“They never did. And these are”—I squinted to make out the date at the top—“older than me.” I did the math. “No . . . Thatisme.”
The patient's name had been blurred with age, but it looked like my mom’s name. The date, though . . .
The date didn’t lie.
“Why would he have my mom’s ultrasound from when she was pregnant with me? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe it got put in there by accident,” Ryan guessed. “Or maybe your mom wanted to save it, and put it into the box and didn’t realize Shep took it with him.”
“My mom doesn’t save anything.” I sighed. “My parents didn’t divorce until after I was born. My mom didn’t get together with Shep until I was two or three. He lived with us, but they didn’t get married until a few years after that. But like I said, she’s not the sentimental type.” I tucked the ultrasound photos back into the envelope and dropped it in the box. “She didn’t even take the furniture with her when she moved out of the house here.”
16
AUTUMN
THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Shepherd Winslow was a simple man. He liked people and coffee, and didn’t mind if the coffee was bad as long as the people were good.
It made sense that he wouldn’t have wanted a big funeral service in a church. The cemetery was beautiful, with clear blue skies and lush grass as far as the eye could see.
“Sit tight,” Ryan said as we slowed to a stop along the narrow road where everyone was parallel parking, and slid out from behind the wheel. He rounded the car and opened my door.
“Putting on a good show,” I said as I stood and adjusted the hem of my dress.
Ryan’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t deny it.
Mourners cloaked in black floated across the cemetery, heading for the tent that had been set up over Shep’s burial plot.
While Ryan had thoughtfully packed his suit before we left New York, I had to dig out an old black dress from my storage unit so I could match the wraiths.
“Are your mom and Amber coming?” he asked as we crossed the first swath of grass.
I paused and dug my sunglasses out of my purse, then slid them on. “Your guess is as good as mine. I texted them last night to make sure they knew what time the service was.”
Guilt ate at me for the comment I had made about him putting on a show. Truth was, Ryan had been nothing but compassionate and supportive since we had arrived in Kansas.
“You look really nice,” I said as I found his hand and slipped my fingers between his. “It reminds me of what you were wearing at Rom-Con.”
Even though it was somewhere near a million degrees outside, he was in a three-piece suit with a sweater vest. I had come to learn that Ryan wearing glasses was the rule, and his contacts were just for when he was recording his podcast or creating content for his social media pages. I hadn’t quite figured out why. His glasses were hot.
Today was a glasses day, which made it just a little easier. I got my version of Ryan. Not the one that was available for public consumption.
“Why are you always so surprised that I can dress well?” he said with a curious smile.
I was careful to walk parallel with the headstones as we neared the tent. “It wasn’t what I expected when we met. The only side of yourself that you show online is the feet-up-on-the-desk, tattooed playboy. The night we met in the check out line, you had your tattoos covered. The next day, you were in a sweater vest and glasses. You kept surprising me.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“A good thing. I . . .”
He smirked. “Yes?”
“I think you’re hot,” I clipped. “There. I said it.”
“Yeah, I know. I see the way you look at me, cupcake.” Ryan gave one of my pink curls a teasing tug.
“And there’s the playboy I know and hate,” I grumbled as I nudged him with my elbow.
