smiled at him.
You’ve got this, Leah told him, mind to mind.
Great job.
I love your suit.
You’re gorgeous.
Without the slightest flicker, his arctic blue eyes slid impassively from her face, passing to Hazel on her right (Esther’s friend and neighbor), to Gerry and Marjorie (from the general store), Ailsa (Esther’s gardener), and across the aisle to three of the ladies from their book club. He spared them each as much attention as he’d given her. And moved on to the next row.
Mortification formed a messy knot in her chest. Leah had never been more grateful she wasn’t a violent blusher. When would she learn a little restraint?
Sending an apology skyward to Esther, she focused on her hands as the oblivious object of her attention finished speaking and stepped back to his seat at the front. It was quite an introduction to Esther’s grandson, Jackson Hale. The only person listed on the heavy, cream-colored order of service other than the funeral officiant who’d already addressed the gathering. Even if his name hadn’t been there in black on buff, she’d have known who he was from the many times she’d discussed him with Esther. And her own personal Google searches.
Jackson sat beside a pretty blonde with a blunt-cut bob and exquisite makeup. Flanking him on his other side were his parents.His father, who Leah also recognized thanks to a stiff corporate headshot from their company website, was Esther’s son. None of them had visited Esther in the two years Leah had lived with her, and she would be lying if the reminder of that didn’t stick a big, fat needle into the balloon of momentary attraction.
All four were dressed head to toe in immaculate black, the girlfriend sporting a fascinator which bobbed and quivered each time she moved. Leah curled her fingers into the tatty cuffs of her black sweater dress, feeling like a small and scruffy eighth grader, the sodden mess of emotions in her chest growing weightier by the minute.
Matt would have sneered at the Hales. He’d have told Leah to toughen up, rolled his eyes at her stricken face. For all his easygoing outward chill, her ex-boyfriend had been hard through and through—as warm and supportive as concrete pantyhose. Well, Matt wasn’t here. Matt could fuck off.
The first chords of “Amazing Grace” rippled through the air and everyone rose to their feet. They stumbled through the verses in a painful display of too few voices and little musical talent, made bearable only by a loud and enthusiastic contribution from the officiant. Leah’s voice grew tighter and tighter, stuttering entirely on the word “home” in the third verse. A vortex of panic swirled in her stomach, turning her hands clammy.
Home.
Was she always to be stuck in this holding pattern, one slip of a foot away from couch surfing and begging favors? Memories of homelessness rolled and swelled, huge and monstrous. It was impossible to sing anymore. A tear ran into the corner of her mouth, hot against her lips, and she made it vanish with the tip of her tongue, furiously ashamed to be crying for herself at Esther’s funeral. By her side, Hazel reached for Leah’s hand and held it firmly in her own as the hymn lumbered to an end.
She had to believe it would be OK. At the very least, she had Esther’s approval to remain at Amity Court until the house was sold. There was still time to concoct a plan, build allegiances, win people over if necessary. Be friendly, appealing, undemanding—helpful, even. She’d done it before, a dozen times. She could do it again if it meant keeping a roof over her head until she found somewhere else to go.
As piped music swelled to mark the end of the service, Esther’s family stood first and slowly left the chapel through a door at the front. None of them looked at the coffin. Jackson Hale rested a broad hand between his girlfriend’s shoulders. How comforting to have that kind of support.
“Short but sweet. Just how she wanted it.” Hazel sighed as she stood, stretching knees that had likely stiffened while she sat. The old lady’s face was drawn. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”
Leah nodded, scraped raw, suddenly exhausted. She tucked her hand beneath Hazel’s elbow. “I’m fine.”
By the time they’d made their way to the main doors, edging carefully past the tasteful floral display of white roses, baby’s breath, and eucalyptus stems, the Hales had climbed into a black Tesla and were already pulling away from the parking lot. Leah watched the car until it disappeared toward the highway, heading in the opposite direction from Esther’s home on the edge of Pine Springs.
They exchanged hugs and goodbyes with the other book club ladies. Cassidy, mom of professional hockey player Tanner Stone, gave them both a kiss on the cheek and paused for a chat with Hazel, while Ava and Florence Martinez, mother and daughter, dragged Leah in for a tight hug. It was a testament to her love of Esther to see Ava in muted colors when her natural exuberance usually spilled over into an array of bright clothing.
“She’d have been very happy with a simple send-off like that,” Ava murmured into her ear. “Surrounded by family and friends. That’s all any of us can ask for.”
“I know you’re having a hard time with this, but we’re here for you, babe.” Florence’s reassurance did nothing to dispel the lump in Leah’s throat, so she just nodded in response and forced a smile.
The remains of a late flurry of snow lay on the ground and a bitter wind lifted Leah’s hair, blowing it into her face, but there was a faint promise of the Michigan springtime in the fresh air. She lifted her head, blinking slowly, and savored the glow of weak sunshine on her closed eyelids.
There should be a rule against holding funerals in March. March was for new beginnings, not endings.
